They looked at each other hesitantly.
“She won’ charge you nothin’ fer the night,” Jimmy said quickly. “Y’all are my guests.”
“We kin pay,” Daniel said as quickly. “We got money. It’s jes’ that we wanted to git to work as soon as we could.”
“Where you goin’ to work?” Jimmy asked. “At the mill?”
Again Molly Ann looked at her brother. “We don’ rightly know,” Daniel admitted. “He jes’ tol’ our paw fer us to come down an’ he would take care of it.”
“Fitch didn’ say what kin’ o’ work you’d be doin’?”
“Nope. Jes’ said we’d git good money. Four, mebbe five dollars a week.”
Jimmy laughed, but there was humor in it. “That Fitch, he sure is a smooth talker.”
“You mean there’s no jobs?” Molly Ann’s voice was anxious.
“I don’ mean that. There’s jobs, all right. But at seven cents an hour, you gotta work at leas’ twelve hours a day to git that kind of money.”
“We don’ min’ workin’,” Molly Ann said.
He looked at her. “You ever work in a mill?”
“No.”
“You stan’ on your feet all day changin’ bobbins on a speedin’ machine fer twelve hours an’ yer body feels lak it’s about to break into a hunnert pieces. It ain’t easy.”
“Nothin’ is,” she said. “If’n the pay is good, we don’ expect it to be easy.”
“Good pay!” He laughed again. “You call that good pay? Why do you think they use kids? Because they kin pay you seven cents an hour when they have to pay grown people fifteen cents an hour, an’ they keep the difference in profits.”
“It’s none of our concern what others do,” Daniel said. “On’y that we do an honest day’s work.”
Jimmy wanted to laugh again, but something in the boy’s expression stopped him. This was no ordinary hillbilly. Somewhere behind those eyes lurked an earth-born maturity, an awareness of people that went far beyond his years. After a moment, he spoke. “People mus’ do what they mus’ do.”
But in his heart, Jimmy knew better.
Out here, people did not do what they must; they danced like puppets on a string, maneuvered by other men for their own profit and purpose.
***
It was after nine o’clock when they came down Main Street and the wagon stopped in front of Mr. Fitch’s store. The door was closed and the windows were dark. They sat there a few minutes in silence.
Jimmy felt he had to apologize. “I’m sorry. If this ol’ mule didn’ have such a min’ of his own, we would’ve been here an hour earlier.”
“’Tain’t your fault,” Daniel said. He looked at his sister. “Mebbe we better git off here.”
“No sense in that atall,” Jimmy said quickly. “Y’all come over to the Widdy’s with me. You’ll git some supper an’ a bed, an’ you kin be here fust thing in the mornin’.”
Daniel met his eyes. “We don’ want to put nobody out. We’re already obliged to you fer your favor.”
“You’ll put nobody out,” Jimmy said. “Room ’n’ board is the Widdy’s business.”
***
The Widow Carroll was an angular woman with a sharp face and an equally sharp tongue, which she used to keep her boarders in line. A rough, strange mixture of men who worked in the mills and factories and mines, they came from near and distant portions of the world. Slavs from Central Europe were thrown together with thin-lipped, taciturn mountain men, who were working in an environment as alien to them as it was to the immigrants. Despite everything, the Widow kept them in tow. No fighting on the premises, no drunkenness, no blasphemy. What the men did outside was none of her concern, but when they came to her table, they had better come with clean hands and washed faces or she would not let them be seated. And every one of them lived in holy terror of her, speaking in strangely hushed tones whenever she was around, because none of them wanted to lose his place in her boardinghouse. The meals were not fancy, but she set the best table in the area.
“Yer too late fer supper,” she snapped at Jimmy. “You well know that supper’s at six thirty.”
“It’s that ol’ mule.” Jimmy turned on the charm. “I jes’ couldn’ git him to move nohow. Then I foun’ these kids walkin’ on the road in all that heat, an’ I couldn’ let ’em do that, could I?”
The Widow Carroll looked at Daniel and Molly Ann and sniffed without speaking. They fidgeted under her baleful gaze.
“They was comin’ down to Mr. Fitch’s to git theirselves placed,” he said. “But the store is closed.”
“No women,” she snapped. She turned to Jimmy. “You know the rules of my house.”
Daniel took his sister’s hand. “Come, Molly Ann,” he said. “We don’ want to make you no trouble, Mr. Simpson. Thank you fer your kindness.”
Something in the tone of his voice reached into the Widow Carroll’s memory. Her husband had been a mountain man, and many years ago, when they had both been young, he had sounded like this boy—strong and filled with a sense of pride. But that was long ago, before the mines used up his lungs and the white mule had rotted his gut, and he’d died spitting up black blood all over her clean white sheets. “Besides, I on’y got one room vacant,” she said.
Daniel met her eyes steadily. “That’s all right, ma’am. My sister an’ I been sleepin’ in the same room all our lives, together with our brother an’ sisters.”
“I don’t care what you been doin’,” she said sharply. “No man an’ woman shares a room in this house even if they is brother an’ sister.”
“I kin sleep on the porch, with your permission, ma’am,” Daniel said. “Molly Ann kin have the room.”
“I don’t know,” the Widow said doubtfully. “It ain’ proper to have someone sleepin’ on the porch.”
“He kin use the cot in my room,” Jimmy said quickly.
The Widow Carroll made up her mind. They looked like nice, respectable children from a good family. “All right,” she said. “But the on’y thing left to eat is some cold pork and bread.”
“That will be mighty kind o’ you, ma’am,” Daniel said.
She looked at him. “That’ll be ten cents for each of you,” she said. She hesitated a moment, then added, “Including breakfast, which is at five thirty prompt.”
Silently Daniel took some coins from his pocket. He put two nickels and a dime in her hand. “Thank you, ma’am. We appreciate yer bother.”
She nodded and turned to Molly Ann. “Now you come with me, miss, an’ I’ll show you yer room.”
***
Molly Ann lay on the bed in the small dark room and listened to the quiet. It was strange. There was not a sound. It was the first time she had ever slept alone in a room, without the familiar nighttime noises of her brothers and sisters. It took getting used to.
She wondered about them at home and if they missed her. Unaccountably, the tears began to roll down her cheeks. A soft knock came at the door. She slipped out of bed and crossed the room. “Yes?” she whispered.
“It’s Dan’l.” The soft voice filtered through the door. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she replied.
He hesitated a moment. “Well… good night, then.”
“Good night.”
She heard his soft steps move away from the door, and she crept back to her bed. In just one short day, so many things had changed. Everything had changed.
Until now, Daniel had been her younger brother. But now, today, suddenly he was different. There was a strength in him she had never known before. As if in one flashing moment he had grown past her into manhood.
A curiously warm feeling of comfort and security came over her, the tears stopped and she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Chapter 6
Daniel and Molly Ann were waiting in front of the store on Main Street a little after six o’clock in the morning when the door opened and an old Negro came out, a broom in his hands. He glanced
at them curiously but didn’t speak and began to sweep the wooden walk in front of the entrance. Daniel walked to the door and looked into the store.
“Ain’ nobody in yet,” the Negro said. “If’n yo’ wants to buy somethin’, Mistuh Harry will be here any minute.”
“We’re waitin’ fer Mr. Fitch,” Daniel said.
“He doan come until eight o’clock,” the Negro said.
“We’ll wait.” Daniel walked back to his sister. There was a small bench in front of one of the windows. They sat down.
A few minutes later, a small, nervous-looking man in a shiny jacket, starched collar and tie came bustling up to the store. “Any customers yet, Jackson?” he asked in a high-pitched, officious voice.
The Negro stepped aside politely to let the little man pass. “No, suh, Mistuh Harry.”
The man stopped and looked at Daniel and Molly Ann, but he didn’t speak to them. “What do they want?”
“They lookin’ fo’ Mistuh Fitch.”
“You kids lookin’ for jobs?” The little man spoke to them now.
Daniel got to his feet. “Yes, suh.”
“Well you can’t sit there,” he said abruptly. “That there bench is reserved for customers.”
“I’m sorry,” Daniel began to say, but the little man had already disappeared into the store. He turned to Molly Ann, who had already risen to her feet. They stood there uncertainly.
“They’s a bench ’roun’ the side of the sto’ y’all kin use,” the old Negro said.
“Thank you,” Daniel said. He led the way around the corner of the building and they sat down again.
Slowly the small town began to come to life around them. Stores were opened, people started to appear on the street; then there were a few wagons, then more, and by a few minutes after seven the day was in full swing.
They watched curiously, silently. People walking by seemed to pay no attention to them. They all seemed caught up in their own thoughts. Men going to work, women to their marketing, children playing. All seemed preoccupied.
“How much longer?” Molly Ann asked.
Daniel squinted at the sun. “Half-hour, mebbe.”
“Did you see Mr. Simpson this morning?” she asked.
“He was still asleep when I lef’ the room,” Daniel replied.
“He didn’ come down fer breakfast,” she said.
“He tol’ me afore we went to sleep, he never eats breakfast,” Daniel said. “An’ that lady serves a real good breakfast, too. Aigs ’n’ grits, corn bread ’n’ butter ’n’ real coffee. It don’ make sense to me that he should miss a good meal like that.”
“I wanted to thank him for his kindness,” Molly Ann said.
“You don’ have to fret about it,” Daniel said. “I thanked him fer both of us.”
“He was real nice,” she said softly.
Daniel glanced at his sister. He grinned. “Reckon yer a little sweet on him?” he teased.
She blushed. “Don’ be silly. Cain’t a girl say a feller’s nice ’thout it bein’ misunderstood?”
Daniel smiled. He could have told her that Jimmy had wanted to know all about her—but if she knew that, it might turn her head.
The old Negro came around the corner to them. “Mistuh Fitch jes’ came in, if’n yo’ wants to see him.”
They followed him into the store. The darkness took some getting used to after the bright sunlight, but in a moment their eyes adjusted, and they saw the barrels and sacks piled around them and the shelves stacked high with all kinds of articles from canned food to bolts of cloth. He led them down around the long counter, past the officious little man, into a small glass-enclosed office.
Mr. Fitch was seated behind his desk, his broad-brimmed hat still on his head. There was no recognition on his face. “What do you kids want?” he asked gruffly.
“Paw tol’ us to come down here,” Daniel said. “He said you tol’ him you would git us jobs.”
Mr. Fitch’s face was still blank. “Yer paw?”
“Yes,” Daniel said. “Jeb Huggins.”
The big man’s voice suddenly changed. It became more jovial. He rose from behind the desk. “You’re the Huggins kids. Danged if’n I recognized y’all in them fine clothes. Sure thing. That’s what I tol’ yer daddy.”
A sense of relief came over Daniel. For a moment he’d thought there had been a misunderstanding. “That’s right, Mr. Fitch.”
Fitch looked at him. “You’re Dan’l?”
Daniel nodded.
He turned to Molly Ann. “And you’re Molly Ann?”
Molly Ann smiled. “Yes, Mr. Fitch.”
“That was a delicious rabbit stew yer mother served fer supper,” he said. “I’ll never fergit it.”
They didn’t answer.
He sat down and began to shuffle some papers on his desk. “Now, let me see… Ah, here they are.” He held them toward Daniel. “Now, you git youah daddy to sign these papers an’ we kin git you a job.”
Daniel stared at him. “Paw didn’ tell us there was no papers to be signed.”
“They’s always papers to be signed,” Mr. Fitch said. “You kids is still minors under the law, an’ until yer twenty-one yer parents have to sign fer you.”
“But Mr. Fitch,” Daniel protested. “That’s more’n a thirty-mile walk each way. It would take us two days to git ’em signed.”
“Cain’t he’p that,” Mr. Fitch said. “The law’s the law.”
Daniel felt an anger rising in him. “Why didn’ you tell that to my paw afore you tol’ him to send us down here?”
Fitch looked across the desk at the boy. Daniel’s eyes had suddenly turned dark. The kid had a temper. He didn’t have the disposition to work in the mills and glass factories around there. The best place for him would be about twenty miles farther south, in the coal mines at Grafton. He let out a deep breath. “I plumb fergot,” he admitted. “But since it’s my fault, I’ll git you to work right away an’ see to it m’self that your daddy gits the papers to sign.”
Daniel relaxed. He nodded silently.
“How tall are you, son?” Fitch’s voice was more friendly now.
“Almos’ five ten, I reckon,” Daniel answered. “Paw says I got my growth early.”
“You are tall,” Fitch agreed. He thought for a moment. “You’re too tall fer work in the glass factories. They lookin’ fer shorter boys because all the pipes they have to duck under. You objec’ to workin’ a tipple?”
“A tipple?” Daniel asked. “What’s that?”
“Coal mine,” Fitch answered. “You kin start by pickin’ slate; later you kin git right into the mines.”
“I don’ objec’,” Daniel said.
“Good.” Fitch nodded. “There’s a good openin’ in a new mine near Grafton. I’ll give you a note an’ send you down there right away.”
“But Grafton’s twenty miles away,” Daniel protested.
Fitch fixed him with a glance. “You want to work, don’t you, boy?”
Daniel nodded.
“Yer daddy trusted me enough to sen’ you down here; now you jes’ got to trust me to git you the bes’ job I kin.”
“But Molly Ann an’ me, we figgered on bein’ able to stay together.”
“You kin stay aroun’ if’n you want, but there’s no jobs aroun’ here fer you. Grafton’s the only place.”
“What about Molly Ann, then?” Daniel asked.
Fitch looked at the girl. “I kin git her a good job in the mill right here.”
Daniel looked at his sister. “I don’ know.” He hesitated.
“Don’ worry, Dan’l,” Molly Ann said quickly. “I’ll be all right.”
“I’ll look after her m’self, boy,” Fitch said. “Miz Fitch’ll see to it that she has a decent place to stay.”
Daniel looked at the heavyset man behind the desk, then at his sister. He didn’t like it. But he didn’t have much choice. Paw had sent them down here to work. He couldn’t go back and tell him he didn’t like
it. At that moment, he made up his mind to go back to the Widow Carroll’s house and ask Jimmy to keep an eye on his sister. There was something about the young man that Daniel felt could be trusted. It was very different from the feeling he had about Mr. Fitch.
“All right,” he said reluctantly.
“That’s better.” Fitch smiled. He rose. “I got a wagon goin’ down to Grafton this afternoon. You kin ketch a ride on it.” He walked to the door of the small office. “Now you kids wait right here while I make some arrangements.”
They looked at each other when he had gone. “I don’ lak him,” Daniel said simply.
Molly Ann reached for his hand. “Yer growin’ up too fast, Dan’l,” she said. “But don’t fergit, I’m growin’ up too.”
***
It was slightly past ten o’clock when Daniel and Molly Ann were back at the boardinghouse. The Widow Carroll came to the door in answer to their knock. “Is Mr. Simpson still in, Miz Carroll?” Daniel asked.
“He’s roun’ back in the barn fussin’ with his mule,” she said shortly. She shot a glance at him. “You plannin’ to stay the night?”
“No, ma’am,” he answered. “I’m goin’ on to Grafton this afternoon.”
“Yer sister too?”
“No, ma’am. She got a job heah in the mill.”
“Well, she cain’t stay here,” she said sharply. “Las’ night was an exception, but I don’ allow girls to stay here. Sooner or later there is always trouble.”
Daniel looked into the woman’s eyes. “We thank you fer your hospitality, ma’am,” he said quietly. “An’ we have no intention of abusin’ it.”
Her eyes fell before his gaze. She felt oddly confused. “Of course, if she—”
He interrupted her: “I trust it won’t be necessary, ma’am. Thank you kindly.”
She watched them walk down the porch steps and around the corner of the house before she closed the door and went back to her cleaning. She was right. She knew she was right. Girls were always trouble. Sooner or later the men would begin to fight over her. But this was a nice girl from a good family. Not like the cheap trash that usually worked in the mills. Maybe she had spoken too quickly. She cursed her tongue silently. It had always been her worst fault. Angrily, she began making the dust fly with her broom.
Memories of Another Day Page 7