Face the Winter Naked

by Bonnie Turner

  "I don't care what you tell her, Mama. It's better she knows the truth."

  Ida came to the bedroom door, plainly shaken, her face ashen.

  "You paid the rent?"

  LaDaisy nodded. "I'm sorry."

  "I don't understand."

  LaDaisy grabbed the box from the dresser and handed it to Ida.

  "Open it."

  "It's just the baby shoes ... what's this?" She removed the note.

  "Read it."

  "Three months back rent paid by consented prostitution." Ida Mae grimaced. "This is Clay's writing. Where did you get it? What does it mean?"

  "It means I paid the rent. That's the receipt he gave me, all dated and everything."

  Vera came over and snatched the note from Ida's hands, read quickly and waved it in LaDaisy's face.

  "This is a lie."

  "No, it isn't."

  Vera read it again. "Stop being ridiculous, LaDaisy. Why would a married man incriminate himself by writing down the date of an affair?"

  "Because Clay's a stupid man, Mama. The way he wrote it—consented prostitution—he didn't think I'd show it to anyone. I told you it wasn't an affair. He raped me! Don't either of you understand?"

  "No!" Ida Mae cried. "LaDaisy, tell me it isn't true. You paid the rent?"

  "I'm sorry."

  Ida's cheeks flushed and she burst into tears. She slammed the box down on the dresser and ran from the house with Vera in pursuit screaming her head off.

  "Ida! Wait! Come back, she didn't mean it."

  A car door slammed; an engine started. Then quiet.

  LaDaisy sat on the side of the bed, rocking and weeping.

  You will understand. Someday.

  Chapter 19

  Daniel waited till the sun came through the trees, thinking Chris might return. But when he didn't show up, he gathered his belongings and walked over to the diner. Glenn wasn't there, but Millie remembered him with a smile.

  "I thought you left town. Coffee?" He nodded, and she placed the steaming cup and a spoon in front of him and pushed the sugar bowl over. "Glenn said you asked about Chris."

  "Yep." Daniel stirred sugar in his coffee and blew the steam away before taking a sip.

  "He's a popular boy round these parts," Millie said. "Gotta admire his spunk for striking out on his own. It's a miracle he survived this long. Did you see his folks? Not that you'll like what you see."

  "Nope. I went back to where I left him and he wasn't there."

  "Is that right? Wonder where he went."

  "Hard telling. He wanted to go north with me, so I'm surprised he took off."

  Millie lowered her chin to her neck and looked at him from the top of her eyes.

  "Did he steal anything?"

  "Far as I can tell, no." He looked over his shoulder, half expecting Chris to walk through the door.

  Millie chatted while he drank coffee and ate a biscuit with gooseberry jam, wiping the counter around and around in circles with a wet towel as she talked.

  "He's a sneaky kid."

  "Chris reminds me of myself at the same age," Daniel said. "Except I didn't pick pockets."

  Millie hung around longer than Daniel thought necessary, cleaning the countertop over and over. She smiled frequently, and winked when she said something she thought was clever.

  Daniel knew flirting when he saw it, and he kept his mind on his business. The last thing he needed was a woman making passes, when the only woman he loved waited for him back home.

  Or was she? He had no reason to believe LaDaisy would take him back. If she thought he was dead, what would stop her from finding another man?

  He dropped some coins on the counter, tipped his cap at Millie, and went outside. The Square had become busier while he ate. Pedestrians went about their business. A few autos—some fairly new, most of them old—drove by or parked in front of shops and stores. It was still early, the sun barely peeping over trees and rooftops. In another hour, the city would wake in earnest and spew people into the streets.

  Daniel had been around enough to know those who still had jobs were grateful to earn a living, though wages for a hard day's labor were meager.

  But the unemployed—the drifters—loitered around refuse barrels searching through restaurant scraps, or slouched in doorways out of the sun. Some begged for handouts. Others would just as soon pick your pockets. Many had given up looking for work and just didn't care anymore.

  There were stores, restaurants, and factories in Springfield. And when the economy improved, some of those vagrants—if they survived their current poverty or didn't shoot themselves—would surely find work. This was a nice little town. If he didn't already have a family in Independence, Daniel surmised he might enjoy living here.

  Farther north, the winding Lake of the Ozarks cut through hills forested with ferns, wildflowers, dogwood and other native trees of the plateau like a well-fed copperhead. The numerous caves of the region had once drawn him like a magnet. He'd traveled as far as the lake before going to war—in late October when the fall colors were so brilliant they hurt, not only his eyes, but his soul. He'd never gone all the way to Springfield, but had intended to go there someday. He'd also heard of mysterious spook lights over by the Oklahoma state line, not far from where he was now, and had a hankering to investigate them.

  How many businesses had been forced to close in this town due to the Depression? Like other sections of the country he'd seen, many of the hill people were hopelessly destitute.

  He considered Chris's family. Should he visit them or leave well enough alone? Chris wasn't his responsibility. Still, he liked the boy, and part of the reason was because he missed his own kids.

  Once again, Daniel shouldered the banjo and adjusted his tools. Picked up his gunnysack and hiked through town, keeping watch for someone he could ask about the boy. But people passed by without so much as a glance.

  He followed the railroad tracks to the Frisco passenger depot in the middle of town—a light-colored building of Spanish-mission architecture with a row of tall arches stretched along the front. Bordered on the east by Main Avenue and on the west by Grant, the design of the building was esthetically pleasing to the eye of a master whittler, and he marveled at its construction.

  Railroad tracks entering the city merged at the loading shed on west Mill, across the street from the depot. Warehouses had sprung up near the rail yards: The Lipscomb Grain and Seed Company, a Sash and Door company, feed, baked goods, and produce warehouses, as well as farm implements, a lumber warehouse, and a general store.

  He crossed the tracks to the Frisco freight house and car shops south of the depot, at Jordan Creek, thinking there'd be work here someday.

  Well, there was nothing more he could do about the boy. He'd waited, and if he was ever going to head north, he couldn't wait any longer. He returned to the depot and passed under one of the arches, went inside and checked the arrival and departure schedules—he wasn't counting on the luxury of a passenger train, but just for the hell of it.

  For some odd reason, he'd thought Chris might come here—he sensed the boy was nearby, though he hadn't caught a glimpse of him. Was he being shadowed by a tramp-in-training? A boy learning the ropes from experienced drifters?

  One thing was clear: Chris knew this town better'n Daniel did. He'd know the freight train schedules.

  Daniel had heard a freight roll through town before dawn and made a mental note which way it was headed. Another one probably wasn't due for a few hours. At any rate, he couldn't board at this station. To avoid being caught, he'd go to the outskirts of town.

  He had time to freshen up.

  Finding the restroom empty, he set the banjo and gunnysack on the floor, removed his cap and glasses and took his shaving mug from the bag. Using the mirror above the sink, he lathered his face with suds from the cup while casting a critical eye at his reflection.

  How hollow his cheeks had become. How dark the circles beneath his eyes. He carefully scraped the stubb
le off his chin with his pocketknife, trimmed his sideburns and whiskers. He ran a wet hand over his head—an engineer could use it for a headlight. Shine on, Mr. Shine.

  Finishing, he returned the shaving mug to the sack and examined his teeth in the mirror. Pathetic. He picked them as clean as he could without a brush and rinsed his mouth with cold water, wishing for a sprig of parsley to freshen his breath.

  He straightened his collar and adjusted his overalls' straps, rolled down his shirt sleeves, smoothed them out, then re-rolled them past his elbows. A few insect bites on his neck and arms itched the daylights out of him, but his dwindling Cloverine salve helped temporarily.

  Daniel Tomelin was plumb weary of bumming around, and his thoughts increasingly turned to home and family.

  With a sigh, he slapped his dusty cap against his knee, put it on and left the restroom. On impulse, he approached the clerk behind the ticket counter, lowered the gunnysack and banjo to the floor and waited for the man to finish what he was doing. Finally, the clerk noticed him and looked up.

  "Yes, may I help you?"

  Daniel removed his cap and smiled pleasantly.

  "Can you tell me how the work situation is at this here train station? It occurred to me I might find a job of some kind."

  The man shook his head. "Not here," he said. "Try the switchyard." He thumbed over his shoulder. "Just look for the water tower."

  Daniel put his cap back on. "Much obliged."

  "Sorry I can't help you more. I don't know if there's any work or not. I'm not sure they're hiring right now."

  "I can ask," Daniel said. "Thank you and good day."

  He didn't go to the switchyard immediately—first things first. He needed to think, and he needed to find Chris.

  Outdoors again, he sat on a bench in front of the building, still hoping Chris would show up. It was beginning to look doubtful. Maybe he went home. He wondered about the boy's parents. Had the mother been happy when he was born? Or had she considered him just one of a brood of useless humans who'd someday leave home and never come back? Daniel knew there were people like that. But then, there were the opposite kind, too.

  He reminisced about the happiness he and LaDaisy had felt when each of their children came along. How sad they were when Wayne went to Heaven. He thought people should be happy about going to Heaven.

  He didn't know anyone who'd gone there and lived to tell about it. If anyone had, it would've been Grandma Tomelin. But when she visited his mind, the only place she talked about was her homeland. Wales was her heaven. His own heaven was back in Independence, with his family.

  He closed his eyes and saw LaDaisy at the cook stove. Doing the laundry. Carrying a big basket of clothes from the clothesline. Ironing with the old electric iron that was their wedding present. Who'd mend the wires if they burned out?

  His wife worked hard for her family, but she never complained. In fact, the only thing she ever really complained about was him wearing his cap to bed. He'd never had the nerve to come to bed without washing his feet, but the cap was a habit he couldn't seem to break. 'Course it always fell off in the middle of the night.

  He startled now at the sound of a voice and opened his eyes to see a railroad official standing before him.

  "Move along. No bums allowed in front of the building." He eyed Daniel's belongings. "Where ya headed?"

  "Kan' City," Daniel said. "I'm waiting for a friend. When he comes, I'll see if there's any work at the switchyard before moving on."

  The officer glanced at his watch.

  "I suggest you wait somewhere else."

  "I can sit in the waiting room if you want—that's what it's for, ain't it? But then I won't see my friend when he comes. He won't think to look inside."

  "Every bum I meet tries that one on me, mister. You're all alike."

  "Well, I'm not a bum," Daniel said. "I'm a carpenter, an honest man whose luck run out. I'm looking for work." He was also tired of explaining himself.

  "Yeah? I heard that one before, too." The officer looked at his watch again, then surveyed the surrounding area. "Not many passengers yet. I'll give you a few more minutes."

  "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

  "You look honest, but don't push it." He glanced down at Daniel's things. "What's in the sack?"

  None of your business.

  "Dead chickens."

  "Come again?"

  "Dead chickens," Daniel repeated, grinning. "That's what I tell nosey people."

  The man guffawed. "Dead chickens! I've heard everything."

  "Well, you asked." Don't push it, Daniel.

  He felt like an idiot. But he breathed a sigh of relief at not being arrested as the officer walked away chuckling.

  When he was out of sight, Daniel picked up his supplies, scanned the area again for Chris, and headed for the switchyards. A couple of workers stood by a siding smoking and laughing as he approached them. One tossed his butt on the ground and twisted it underfoot.

  "Howdy," the man said.

  "I'm looking for work," Daniel said.

  "What kind of work?"

  "Anything. Cleaning privies, polishing railroad tracks. Don't matter, just so I get paid."

  "A smartass."

  "Got any experience on trains?" He eyed Daniel's tools. "Mechanic?"

  "Burglar," said the other guy.

  Daniel gave him a dirty look, mindful of not lighting a fuse on a hot temper. "Carpenter. Jack-of-all-trades."

  "Bum."

  "No, I'm not a bum." Daniel restrained his temper. "No experience with trains, but I can learn." He looked hopefully from one man to the other.

  "I don't think they're hiring yet," one said. "I'm lucky to have this job myself."

  "Can I talk to the man who does the hiring?"

  "He ain't here."

  "Oh, well, I'll mosey on, then." He touched his brim. "Don't you boys work too hard."

  He left the yard and walked back to town to find a restaurant, but not Millie's—he didn't want to encourage her flirting. It was hard enough to discipline his physical urges without some strange woman egging him on. He bought a baloney sandwich at a café next to a gas station, and a hard roll to carry with him. Counting out change to pay for his meal, he noticed his stash of coins was dwindling. When had it happened? This was money he'd earned for LaDaisy. Money for rent. He'd been spending it without thinking how he was going to replace it. He drank a big glass of water that had a distinctive mineral taste, then once again started walking. By now the sun was lower. The sky had become overcast since morning, and whether it was his imagination or not, he felt a definite chill in the air.

  Soon autumn would arrive in her variegated coat of red, yellow, orange, and bronze. Deceptive she was at hiding her worst weather; under the flaming coat waited leafless trees, twigs, bare ground, and cold. Squirrels and mice would've already hidden their acorns and seeds. At the edge of the forests, sumac's blazing scarlet might hurt your eyes if you stared at it too long; wedges of Canada geese honking overhead didn't stay around long enough to find out.

  With the weather changing, this sorry human had no desire to walk all the way to Kansas City, or even to the Lake of the Ozarks, without finding some warmer clothes. The ones he had on his back were already too thin, and he had no intention of facing the winter naked.

  Last winter, he'd escaped the harsh northern climate by traveling south and west. But sometimes, when he got caught in raw weather, he curled up on a heat grating near a city building. He knew some drifters solved cold weather problems by getting themselves arrested for vagrancy and sleeping in the city jail.

  Now his legs ached with every step. His feet had picked up new blisters even his trusty Cloverine wouldn't help. He'd taken to wearing his old shoes with the Hoover insoles, instead of the heavier boots Homer had given him—they reminded him of the war and, also, his own personal war in which Shine re-fought the enemy in his dreams.

  More hills lay ahead, and valleys, ravines, and scrub growth. Deadly timber rat
tlers, water moccasins, and copperheads hiding in the brush. Wood ticks, chiggers, skeeters, nasty little buggers he couldn't bear the thought of dealing with.

  Now he ended up at the junction where the pair of tracks cut an X west of downtown, with one set of rails heading in the general direction he would travel. A train coming through here would have to slow down, an ideal time to locate a boxcar and hop aboard.

  He waited for nightfall behind a small building near the tracks, but kept out of sight lest he risk discovery by railroad bulls, arrested and jailed, and just his luck they'd throw away the key.

  City lights blinked off as twilight deepened. He snoozed, keeping one ear open for a whistle or a rumble on the tracks. His whole body would feel the vibrations when a freight approached, and given enough time, he could grab his things and be ready when it slowed. Once inside a car he'd have it made, with a safe, comfortable ride straight to Kansas City.

  The alert came sooner than expected, for no sooner had he closed his eyes when he was shaken awake by the roar of the engine as it chugged up the tracks. The dark shadow of the freight loomed out of the darkness, approaching the crossing with headlight blazing, smokestack puffing, brakes screeching as it slowed to a crawl.

  The loud blast of the horn assaulted Daniel's ears the closer it came. But he had no time to worry about broken eardrums as he jumped up, grabbed his supplies, and moved toward the tracks.

  He counted cars as they clacked slowly by, seeking the middle of the freight. If he chose one too close to either end, he'd likely be spotted by a brakeman or engineer. He took a deep breath and prayed. If he did this wrong, someone would be picking up pieces of Daniel Tomelin in the morning.

  Under cover of darkness, he ran alongside the slowly moving boxcars, his steps on the gravel bed muffled by the loud engine. At close range he saw an open door. Easy does it. He maneuvered himself near the great wheels and trotted alongside for a few yards.

  One, two, three.

  He heaved the gunnysack through the doorway and hauled himself aboard, landing with a thud on the hard floor. He lay for a minute getting his wind back, then found his gunnysack and dragged it away from the door. A semaphore flashed by in the darkness, and when the freight blasted its horn and picked up speed, Daniel settled back for a nice long nap.