The Longest Road

by Jeanne Williams

  She sat up and he let her put her arm around him. That proved he really was upset. “Gracious, Buddy,” she cajoled. “At home you slept by yourself in that little den on the back porch.”

  He sniffed. “Yeah, but that was at home, and Mama and Daddy were there.”

  She didn’t have any answer to that, except to hug him. They sat on the cot a few minutes. She was the oldest. It was up to her to comfort him. And herself. “Buddy, I’ll come tell you poems till you go to sleep.”

  He sighed, snuffled, and trotted to the other room. Gathering her blankets around her, gripping the harmonica, Laurie followed. Propping Way’s pillow upright against the wall, she delved into her memory. Kipling’s “The Ballad of East and West,” Alfred Noyes’s “The Highwayman,” Longfellow’s “The Skeleton in Armor,” Stephen Vincent Benet’s “The Ballad of William Sycamore,” and Vachel Lindsay’s “The Chinese Nightingale.” How wonderful that these men, most of them dead, had made up poems that she could invoke now against fear in the night! And songs like Woody Guthrie’s would be played and sung long after he and all of them now alive were gone. The songs and poems would always matter, not that a girl and boy were scared one night in a boomtown shack.

  Calmed by the rhythmic words, by the time she was sure Buddy was asleep, she could scarcely hold her eyelids open. She padded to her cot, hugged the harmonica, and was asleep before she could start worrying about the sounds and creakings of the floor and walls.

  It wasn’t so bad after that. For a while before bedtime, she played the harmonica or chorded and crooned to the guitar. Then she sat on his bed and told Buddy stories or poems till he was drowsing. When Way came home Friday night, it was like Christmas all over again.

  “We own a quarter of that truck over to Cross Trails,” he boasted, hugging them both and producing Tootsie Rolls for Buddy and a Butterfinger for Laurie. “Soon as we own the whole thing we can take off in style anytime we need to. Hope you kiddos can finish out the school term, though.”

  Laurie did, too, and felt a pang at the prospect of leaving Catharine, Clem, Edna, and Marilys. Still, Sludge Town couldn’t be a real home and she’d breathe easier when they were a long way from W. S. Redwine. Blessedly, he’d been away since Christmas, but that couldn’t last.

  Buddy, thrilled at owning part of a truck, had agreed to contribute half of the savings part of his half of the Redwine House money and Laurie’s share that weekend came to twenty-eight dollars. Between them, they gave Way thirty dollars to apply on the truck when he left on Monday morning.

  “Boy howdy!” he laughed exultantly. “We keep this up and we’ll own that baby inside of six weeks! You kiddos take care of each other and I’ll see you Friday night.”

  This time it wasn’t quite so hard to smile and wave as he left. They had gotten through last week. He had come safely home. It just took a little getting used to, that was all. But after school that day while Laurie was having her lesson with Marilys, Redwine came silently into the restaurant, sat down, and listened.

  Uneasily conscious of his gaze, Laurie fumbled and made a lot of mistakes. Redwine came over to lean on the piano. “You must not be much of a teacher, Marilys. I better find someone else for Larry.”

  “No!” Laurie took a deep breath and sent a message to her fingers. Do what you know! Do it right! She played an easy little exercise without a bobble, the harder one she’d been succeeding with until Redwine paralyzed her, and then dared the first real song Marilys had let her try, a simplified “Mexicali Rose.”

  Redwine’s yellow eyes moved from the woman to the girl he thought a boy, back again, with a faint smile. “Reckon you are a pretty good teacher after all, Marilys.” He brushed her shoulder with his furred hand as one might negligently pet a dog. “Come along with me for a minute, Larry. I want to show you something.”

  Laurie tensed. Was he going to be like that jocker on the train? Buddy jumped up from his books. “Can I see, too?”

  Redwine shrugged. “Sure, might as well.”

  Exchanging relieved glances with Marilys, Laurie followed Redwine into the foyer and up the stairs with the ornate fluted, knobbed banister. They went down the carpeted hall, past heavy mahogany doors with brass numerals, to the very end. Redwine unlocked the last door and held it open.

  It wasn’t just a room—this must be what was called an apartment. A fire crackled cheerfully in the stone fireplace along one wall with big windows on either side. The dark green plush divan and easy chairs matched and the round low table in front of the divan held shiny new magazines and a box of chocolates. The rich jewel-toned rug was patterned in flowers and leafy tendrils. A piano gleamed in the corner, facing into the room so the light from a third window burnished the wood and streamed like glory on the keyboard and music rack. Through an arched door, Laurie saw twin beds with striped bedspreads and matching curtains at the window. Beyond a chest of drawers was a bathroom.

  It was by far the most elegant abode Laurie had ever seen, though she would have expected Redwine to have a big bed and the landscapes on the walls weren’t what she’d have thought suited his taste.

  “Gee whiz!” Buddy gasped. He shouldn’t say that. Mama said that Gee was short for Jesus and almost as bad as swearing. “This your place, Mr. Redwine?”

  “No. My apartment’s across the hall. This is for you boys during the week while your granddad’s out of town.”

  “Gee whiz!” Buddy’s awed delight faded as he looked around more carefully. He caught Laurie’s sleeve. “There’s nowhere to sit down ’thout being scared of getting it dirty. And the rug’s too nice to walk on.”

  Laved in gold, the piano seemed to float in a magic cloud. The bedroom looked like a picture out of Ladies’ Home Journal. They couldn’t stay here, of course. It would make them beholden to Mr. Redwine. But this was a glimpse of a gracious way of living that made Laurie think with a kind of shame, and with shame at being ashamed, of the shack in Sludge Town. She didn’t aspire to anything this luxurious but neither did she intend to spend her life in shacks, stopovers along the road, the long road of her life that vanished into unfathomable distance.

  “Edna’ll feed you in the kitchen,” Redwine said, turning. His heavy body exuded triumph. “I’ll take you over to your house now so you can get your things.”

  “No.”

  “What?”

  Laurie’s blood chilled as he slowly looked around. “I mean, no, thank you,” she amended, her voice scratchy and tight in her throat.

  They stared at each other. He seemed to swell, blocking the hall, but he was solid mass. He frightened her so that her knees actually knocked together. She had to constrict her muscles against a spurt of urine.

  He sucked in air and thrust his hands behind him. “You crazy?”

  “We’ve got a place.” She swallowed but her tongue still felt like a boll of cotton with seeds still in it.

  “That shanty! It could burn down so fast you’d never get out.”

  Laurie had her knees under control, though the urge to urinate made her fight the need to wriggle. “Well then,” she said hardily, meeting the yellow eyes, “since you own it maybe you ought to fix it up.”

  “Your granddad would rest easier if he knew you weren’t alone down there in Sludge Town.”

  “Mrs. Harris keeps an eye on us. We can go over there anytime we want. Gramp wouldn’t want us taking up a fancy place you can charge a lot of money for.”

  “Leave your granddad to me.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Redwine, but we’ve got to get home now. Mrs. Harris will be worried if we’re late.”

  Redwine’s hand fell on her shoulder. The blunt fingers dug in but it was the sensation of being grasped, crushed, that panicked Laurie. Struggle was useless, would only challenge him. She stayed quiet, still as death, even her heartbeat slowing.

  “Damned hardheaded kid! I bring you all the way from California, give your granddad work, fix it for you to have piano lessons, let you play in my restaurant, offer you the suite the
governor stays in when he’s out this direction, and you don’t have the brains to appreciate it or act the least bit grateful!”

  In spite of her marrow-deep distrust of him, Laurie felt guilty. “We—we do appreciate it, Mr. Redwine! But Gramp’s painted real good signs for you and thought up slogans you’d have to pay a bunch for if you’d hired someone like whoever does the Burma-Shave jingles. And it was you who wanted “Buddy and me at Redwine House.” Laurie’s chin came up. “I can pay Marilys for lessons. If you’d rather we went to playing at the Black Gold—”

  “You’ll play here! And Marilys already gets more than she’s worth.” Redwine stepped over to the door across the hall. In the shadows, his eyes glowed like sulphurous fire. “All right, go to Sludge Town! Maybe that’s where you belong.”

  He went in his apartment and slammed the door. Laurie and Buddy looked at each other. Then they raced down the hall, down the steps, and into the kitchen where Clem looked up in surprise from a faucet he was fixing.

  “You boys want a ride home?”

  Laurie nodded. Edna hugged her. “Good for you, dear. I’d love to have you close, goodness knows, but you’re a sight better off to be as independent of Dub as you can be.” Behind the steel-rimmed round spectacles, her gray eyes showed worry. “It must be that Dub kind of sees as you as the son he’d like to have.”

  Clem spat into the waste can. “He had a son.”

  “Had?” asked Laurie.

  “Will was a nice kid—when he was sober. Dub picked at him all the time, cut him down every time he tried to do anything on his own. So Will drank and drove fast and reckless—guess it was the only way he had of getting away from Dub.”

  Edna shuddered. “He lived through three wrecks. Fourth one, he was pinned under his new Lincoln.”

  “It blew up,” finished Clem. “What was left of him was burned so bad they had the funeral with a closed coffin.”

  “Just turned seventeen,” Edna mourned. “He had wavy yellow hair and the prettiest blue eyes. Good-hearted he was, too.”

  “What happened to his mother?” Laurie probed reluctantly.

  Edna sighed. “Rosemary was a sweet lady but she couldn’t stand up to Dub. He just ran her right into the ground. She was sickly after Will was born and took lots of medicine. The day he was buried, she swallowed a lot of pills. She was dead when Dub found her.”

  “What it comes to is he killed ’em both,” growled Clem. “You don’t want to be his son, Larry. Anyone he gets close to, he smashes the life out of ’em. Look at Marilys—”

  “Clem!” warned Edna.

  Clem spat again. “Come on, boys. I’ll take you home.”

  To Laurie’s vast relief, Redwine was gone the rest of that week. When Way came to walk them home from the Redwine House on Saturday night, he came early, shaved and all spiffed up in a new shirt. While the Field Brothers entertained, Marilys sat with him at a little side table. She always looked nice, but Way’s admiring gaze brought a sheen to her. When it was time to leave, Way hesitated, twisting his new hat’s brim.

  “Thought I’d take the kiddos to the matinee tomorrow,” he said. “Maybe you’d come with us, ma’am?” You’d never know him for the tramp they’d met in the boxcar not quite three months ago. Laurie warmed with as much pride as if he had been her grandfather. He looked handsome and respectable and spoke courtly enough to flatter any woman.

  “I’d love that.” Marilys didn’t even ask what the movie was. Her eyes glowed like summer twilight. “I don’t have a kitchen but Edna lets me cook when I want to. Let me make spaghetti and garlic bread to have for dinner at your place.”

  Way grinned. “Didn’t know Christmas came twice a year but I’m all for it.”

  “I’ll make a burnt-sugar cake, too,” planned Marilys. Her brow furrowed. “I haven’t made one in so long it may be a failure.”

  “No way it can be that,” Way assured her.

  Next afternoon, Laurie and Buddy sat with Bill and Catharine Harris, whom they had invited, and blissfully munched Cracker Jacks through a Donald Duck cartoon and the last part of Gene Autry’s serial, Phantom Empire. Laurie was glad it was the last part so Buddy wouldn’t fuss to see every installment. They sipped Cokes during Mutiny on the Bounty with Clark Gable and Charles Laughten.

  Afterwards, supper was delicious. Marilys asked Bill and Catharine to join them. As she whisked about the kitchen, Laurie watched her with adoration. It seemed so right and happy for Marilys to be with them that Laurie wasn’t the least bit jealous of her taking charge.

  As they lingered over the caramel cake and hot chocolate, Marilys’s brightness faded. Glancing at her watch, she said, “I’ll have to go as soon as we do the dishes.”

  “Looks like you could have a night off now and then,” Way objected.

  Her soft, full mouth curved down. “Dub never lets me forget that I’m paid enough to live on for just playing the piano three or four hours an evening.”

  Way rubbed at the scar on his cheek as if dead nerves were coming back to life and he couldn’t decide whether it pleasured more than it pained. His dark eyes compelled her to look at him. “You still got a right to a life of your own.”

  She stiffened and started clearing the table. “You don’t understand.”

  “Dub don’t own you! All you need to do is walk out of there.”

  “People don’t walk out on Dub.” Marilys shrugged. “Die, maybe, but they don’t walk.”

  “If he hurt you—”

  She caught his hands. “Way, please! Stay out of it. Things could be a lot worse—they were when I met Dub. I owe him something for giving me this job.”

  “Way, why don’t you take Marilys home?” asked Laurie. She and Buddy didn’t always call him Gramp in front of Marilys. “Buddy and I’ll do the dishes and bring the restaurant pans back tomorrow.”

  Marilys brushed a kiss on Laurie’s forehead. “That’s sweet of you. I’ll see you after school tomorrow, then.” Way helped her into her coat, turned the collar up to cover her ears, and tucked his arm beneath hers as they went out.

  After his obligatory grumbling about how many dishes there were, Buddy said almost under his breath, “Laurie! Wouldn’t it be swell if Marilys lived with us? When she and Way are both around, it’s—it’s—” He broke off, reddening.

  Laurie finished for him. “It’s like we’re a real family, honey. You don’t need to feel bad for liking it. We’ll never forget Mama and Daddy but they’d be glad we’ve got grown-up friends who care about us.”

  When Way came back, he acted funny, smiling dreamily one minute and scowling the next as he packed his cardboard suitcase for the next week. “I can’t pay any on the Chevy this week,” he said shamefacedly when Laurie brought him twenty-nine dollars to apply on the truck. “Two of Dub’s old tires blew out and part of our deal is I replace any that can’t be patched. But next week—”

  “That Chevy’s more than half ours right now,” Laurie reminded him. “Only ninety-one dollars to go!”

  Way frowned. “Don’t seem right for me to get the title to the truck when you kiddos have put in most of the cash.”

  “If you’d rather, we’ll pay you rent and groceries,” Laurie teased.

  Way chuckled at that before he sobered. “Laurie—Buddy—you like Marilys real well, don’t you?”

  Buddy jumped up and grabbed Way’s wrist. “You—you’re going to get married?” he asked eagerly.

  “Well—maybe.” Way grinned and pushed back his hair. “I asked her tonight.”

  “What’d she say?” Laurie blurted.

  “Didn’t say yes—but she didn’t flat out say no. Just had a bunch of fraidy-cat reasons why we shouldn’t, but no real good ones.”

  “She’ll do it, then!” Laurie hugged Way and Buddy tangled in somehow though he generally wouldn’t let anyone touch him. Laughing through tears, Laurie exulted, “When we leave Black Spring in our Chevy, we’ll be an honest-to-goodness family!”

  “We’d have to leave,�
� Way said, troubled and apologetic. “No way Marilys could stay in town if she walks out on Dub. Don’t want to take you kids out of school, though.”

  “It would be nice to finish this term but it’d be a lot nicer to have Marilys with us.”

  “We’ll see how it goes.” Way nodded.

  Laurie was so happy that she got out the harmonica and launched into Jimmie Rodgers’s “T for Texas.” It was late when they went to bed, early when they rose, and then Way was gone for another week.

  As they waved him off this time, though, Laurie didn’t have to fight tears. In three or four weeks, they’d own the truck, could go where they wanted when they wanted. Her throat tightened at the thought of leaving Catharine and Miss Larson and Edna and Clem, but it was going to be mighty good to see the absolute final last of W. S. Redwine. If only Marilys would—could—go with them! The only possible thing more wonderful than that—no use wishing that the dead could rise—would be to find Morrigan again.

  Way didn’t come in the Redwine House Friday night while the Field Brothers were entertaining, nor was he waiting in the hall when they came out of the restaurant. Redwine was. He looked grave, angry, and at the same time kind of satisfied.

  Trouble. Laurie’s insides froze. Her legs turned wooden and couldn’t move her feet. “Wh—where’s Gramp?”

  “Skipped the country is all I know.”

  “He—he wouldn’t!”

  “He did. And stole a bunch of expensive tools out of my hardware at Lubbock.”

  Laurie’s heart contracted. “You’re a great big fat liar, Mr. Redwine!”

  He smiled but there was no warmth in his yellow eyes. “Better not talk that way to your guardian, Laurie.”

  While her brain clicked at the name, he chuckled. “Yes, I know now you’re a girl. Smart of you to pass for a boy on the road. I had quite a talk with your real grandpa a few days ago. Told me how you’d run off, how your mom and pa are dead. He was plumb tickled that I was willing to take care of you kids. Want to see the paper he signed at the lawyer’s that makes me your guardian till you’re eighteen?”