It didn’t matter now how her baby came to be. She already loved it with all her heart and was determined that it would grow up knowing a mother’s care.
Mary Lee scrambled eggs and toasted bread beneath the burner in the oven. She was sitting down to eat when her mother came out of the bedroom. She had changed into a sleeveless sundress that revealed her bony shoulders. She had crimped waves in her hair by using the curling iron, heated in the chimney of the coal oil lamp. Her cheeks were rouged and her lips smeared with bright red lipstick. To Mary Lee she was a pitiful sight.
“Want to share my eggs?” Mary Lee asked.
“No.”
“Have you eaten today?”
“Listen. I don’t need you nagging me.”
“I don’t mean to nag, Mama. I don’t want you to get sick.” “If you’re so concerned, why did you run off my friends?” “Mama, don’t let’s fight. Help me get this place running again like it was when Daddy was here.”
“Scott didn’t nag me.”
“No. He probably knew it wouldn’t do any good,” Mary Lee snapped irritably. Then, when Dolly went to the door, “Where are you going?”
“None of your business. If I can’t have my friends in my home, I’ll go to theirs.”
“I didn’t say you — Oh, never mind.” Mary Lee realized that her mother was not in a reasonable mood.
Without a look or another word, Dolly walked out the back door. Mary Lee placed her fork on the edge of her plate. The eggs suddenly tasted like sawdust. Her mother was showing her dislike for her more than she ever had before.
Mary Lee wished that her attitude didn’t hurt so much. She still had her suitcase to unpack before she went to bed. Tomorrow she would find time to clean the room. All of that left her mind when she looked out the window and saw a light in cabin number one.
Frank Pierce was back.
Mary Lee hurriedly left the house and went to the cabin. She lifted her hand to rap, then paused when she heard her mother’s voice, then the low rumble of a male voice. Anger erased her tiredness and stiffened her back. She rapped on the door, hard and insistently. When it opened, Frank stood there, blocking her view.
“What’a ya want?”
“You to leave.”
“I told you I rented by the month.”
“Show me the receipt or I’ll call the sheriff.”
Dolly crowded in, holding on to Frank’s arm with one hand and the neck of a bottle with the other. “He paid for a year, Miss Nosy. I gave him a receipt.”
“You’ll have to swear to that, Mama,” Mary Lee said calmly.
“Go on back in the house,” Dolly said.
Mary Lee’s eyes moved past Dolly to see Pearl sitting on the bed. “Has she been here all day?”
“I told her she could come out here.”
“It’s none of yore business who’s in my room,” Frank said in a booming voice. “Now, unless you want to join the party, get the hell away from my door. I’ll take ya on even if ya do have a bun in the oven.” He gave her a wolfish leer.
“You’re an insult to the human race. I’ll go see Mr. Morales in the morning and see what can be done about getting you out of here.”
“Do that, and while yo’re at it, tell him ’bout the jailbird ya got down in number six!”
“Mama rented to him and took his money. But that has nothing to do with you. Have your receipt handy. You’ll need it.”
“And ya can kiss my ass, bitch!” he yelled, and slammed the door.
Disappointment in her mother kept Mary Lee rooted to the spot. Blood rushed to her face, and her heart beat so fast she could hardly breathe. Her knees were weak when she turned to go back to the house. When she stumbled on a clump of dirt, she felt a hand on her arm. She let out a small shriek of alarm.
“Don’t be scared. I don’t want you to fall and hurt the kid.” She recognized the distinctive voice of the man in number six.
He had witnessed her humiliation!
“I’m all right.”
“You don’t feel all right. You’re trembling like a scared rabbit.”
“You heard?”
“Yeah. Passing by on my way to town. Couldn’t help but hear.”
“I’ve got to get him out. Mama will never straighten up with him here,” she said, as if talking to herself. They reached the porch steps. “Thank you.” She turned and sat down on the steps, not wanting him to see her stumbling into the house.
She expected him to leave, but he stood there looking down at her.
“Thank you,” she said again.
“You said that. Haven’t you learned that there’s a time to attack and a time to back off?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll get nowhere with a man like Frank Pierce, especially when he’s drinking. Talk to the sheriff.”
“Mama will give him a receipt. He probably paid her in whiskey.”
“You’d better get some help if you’re going to run this place.”
“I can’t afford it. My daddy ran this place without help.” “He wasn’t a girl and he wasn’t pregnant.”
Ashamed that she had revealed so much to this man who was a stranger yet not a stranger, she got shakily to her feet, afraid that she would burst into tears before she got in the house. “Good night.”
She didn’t know if he answered or not. She hurried to her room and threw herself down on the bed. Something seemed to give way inside her. She was too depressed even to cry.
Jake Ramero headed once more for town, telling himself that he had no business getting involved with the girl or her problems. But dammit to hell. Frank Pierce was a lazy loud-mouth and as mean as a rutting moose when he was drinking. Mary Lee would have a hard time getting rid of him.
How in hell was a pregnant woman going to keep the motor court going by herself? Weeds needed to be cut, holes in the roadway filled, trash hauled away. Even the signs along the highway needed to be repainted. She had her work cut out: doing the washing, keeping the cabins clean and her mother out of sight.
He had seen cars drive in and leave after being greeted by Mrs. Finley. In the month he’d been here, he’d seen the floozy who stayed there clean a cabin a time or two, but he’d not seen a wash on the line. After a couple of weeks, he’d bought himself a set of sheets and a few towels.
With his thoughts to distract him, Jake’s long legs covered the distance to town before he knew it. At the post office he dropped a letter in the mail slot, then went down the street, turned in at Red Pepper Corral and straddled a stool at the bar.
“Hi-ya, Paco.”
“Hola, Jake. Bottle or draw?”
“Draw.”
“Quiet tonight.” Jake drank deeply and wiped the foam off his lips with the back of his hand.
“It’s early. You still out at Quitman’s?”
“Part-time, breaking stock horses. He gives me time off now and then to do some bridge work.”
“Heard you came in on the bus the other night.”
“Does anything happen in this town you don’t know about?” Jake growled. Paco was one of a few men in Cross Roads he called a friend.
“Very little, amigo.” Paco grinned, showing the wide space between his front teeth. He was a short man with broad shoulders and long arms. His family had been in northern New Mexico since 1826. He and Jake had become friendly when they learned that both their great-grandfathers had fought in the Battle of Glorieta in 1862.
Jake’s mother had been the granddaughter of Luis Gazares Callaway, who was considered a hero in that battle. With his half brother, Burr Macklin Calloway, Luis had owned a large parcel of land called Macklin Valley in central New Mexico. Jake’s mother had told him that although Luis Gazares had died when she was a little girl, from what she could remember of him, Jake was his image.
“I went to Amarillo to buy a pair of boots.”
“Horse hockey! Ocie was in here earlier. You just missed him.”
“My lucky day.”
“He was nosing ’round. Wanted to know about Bobby’s widow. Rosen, over at the bank, had told him she was back. I never understood why that girl married Bobby in the first place. Her daddy was as nice a man as I ever met.” Paco moved down the bar and filled a glass for another customer.
“Didn’t know you let jailbirds in here or I’d not a come in.” The rough-looking cowboy turned on his stool to look at Jake.
“Bet that jailbird didn’t know I let braying jackasses in here either. You can leave anytime ya want. I’ll not go broke missing your business.” Paco scooped up the cowboy’s money and came back to wipe the counter in front of Jake.
“One of Lon Delano’s bigmouth flunkies,” Paco said loudly enough for the cowboy to hear. Then in a lower tone, “Hangs out with Lon. That son of a bitch is awfully interested in what you’re doin’. Now that Bobby’s gone, he figures that he’s next in line to get Ocie’s ranch.”
“If he lives that long.”
“Talk is, Bobby’s widow came back pregnant. I don’t think Lon knew that when he was in here. I’d think Ocie’d favor a grandchild over a nephew. The young lady’d be smart to watch herself.”
Jake had been thinking the same thing. Lon Delano was vicious in his greed to get the Circle C. He was sure Lon had had a hand in framing him for stealing steers. He hadn’t been able to prove it yet, but he would. Paco broke into his thoughts.
“Feller was in here today bitchin’ about Bobby’s widow. What he said wasn’t pretty.”
“Frank Pierce?”
“Yeah. Didn’t take him long to latch on to Dolly Finley after Scott passed on. Guess he didn’t expect her daughter to come waltzin’ in.”
“They come in here?”
“Not often. They drink whiskey, rotgut or bathtub. I don’t serve either.”
Jake stood abruptly, drained his glass and headed for the door. “See ya, Paco.”
“Buenas noches,” Paco called as Jake went out the door.
Chapter 4
MARY LEE ALMOST JUMPED OUT OF HER SKIN early the next morning when she went to the washhouse to light the hot water tank. She opened the door, and a tall boy sprang up from a pile of rags in the corner. He stood with his possessions clutched to him as if prepared for flight. She knew immediately he wasn’t a man, but still it took a moment before she was able to speak.
“Who’re you?”
“Eli Stacy.” His voice began low and ended in a high squeak.
He was shabbily dressed and barefoot. Long brown hair hung down over his ears, and a pair of boots dangled from a heavy cord around his neck.
“What are you doing here?” Mary Lee asked, her fear leaving as suddenly as it had appeared.
“Sleepin’.”
“Are you a hobo?”
“I guess so. I didn’t take nothin’,” he added quickly. He looked tired, gaunt, his eyes hollow.
Mary Lee knew very little about boys, but she knew that this one was hungry. Her heart went out to him.
“Do you live around here?”
He hesitated a minute, then said, “No.”
“I’m going to light the water tank. Then I’ll make breakfast. Would you like to join me?”
“If there’s work I can do for it. I ain’t no beggar.”
“Glory! There’s no shortage of work around here. I’ll be glad for your help. Come on in and wash up.”
With a look of disbelief on his face, the boy followed Mary Lee into the house. He dropped a cloth sack beside the door and, when she beckoned, followed her through her bedroom to the bathroom.
“You can wash in here.” She glanced at the cowboy boots still suspended around his neck. They were hand-stitched and polished. “Good-looking boots.”
“I didn’t steal ’em,” he said defensively. “I worked for ’em.” Mary Lee raised her brows. “I never doubted that for a minute.”
“Why not?”
“My daddy used to say, ‘come easy, go easy.’ The boots didn’t come easy, did they? It’s why you’re taking good care of them. I’ve got biscuits in the oven. I’ll go make the gravy.”
Mary Lee felt strangely lighthearted. Last night her spirits had been lower than a snake’s belly, she mused. But this morning, with the bright sunshine and the sweet, fresh air, she was rejuvenated. She didn’t know if her mother was in her room or not, but knew that if she was, she’d not be wanting breakfast this early.
Mary Lee set the table for two while the gravy was bubbling in the skillet. When Eli came back into the kitchen, he stood hesitantly in the doorway. He had washed and smoothed his long hair back with wet palms. Before coming into the room, he lifted the cord holding the boots up over his head and set them beside the bundle he’d left beside the door.
“Sit down.” Mary Lee placed a pan of biscuits on the table. “Do you drink coffee?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mary Lee poured the gravy from the skillet into a bowl, brought it to the table and sat down. Eli sat opposite her. His hands were in his lap, his eyes on the plate of biscuits. Mary Lee nudged it toward him.
“Help yourself. Butter is in the crock and there is plum jam.”
The boy took a single biscuit, split it and reached for the gravy bowl.
“You’d better have more than that. My daddy used to split three biscuits and cover them with gravy. He put a lot of black pepper on his gravy.” Mary Lee continued to talk while she buttered a biscuit, hoping to put the boy at ease. “We’re out of milk. I need to go to the store, but the coaster wagon Daddy used before he got the car is broken down.”
“I … can carry them for you.”
“Oh, would you? That would be a big help. How old are you, Eli?”
He looked down at his plate. “Sixteen.”
“Is that right?” He was as tall as Mary Lee, but she doubted that he was sixteen.
“Where’s your man?” he asked abruptly.
“I’m a widow. My husband died two months ago.” Mary Lee got up to pour coffee. “Where are your folks, Eli?” she asked when she returned to the table.
“Ain’t got none.”
“Really? Oh, my. Where have you been living?”
“At that … place. I ain’t going back there,” he added hastily. “To the orphans’ home?”
“I ain’t no throwaway kid. I’m going to get a job on a ranch. I ain’t needin’ nobody to mollycoddle me.”
“You’re a cowboy. Would a cowboy be willing to help me here while he’s looking for a job? Pay wouldn’t be much. You’d have a place to sleep and meals.”
“I ain’t washin’ no dishes. I done washed a boxcar-full back at that … place.”
“Was that your job at the orphanage?” When he didn’t answer, she continued: “You won’t have to wash dishes. Would you object to helping me clean the cabins? If we’re going to work together we’ve got to put our cards on the table.”
“Guess … not.”
After the boy had eaten six biscuits and almost the entire bowl of gravy, Mary Lee pushed the jar of plum jam across the table.
“Finish up the biscuits with this, Eli. My daddy made it.” “Where’s he at?”
“He died around Christmastime.”
“My mama died around Christmastime. Long … time ago.” “I’ll put the dishes in the pan to soak. Do you have shoes other than the boots? There are plenty of cockleburs out there in the grass.”
“Canvas ones, but the shoestring is broke.”
“We can fix that.” She went to her bedroom and brought back a pair of brown shoes. She had found her father’s clothes piled on the floor in the closet and was wearing one of his shirts over a skirt.
“These would be too big for you, but we can use the shoelaces.” She watched while he dug into the pillowcase he was using as a knapsack and brought out a pair of dirty white canvas shoes. “I’ll be washing this morning. If you have anything that needs to be washed —”
Eli straightened up. A puzzled, suspicious look came over his young face.
“Wha
t’re ya bein’ nice to me for?”
“You can catch more flies with sugar than vinegar. I want you to stay and help me. To tell you the truth, Eli, I need you every bit as much as you need me. I’m trying to run this place by myself. When my father was alive, it was a pretty place. He made a good living here. He’s gone now, and it’s getting more run-down every day. I can’t do all the work by myself.”
“Who’s the woman who came in last night?”
“Oh, she came in? I wasn’t sure. She’s my mother and she’ll be no help.”
“What’ll she say ’bout me bein’ here?”
“She’ll have plenty to say, but don’t pay any attention. I own this place. You and I are in the same boat, Eli. I don’t have anyone either, and the end of September I’m going to have a baby to take care of. I’ve got to make this place pay or the bank will take it, and my baby and I will be out on the street.”
He tried to tuck his ragged shirt down in his britches. “I got another shirt and pants, but I was savin’ ’em.”
“Can you wear them while we wash what you have on?”
“Guess so.”
“Go out and change. As soon as the folks in the cabins I rented last night are gone, I’ll gather up the sheets and towels and start the washer.”
The boy stepped off the porch, then turned and looked at the ground. “I’m thirteen. Do you still want me to stay?”
“Sure. And thank you for telling me.”
Mary Lee heard a car and hurried to the front of the house expecting to collect the key from one of her renters. It was Jake Ramero’s truck.
He watched her approach from around the side of the house. Most of the pregnant women he had been around had been pale and listless. Mary Lee was beautiful and energetic. She wore a loose shirt, and her auburn hair seemed to catch fire in the sunlight. He also noticed that she didn’t look so tired this morning and that she appeared to be pleased about something.
“Howdy.” He put a hand to the brim of his hat. “Morning. You leaving?”
Song of the Road Page 4