Wait For The Wagon

by Mary Lasswell

  “Hold your water!” Mrs. Feeley shoved him away. “Do you think we’d leave anythin’ unlocked around here? We’ll tell you where to sit.”

  Old-Timer unlocked the car doors and took his place behind the wheel. Mrs. Rasmussen got in the front seat next to him.

  “You get in the front seat.” Mrs. Feeley pushed Dr. Freemartin in. “Keep an eye on him, Mrs. Rasmussen. Just open the door an’ shove him out if you have to. You get in the middle o’ the back seat,” she directed Uremia. “Me an’ Miss Tinkham’ll just ride herd on either side o’ you. Now hand Aphrodite here, Miss Tinkham; we can stand her up between the jump seats right by the beer can.”

  Mrs. Feeley settled herself comfortably and Miss Tinkham moved over to give Uremia more room. Mrs. Feeley leaned forward and pulled down the jump seats.

  “You an’ me can put our feet up, Miss Tinkham. Ride in style.” She turned to Uremia. “An’ don’t you go puttin’ your feet on top of our beer can.”

  “I like riding, even if it’s only on the caroozle,” Uremia said. “I never get dizzy and nothing never bothers me. I’ll just kiss the baby before we start.” She twisted the cap off the bottle of gin and took a long gurgling swallow.

  “Something,” Miss Tinkham remarked into the hot, still night, “tells me that this will resemble the voyage of the Orinoco, in which all those who did not die became crazy.”

  “We stay on Twenty-two until we reach Cambridge.” Miss Tinkham leaned across the front seat and spoke to Old-Timer. “I’ll watch the signs, too; it is quite difficult to see them at night.”

  Dr. Freemartin was fiddling with his portable radio and suddenly a loud blast of music filled the car.

  “Damn fool!” Mrs. Feeley banged him over the head with an empty beer can. “Playin’ ‘The Star Spangled Banger’ at a time like this! How we gonna stand up, jammed in here like herrin’ in a box?”

  “How on earth can one be expected to set the log in order?” Miss Tinkham said. “You simply must not inflict that invention of the devil upon us just now.”

  “Don’t you like Life Can Be Beautiful?” Uremia said. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

  “If it ain’t Jimmy Durante,” Mrs. Feeley said, “we don’t want it.” Miss Tinkham was making shaky notes on the edge of one of the folded maps by the light of Crusher Dasey’s flashlight which she had forgotten to return.

  “Left Pittsburgh at nine-oh-five,” she murmured. “Would you know how much gas we had?”

  “Wasn’t nobody around,” Mrs. Feeley said. “We’ll have to stop before long an’ fill up. Don’t forget the ice.”

  “Speaking of ice, pass me the gin, Uremia.” Dr. Freemartin reached a dirty hand back across the seat.

  “Time for your pills, too,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “Make you sleep.”

  Uremia was already asleep and had to be prodded before she would give up the gin bottle. Dr. Freemartin put a suction on it that reduced the contents by almost one-half.

  “I’ll just keep it up here with me,” he said. “She’s got another one.” He pulled his bowler down tightly over his ears, cuddled the gin bottle in his arms, and began to snore on Mrs. Rasmussen’s shoulder. Uremia was snoring in the back seat.

  “If we can only keep ’em that way till we get to San Diego,” Mrs. Feeley said. “Reckon he’s got any knockout drops in that bag? We could slip ’em to both of ’em at the next stop. Give us a chance to get our ducks in a row.”

  “I don’t think it will be necessary,” Miss Tinkham said. “The gauge registers one-quarter full, but we must watch for an open station. The activity seems to decrease at night, as well as the traffic. We can make remarkable speed.”

  “You sure we’re goin’ the right way?” Mrs. Feeley said.

  “So long as the signs point toward Columbus and the mileage decreases with each sign, we are on our way home.”

  “I could snooze a little myself,” Mrs. Feeley said, shoving Uremia’s head off her shoulder.

  “Somebody’s got to stay awake with the driver,” Mrs. Rasmussen said, “otherwise we’ll all land in the ditch.”

  “You and I will keep the vigil,” Miss Tinkham said. “Old-Timer is a magnificent driver, but I suspect him of Trappist leanings.”

  The heavy Cadillac roared through the night at a steady rate. Except for large trucks loaded with groceries and produce for the Monday morning market, there were few vehicles on the road. The tourist courts were still brightly lighted and a few all-night stands advertised their wares, but the beetlelike in-and-out traffic of the daylight hours was absent from the highway, giving it a ghostlike, deserted air.

  Near Cambridge Miss Tinkham tapped Old-Timer on the shoulder.

  “Here,” she said. He pulled in to a brightly lighted service station with a hamburger stand attached to it.

  “The works,” Mrs. Rasmussen said to the attendant as she slid under the wheel after Old-Timer, who had already disappeared into a side door of the building. Dr. Freemartin snored blissfully, still clutching his gin bottle.

  Mrs. Feeley woke up and rubbed her eyes. “Where are we?”

  “Cambridge, Ohio,” Miss Tinkham said. She opened the door on her side and got out. Mrs. Feeley got out and Uremia slumped over on the seat, dead to the world.

  “Reckon we’d oughta wake ’em?” Mrs. Feeley said.

  “Just before we leave,” Miss Tinkham said. The ladies walked into the lunchroom, where Old-Timer sat on a stool eating a large hamburger. He had a cup of coffee in front of him.

  “I’ll have coffee, please,” Miss Tinkham said.

  “Me, too,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. She picked up the mug and went out to superintend the checking of the car. The attendant was cleaning the windshield, wiping off the splattered bugs and the smog left over from Pittsburgh.

  “Two quarts oil and twenty-one gallons gas,” he said. “She didn’t take water and the battery water is okay.”

  “Don’t them tires look soft?” Mrs. Rasmussen said.

  The man shook his head. “Build up pressure when you’re rolling in hot weather like this. Sure some bus.” He smiled. “Eight-forty-four.” Mrs. Rasmussen paid him. Mrs. Feeley came out with twenty pounds of ice in a piece of paper.

  “Nice feller. He gimme this ice pick.”

  Miss Tinkham tried to wake Uremia. Mrs. Feeley took her by the feet and dragged her from the car.

  “You will, or you’ll clean it up.” She pushed Uremia towards the side entrance. “Don’t take all day.”

  Mrs. Rasmussen opened the door on Dr. Freemartin’s side.

  “Be careful how you punch him,” Mrs. Feeley said. “We don’t want that song an’ dance again. Ol’-Timer looks bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

  He took his place behind the wheel and began polishing the instrument board with his bandanna. Mrs. Feeley chopped the ice into convenient sized pieces and wedged it around the beer bottles in the big tin can. She got back in her place and took off her shoes.

  “Be fit to drink now. Where we go next?”

  “Columbus,” Miss Tinkham said.

  “Ain’t that where you come from?”

  Miss Tinkham nodded.

  “Near there. But there is no time to stop now—even if there were time, I don’t think I should care to see it. You can’t go back again. I have discovered an entirely new and better world in the West.”

  “I can’t hardly wait myself,” Mrs. Feeley said. “I’m tryin’ to figure right now how much paint we’ll need to do the Ark inside an’ out. Is it awful far yet?”

  “I’m afraid it is,” Miss Tinkham said. “We must not think of it in terms of total mileage. It would tend to discourage us. If we break it down into a series of stops, it will not seem so formidable.” She straightened the shade on Aphrodite. “Won’t she look lovely all lit up in the Ark?”

  Mrs. Feeley laughed. “They ain’t but one lovely sight; that’s all of us lit up in the Ark.”

  “Them pots Sadie give us,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “I’m gonna paint the
kitchen shelf red. Kinda show ’em off more.”

  Dr. Freemartin came stumbling around the corner of the building.

  “Suppose you ride in back for a while, Mrs. Rasmussen,” Miss Tinkham said. “I am completely awake and can help Old-Timer with the route. We take Forty to Indianapolis here. If you could nap for an hour, you would be fresh to take over later on.” Mrs. Rasmussen climbed in next to Mrs. Feeley.

  “Good idea. Put Uremia on the outside—won’t have to have her lollin’ on us that way.”

  Uremia came up to the car whining. “I’m stuck in my zipper!”

  Miss Tinkham loosened the fastening of Uremia’s girdle. “The zipper: the modern girl’s undoing.” She boosted her into the car. “Take hold of the cord and hold on for dear life. We have wasted too much time now—it’s eleven o’clock and one hundred and eighteen miles to Columbus.”

  She took her place beside Old-Timer. Dr. Freemartin got in beside her and finished off the bottle of gin. He took hold of Miss Tinkham’s hand.

  “You’re dangerously near,” he murmured.

  “As you will discover”—Miss Tinkham pulled her hand free—”if I have to open that door and push you out without a parachute.”

  “What time is it?” Mrs. Feeley stretched and rubbed her eyes.

  “Almost two in the morning,” Miss Tinkham whispered.

  “They have slept all the way and it is the greatest possible help. There has been practically no traffic and we have made magnificent time. We are coming into Columbus now. Old-Timer must have some coffee, and a chance to wash his face with cold water. It’s remarkable how tireless he is. He hasn’t even dozed once.”

  “He’s an ol’ sailor—stood plenty o’ watches on the Star of India, even if he was cook. We ain’t gonna stop long, are we?”

  “We must push on,” Miss Tinkham said, “to take advantage of the absence of traffic. As soon as day breaks, the mileage we average will be greatly diminished. Our passengers have certainly wrapped themselves in the arms of Morpheus.”

  “For my part, they can stay that way the rest of the trip. I could eat a bite, myself.”

  “Near a big city like Columbus, we’ll have no trouble finding a place along the highway. Some hot soup and a cup of coffee will put us in prime condition. A little cold beer would be refreshing just now.”

  Mrs. Feeley got out three paper cups and poured out cold beer. “I snuck these outa the service station. That’s the bad part about quart bottles—hard to drink out of. I can see what you mean about wheelin’ on in while it’s night—ain’t a car in sight. Keep an eye out for the first Quick-an’-Dirty. I’m awful hungry.”

  Old-Timer rolled the Cadillac to a stop by a brightly lighted roadside diner. Mrs. Rasmussen woke up as soon as the car stopped. Dr. Freemartin and Uremia slumped in their corners in a heavy stupor.

  “Whadda ya say?” Mrs. Feeley whispered.

  “Doped,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “Leave ’em lay.”

  “Inebriated. Fried to the hat,” Miss Tinkham said. “Let us enjoy our refreshment in peace.”

  “Except for my eyes feelin’ gritty an’ my feet kinda goin’ to sleep, I feel fine.” Mrs. Feeley washed her face and combed her hair. Mrs. Rasmussen blinked her eyes and pulled up her stockings. She looked neat as a pin.

  “What about you an’ Ol’-Timer? Ain’t you done in? Want me to take it for a stretch?” she asked Miss Tinkham. Old-Timer shook his head. His white hair was wet and combed down slick.

  “I don’t think I could sleep if I tried,” Miss Tinkham said. “Something about the excitement seems to carry me along. We must check the gasoline because we have a long run to Indianapolis.”

  “You’d oughta nap a little bit, Miss Tinkham.” Mrs. Rasmussen paid the check. “Be mornin’ when we get there, an’ the two hyenas will have to be dealt with. If you’ll just tell me what to look for, I’ll take the watch.”

  “Perhaps you are right,” Miss Tinkham said. The food made her drowsy. They joined Mrs. Feeley, who was superintending the man at the gasoline pump.

  “They ain’t stirred.” She waved a thumb in the direction of the car.

  Miss Tinkham consulted her map.

  “See that we stay on Forty,” she said to Mrs. Rasmussen. “I am sure we shall have to stop before Indianapolis. It’s two-fifteen now. Do you think they’re good for a hundred and seventy-five miles more?” She looked at the passengers.

  “I doubt it,” Mrs. Rasmussen said, “but it wouldn’t be smart to wake ’em now.” She paid the attendant for the gasoline and slipped into the front seat beside Dr. Freemartin, who gave one tremendous snort, then settled back into deep slumber.

  “You take my place on the outside,” Mrs. Feeley said to Miss Tinkham. “I already slep’. If she wakes up, she won’t be botherin’ you.”

  Uremia gave no signs of waking until Gabriel’s last sonata.

  “Let nature take its course,” Miss Tinkham murmured, “and watch them closely. I don’t suppose they ever heard of dear Paul Revere and the proper signals: one if by land, and two if by sea.”

  Miss Tinkham woke with a start. It was broad daylight. Fatigue seemed only to increase Old-Timer’s speed at the wheel.

  “Ten past seven!” she said. “How could I have slept so long! We must be coming into Indianapolis.”

  Mrs. Rasmussen turned ’round in the front seat. “You slep’ right through the stop. Wasn’t but long enough to squeeze them two out. I counted it up; we been on the road a little bit over ten hours. That ain’t bad, is it?”

  “It’s splendid.” Miss Tinkham straightened her hat and the chains around her neck. She opened the top of the beer can and took out a bit of ice which she wrapped in her handkerchief and used to wipe her face. “My kingdom for a toothbrush!” she said.

  “I’ll just take a swig o’ beer,” Mrs. Feeley said. “It’s a fine mouthwash.”

  “They must have taken a heavy sleeping draught of some kind,” Miss Tinkham indicated the passengers.

  “Even that amount of gin was not sufficient without reinforcement of some kind.”

  “Whatever it was, I’m all for it,” Mrs. Feeley said. “I wonder what Dave…”

  Miss Tinkham put her finger to her lips.

  “At the next stop,” she said, “I think we can all use a little breakfast; we can check the log and see where we stand. The Setting Hen! That sounds attractive—ham and eggs, country sausage, waffles—three hundred yards on the right.”

  The Setting Hen looked clean and cool. Gay awnings hung over the windows and the tables had red and white checked tablecloths. The sign in the window said:

  Coffee…5 cents a cup.

  Coffee…15 cents a cup…But Coffee!

  “We’ll have the fifteen-cent kind an’ plenty of it,” Mrs. Rasmussen said as she crawled out after Old-Timer.

  “Gawd.” Mrs. Feeley stood rubbing her legs. “I’m still movin’.”

  “You will be for some time,” Miss Tinkham said, “after ten hours continuous motion.”

  Dr. Freemartin came to. “Where are we? Where are we? What we stopping for? Who took my gin?”

  “We are in Indianapolis, Indiana. We have stopped for a good country breakfast. No one took your noxious juniper concoction.” Miss Tinkham looked at him with disgust.

  “You swilled it down like a hog all by your lee lone,” Mrs. Feeley said. “Her, too.” Uremia lay on the back seat with her mouth open. Her purple lipstick was smeared up under her nose. “Don’t you dare be sick in this car.”

  Dr. Freemartin pulled out his wallet.

  “Here”—he waved a bill at Old-Timer—”go to the nearest package store and get me two bottles of gin.”

  “Who was your Afghan servant this time last year?” Mrs. Feeley shoved him. “Get up on them big splay feet an’ go get it yourself. An’ take her with you. We’re goin’ in an’ eat like Christians.”

  Food was the last thought in Dr. Freemartin’s mind. He glanced at Uremia, then picked up his blue zipper-bag and lu
rched down the street.

  “Get lost!” Mrs. Feeley shouted after him.

  “Such luck!” Miss Tinkham hurried her friends into the restaurant. “I never hoped for a break like that. This is what I have thought out: we got away from The El Casablanca so early that we are running ahead of schedule. Neither David nor I thought that we could possibly leave before one or two in the morning. I think that, in spite of Old-Timer’s heroic driving, he is showing signs of strain.” The waitress came up with four mugs of steaming coffee. “True genius,” Miss Tinkham beamed. “Such forethought renews our faith in human nature.”

  “The waffles with creamed ham and mushrooms are very good,” the girl said.

  “In two dishes,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “Them waffles gotta be crisp an’ the cream ham in a dish on the side.”

  “Them canteloupes look fine an’ ripe,” Mrs. Feeley said. “You get so dry drivin’.”

  “An’ two porched eggs for him,” Mrs. Rasmussen said.

  “Now to get on,” Miss Tinkham said, “it seems unlikely that we could stop at a motel for a few hours sleep without a harangue from our passengers. Old-Timer will cover the two hundred and forty miles to St. Louis like a giant refreshed after a few hours repose. I suggest that we watch for an inviting spot in the wildwood, a picnic ground, or something similar, near trees or water. Old-Timer can pretend there is some slight difficulty with the car or something of that sort. We can easily spare four or five hours and still arrive at the Blue Grotto before midnight. Then we have a perfect excuse for staying overnight; we can retire when we are ready, and David promised to wake us no matter what time he arrives. Does the plan appeal to you?”

  “Sure sounds good to me,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “We could stop soon’s we get outa town. They’s plenty cold beer. All we need is more ice.”

  “If we had a coupla blankets we could sleep right on the grass,” Mrs. Feeley said.

  “Timmy gimme two to wrap around the pots, and they’s a big piece o’ canvas folded in the trunk.” Mrs. Rasmussen paid the waitress. “Sure good,” she said. “If I hate anythin’ on earth, it’s a fluffy waffle.”