Coldwater Revival: A Novel (31 page)

Tate peered through the window—again. He’d frequented the loft with such regularity, his workers now made daily wages on how many times he’d visit the water bucket in a day.

“Hey, Tate—you been eatin’ them red chili peppers again?” Smokey looked at his apprentice and winked. “Or have you got some hot mama getting you all steamed up?”

The men howled like a pack of deranged hyenas, Tate being an easy mark to tease. He couldn’t blame them. As for his emotions, they were as riotous as bells on a horse collar. Tate felt as though he were swimming against the tide. Every time he picked up a hammer, or tried to design a pattern, his mind turned to mush. It was hard to focus with a putty-soft brain. Or when your thoughts were adrift like a lifeboat in a raging sea.

Tate ignored Smokey’s gibes, knowing he deserved every pestering bit of torment the crew shoveled his way. He couldn’t get the woman and boy off his mind; couldn’t concentrate on his work, or the men who called him boss; couldn’t remember what he ate for lunch, or if he’d made plans for the evening. He dangled, it seemed, somewhere between Miriam’s skilled flirtatiousness and the shy Emma, whose face had flamed when she spied the warmth in his eyes that he couldn’t hide.

In late afternoon, Tate ambled to the window, perhaps for the twentieth time that day. He no longer expected the vision in his head to reappear on the street below. He had wasted too many hours, too many days, hoping for something that would never happen. He walked to the window because he had nowhere else to go, nothing better to do. His men had left for the day, and he’d broken his date with Miriam. The house Mrs. K bequeathed him at her death a year earlier was too empty without her in it: too cold and shadowed for Tate’s comfort. Most nights, he slept on the back-room cot and avoided the lonely house altogether. He missed Mrs. K more than he’d thought possible.

Tate’s gaze fell on the street. He watched as it filled with an influx of trucks, cars, horse-driven wagons, and pedestrians. Workers going home; businessmen calling it quits for the day. From his second-story view, his gaze roved over the busiest street in Galveston: Strand Street, and the side street adjacent to it. The dwindling image of a small boy and wagon captured Tate’s attention. He stood immobile, unable to react as he watched the wagon’s back wheels turn the corner and disappear. He blinked his eyes, questioning if he had imagined the scene, or if it was real. It had to be real, for the boy looked exactly like the lad he’d spied a few weeks earlier.

By the time Tate had ripped the leather apron from his neck and cleared the building, dusk had fallen over Galveston. Incandescent light beamed from Strand’s streetlights, revealing fewer vehicles and pedestrians on the red-tinged cobblestones. He rushed up Twenty-Fourth Street and onto Avenue C, his eyes adjusting to twilight as he searched for signs of the boy and his wagon. The street was vacant, deserted of people and cars. By the looks of the houses, it seemed that the residents on this street would probably never know the luxury of owning an automobile.

He turned and walked back to the factory, his heart lighter than it had been in days. He would spend every spare moment—from daylight to dusk, if necessary—looking for the boy with the wagon. The quiet desperation of searching for someone was nothing new to Tate. He’d been through it before: when Emma vanished without a word of good-bye or a thought as to what her disappearance would cost him. If he had to, he would begin his search all over again.

Forty

Nobie’s day had been anything but good. His teacher sat him in the corner; even put that stupid dunce cap on his head, just because he had filled his slate with drawings of soldiers instead of arithmetic problems. Nobie hated ciphering more than he hated most anything else. During recess, the oldest O’Grady kid had called him a snot-nosed ba … that word Ma said he’d better never say unless he was itching for a whupping. Nobie had plowed his head into Tim O’Grady’s breadbasket, even though he was half the bully’s size. He grinned, remembering how the kids had cheered him on. Only trouble was, all the noise had rallied ol’ Mr. Harper to the playground, and Nobie had ended up with a sore bottom after all.

After school, Nobie trudged home, harboring no intentions of telling his ma about his day at school. She’d hear about it soon enough from that ugly old baldheaded principal who liked to carry his paddle everywhere he went. Nobie sneaked behind the house, collected his wagon, and headed for the train station.

Traffic at the station was pitiful today. Nobie glanced around, looking for a paying customer amongst the meager pickings. He sidled up to a man and woman. Gushers he called them, because of the lovey-dovey look in their eyes and the way they gushed all over each other. They couldn’t keep their hands to themselves. If he hadn’t needed the money so much, he would have beaten a wide path around their mushy goings-on.

“Hey, mister. Need some help with them bags? I’ll tote ’em for you for just a ni … a dime.”

The man glanced down at Nobie. “Beat it, kid. I believe I’m strong enough to carry our luggage. What’da’ya think, sugar? Think I’ll have any trouble handling our suitcases?” He smiled and winked at the woman, who held onto his arm like little Frank clung onto Ma’s skirt.

The woman had a silly, sappy look on her face as she snuggled close to the man, giggling and pressing her fingers against his arms. “Oh, baby, I think these arms could carry just about any ol’ thing they wanted to.” She giggled again, which made Nobie want to run to the bushes for a good puke.

He ambled down the walk, hating weekdays, not just because of school, but also because they were slack days at the station. Rare was the weekday he found more than a handful of passengers departing the train. Weekends were best, though Ma wouldn’t allow him to hustle up business on the good Lord’s day.

Nobie sat in his wagon, waiting for a customer to happen by. His eyes widened at the sight of a giant fellow, walking straight at him. Nobie pondered hard. Had he broken some law about pestering passengers, some law he’d never heard of? He kept his gaze on the sidewalk as two huge feet planted themselves in front of him. He raised his head, his gaze traveling up a mountainous length of man. At first, the man’s face appeared stern, but then relaxed into a smile. At least Nobie thought it was a smile. His mouth went up a ways, and his cheeks had dents in them, so he guessed it was a smile. Now—the man looked more worried than angry. He squatted on his haunches and placed his broad hands atop Nobie’s shoulders, forcing him to look in his eyes.

“I’m wondering if you could help me, son.”

Son? I ain’t your son, you no-count mister. My pa’s a lot tougher’n you. He could take you out in no time. Whup ya so hard you’d never walk straight again …

“I’m looking for someone … a young lady. I believe I saw you with her a few weeks back. The two of you were at the corner of Strand and Twenty-Fourth, down by the ironworks factory. Do you know the lady I’m talking about? She has long brown hair, with these … gold streaks … sort of like there’s sunshine running through her hair. Know what I mean?”

“What’s the matter, did something go missing? I ain’t no thief, mister, if that’s what you’re accusing me of.”

“No—no, nothing like that. You’re not in any kind of trouble, son. I just need to find the woman you were with that day. I’ve been looking for the two of you for some time now.”

“I ain’t your son, mister, and I’d ’preciate it if you don’t call me that.” Nobie studied the man’s eyes. It appeared he spoke the truth, but a fella couldn’t be too careful these days. If someone was out to hurt Miss Emma Grace, they’d have to go through him to do it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, mister. I ain’t been around no women, and sure enough not on Strand Street. Your eyes must’ve gone wacky on you or somethin’. I gotta get back to work.” Nobie tried to get up, but the big hands held him fast to the wagon seat.

“Look, maybe I’m going about this all wrong. I mean the lady no harm. I think I might have known her—years back. I’m just trying to find an old friend.”

“I told you I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Nobie jerked himself from the wagon and took off at breakneck speed. He heard the man, close behind.

“If you see Emma, tell her Tate is looking for her. Did you hear me, son? Tell her Tate wants to talk to her.” The man’s voice was further away now.

Nobie stopped and turned to him. “How’d you know where to find me, mister?” he called out.

The man’s face took on a whopper grin. “I pondered it long and hard, young fella. Tried to think of why you toted that wagon around the way you do. Then I remembered—the train station. You see, I used to work the station too—when I was about your age. Rounded up every penny I could, carrying folks’ luggage home, and showing them around Galveston. I took a wild guess and decided that an enterprising youngster, such as you, might find work here too.”

Nobie shuffled down the sidewalk. He thought his head might blow off from all the anger that boiled inside it. If that Tate man thought he was going to tell Miss Emma Grace about their conversation, he was dumber than he looked.
I ain’t never gonna tell her about you … mister. She’s ours now—not yours. Even if you’re a po-leece man, I’m never gonna tell her.

Forty-one

I snuggled in a chair at Sadie’s table, drinking a cup of tea and enjoying the quiet. I’d prepared a pot of stew earlier. It simmered now on the two-burner hotplate Sadie called a stove. She had no workable oven, nor money to get hers repaired. I felt good about my day’s work, knowing that I’d helped make life a little easier for Sadie and the children. Her wash hung on the line. The babies and I had scoured it to death at midmorning, the three of us getting a good soaking beneath the sun’s cordial rays.

I had volunteered to stay with Sadie’s children for the day, as she had found work cleaning a mansion at the corner of Rosenberg and Broadway. She wrote the address on a bit of paper and tucked it into my apron pocket before departing in early morn, Frank riding her hip like a pony. ’Twas good to greet the children home from school this afternoon, albeit Nobie wasn’t in their midst. And though it felt good to help a friend, ’twas I who reaped the gain, for I’d spent the entire day with Hannah and Rosalie, in a wonderland just south of paradise. The babies had let me hold them, and had, in fact, spent a good part of the day climbing up and over me as though I were a heavily branched tree.

Thomas Henry left around three-thirty to join a companion in delivering the evening newspaper. Hannah and Rosalie slept on a pallet, lips puckered and cheeks flushed to coral, like the labyrinth coils of a seashell. Brenda Gayle had quilt-swaddled herself into a ball on the divan, and now read the tattered remains of an old comic book. I made a mental note to bring some of my books over for the children to read and to buy some new comic books for them as well.

The front door burst open and Nobie sprinted into the kitchen, looking a bit shaken and more than a tad angry.

“Are you in trouble, Miss Emma Grace? Did’ya break the law?” Nobie’s chest heaved in and out like a hand accordion, his eyes wild and fierce. I wrapped him in my arms, trying to calm him as he sucked in air and spewed more questions. “You got the po-leece looking for ya? Whad’ya do?”

’Twas then I caught onto Nobie’s scheme. He was baiting me for some unknown reason, playing out a child’s game I didn’t yet grasp. I had fallen for such acts before when my brothers cast a lure that I quickly snagged onto. But after I’d nibbled on it a while, they yanked me out of the water like a striped bass. So, I followed along with Nobie’s gag—like a pen swan treading the wake of her cob. I hoped to one-up him—eventually. You had to stay on your toes around Nobie Percher.

“Well—I did hold up that filling station a few days back—the one down on Market Street.” I bit my lips, cracking not a smile as Nobie’s eyes swelled to harvest moons. “But the owner said I had such a nice smile that he wasn’t going to call the cops. Told me to come in any time, borrow whatever I needed from the cash register. He even invited me over for supper, said he wanted the little missus to meet me.” I grinned at last, thinking Nobie would get a hoot out of my perjurious jabbering.

His face startled, his shoulders slumping as he edged from my presence. I drew in a breath, flabbergasted by his troubled countenance. What was wrong with Nobie? I had expected a sharp-witted retort, his capable mind having flung more than one comeuppance in my face since first we met. Surely the little squirt didn’t believe my confession. He was out the door before I could relay the truth. Before I could assuage any hurt rendered by my foolishness.

Brenda Gayle jumped from the sofa and joined me at the table.

“Did you really … really rob a filling station?” She looked as fearful as Nobie’s fake … No—the look on Nobie’s face wasn’t one of pretense. He truly believed I’d committed a felony. He thought me a common criminal, just as Brenda Gayle did. My vision clouded as I recoiled from the pain I saw in the little girl’s eyes. She had thought of me as a friend. Now she looked at me as though I were a stranger—someone she couldn’t trust. How little the children knew me.

“Darling, I was just teasing with Nobie,” I said as I tugged Brenda Gayle’s reluctant body onto my lap. “I realize now that he believed my tall tale, didn’t he? I’m not a thief. Never stolen a thing in my life that I recall. When I find a penny on the street, I look around to see who dropped it so I can give it back to them.” I squeezed Brenda Gayle with reassurance, crooning as I rocked her in my arms. I hoped she would absorb the love I felt for her and all of Sadie’s children.

When Sadie returned in late afternoon, with Frank asleep on her shoulder, I told her about the misunderstanding.

“It’s not like Nobie to show fear—not for himself or anyone else. He’d rather eat a live bullfrog than have someone think he was afraid.” Sadie shook her head as she laid Frank on the pallet and sank into a chair. I poured her a cup of tea, and together we brooded over Nobie.

“I’m not going home until I set things right between us—and find out who gave him such a fright.” I worried with my hair while fear curled around my heart. Sorry I was that I’d made Sadie’s eyes fill with tears.

“Yes—yes … We’d love to have you stay the night. He’ll come home ’fore long and then we’ll hash it all out.” We sat together, forgetting our hunger; forgetting the stew, our eyes trained on the door.

The babies and Frank roused from sleep, and Thomas Henry’s lankiness ambled through the rear door a short span later. We ate the stew and chatted with the children. It seemed that hours passed while we waited for Nobie’s breathlessness to barge through the front door.

’Twas past twilight when he stepped over the threshold, his eyes finding mine at once. He looked at me with surprise, and perhaps a bit of dismay.

“Come here, Nobie.” He shuffled to Sadie’s side, his head a-droop and his eyes averted from my felonious self. “Miss Emma Grace has something to say to you. Want you to hear her out with both ears wide open.”

I reached for Nobie, knowing he was a spooked horse that needed a gentle hand. My heart cantered about as he ambled to me on sluggish feet. I expected him to wince when first my arm wrapped his shoulder, but he settled against me without complaint, his warmth a satisfying compress on my wounded nerves.

“Sweetheart, I made that up about robbing the filling station. I thought we were playing a game. You came in here all excited about the police being after me, so I went along, saying silly things I knew you’d never believe. But you did believe them, didn’t you, Nobie?” I peered into his gray-cloud eyes, spying a swirl of conflicting emotions.

“But there
is
a man looking for you, Miss Emma Grace. He didn’t wear no police clothes, but he couldn’t fool me. He was a cop, all right—tall-up, like a building, with mean-looking eyes and huge feet … big as my pa’s.”

My first thought was that Elo had come to fetch me home … again. My heart raced, for when Elo came looking for me, trouble always waited at the other end.

“Did he have blond hair and blue eyes, and—?”

“No way. This fella’s hair was blacker’n a skunk’s tail, and his eyes were real, real dark … and mean as the Devil’s.”

I squeezed Nobie’s arms and planted my face close enough to count his eyelashes. Despite the confusion I saw in his eyes, I grilled on, for my heart had already jumped the corral and was now galloping out of control.

“Did the man tell you his name, Nobie? This is extremely important. Try to remember his name.” I relaxed my grip and lowered my voice, knowing Nobie couldn’t think straight if I screamed at him like a banshee. His gaze roved upward, his brain searching for a name on the ceiling, it seemed.

“Yeah, I think he said to tell you that Nate was looking for you. Think it was Nate.”

“Sweetie—I used to know a boy … a tall, dark-haired boy named Tate. Could the man have said Tate?”

“Yeah—that was it. Said to tell the young lady that Tate was looking for her.” Nobie grinned and puffed himself up a bit. “But I didn’t tell him a thing, Miss Emma Grace. Not one thing about you. I’ll protect you from him—I promise.”

I hugged Nobie and kissed his cheek, his hand wiping it away more quickly than I had planted it. Though his words of protection pleased the heck out of me, he had no way of knowing that my greatest pleasure sprang from the knowledge that Tate was looking for me. How did he know I was back in Galveston? I wondered. Why did he connect Nobie with me? My head whirled in bewildered bliss, a thousand questions scrambling for answers while my heart harvested the bounty in Nobie’s words.

“Where did you see him, Nobie? Were you at the train station?”

“Yep—but business was mighty poor today. Didn’t hire on to one cust’mer all afternoon.” He shuffled his foot and looked at the floor. I had the notion that Nobie felt he had let me down because he hadn’t found work today.

“There’s always tomorrow, Nobie. Bet a hundred people will be begging you to cart their luggage home tomorrow.” His reaction to my whopper was the biggest smile I’d ever seen on his gap-toothed mouth.

I dug in my purse, retrieving pencil and paper. My heart twitched like bunny whiskers as I scribbled words on the page, folded the note, and handed it to Nobie. “When the man asks after me again—the
next
time you see him—give him this note. Please, Nobie. It’s very important. Tate is a good man, understand?” I searched his eyes; eyes that shielded an emotion I couldn’t comprehend. “What wrong, Nobie? What is it?”

He shrugged and kept his gaze fastened on the floor. “What if that ugly old man wants to take you away from us? Then we won’t never see you again.”

Nobie’s eyes wouldn’t meet mine, though I tried to force them to. I knelt on the floor, tilted his head with my fingers, and waited until his gaze touched mine. His eyes held a sad, troubled look.

“Don’t you know that I will never let that happen, sweetie? I love you and the babies … all of you … so much. Nothing can keep me away from you.”