The Longest Road (19 page)

Laurie's heart swelled. She made a tune to go with the chant in her head. It was the wail of a train whistle, wind howling through the open machinery car, the rattle of a loaded-down jalopy, air hissing out of a flat, patched tire, the smell of the camp outside Eden, the loneliness of Daddy's grave under the eucalyptus. When her grief and anger had poured themselves into the new music, she switched back to Morrigan's songs.

Passersby stopped to listen. Most of them asked for tunes. Laurie learned some and by the time Way was ready to look for another job, her bib pocket clinked cheerily.

“Let's buy your paint in that Armstrong store if they don't need a sign,” she suggested.

Mr. Armstrong's general store had a nice sign but his paint was cheaper than Lem's and he threw in an old canvas bag to carry it in. Buddy insisted on this task. As they proceeded down the street, he strutted a little.

“We're cap't'lsts now, ain't we, Way?”

“Aren't,” Laurie corrected. If she couldn't get Buddy back in school soon he was going to backslide from education the way Daddy did from religion.

“Sho'.” Way dropped his hand on Buddy's shoulder. Yellow crusted the cuticles of his fingernails and he smelled of turpentine. His cleanest shirt had a yellow smudge, but there was a lift in his gait and he held his head higher. “Let me tell you, kiddos, it makes a sight of difference to know you've got everything you need to earn your keep most anyplace you light.”

“But Way!” protested Laurie. “You had your brushes all the time!”

He slanted her a wry grin. “Yeah, but I'd got to where I didn't care if I used 'em. I was just goin' where the wind blowed me, rolled up tight so's not to knock off more of me than I could help. But that's no style for a family man—any man a-tall.”

A shoe repairman was pleased to swap a sign for a pair of good work shoes that had been half-soled the very day their owner keeled over with a heart attack six months ago. “No one around here's got feet that big,” said the little shop's middle-aged owner. A small, humped-over man, he looked like one of Santa's gnomes with his ruddy face and canvas apron. “Don't like seein' them doggone flatboats 'cause Hank was younger'n me and my heart acts up sometimes.”

Way adorned the window with the name of the owner, a cowboy boot, a child's sandal, a lady's high-heeled fancy shoe, and the beautifully lettered promise:
REPAIRS WHILE YOU WAIT
. Admiring the window, the repairman handed Way the sturdy shoes and glanced at the shoes Buddy had inherited from Everett. They were split open on the sides and a toe peeked through the left one.

“I could stitch up them shoes,” said the gnome. “But there's some secondhand ones over there got a lot of good wear left in 'em. You can have 'em for a dime.”

The shoes fit fine and weren't the least bit run over. Must've belonged to some rich kid. The old shoes were so worn out that the gnome shook his head over them and tossed them in the waste barrel. While Way went back to the café to finish the sign, Laurie asked the repairman to sew over the loose stitching on the shoes Rosalie had bought her for school.

“Sure, son, and I'll throw in new heels and laces if you'll play that french harp while I'm working. You know ‘Oh, Dem Golden Slippers'?”

Leaving the repair shop in shoes that ought to last till she outgrew them, Laurie took Buddy into the dry-goods store. He picked out two pairs of red socks, which would protect his feet and the “new” shoes. Way had no socks. She bought him three pair of the largest size heavy black cotton ones. Her own needed darning so she bought spools of white and black thread and a card of needles as well as cards of bone and black buttons to replace those that had been shed off their clothes. Boys' flannel shirts were on sale for twenty cents, almost warm enough for a jacket.

“What color would you like, Buddy?”

His blue eyes widened. “We can get one?”

“Sho'!”

He giggled at her imitation of Way, then peered at her anxiously. “Will you buy one, too?”

The dollar bill would be left after paying for the shirt, but she wanted to keep that for the journey. “I want a different pattern,” she fibbed. “But that blue would look nice on you, Buddy.”

“I like the red better.”

Laurie nodded at the storekeeper, who held the shirt up to Buddy to make sure it was long enough in the arms. Glowing with the heady power of buying things with money she'd earned herself, Laurie felt very grown up as she paid for the purchases.

In a way, she'd worked for Rosalie's nickels, but those were also a gift. The money going into the merchant's till was a return for music, though it still didn't seem quite right to get paid for doing what she loved. Counting the dollar windfall from the man with the pickup, she'd taken in almost as much that morning as Way had. She wished Morrigan could know that along with his songs, he'd given her the means to at least partly earn a living.

The nice gray-eyed lady had come out to admire the café sign as Way finished the lettering. A scalloped blue border edged the white background. A Blue Willow cup and saucer and plate were painted in the upper left corner above
CAFE
and a bed with a blue coverlet decorated the bottom right under
CABINS
.

“You'll have to eat dinner for that,” said the woman. “It's lots prettier than what I expected.” She looked from Buddy's red plaid shirt to Laurie's patched one. “Some tourists left a sweater in the café a couple of weeks ago. Reckon they'd have written for it by now if they were going to. Come in and let's see if it fits.”

The sweater was sort of a flecked gray, not pretty, but clean and warm. The cuffs had to be turned up and it hung below Laurie's hips, but that just made it warmer. “Didn't cost me a cent,” said the lady with a brisk shake of her head at Laurie's offer to pay. “It's too little for me or my daughter—might as well do somebody some good.” She eyed them keenly. “You kids ought to be in school. Not to speak against your grandpa, but he strikes me as sort of footloose. May be up to you to remind him that you need your educations.” She shook her head. “So many families on the road, nothin' ahead, nothin' behind. Don't know what's going to happen to this country. Guess folks have to help each other the best we can. Could you boys fancy some milk and a cinnamon roll split down the middle? Come get it and take your grandpa some coffee. I'll put it in an old jar so the paint on his hands won't matter.”

It was half-past twelve when Way finished Seth Hanna's sign with a playful black cat curled along the red-and-orange lettering: “People can see it from the other end of town,” Seth bragged. “Bet I get enough extra business in a week to more'n pay for it.” He winked as he opened his dilapidated wallet, carefully extracted two dollar bills, and handed them to Way. “Lem hates cats. He's going to be mighty tired of this one before it wears off.”

They detoured by the railroad-yard shack to pick up their bundles. What a lot had happened since they left them there that morning! They didn't even look like the same people, Way striding along with pride in the set of his head and shoulders, Buddy in good shoes and his red plaid shirt, Laurie with her shoes sewed up and snug in the good sweater. Its pretty carved wood buttons almost made up for the drab color. They'd had good hot food for the first time in the ten days or so they'd been on the road, had dinner coming, and they'd earned real money. Way had Seth Hanna's two dollars and Laurie had garnered more coins while Way finished the garage sign.

“How much were my socks?” asked Way, peeling out his dollars. From the way his fingers touched them, it had been a long time since he'd had that much. “I owe you for the paint, too.”

Laurie backed away. “We owe you for breakfast and dinner, then. Please, Way! Families share.”

“Well—But I'm supposed to be lookin' out for you kiddos!”

“I hate to think about what might've happened to us without you.” Laurie shivered. “If you hadn't run off that jocker—”

“If you'd hollered and made a fuss, some of the other guys would've helped. Tramps and 'boes learn to mind their own business but most of 'em got hearts.”

“All the same, we're lucky you decided to be our—our family.”

“Not as lucky as me.” He put the money back in an inner pocket of his coat, maybe where he kept the butcher knife. “Okay, I'll keep it for now but it's yours much as it is mine. We better shake a leg so we can eat that dinner we have comin' before we pile into that fancy Packard. And say, I'm goin' to buy a razor and see if that nice lady at the café won't let me borrow a washbasin and some soap.”

She was happy to oblige and supplied a mirror to prop in the window above the outside bench. With his jaws scraped clean, the burn scar on Way's cheek was less conspicuous. He had trimmed his shaggy moustache, too, and looked years younger, in fact he now didn't really look much older than the forty years Laurie had figured out must be his age.

“Good gracious, Way!” she said so softly that no one else could hear. “If you keep looking handsomer and younger, no one's going to believe you're our grandpa.”

He beamed and smoothed his crisply waving hair. “Reckon I've got a ways to go before anyone takes me for your big brother, kiddos. I may look better'n I did but no one's goin' to call me a liar if I say I'm fifty.” He gave a startled whistle as the café lady put a huge steak in front of him with green beans and a mound of mashed potatoes and good-smelling gravy. “Ma'am, I'd have to paint your whole building, inside and out, to deserve this!”

“Beef's cheap because of drought and there's lots of apricot cobbler.” She smiled at Laurie and Bud. “What would you like? My husband's chili is the best you'll ever taste. There's chicken and dumplings. Or you can have steak.”

Buddy took the chicken and Laurie decided on chili. It
was
delicious, spicy beans with chunks of beef, altogether different from the thin concoction Mama had made by shaving slivers off a block that was more orange suet than meat. The soda crackers were good, too, and Laurie demolished a bowl of them. Just like they were paying customers, the lady kept their glasses full of iced tea, and Way's mug topped off with fragrant coffee.

They were starting on their cobbler when the big, square-faced owner of the Packard came in. He ordered sirloin steak without even looking at the gray-eyed lady. His chunky fingers drummed the counter, one wearing a gold ring with a glittering diamond—did men wear diamonds? Laurie had never seen a man with a ring before. You'd expect yellow eyes to be soft, but this man's were hard as they drilled into Way.

“Say, fella, are you some kind of goddam Red?”

The bald man who stuck his head through the service window of the kitchen rapped to get attention. “You watch your language in front of my wife, mister.”

“I can sure find someplace else to eat.”

“You sure can,” agreed the cook.

“No offense, lady,” muttered the yellow-eyed man. The cook went back to his stove and the big, square-bodied man turned back to Way. “Well, how about it?”

“Guess you been talkin' to Lem,” drawled Way. “How'd you like the sign I did for Seth Hanna's garage?”

The broad, powerful, ringed hand made a dismissive sweep. The top of it and the bottom finger joints were furred with coarse black hair. “Short and sweet, mister. You one of them crazy radicals?”

Way wiped coffee off his moustache and unfolded from the stool. Laurie remembered the knife in his pocket and sucked in her breath, but his tone was easy. “If it's radical to think there ought to be work for everybody at decent pay, I reckon I'm a radical. And I'm a radical if that means believin' that in this great big country of ours, the wonderfulest one in the world, there hadn't ought to be families camped under railroad bridges and kids that don't get enough to eat. Shouldn't anyone in this whole United States have to go to bed hungry.”

“Includin' bums and tramps?”

“Ought to be some way they could work for a meal. Anyhow, Jesus was a bum and a tramp.”

A lady with bluing-rinsed hair jumped up from a table. “You—you're blaspheming!” she sputtered.

No one paid her any mind. The dark pupil spread over the heavy man's yellow eyes and the skin at the curves of his flattened nostrils pinched white. “You don't want a ride much, mister.”

“We'll manage.”

Way turned his back deliberately and finished his coffee. “Thank you, lady,” he said to the kind-eyed woman. “Best cobbler I ever sunk a tooth in. Come on, kiddos.”

“Say, mister,” said a lanky old man at the end of the counter, “I'm headin' east soon as I've et the last of crumb of this cobbler. Only goin' about eighty miles but the kids don't take up much room so you shouldn't have too hard a time catchin' a ride—and if you don't by nightfall, you can bunk down in the barn.”

“I'll fix you a sack for your supper,” the café lady said. She gave the flat-nosed man a scornful look as she vanished into the kitchen.

Suddenly, the square-faced man laughed and shrugged. “You're a tough old vinegaroon but I kind of like that. Besides, I want those signs.” He smiled at Laurie and Buddy. His teeth were big and white and looked hungry. “Bet you kids'd like a ride in my Packard. I've even got a radio.”

Laurie looked at Way. Riding in the big blue car would be almost as magical as having enough dimes to ride the merry-go-round as long as you wanted during the county fair. She'd never had more than two rides, clinging rapturously to the pole as the spirited horse she'd picked with such care to make sure he was the most beautiful plunged up and down with the music. Oh, if she was ever rich, she'd ride just as long as she wanted to, hours and hours of the dreamlike canter that carried her to an enchanted world. But she didn't like this man and hated how he'd talked to Way. It was up to him to decide. Buddy had his mouth open. She gripped his arm and gave him a fierce stare.