A Bright Tomorrow (20 page)

“Come and get it, gentlemen!” Watterson called.

Owen stepped aside to let the others go first, then accepted a tin can offered by the cook and ladled out some of the stew for himself. It was surprisingly good, and he said so.

“Ah, Mr. Stuart, when I was a younger man, I was a chef at Antoine's in New Orleans!” Watterson began to eat hungrily, but the food flowing down his throat seemed to have no effect on the words that flowed steadily from his lips.

He was right in the middle of an outlandish story about how he had once entertained the czar of Russia, when he paused abruptly and looked across the camp. Owen turned to see two small figures, obviously tramps themselves, emerging from the woods. They were wearing baggy pants and coats, and both had soft hats with the bills pulled down low over their foreheads.

“Well, now—” Watterson grinned. “Our company is growing all the time!”

“We don't need no kids around here,” growled Red Bennett. “You punks beat it!”

The young tramps halted, and Owen saw that the taller of the two could be no older than fifteen or sixteen, and the other nearer twelve. The older one had rosy cheeks and large dark eyes, and strands of blond hair escaped from beneath the soft cap. “We ain't beggars,” this one said defiantly. “We got some beans for the pot.”

“Get outta here.” Bennett scowled. “Kids mean trouble.” He swiped at his mouth with his hand and came to his feet when the pair didn't move. “You deaf? I said beat it!”

But the older tramp looked around and spotted Watterson. “Here, take these and put 'em in the pot.”

Watterson caught the two cans of beans deftly. “It's okay, Red. No trouble.”

But Bennett moved quickly for a man his size. Stepping up to the small pair, he took the older one by the arm and snarled, “You want a fat lip?” Then he struck the youngster with the flat of his hand, the blow making a
splat
as it landed. The blow drove the youngster back, and the soft hat went flying.

All the tramps were shocked to see a mane of yellow hair spilling around the fallen tramp's shoulders, and Bennett exclaimed, “It's a girl!” He moved quickly, grasping the young woman's arm and yanking her to her feet.

She was, Owen saw, a rather pretty girl—or would be if she were cleaned up and fed properly. He got to his feet, sensing trouble.

Bennett began to pull at the girl, grinning broadly. “Why, sure you can stay, sweetheart! We'll have us a party, just me and you—ow!” At that, the smaller tramp had run forward and kicked Bennett on the shin, and the big hobo put him down with one vicious swing.

The girl cried out, her eyes wide with fear. There was no mistaking Bennett's intention, and Owen stepped close and brought the edge of his palm down on Bennett's forearm, knocking the big man's arm downward, so that the girl staggered back.

“Hit the road, Red,” Owen said, watching the big tramp carefully. Such men usually carried knives or guns, and he stood close enough to strike again if he saw evidence of either.

But Bennett was confident of his own huge fists and cursed Owen roundly, then struck out with a looping right. Owen barely moved his head enough to let the blow slip by, and while Bennett was off balance, he pivoted on his right foot and drove as hard a punch as he'd ever thrown in his life at the man. The force of it started in his right foot and traveled up his leg, where the V-shaped torso channeled the surge of power into the swelling deltoid muscles. His arm moved forward like a piston, exploding on Bennett's mouth with a fearful power. It was even more devastating, for it caught the big man coming in.

A solid meaty sound accompanied the blow, and Bennett's head was driven backward. He dropped to the ground with blood frothing from a split lip, and he lay on the ground, his legs twitching convulsively in the dust.

For one moment, there was total silence as the tramps stared at the bulky form of Red Bennett. Then Watterson whooped and did a little dance. “By gum! Never thought I'd see the day! John L. Sullivan ain't got nothin' on you, son!”

Owen stared down at Bennett's broken figure, then turned to the two young people. “He's going to be mean when he wakes up. You two better come with me.”

There was no argument, and Owen said to Watterson as he turned to go, “If Red gets any ideas about getting even, tell him the next time, I'll break his neck.”

“Don't think he'll be in shape to do much along those lines, Mr. Stuart.” Watterson grinned. “He'll be thinking more about his teeth!”

Owen walked back along the path in silence. Only when he got to the car did he speak again. “What's your names?”

The girl had picked up her cap and was stuffing her hair under it. Her dark blue eyes were fixed on him. “My name's Allie Dupree, and this is my brother Joey.” She eyed the car, and when she turned back to face him, she squinted with suspicion. “Thanks for what you done…but it don't get you no place with me!”

Owen studied her thoughtfully. Even the baggy clothing did not conceal her rounded figure, and he sensed her bitter distrust of men—a distrust born of experience, no doubt. She had a square face and a determined chin, but there was nothing masculine about her, for her features were delicate and smooth.

“Okay.” He shrugged indifferently and moved to crank the car. It started at once, and he got in. “Good luck.”

But when the car jerked forward, the boy whispered something to the young woman, and she cried out, “Wait!” Owen stopped the car and turned to her, his brow lifted questioningly. “Well…maybe we could use a ride.”

“Sure. Pile in.” Owen waited until they had scrambled into the front seat, the boy in the middle. “You ever drive one of these things, Joey?” he asked, looking down at the boy, who was a smaller edition of his sister, with the same blond hair and dark blue eyes.

“No…but I'm going to someday. I'm going to learn to drive and work on automobiles.”

Owen laughed at the determination in the youthful tone. “Maybe the colonel will let you practice on this one,” he said, the youngster's eyes moving to meet his instantly. “Well, here we go—”

Owen had no plan for the pair past getting them out of the hobo camp and away from Bennett. But he saw that they were both hungry and, as soon as they got back to base, he took them into the cook shack. “Couple of visitors, Colonel.”

That was all it took, for Fletcher could be a generous man. He waved them to a seat, and Owen sat beside Joey, who gulped his food down hungrily, then asked, “Can I go look at the car, mister?”

“Sure…but don't start the thing.” Owen smiled. And when the youngster vanished as if by magic, he turned to the boy's sister. “He sure does like machinery, doesn't he, Allie?”

The young woman had eaten with more mannerly reserve than Owen had expected. She was finishing her second piece of pie and now looked over at him, her eyes softer and more vulnerable than before. “I–I'm sorry about what I said…you know, when you offered us a lift.” She bit her underlip in a feminine gesture, adding, “It's just that…I've had to fight off lots of men.”

Owen nodded. “No offense, Allie. I'm glad I was there to help.” He sipped his milk. “Where do you think you'll head now?”

Allie's shoulders drooped, and she shook her head. Fatigue was evident in every line of her body, and Owen thought he saw her shoulders shaking as if she were crying.
Poor kid's about past going! She can't be much older than my sister Lenora.
He sat there studying the girl, then came to a decision.

“Look, Allie,” he said, “why don't I ask the colonel if you can hang around for a few days with the show?” Then he quickly added, “Always lots of work with a show like this. You could earn your bed and board until you get rested up.”

He watched the girl grow very still and feared at first that he had offended her again. But then she turned to face him, and he saw tears spilling out of her eyes and running down her cheeks. Hastily, she yanked out a dirty handkerchief and wiped them away. Then she cleared her throat and said huskily, “Thank you, Mr. Stuart. I guess…Joey and me are about ready to drop—”

“Been there myself, Allie,” Owen said. “You have another piece of pie, and I'll fix it up with Colonel Fletcher.”

The matter was not hard to arrange, for there was plenty of work, and when Owen assured the owner that the pair would pull their own weight, Fletcher agreed at once. “But they'll be your responsibility, Owen,” he warned.

“Go get Joey, Allie,” Owen said when he returned. “I'll find you a place to sleep.” He saw the relief flare in her eyes, and soon he had located a spot and some bedding.

He introduced them to the others, who had a cheerful word for the pair. All but Cecily, who stared at Allie with a calculating expression. “Got yourself a lady friend, Owen?” she asked later when she found Owen alone.

“Oh, Cecily, she's just a kid!”

“Oh, yeah? You're either blind or stupid, Owen Stuart!” she snorted, and whirled around, leaving him puzzled.

Just before Joey went to sleep, he asked hopefully, “Can we live with these people for a while, Allie?”

“I hope so, Joey.” She stretched out on the spot and whispered, “Mr. Stuart…he's a good man, isn't he, Joey?” But her brother was already asleep, so she closed her eyes and joined him.

A
llie and Joey quickly made a smooth transition to carnival life. They were both keenly alert, strong, and unafraid of hard work, so that by the end of the second week, they had made a place for themselves with Colonel Fletcher's troupe.

Joey proved to be handy with anything mechanical, able to fix almost anything that was broken with little or nothing in the way of tools. He explored every nut and bolt in the few rides the show carried and became adept, not only at setting up and dismantling the rides, but also at patching them together with wire or whatever was handy. He was a bright, cheerful lad and became a favorite almost at once.

With Allie, it was a little different. She was touchy, especially where men were concerned—a trait that Cecily professed to find hypocritical. “She's just putting on airs,” the dancer told Owen. “You have to watch that kind more than any other.”

“Aw, the kid's had a rough time, Cecily,” Owen said. “I'm glad to see she's not one of the easy kind.”

As soon as he made the remark, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. Cecily flared up immediately. “Oh, and I
am
easy, is that it?” she raged at Owen. But both of them knew she had been exactly that—easy—and without any guilt over their affair.

Allie never knew that the reason she had little trouble from the hands was because Owen had spoken to each of them with a smile and an implied threat. “I'm responsible for Allie and Joey,” he had explained firmly. “Just thought I'd pass it on, because I'd sure hate to have trouble with any of you guys.” His casual comment was taken seriously, for nobody wanted trouble with Owen Stuart.

As soon as Allie found that she was safe from unwelcome attention, she relaxed. And when it was discovered that the young woman was an excellent cook, she moved into the role of assistant chef. “Not as good as me, no,” Beaudreau admitted to Colonel Fletcher, “but she is one big help, you bet!”

Other talents began to emerge as the show rolled on, and soon Allie was busy mending costumes, selling tickets, operating one of the concessions, and doing the less strenuous chores involved in setting up and taking down the equipment.

Three weeks after the youngsters had joined the show, Owen sought her out one day as she sat outside the sleeping car, sewing a patch on one of his shirts. Looking up quickly, Allie smiled. “Hello, Owen. I've got your shirt ready.”

“You don't have to work on my old clothes, Allie,” Owen protested, taking the garment. He examined it, then nodded, pleased with the work. “Can't hardly see the tear! My ma could sew like that.”

He squatted down beside her, and as they talked, covertly studied the girl. Allie had never worn a dress since joining the show, and he supposed she didn't own one. Besides, he reasoned, it would have been unwise for a girl to have worn a dress in the hobo jungles, and Owen figured she had deliberately chosen to dress in shapeless men's clothing to lessen the danger.

Today, however, a hot August sun was beating down on the parched ground, and Allie had shed the dark coat and rough trousers and was wearing a thin, worn tan cotton shirt and a pair of faded boy's pants. The youthful curves of her body were startlingly evident to Owen. “How old are you, Allie?”

Looking up, she saw him staring at her and flushed. “Almost sixteen.” She bit off the thread with sharp white teeth, put the needle and thread into the sewing kit, folded the shirt, then turned her dark blue eyes on him. “Why?”

“Just wondered.” He looked over to see what Joey was arguing about. The boy was talking to Leo Miller about the merry-go-round, and his voice carried across the distance. “If we cut these rods shorter, Leo, the blamed thing won't keep breaking down like it always does. Now look—”

Owen grinned and nodded toward the pair. “Joey's quite a mechanic, isn't he?” Then without waiting for an answer, he came out with what he'd come to say. A pleased light was in his eyes, and he turned to watch the girl's face as he said, “Got a surprise for you, Allie.”

Allie was immediately on guard. “What is it?” She had been out in the world long enough to consider every offer a man might make as suspect.

Owen understood this and kept his voice light. “I had a talk with Colonel Fletcher about you and Joey. He's generous in some ways and tight as a jug in others. I told him the two of you ought to be paid, and after he got through arguing—just out of instinct, I think—he agreed to pay you ten dollars a week, apiece.” He saw Allie's eyes open wide and was pleased. “Not enough for what you two do—but we'll negotiate a raise from time to time.”

Allie was suddenly ashamed of her suspicions. She knew Owen must have seen the stubborn, wary expression on her face and realized that he'd seen a lot of that side of her.
He's so big and strong I've been afraid of him,
she thought, trying to think of a way to say what she felt.
I've been expecting him to bother me all this time, like the others
…
but he's never even once tried to touch me.
Joey had told her she was an old grouch around Owen, adding that she needed a thrashing after all the big man had done for her. Now she suddenly realized her brother was right.

“I…Joey and I, that is—” She floundered helplessly, aware of Owen's warm blue eyes on her, and finally met his gaze and blurted out, “I'm sorry for the way I've acted for the last three weeks. I've been an ungrateful pest!”

Owen was surprised, but rallied quickly. “Oh, you haven't been that bad, Allie.”

“Yes, I have, too! I've treated you like all the rest who try to—” Allie flushed, unable to finish, then she took a deep breath that swelled the front of her thin shirt. “I guess I've lived with my guard up for so long it's just hard for me to let myself be friends with any man.”

“I know. And I admire you for it, Allie, the way you've kept yourself straight and taken care of Joey. Why, not many—”

“What's the conference about?” Cecily had emerged from the sleeping car and, seeing the pair, came to stand over them. She was wearing a bright red dress, a wide-brimmed white hat, and a pair of extremely high-heeled red shoes.

Allie got up at once, her eyes cautious, and Owen joined her. “I just talked the colonel into putting Allie and Joey on the payroll. Reminded him how Lincoln had freed the slaves.”

“Yeah? That old skinflint actually came across?” Cecily snorted. She stared coolly at Allie. “Watch out for that old goat, kid. He don't throw money around for nothing.”

Owen saw that Allie was not going to answer, so he spoke up. “You going to town, Cecily? Hey, Allie, let me give you an advance on the princely salary you're going to be drawing. Get Joey, and the four of us can go buy the stores out.”

Cecily stared at Owen. “I did enough baby-sitting before I left home. See you later.” She flounced away, headed for the center of town.

Owen sighed. “Well, how about it, Allie?” Then he said idly, as if he'd just thought of it, “Hey, maybe we can get you a pretty dress or something.”

Allie understood at once that he was trying to offer her a way to buy some new clothes without hurting her feelings. “Oh, I don't need a dress, but I'd like to see the town.”

“Come on then.” Owen nodded. “Let's pull Joey out from under that merry-go-round and go see the sights!”

Joey was more than willing, and the three of them walked to Main Street, where farmers had come in from the country with their vegetables. The wide street was crowded with wagons and a smattering of noisy automobiles.

Owen advanced Joey enough money to buy himself a set of used wrenches—the beginning of a large set of tools. And although Allie protested at first, she was persuaded to buy a few personal things. Then Owen found a beautiful ivory comb and brush set and, over her protests, insisted on buying it for her.

When he had paid for it and handed it to her, saying, “Pretty hair like yours deserves to be treated with care,” Allie's cheeks turned pink, and she could only murmur, “Thank you, Owen!”

They had ice cream at the drugstore, then as they were on their way out of town, Joey spotted a sign and cried out, “Look! A nickelodeon! Can we watch it, Owen?”

Owen agreed, but as they drew near, he saw that something was different. “Hey, this isn't a nickelodeon!” he exclaimed. “This is that new kind of picture show—moving pictures!”

Thomas Edison and George Eastman had invented a machine that produced motion pictures back in 1899, but they had to be viewed individually, the viewer turning a crank while looking though a porthole of sorts to see the short films. The nickelodeon craze had spread quickly, every city installing the machines in parlors, where patrons could watch the films—people sneezing, walking, swimming, or other physical activities—but there was no story involved. Edison himself foresaw no widespread use of the invention, but a man named Edwin Porter in 1903 had been struck by a brilliant idea:
Why not tell a story—and show the picture on a screen where a roomful of people can see it?

“The Great Train Robbery!” Joey read the sign with excitement. “See a cast of forty, starring George Barnes as the Wicked Train Robber!”

Owen was amused at the boy's eagerness, but paid the admission, and the three of them walked into a small room with a white sheet stretched across the wall. They took their seats, and soon the lights dimmed and the flickering forms began to enact the drama.

It was a simple story, involving a train holdup, but nothing like it had ever been seen. When Barnes capped the action by aiming his gun directly into the camera and firing, several people scrambled to get out of the way. Joey yelled in alarm, “Look out!” And Allie grabbed Owen's arm with a gasp. Then it was over and Allie quickly released her hold, embarrassed.

“Looked real, didn't it?” Owen grinned as they walked outside. “My sister Lylah thinks it'll put real theaters out of business. She's an actress and claims she's going to get in on the ground floor of this new kind of thing.” He shrugged. “I don't guess it'll ever get very big, though. Not like a real show.”

They made their way back in time for Allie to help with the evening meal. Owen was preoccupied with the show, and that night he took on a huge man—one with no skill, but he was so tough that it took all Owen had to put him away. In the process he got a cut over his left eye. “Let me put some plaster on that,” Allie offered when the match was over. She led him to the cook's tent where the first aid kit was kept and said bossily, “Now, you sit down and let me wash that out.”

Owen, accustomed to ignoring small injuries, grumbled, “It's not worth fooling with.” But he allowed her to bathe the cut with a strong antiseptic. “Ow!” he yelped as the alcohol touched the wound. “That's worse than the cut!”

“Be still…you're worse than Joey!”

As Allie worked on the cut, her face was no more than a foot from Owen's, and he saw that her skin was as smooth as anything he'd ever seen. She was intent on the job, and her lips were pursed delightfully.
Going to be a fine-looking woman someday,
Owen thought.

“You're as good at doctoring as my sister was,” he said when she had finished, patting her shoulder awkwardly. “Pretty nice, having a sister again to take care of me.”

Allie was putting the first aid kit away, but when she turned to look at him, she had an odd expression on her face. Her full lips grew taut and she said distinctively, emphasizing every word, “I'M NOT YOUR SISTER!”

She left the tent, her head high in the air, leaving Owen to stare after her. “What's got
her
back up, I wonder?” he muttered.

In the small cubicle she shared with Julie, one of the dancers, Allie got ready for bed, then sat down in front of the mirror fastened to the wall. Picking up the velvet-covered box Owen had bought, she took out the brush and comb, admiring the delicacy of the workmanship. Pulling out the pins, she let her hair fall free and began to comb it.

I'll use some of the rainwater we saved and wash it tomorrow,
she thought. There was a sensuous pleasure in pulling the brush though her thick hair, and she studied her reflection as she worked. She considered the image with something like embarrassment, for she had not been interested in her appearance for a long time.

What she saw was a young woman with honey-colored hair cascading down her back, the bluest possible eyes, and a firmly rounded bosom. A thought came to her—secretly and without warning—and it moved her so greatly she impulsively lifted one hand to touch her burning cheek. She shook her head, half angry with herself for the thought, and put the comb and brush set away.

She turned out the lamp and lay there in the stifling cubicle, thinking of the afternoon and how much Joey had enjoyed it. That pleased her, and she smiled.
Owen will help him,
she thought, and found a great deal of security in the knowledge that all the burden for her brother was no longer resting on her shoulders. Her last thoughts were of Owen and the musky scent of him as she'd worked on the cut above his eye. But the memory of how it had affected her was unsettling, and she put it out of her mind and drifted off to sleep.

The summer seemed to fly by for Allie. She had never been so content—at least not since her childhood days. The show moved across the northern states, and as October brought the hint of winter in its brisk winds, Colonel Fletcher turned his eyes toward the warmer climates. By November, they were tracing their way along the Gulf Coast of Texas, moving eastward until they arrived at Pensacola, Florida, a week before Christmas.

Neither Allie nor Joey had ever seen the ocean, and it was Owen who took them to the beach. A few brave swimmers were daring the white-capped waves, and Owen asked, “Want to try it?”