Aim (21 page)

Somehow I survived the day, but by the end of it, I was fit for the loony bin. I couldn't wait to be outside where I could breathe right and didn't have all that racket knocking around in my ears.

I went to see Mr. Hefner in his office like he told me to. “Junior, I observed you today,” he said. “You're a good worker. You're not fast. Not yet. But you'll improve. How did you like it?”

Like it? Was it possible for someone to like being a doffer? “Uh. Uh …” I felt as if all the lint in that place had coated my tongue and my brain too. How was I going to answer him?

Mr. Hefner didn't wait. He just reached into his pocket and pulled out a dollar. “Here's your wages.” He laid the dollar on his desk and nodded for me to take it. “Within sixty days half our production will be war work. Uniform fabric and such. And on June first, three of my doffers are going into the armed forces. You come back in two weeks and I just might have a job for you. If you still want it.” He stood then. “And now I have other work to do.”

Mr. Hefner was ready to have me out of his office. And boy howdy, was I ready to leave. I was fixing to go home, grab my gun, and head off into the woods where I could hear myself think. And sneeze the cotton dust out of my head.

May 1942

Leroy was sitting in his truck across the street at Stewart Elrod's gas station. I climbed in, pulled the door shut, and rode out of Brookford with my eyes closed. Just behind my eyelids I could still see a thousand spinning spools of white.

As Leroy's truck picked up speed I leaned my head against the doorframe and let the wind hit me in the face, blowing my hair and clearing my nostrils.

“How'd it go?” asked Leroy.

I just shook my head. He didn't push me for an answer, and I never gave him one. He dropped me off at my mailbox. As soon as he drove away, I pulled off my shoes and socks. I needed to feel dirt on the bottoms of my feet.

Eleanor was already bawling and I knew there was gardening to do. There wouldn't be time for going into the woods. I tended the animals, and on the way back to the house I plopped myself down onto a sweet potato crate under Pop's big oak tree. I hadn't managed to rake
up the acorns last fall, and one of them had sprouted into a small tree not four feet away.

It was only six inches high, but it had four perfect leaves and was doing its best to become a real tree. Any other time I would've pulled up a sprout like that. Today, though, I didn't have the heart to destroy it. After all, what if the big oak tree was hit by lightning one day? The seedling would be there to replace it.

I leaned my elbows on my knees and dropped my head in my hands and ran my fingers through my hair. When I did, bits of cotton jammed up under my fingernails. After supper I'd fill the washtub with warm soapy water and wash all the lint away. But for now, I just sat under that oak tree and thanked the good Lord that Pop had gotten himself out of Brookford and raised me up at the foot of Bakers Mountain.

The next morning I went back to doing what Pop would do if he was still alive, looking for fix-it jobs with neighboring farmers.

Garland Abernethy said he had a tree go down in a lightning storm. I could have it for firewood if I cut it up and hauled it off. It was too hot to be thinking about firewood, but I knew that, come winter, we'd be glad for it. So I hitched Grover to the wagon and spent two whole days sawing and chopping that tree.

On Saturday morning I was planning to take the wagon back over for the last load of wood when I realized that one of the wheels was broken. I knew how
to fix a lot of things, but I wasn't going to work on that without the help of someone who'd done it before.

I thought about asking Leroy if I could borrow his truck. That didn't seem likely, though. The government was about to start rationing gas and nobody was making trips they didn't have to anymore.

Still, I needed that wood and Garland's farm was less than a mile away. I decided to walk down to Leroy's and see what he had to say about it.

He was in the garden. Ann Fay was there too, helping him pick peas. “Garden looks good,” I said. “My peas aren't ready yet.”

“Daddy put his peas in back in February,” said Ann Fay.

“Back in February I was in school. Leroy, could I ask a favor?”

“What's that?”

“I've been hauling firewood from Garland Abernethy's place. My wagon wheel is broke. If you let me use your truck, I'll share some of the wood with you.”

“Hmm,” said Leroy. “It's a mite low on oil, but if you don't go farther than Garland's place, it should be okay.”

“I have a can of motor oil in Pop's shed,” I told him. “What about if I put that in before I go anywhere?”

Leroy nodded. “That'll be mighty fine,” he said.

So I took the truck and headed up the road. Before I reached my lane, I saw Dudley walking down the road toward my mailbox. I decided this was my chance to
show him I could drive too, so I turned and went up the road to meet him. I pulled alongside him. “Want a ride?”

He hopped in. “Whose truck?”

“Neighbor's. I'm hauling wood. Wanna help?”

He shrugged. “Not as good as swimming, but okay. We'll swim when we're done.”

With the two of us working, we loaded up that wood in short order and headed back out Garland's lane. On the highway, just before Huffman Farm Road, Dudley told me to hang a right.

“What?”

“Turn here. I got a swimming hole to take you to.”

I pulled over to the side of the road. “It's not my truck, Dudley. I can't just take it all over the countryside. And besides that, the government is fixing to announce a ration on gas.”

“Just turn, Bledsoe.” Dudley had his shirt off and he used it to wipe the sweat off his neck and chest. “The whole reason I sweated buckets to help you out was so we could swim afterwards. Come on. It's just down the road a piece.”

Dudley didn't have to tell me it was hot. His armpits were stinking up the truck. I sat there looking at him, trying to make up my mind. According to what Ann Fay said, he'd taken a licking for going to Hog Hill with me. And he never even mentioned it. I guessed I owed him something for that.

So I turned and I drove around that curvy road till I
came to the intersection. I knew how to get to the river from there, but he told me to keep on going. “I found a spot with a rope swing. And a deep hole for jumping into.”

“I sure hope Leroy isn't needing this truck,” I told him.

We parked the truck near a small bridge and I followed him down to the water. Dudley took me upstream to a deep section he knew about. It was a good swimming hole for sure. The rope swing was long and smooth riding. And the drop into the water was perfect. I almost forgot about Leroy's truck sitting up there. We must've swum for about an hour before it hit me how much time had gone by. “We gotta go,” I said.

We hurried back to the truck and headed toward home. Before we got to the main highway I heard some knocking sounds coming from under the hood. That's when I remembered about the oil.

Here I was, almost a mile from home, in a place I was not supposed to be, with this truck and no oil. How was I going to tell Leroy I forgot to put it in? I slammed my fists against the steering wheel and said some words that could bring on a sermon from Reverend Price. “Dudley!” I yelled. “Look what you made me do.”

“What?”

“I promised Leroy I'd put oil in the truck and you came along and distracted me. The engine'll be ruined.”

“Whoa!
You
forget to put oil in and it's
my
fault? I ain't taking the blame for that.”

I knew it was all my doing. I could see Pop with the dipstick in his hand that first day when Leroy brought the truck by the house.
Oil looks okay now
, Pop had told Leroy.
But keep an eye on it or you'll be rebuilding the engine for sure
.

I pulled over to the side of the road. “I've got to have this truck towed.”

“Naw. That's just the valves clattering. You can make it the rest of the way. Trust me. My daddy outran the cops with his valves a-clacking and he didn't kill the engine.”

Something about that story didn't seem quite right. Wayne Walker was probably drunk when he told it. Or maybe he just straight-up lied to sound bigger than he was. But the truth was, I wanted to believe it. I wanted to believe I could make it back to my house and get to that can of Quaker State motor oil in Pop's shed. So I eased the truck back onto the road and headed toward home. I listened real close and drove real slow.

“You don't have to poke,” said Dudley. “My old man was going eighty miles an hour with cops on his tail. His engine didn't blow.”

“I'm not your old man,” I said. “And the last thing I need is a cop on my tail.”

“Maybe it's better if you go faster.”

“Maybe it's better if you shut up.”

We made it to the highway, and now we were a half mile from the turnoff to my house. I kept my ears tuned to the clattering of the valves.

“Keep your ears open,” I told Dudley. “If you hear anything different, let me know.”

“I thought you wanted me to shut up.”

I didn't answer him. The boy could sure be aggravating. We turned off the highway by the Hinkle sisters' house, and when we did, the sound changed. Now, I heard more than a clattering—there was a loud popping sound. And just like that, the engine died.

May 1942

Turned out Miss Hinkle was heading for her mailbox. She stopped in her tracks for a minute and then hurried over to the door of Leroy's truck. She had her teacher face on. Suspicious.

“Junior. Dudley. Are you up to something?”

“No, ma'am,” I said. “Leroy's truck quit.”

“Does he know you have his truck?”

What did she think? That I would take it without asking?

“Wait a minute while I get the car keys,” she said. “I'll give you boys a ride down to Leroy's house.”

“It's okay,” I said. “We can walk.”

“I insist.” Miss Pauline turned and started back toward her house.

“Let's go,” said Dudley. “We don't need her help.” We jumped out of the truck and started walking fast down the road, but we hadn't made it halfway to my mailbox when I heard her coming behind us.

“Hurry!” I told Dudley. “Through the cornfield.”

We took off running toward Leroy's house. The corn wasn't even knee high, so we sure couldn't hide in there. But we ran anyhow. I was in plenty of trouble already, and I sure didn't need Miss Hinkle adding to it.

Well, it was too late for that. By the time we reached Leroy's she was waiting for us.

She stood in the Honeycutts' yard and listened while I blurted out what I'd done. How I saw Dudley coming and forgot to put the oil in, how we went a little bit out of our way, and I hoped I was wrong, but I thought I might've just ruined the engine.

Leroy didn't yell at me. I wished he would. He just set his jaw so tight I thought he might never open his mouth again. Miss Pauline did plenty of talking, though. And what she said made things even worse.

“I received a phone call just this morning from Buster Smith. He said that last Friday night these boys were seen all the way over at Hog Hill.” She stopped and looked at Dudley, then at me. “In
my
car.”

Out of the corner of my eye I could see the sweat dripping from Dudley's face into the dirt. I was sure sweating too. As far as I could tell, this would be a real good time for the world to come to an end.

“And now,” said Miss Pauline. “You boys will take another ride in my car. This time, you'll be visiting your parents to tell them just what you've been up to.”

So she and Leroy got into the front of her car, and
me and Dudley climbed into the back seat, and we all headed toward my house. “I was wondering why my car smelled of cigarettes,” said Miss Pauline. “Then Buster called and everything made sense. I don't suppose you boys know where our spare key is?”

“I sure don't know,” said Dudley.

“Junior?” said Miss Pauline.

I didn't see how I could wiggle out of this. “Uh. Uh. Did you look under the furniture on the porch?”

“Yes, we certainly did. But that was on Friday afternoon. Before the car was taken. Maybe I should look again?”

“Maybe,” I said.

Miss Pauline nodded just a little, but she didn't say a word.

There were three cars in our lane—Momma's sewing circle friends, who just happened to be sitting on the front porch knitting socks and scarves to send to soldiers. I couldn't have picked a worse time to get myself into a heap of trouble.

Miss Pauline and Leroy looked at each other, and I could see they were trying to decide whether to teach me a lesson in front of those women. But I also knew they hated the idea of shaming Momma.

“We'll call Bessie aside,” said Leroy. “Let's go, boys.”

Momma smiled and waved when she saw Miss Pauline and Leroy getting out of the car. But that smile shriveled up like a slice of dried apple by the time we
reached the porch. I reckoned she could tell from the hang of my head I'd done something real bad.

Leroy tipped his hat. “Good afternoon, ladies. Reckon we could have a word with Bessie?”

Lottie Scronce gathered her yarn and Mrs. Basil Whitener did too. Mildred Rhinehart said, “We'll wait inside.”

Momma watched them go, and then it was like she changed her mind about them disappearing. Maybe she wanted her friends around her when she heard the bad news. Or, more likely, she wanted me to learn a lesson right in front of them. Because she stood and let the yarn on her lap fall to the porch floor. “Come inside,” she said. She shook her finger at me. “Junior, hold that door like a real gentleman.”