Face the Winter Naked (25 page)

Soon
autumn would arrive in her variegated coat of red, yellow, orange, and bronze.
Deceptive she was at hiding her worst weather; under the flaming coat waited
leafless trees, twigs, bare ground, and cold. Squirrels and mice would've
already hidden their acorns and seeds. At the edge of the forests, sumac's
blazing scarlet might hurt your eyes if you stared at it too long; wedges of
Canada geese honking overhead didn't stay around long enough to find out.

With
the weather changing, this sorry human had no desire to walk all the way to
Kansas City, or even to the Lake of the Ozarks, without finding some warmer
clothes. The ones he had on his back were already too thin, and he had no
intention of facing the winter naked.

Last
winter, he'd escaped the harsh northern climate by traveling south and west.
But sometimes, when he got caught in raw weather, he curled up on a heat
grating near a city building. He knew some drifters solved cold weather
problems by getting themselves arrested for vagrancy and sleeping in the city
jail.

Now
his legs ached with every step. His feet had picked up new blisters even his
trusty Cloverine wouldn't help. He'd taken to wearing his old shoes with the
Hoover insoles, instead of the heavier boots Homer had given him—they reminded
him of the war and, also, his own personal war in which Shine re-fought the
enemy in his dreams.

More
hills lay ahead, and valleys, ravines, and scrub growth. Deadly timber
rattlers, water moccasins, and copperheads hiding in the brush. Wood ticks,
chiggers, skeeters, nasty little buggers he couldn't bear the thought of
dealing with.

Now
he ended up at the junction where the pair of tracks cut an X west of downtown,
with one set of rails heading in the general direction he would travel. A train
coming through here would have to slow down, an ideal time to locate a boxcar
and hop aboard.

He
waited for nightfall behind a small building near the tracks, but kept out of
sight lest he risk discovery by railroad bulls, arrested and jailed, and just
his luck they'd throw away the key.

City
lights blinked off as twilight deepened. He snoozed, keeping one ear open for a
whistle or a rumble on the tracks. His whole body would feel the vibrations
when a freight approached, and given enough time, he could grab his things and
be ready when it slowed. Once inside a car he'd have it made, with a safe,
comfortable ride straight to Kansas City.

The
alert came sooner than expected, for no sooner had he closed his eyes when he was
shaken awake by the roar of the engine as it chugged up the tracks. The dark
shadow of the freight loomed out of the darkness, approaching the crossing with
headlight blazing, smokestack puffing, brakes screeching as it slowed to a
crawl.

The
loud blast of the horn assaulted Daniel's ears the closer it came. But he had
no time to worry about broken eardrums as he jumped up, grabbed his supplies,
and moved toward the tracks.

He
counted cars as they clacked slowly by, seeking the middle of the freight. If he
chose one too close to either end, he'd likely be spotted by a brakeman or
engineer. He took a deep breath and prayed. If he did this wrong, someone would
be picking up pieces of Daniel Tomelin in the morning.

Under
cover of darkness, he ran alongside the slowly moving boxcars, his steps on the
gravel bed muffled by the loud engine. At close range he saw an open door.
Easy
does it.
He maneuvered himself near the great wheels and trotted alongside
for a few yards.

One,
two, three.

He
heaved the gunnysack through the doorway and hauled himself aboard, landing
with a thud on the hard floor. He lay for a minute getting his wind back, then
found his gunnysack and dragged it away from the door. A semaphore flashed by
in the darkness, and when the freight blasted its horn and picked up speed,
Daniel settled back for a nice long nap.

Chapter 20

A
week later, Clay Huff stood on the front porch yelling through the screen door.

"LaDaisy,
you open this door before I break it down! I'm not leaving till we talk."

She'd
seen him pull into the yard and decided to ignore his rants by feeding the kids
their supper of cornbread and butterbeans. Bernadine had driven her to the
welfare office yesterday to pick up the commodities: evaporated milk, flour,
salt, lard, beans, sorghum, cornmeal. Thankfully, cod-liver oil came on a
fairly regular basis, and sometimes she received tangerines or oranges. She
found ways to make ends meet. A neighbor lady paid her a dozen brown eggs to
wash and iron her husband's good shirts. She even managed to pay the water
bill. What a relief to have running water again. Though she still heated tubs
of water for laundry and baths, she wasn't breaking her back pumping and
carrying it in.

She
held Mary on her lap and fed her cornbread soaked in bean soup.

"Baby
like beans?" Bobby said, waving his spoon at Mary.

"I
like beans," Catherine said. "Mama, can I have some more?" She
pushed her plate to her mother. LaDaisy broke up a chunk of cornbread and
covered it with beans, dipping an extra spoonful of soup over it.

 "Beans,
beans the musical fruit," Earl sang. "The more I eat the more I
tooooooooooot."

"Oh
please, Earl." LaDaisy tried not to laugh. "Where did you learn
that?"

"Friends."

Most
likely his cousins.

"Why's
Mr. Huff hitting the door?" Catherine asked.

"He'll
go away if we ignore him." LaDaisy touched the tip of the spoon to Mary's
mouth again, giving her just a taste. It would supplement her breast milk,
which, despite all she did to save it, continued to dwindle. She hadn't been
eating well, and her nerves were shredded.

Clay
raved and banged on the front door through the whole meal. And when the banging
stopped suddenly, she thought he had left. But no. A moment later, he went
around back and started kicking that door. LaDaisy refused to look, though she
knew he watched through the screen. She didn't think he'd try anything with the
kids in the house, but she wasn't sure.

Hearing
his voice now, she remembered Ida's stricken face when she finally figured out
what her husband had done. Fortunately, LaDaisy hadn't been pregnant after all.

"C'mon,
let me in. I just want to talk to you."

"He
scares me!" Bobby said.

"Can
I let him in?" Earl asked.

"No."

"Why?"

"I'm
not going to hurt anybody," Clay yelled. "You're pissing me
off!" He kicked the door again. "You can't keep me out of my own
property."

Vera
had come by the day after the quinine episode to tell her Ida Mae and Clay had
such a spat over LaDaisy's
affair
, she was afraid the stress would bring
on early labor.

"My
affair? You're out of your mind!"

"Ida
kicked him out. He's been sleeping at my house—mine and Rufus's—until she comes
to her senses."

"How
will he explain rape?"

"That's
your
story, LaDaisy. There's no way in God's green heaven Clay would
cheat on his wife."

Something
in Vera's voice had made LaDaisy wonder if she really believed what she said.

Now
Mary grew fussy and pulled at her mother's clothes, and she turned her back to
the door and exposed a breast.

"I
can stand out here as long as it takes," he yelled. "Sooner or later,
somebody's gotta take a shit, and I'll be right here blocking the path to the
crapper. When someone opens that door, I'm coming in."

"I'll
let him in." Earl jumped up from the table.

"No,
you will not. Sit down and finish your supper."

LaDaisy
covered her breast, rose and went to the door with Mary.

"You're
not coming in," she said. "You're not going to come waltzing in here
and blame everything on me. So you might as well leave." She stared
straight into his evil eyes through the rusty screen. "A man with decency would
do that."

"I
just wanna talk. You owe me that much."

"I
owe you nothing. When the rent comes due again, I'll pay cash."

"Well-well.
Where you getting rent money? You whoring around again?"

She
tried to muster up courage, but her knees were shaking. With only the screen
between them, what stopped him from breaking it down?

"I
have to go pee-pee, Mama."

LaDaisy
turned and whispered, "You can't go outdoors now, Cath—use the potty in
the bedroom."

"No!
I don't want to use the stinky potty."

"Told
you so." Clay stood with his hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped. He
hadn't combed his hair. His eyes were bloodshot. He'd apparently soaked himself
in whiskey. "You gonna let her go to the toilet?" He stumbled
sideways and caught his balance. "What kinda mother are you, anyway?"

LaDaisy
swung around, acutely aware her children were watching, taking in every word.

"You
shut your mouth, Clayton."

He
chuckled. "I can wait out here all night, LaDaisy. Wait till
you
have
to go. You can't sit on that baby pot with your big ass."

"Get
the hell out of here!" she hissed. "Leave us be."

"Mama,
I have to go bad."

"I
said use the potty, Cath, and I mean it. Now get in there, and don't you pee
your pants, either."

As Catherine
ran from the room, LaDaisy felt her own bladder grow heavy.
Oh Lord, not now.

"Come
on," Clay whined. "Be a good girl and open the door. I just want—"

"I—I
don't care what you want."

Mary
dozed in her mother's arms as LaDaisy fought the urgent need to urinate.
Wait.
Oh please wait.
She'd had too much to drink and now the fullness hurt. Tightening
her muscles, she gave Clay one last look and returned to the table. Tears of
frustration formed in her eyes as she sat with Mary in her lap and squeezed her
legs together.

Clay
banged on the door again, swore loudly, then stumbled down the back step. She
heard him grumbling and cursing, and after a few minutes, he became quiet. LaDaisy
dared to glance toward the back door in time to see him shuffling around the
side of the house to his car. She held her breath and waited for the coupe to
screech down the road before taking Mary to the cradle and making a beeline
down the path to the outhouse, holding her crotch through her skirt. Relief was
not long coming.

Leaving
the privy afterward, she sensed movement and glanced toward Saul's garden. How
long had he been there? Maybe it was the reason Clay hadn't forced his way in.

But
she expected him to return, and decided to send the kids to Bernie's. People
would begin to wonder why Mrs. Tomelin always rushed her youngsters out of the
house. Seeing them play now, their stomachs full for another day, she was glad
they were too young to understand the situation. Circumstances had changed a
lot since their dad disappeared. Now there was a nasty man who disrespected
their mother, not to mention he might also be a threat to them.

She
didn't know what to tell the kids about their daddy. They still asked about
him, and thought every man coming down the street might be him. They'd sit on
the front porch brooding, or twirl slowly on the tire swing, watching the road
with big sad eyes. As days and weeks passed, they'd begun to accept their daddy
might never come home.

One
day she'd overhead Catherine tell a neighbor girl, "My daddy went
away."

"Oh,
that's too bad. Where did he go? Did he stop loving you?"

Catherine
shook her head and shrugged her small shoulders. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe
he died."

"That's
a shame," said the other child.

Mere
babies discussing a serious subject like adult women. LaDaisy had turned away
with a lump in her throat.

He
may as well be dead, for all the good he is now.

She
put Mary down for a nap then walked up to the garden to speak with Saul. How
much he suspected, she didn't know.

He
looked up as she approached, whipped off his hat and wiped his head, face, and
neck with a big red handkerchief before putting it back on. He leaned on the
hoe handle and motioned to the ground.

"Dry
as a desert. Not a drop of water since the big storm."

A
stiff breeze stirred the dust at their feet. LaDaisy scooped up a clod of soil.
"Hard as a rock." She tossed it away. "You ever seen a desert,
Saul?"

"Nope.
But I always planned to go out west and see Death Valley."

She
smiled. "What's stopping you?"

"Free
as a bird, ain't I?"

"Well?"

"Well
what?"

He
picked up the hoe again and loosened the soil around a tomato plant, then
plucked the only ripe fruit and handed it to her. Except for a few clusters of
marble-size green tomatoes, the plant had seen better days. Even rain wouldn't
revive the spindly plant this late in the summer.

"If
I didn't have responsibilities," LaDaisy said, "I'd go west myself.
If you've been thinking about it all these years, you should make your dream
come true." She dropped the tomato in her apron pocket. "I had a
dream once—before Daniel left."

"You
miss him, don'tcha?"

She
nodded. "Of course I do. But I'm almost to the end of my rope. There's a
big hole in our lives, Saul." She pitied the old man, who was more a part
of her life than her own father had been. But there was no way to soften her
words. She tried, but they came out harsh. "I know Daniel's your son, but
he's got no right to come home after what he did."

Saul
started working the soil around another plant, and the breeze blew dust up
their noses.

"Daniel
had his reasons. I don't know what they were, but I know he loves his
family."

"Humph.
Fine way of showing it." She paused. "Part of me wants him back and
another part thinks he should go to hell."

LaDaisy
gazed out across the yard, at the treetops swaying in the wind.

"Saul—"

"Hey?"

She
turned. "Can you do me a favor? I know it's hot and it's a lot to ask, but
I need you to take the kids to Bernie's. Maybe you can pull Bobby in the wagon.
He'd like that."

He
started to speak, but she held up her hand.

"Something's
going on. I can't explain."

"I'll
take 'em. Will you be all right?"

I
don't know.

"Yes,
yes I'll be fine. There's something I have to do."

Saul
hitched up his overalls.

"Ain't
none of my business, but I seen Clay hanging around."

"Oh,
Saul! Don't think bad of me. Please. Clay, he—" She began to cry. "I
know what you must think. Me being without a—a man for so long, but it's not ...
"

He
lay a hand on her shoulder.

"Are
you afraid of him?"

"Yes."

"I
thought so." He shook his head. "That fool ain't half the man Daniel
is. If you're afraid, you'd better tell the sheriff to keep him away, landlord
or not."

"I
think he's coming back after you leave," she said. "I don't want the
kids in the way. He's drunk and raving mad. I don't know what he might
do."

"They'll
be safe at Bernie's. But I'm worried about you. What'll you do if he comes back
and starts something?"

"I
don't know. I just hope he has sense enough not to."

She
went back to the house and told the kids to go with Grandpa Saul to Bernie's,
and after they left, she locked both front and back doors, checked on Mary,
then opened Daniel's closet and stared at the shotgun. She took it out, along
with the box of shells.
I have no idea how to load this damn thing.

She
removed a cartridge from the box and carefully laid it on top of the dresser
before returning the rest to the closet, locking the door. She picked up the
gun and examined it, noting how the barrel was made. In her mind, she saw
Daniel taking the gun apart for cleaning, then putting it back together again.

Think,
LaDaisy.

A
mental picture formed in her mind of her husband bending the shotgun. No, not
bending, for it had seemed to crack right in half.
What?
The shells fire
through the barrel. But how do I get them in there? She found the hinged
opening where the barrel met the chamber, and taking a section in each hand,
she broke the gun open.

She
held the weapon to the light and looked down the empty barrel. After a minute,
she figured out how to insert the shell then closed the gun with a loud click.