Song of the Road (4 page)

It was a warm May day, and Mary Lee was hot when she stepped up onto the back porch and entered the kitchen. Her mother, Pearl, and the man they had called Jim sat at the table. Mary Lee could smell bacon and fried potatoes. The sink was still full of dirty dishes, and the sheets she had brought up from the number four cabin were still on the floor in the corner.

“Where you been?” Dolly asked as if she really didn’t care.

“To see Mr. Morales.”

“What for?”

“To find out about Daddy’s will. He sent me a copy, but it must have gotten lost in the mail. Daddy left everything to me, Mama. The house, what’s in it, and the cabins are in my name.”

“Ah, he didn’t. Frank said that will wasn’t worth the paper it was written on.”

“Frank Pierce is a lazy, no-good deadbeat who doesn’t know beans. I want him out of here.”

“Now, see here.” Dolly stood up. “He paid for a month.”

“When?”

“A couple of weeks ago.”

“Does he have a receipt for his money?”

“I don’t . . . remember.”

Mary Lee looked at Pearl and then at Jim. “I want you to leave too. We’re having no more freeloaders around here.”

“Now, wait a goddamn minute!” Dolly yelled. “You got no right comin’ back to my house telling my friends to get out. Who do you think you are?”

“
My
house, Mama. I’m the owner here. Lock, stock and barrel. The attorney said so. What I say goes. I will not have your drunken friends here!”

“I’ve been helpin’ Dolly,” Pearl said lamely.

“We don’t need your help, and I need my room.”

“You don’t have to go, Pearl. You can sleep with me.” Dolly glared at her daughter. “It ain’t right that Scott left it to you.”

“Daddy knew that you’d do just what you’ve been doing. In six more months everything would be gone.”

Jim got to his feet. “I’ve not been stayin’ here. I only come once in a while to visit Pearl.”

“I see,” Mary Lee said, tight-lipped. “Well, the whore-house is closed as of this minute. Don’t come back.”

“Jim, where’ll I go?” Pearl whined.

“You figure it out. You’ve no strings on me.” He pulled out his wallet and threw a five-dollar bill on the table, turned and walked out the door.

“You son of a bitch! You horny bastard! You got what you wanted. . . .” Pearl burst into tears.

“Mama, we’ve got a lot to do. Why don’t you clean up this mess in here while Pearl gets her things out of my room. I’ll change my dress and start the washing so we can put clean sheets on the beds in the cabins.”

When Pearl went to the bedroom, Dolly slumped down in a chair and covered her face with her shaking hands. It was hard for Mary Lee to remember the young and pretty mother she’d been so long ago. Dolly’s hair was streaked with gray; her eyes were dull and sunken. Her print dress hung from her shoulders, scarcely touching the rest of her thin body.

“Have you eaten anything today, Mama?”

Dolly didn’t answer, and Mary Lee hadn’t expected her to. In the living room, Mary Lee took off the jersey skirt and overblouse, the only thing she owned that did not wrinkle, and put on a print dress that was snug but still wearable without the belt. She put on her everyday shoes and went back to the kitchen. Dolly was still sitting at the table.

“Mama?” Mary Lee put her hand on her shoulder and shook her gently.

“Get away from me! Why’d you have to come back?” “Because this is my home.”

“That shithead Scott always cared more for you than he did me.”

“That’s not true. He put up with your drinking all these years, and he never had a harsh thing to say about you. He left me everything because he knew that you’d do just what you’ve been doing. He left it to me knowing that I’d take care of you.”

“He never wanted me to have any friends or —” “Where’s Daddy’s car?”

“Sold it. Wasn’t doing no good sitting here. The stingy fart wouldn’t teach me how to drive it. He was afraid I’d run off, and I would’ve.”

“Hush!” Mary Lee shook her mother’s shoulder. “Don’t you say a bad word about Daddy. He loved you, put up with you, and it probably killed him.”

“You always took his side.”

“What did you do with the money from the car and the three hundred dollars Daddy got from the bank? He didn’t have time to do the repairs.”

“I don’t have to account to a snot-nosed kid about what I do with my money. You went off with that brat of Ocie Clawson’s and got yourself knocked up, then come crawlin’ back here to take over.”

“Bobby and I were married. I can show you the marriage certificate. I want you to understand that things are going to be different around here. I’ll have no more hangers-on here. Anyone who stays in one of those cabins will pay for it. You’re going to have to help me.”

“Maybe I’ll just go with Pearl and leave it to ya.”

“If that’s what you want to do, go right ahead.” Mary Lee had heard her mother threaten to leave a hundred or more times and knew that she never would.

“You don’t care what happens to me. I’m . . . sick —”

“I care. You’re my mother. And it’s no wonder you’re sick. You drink that rotgut whiskey and don’t eat. Fix yourself something to eat, then clean up in here. I’m going out to light the hot water tank so I can do the wash.”

Mary Lee opened the door to her old room. Pearl was bending over an open dresser drawer. She looked up with pure malice on her face.

“I didn’t hear a knock.”

“Why should I knock? It’s my room.”

“You could wait till I get out. I worked for this room.”

“It doesn’t look to me like anyone has worked around here for quite some time.”

“I cleaned cabins and this is the thanks I get.”

“I imagine you were well paid — in whiskey. But I’ll not argue with you. Clear out or I’ll call the sheriff.”

When Mary Lee pulled the sheets off the bed, she smelled the sickening odor of cigarettes and sex. Gathering the sheets into a roll, she took slips off the pillows and went into the bathroom that connected the two bedrooms, to collect the towels. It had been a while since the room had been cleaned.

Why wasn’t she surprised?

She closed her eyes for a moment and wondered how she was going to do all that had to be done.

Chapter 3

T
HE NOON WHISTLE BLEW WHILE
Mary Lee was hanging the wash on the line. In the storage building behind the house, where supplies for the cabins and the washer were kept, Scott had built in a long line of shelves for storing the sheets, towels and other necessities for the cabins. Today the sheet and the towel shelves were empty.

The oversize washing machine her father bought from Sears Roebuck two years ago would hold six sheets and six pillowcases at one time, or two dozen towels. It was hard work to lift the wet sheets out of the washer, run them through the wringer to the rinse water, then back through to the basket to take to the line.

Mary Lee’s back hurt, and her arms felt as if lead weights were tied to them by the time she finished hanging the wash on the lines. She went to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of tea and sank down in a chair. The dishes had been washed, but that was all. The door to Dolly’s room was closed. There was no sign of Pearl.

Knowing that every minute counted if she was going to get the three available cabins ready for renting, she rested a minute or two, then fixed herself a bread and jelly sandwich. After she ate, she went down to number four cabin with a broom and a bucket of cleaning supplies. She worked in the cabin steadily for an hour. When she left, it was clean-smelling again. She took her sheets off the bed and carried them back to the house.

An hour later she had cleaned another cabin. She made up the beds in the two clean cabins with the sheets she took off the line. Two of the three rental cabins were ready when she started on the third. The work went slowly because she was so tired. When she finished, she wanted to sit down and cry. Instead she made sure the doors were locked and the keys were in her pocket, and headed back to the house.

It was getting along toward evening and time when travelers stopped for the night. Mary Lee allowed herself a moment to watch the cars speed past on the highway.

Where are you going and what will you do when you get there? I hope that you have a better life than the one you left behind.

She had one more thing to do before she could go to the house: put on a clean dress and make herself presentable. She looked at the mattress with the hole burned in the center. Lying there, it was an eyesore. It made the court look trashy. The only way to get it out of sight was to drag it behind the washhouse.

She grasped a corner of the mattress with both hands and dug in her heels. She was able to drag it only a few feet before she had to stop and rest. By the time she had dragged it ten feet, she was breathing hard and sweating profusely; her hair stuck to her cheeks and to the back of her neck.

Unaware that anyone was near, she was startled when a big hand reached down and took hold of the mattress. She looked up at a stern-faced man in a black hat. Her eyes met his. She felt the blood drain from her face.

She had looked into those sea-green eyes before. But where? When?

“You tryin’ to kill that kid you’re carryin’?” She heard him speak over the roaring in her ears. “Where do you want this?”

“Behind . . . the shed.” Mary Lee was so out of breath she could hardly talk.

The man walked off dragging the mattress as easily as if it had wheels. Mary Lee hurried to where she had left her cleaning pail and broom, then followed. He had dumped the mattress on a pile of trash and was on his way back when she met him.

“Thank you.” It was all she had time to say.

He tipped his hat and went on by. At the door of the wash-house she turned to watch him until he disappeared between number five and number six. He was the tenant who rented by the month. Jake Ramero. She shook her head to rid it of the thought that she had met him before.

It was nice of him to help her; she had to give him that. But if he didn’t have a receipt for the money he gave Dolly, he had to go.

Mary Lee didn’t have time to think about him now. She washed, put on a clean dress, brushed her hair and tied it back with a ribbon. Her father had always made sure that he was neat and clean, even if working, when folks came off the highway to rent a cabin. In the drawer of the library table she found the ledger where he registered the guests who stayed at the cabins. She felt a flash of anger when she saw that the last entry made was in his handwriting.

She knocked on Dolly’s door, then opened it. “Mama, are you all right?” Her mother was lying on the bed, her arm over her eyes.

“What’a you care?”

“Are you going to fix supper?”

“You fix it; you’ve taken over everythin’ else.”

Mary Lee closed the door. A car had turned into the drive and stopped in front of the house. She went out onto the porch.

“Good evening,” she said to the man who got out of the car.

“I’m lookin’ for a place to stay the night.”

“You’ve come to the right place. Would you like to see one of the cabins?”

“If it’s got a bed and it’s clean it’ll be all right. How much?” “Dollar fifty,” she said, and held her breath. Her father had charged a dollar twenty-five.

The man dug into his pocket and pulled out the money. Thankful he had the correct change, Mary Lee said, “Thank you. I’ll get the register.”

She came out of the house and sat down on the step.

“Your name for the record, please. The law requires it.”

“John Hardy, Kansas City, Missouri.”

After carefully making the entry and noting the amount paid, she laid aside the ledger.

“Follow me down to number four.”

She waited at the door while he parked. “There are towels and soap in the bathroom. In the morning, leave the key on the table.” She smiled. “When you pass this way again, we’d be happy for you to stay with us.”

“I just might do that. I’ll be back about this time next month.”

Without a moment of hesitation, Mary Lee went straight to the last cabin and knocked on the door. She had to see Jake Ramero again to rid herself of the creepy feeling that she had known him before. She waited and was about to knock again when the door opened. The man’s chest was bare, and a towel was flung around his neck. His look said, “What’a ya want?” but he remained silent, the quiet broken only by the radio playing inside the cabin.

Mary Lee drew in a deep breath. Oh, Lord! His face was familiar.
How could that be?

“I’m Mrs. Clawson, the owner of the motor court.” “Hello, Mary Lee Finley.”

His voice came to her as if he had said her name a million times. It took her a minute to bring herself back to the business at hand.

“I’m giving you notice, Mr. Ramero, that unless you want to pay by the day you’ll have to move out.”

She had to look a long way up to see his face. He had been shaving when she knocked. Streaks of shaving soap were visible high up on his cheek. His eyes were a piercing green with gold flecks, sunlight-squinted, and seemed endowed with the ability to look a hole through anyone. His age was somewhere around thirty, maybe less. Wet black hair looked as if he had been rubbing it with the towel.