I sure miss my girl, I can tell you that much. I don't know how men do it, them that have jobs that call for traveling all the time. Seems like a hollow way of living, spending your days with strangers and your nights in strange beds.
But what am I doing, complaining about me? I could stand about anything, and that's the truth, if I knew you were happy. Only, I know it's hard on you too, being away from your own home and friends and such.
I wish I could tell you things were going great with the pots and pans, but the fact is, sales have been awful slow. Only two sets in the whole time I've been on the road!
Seems not too many folks are wanting cookware at the moment, not even cookware this fine.Why, the other day in Togo, a lady not only turned down my pots and pans, she tried to make me take back a vacuum cleaner she'd bought a while back. She kept insisting she'd bought it from me, and no amount of talk on my part could convince her that it must have been some other salesman. I finally had no choice but to hightail it out of there when she went to fetch the vacuum. As I was driving away, I could see her on her doorstep, shaking her fist.
I called head office yesterday, to tell them I was quitting, only I got talked into giving it one more shot. They gave me a new territory, though I can't imagine why they'd want to hang onto a salesman who can't seem to sell. Charlie, the guy I talked to, promised me a better area and said if I'd stick it out for another couple of weeks they'd increase my commission by five percent.
Last week I was near enough to Moose Jaw to drop by the mill to see what's what. The foreman, Jasper Peterson (you met him at the company picnic last summer) promised me I'd be back on shift by the first week of September at the latest, and his word has always been good.
If things pick up with the pots and pans, I'll keep at this until the end of August. If not, you'll see your old man come rolling in about a week and a half after you get this letter. Either way, be good for your grandmother and Uncle Roger, and remember to say your prayers every night.
Love,
Dad
I read the letter four times and then folded it up and tucked it back into the envelope. Halfway through the second time I'd given up on not crying. Now I wished Uncle Roger hadn't given me the letter until bedtime. Then I wouldn't have to go back downstairs and face anybody tonight. But maybe they wouldn't be able to tell how I felt. Just because Daddy always knows if something is wrong as soon as he lays eyes on me, that didn't mean they would too—did it?
I wished I could sneak out to the pump room and splash water on my eyes before facing them, but that was about impossible since I'd have to go through the kitchen to get there. The best I could do was lift my shirt and wipe the tear marks off my cheeks, dry my eyes, and take a few good, deep breaths.
It struck me on my way back to the kitchen that I'd been praying for the wrong thing all this time. Daddy wasn't going to quit the Marvelous Company and come back for me sooner if he was selling lots of pots and pans like I'd figured. He only planned to stop if sales were bad.
My mind was occupied with this thought when
I reached Grandma's side and sat down at the table. Next to her plate was a second letter from Daddy so I guessed he'd written to tell her the bad news, too.
I snuck a peek at her, expecting to see a big frown on her face, but she just looked normal. Maybe she hadn't read her letter yet and didn't know that she might be stuck with me all the way until the end of August.
Eighteen
I'd just finished feeding Sammy the next day when Uncle Roger popped into the shed.
"I've come to make good on my promise to take you to town," he said. "Say, Sammy's looking a lot better! You must be taking great care of him."
Sammy bobbed his head up and down as if he was agreeing, which made us both laugh. I was proud of how much he'd improved. He hopped around a lot, with his dark little eyes alert and snapping, and he only screeched when he was hungry.
We said goodbye to Sammy and then got into the truck and headed for town. Uncle Roger whistled while he was driving but I didn't know the song—if it was one. I watched out the window. It was nice sitting up front where a person could see pretty much everything around, even if there wasn't much variety in the scenery. Farms and fields—that was about it.
"You like ice cream?" Uncle Roger asked when he'd made his way through the tune.
"Sure," I said. Daddy always bought a brick when it was my birthday, and once in a while for no special reason if he got overtime at the mill. Just thinking about it made my mouth water.
"You should ask your grandmother to make some," Uncle Roger said.
That was the last thing I'd been expecting to hear. I did my best to hide my disappointment, which wasn't easy. There I'd been, thinking I was going to be treated to a cold, delicious ice-cream cone in town, and instead all I was getting was this terrible advice. Ask my grandmother to make ice cream! Brother.
My thoughts must have gotten through onto my face because Uncle Roger said, "Really, you should ask her. Your mother used to pester her for it all the time, and your grandma always said it was a waste of time but she usually ended up making it just the same."
"Oh," I said. I couldn't think of an answer that didn't sound impudent or doubtful. Grandma might have made ice cream for my mother but there was no way she would do it for me.
"You're not convinced," Uncle Roger said. He was smiling.
"She doesn't exactly like me," I said at last. "In case you haven't noticed."
"She doesn't want to like you," he said easily, like that was the most normal thing in the world to tell a kid about her grandmother. "But you could win her over, if you wanted to. It just might take a little time."
"Well…," I said, feeling quite put out. "I don't see why I should have to win over my own grandmother."
"You're right; that's not fair," he agreed. Then he fell silent for a bit. When he spoke again, it was to talk about something else.
"That would have been my farm if the barn hadn't burned down."
I looked to my right where he was pointing but there was nothing much to see really. No barn—well, that made sense—but there was no house either, or any other buildings. Just a pile of rocks sitting back a ways from the road. I wondered why they were there.
"Those, rocks, well, that's where the house would have been," he said, as if he'd read my thoughts. "I put the barn up first, got some cattle, and started working the land. The house would have come later on that summer."
"Why didn't you start over?" I asked. "You saved the animals, right?"
"Yes, they were all okay."
"So, why didn't you just build the barn again? And then the house and all?"
Uncle Roger pulled the truck over to the side of the road and turned off the car. He stared at the land for a few minutes before he answered. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet.
"Didn't seem like there was much reason, after the fire." He touched his face, running his fingers over the scar, though I don't think he realized he was doing it.
"You see, Ellie," he went on, "I was to supposed get married that fall, to a girl named Ellen. Only, after the fire, things changed. I could see she didn't feel the same anymore, what with my face like this. She tried—she really tried—but it was all she could do not to look away every time she saw me."
"What happened?" I asked. I'd never met this Ellen person, but I disliked her anyway.
"I let her go," he said. "Told her it was plain I couldn't make her happy and I didn't mean to marry her if that was the case. She cried about it but I could see she was relieved."
"Do you think you'll ever get back together?"
"Well, now, I don't think it's too likely," Uncle Roger said with a half smile. "She married someone else a few years later."
"I bet he's not as good as you," I said.
"I appreciate your saying so." He chuckled. "But you'd lose that bet. Albert's a fine fellow."
I sat silent, feeling sorry about what had happened to Uncle Roger, but not
having any words for it.
"Anyway, a single man has no need of his own farm," he said after a bit. Then he put the truck back into gear and started driving again.
"Maybe you'll marry someone else, someday," I said.
"Maybe," he said, but there was no belief of it in his voice.
"I need to stop off at Cal Dysert's farm for a bit," Uncle Roger said when we were nearly to town. "No need for you to be bored, waiting for me. How about I drop you over at Marcy's place first and you two can get your next visit all figured out while I'm talking to Cal?"
"Okay."
We pulled into the Knowles's driveway a few minutes later and Uncle Roger went to the door with me.
"Be all right for Ellie to stop off here for a bit?" he asked Marcy's mom when she came to answer. "Cal Dysert asked me to give him a hand with his tractor—shouldn't take more than half an hour or so—and then me 'n Ellie are heading into town."
"Of course," Mrs. Knowles said at once. "Ellie is welcome here anytime at all. Come on in, Ellie."
Uncle Roger tipped his hat. "Much obliged," he said.
Just then I heard my name being yelled, and when I stepped inside I saw Marcy barreling down the stairs toward me.
"I didn't know you were—," she called out as her feet pounded down the steps. Her voice broke off when she slipped on one of the steps near the bottom and came bumping down the last few on her behind—bump, bump, bump. She landed sitting up on the floor at the bottom. Her face was all surprised and cross looking.
I couldn't help laughing but Marcy didn't find it one bit funny.
"What are you laughing at, Ellie?" she yelled as her mother helped her to her feet.
"There there, now, Marcy," Mrs. Knowles said. "I don't think there's any harm done."
"Well, how would you like it if you hurt yourself and your friend laughed about it?" Marcy asked her mother.
"I'm sure Ellie doesn't think it's funny that you hurt yourself," Mrs. Knowles said soothingly.
"Well, are you sorry then, Ellie?" Marcy demanded.
"I wasn't laughing about you getting hurt," I said. "I was laughing about the sound you made bumping down the stairs, and the surprised look on your face."
"There, see? Everything is fine," Mrs. Knowles said. She looked back and forth from me to Marcy with a strange smile on her face.
Marcy shrugged. "Let's go to my room," she said, wrestling herself free from her mother's hug.
We tromped up the stairs and into her pink room. Even though I'd seen it before, it still managed to startle me.
"Let's play house," Marcy said as soon as we were inside the door. She went right to her ruffle-edged shelf and began to look the dolls over.
"I can't," I said. I might have sounded glad, but I couldn't help it. I already knew that playing house with Marcy was no fun.
"Why can't you?" she asked.
"Because I'm only here for a short time. Uncle Roger has to help someone with a tractor and then he's coming back to take me to town with him."
Marcy's eyes narrowed. "Why do you have to go to town with him?" she asked. "Just tell him you want to stay here and play with me instead."
"I want to go to town with Uncle Roger," I said quickly. "But we can figure out a different day for me to come over if you want."
"Why would I want you to come over a different day if you don't even want to play here today?"Marcy demanded. She plopped down on her bed, crossed her arms and looked away from me.
I stood there silently, wishing I was in Uncle Roger's truck, waiting while he helped Mr. Dysert with the tractor.
"So?" Marcy said. "Are you going to stay today or not?"
"My Uncle Roger wants me to go to town with him," I said. I felt panicky that Marcy was somehow going to make me stay there.
"Who'd want to go to town with him, anyway?" she snapped. "I sure wouldn't go anywhere with someone with an ugly face like that. He looks like a big old lizard monster!"
Her words shocked me so much I almost couldn't speak, and when I did, all I could manage to say was, "Take that back!"
"Why should I?" she said. "It's true. Your whole family is strange and creepy. And your grandmother is so mean that her very own daughter ran away from home and never came back. My mother said it probably did something to her head."
"That's a lie! There's nothing wrong with my uncle or my grandmother!" I yelled. "You're a horrible, hateful, bossy person," I went on, "and I wouldn't play with you again if I had to stay here for the rest of my life."
Marcy's mouth fell open but she snapped it closed quick enough and jumped to her feet. "You just get out of my house!" she shrieked. Her eyes were blazing. "Get out this very minute."
I was down the stairs and out the door in a flash, but then I wasn't sure what to do. It didn't seem like I should sit on the porch and wait for Uncle Roger, so I walked down the dusty drive to the edge of the road, and stood there beside the mailbox until my uncle's truck came along to get me.
Nineteen
Uncle Roger looked pretty surprised to find me on the side of the road when he came back for me.
"Anything wrong?" he asked as I climbed up onto the seat.
"I'm never going there again!"
"I see." Uncle Roger was silent for a few moments. Then he said, "Friends squabble now and then. They usually work it out, though."
"She's not my friend," I said. "I hate her!"
I felt Uncle Roger's eyes looking at me, but I didn't look back.
"Anything you want to tell me about?" he asked.
"No." That came out sounding cross and I felt bad about it, but I really couldn't tell Uncle Roger the horrid things Marcy had said.
He didn't seem to mind, though. Instead, he changed the subject as he pulled the truck back onto the road.
"I've been thinking some about Sammy," he said.
I smiled at the mention of that silly old magpie. "What about him?" I asked.
"Like I said earlier, you've done a great job with him. He's looking pretty good."
Something in his tone told me I might not like what was coming next. "He's a little bit better," I said slowly.
"He's a lot better," Uncle Roger said quietly. "His wing is well healed, he's alert and healthy looking. I'd say he's good as new, thanks to you."
"His wing probably isn't very strong yet, though," I said. I looked out the window on my right, studying the fields we were passing.
"I bet you're right. Sammy needs to exercise it to regain his strength."
"How?"
"Well, by flying, mainly."
"If we let him out to fly, will he come back?"
"I can't see it."
I was silent for a moment. I thought of Sammy's bright eyes and his silly squawking voice and the way he tilted his head when he looked at me.
My throat started to hurt.
When I found my voice again, my words came out small and sad. "Can't I keep him as a pet?"
It was Uncle Roger's turn to say nothing, but I could see he was thinking. At last, he said, "I guess that should be your decision, Ellie. Give it some thought for a day or two and let me know what you decide."
I nodded, though I was thinking I could have gone ahead and told him right then and there. Sammy was my bird and I was keeping him, and that was all there was to it.
"Well, here we are."
I was startled to find that we were in the middle of Weybolt. I'd been thinking so hard about Sammy that I hadn't realized it when Uncle Roger turned onto the road that runs through the middle of town. I hadn't even noticed the water tower standing guard over the place.
"I've got a few errands to run," Uncle Roger told me as he pulled up in front of the general store. "But I don't suppose you're too interested in farm equipment or feed supplies. Why don't you go ahead and have a look around in here and I'll meet up with you when I'm finished."
I said okay and got out of the car, but I hesitated once I'd shut the door. Uncle Roger didn't seem to notice. He backed up, gave me a
little wave and drove off down the street, leaving me alone, standing on the sidewalk.
A queasy feeling crept into my stomach, and I'd just made up my mind to sit down on the curb and wait for Uncle Roger to come back when I heard someone speak behind me.
"Well, well! If it isn't Miss Ellie! Have you come into Weybolt all on your own today?"
I turned to see Wendell Fletcher standing in the doorway.
"Hello, Mr. Fletcher," I said. "I came with Uncle Roger, but he had to go to a few places."
"That explains why you don't have a car with you," he said, as if he really thought I might be driving a car around the countryside. "But what are you doing out there? Come on away in. And call me Wendell! Everyone hereabouts does."
I accepted the oddly-worded invitation and went in. The queasiness in my tummy was disappearing already. It was occurring to me that I could wander up and down the aisles and look at all the things I'd had to hurry by when I'd been with Grandma.
And then my thoughts got interrupted with a surprise. I had just taken a couple of steps down one aisle when Wendell called me back.
"I see here that you have a two-dollar credit on your account," he said.
I stared at him while the words and meaning came together in my head. Then I told him it must be a mistake.
"No mistake." He turned a large black book around and pointed to the top of a new page. Sure enough, there was my name—Ellie Stewart—written on the first line, and right below it appeared Credit: $2.00.
"I reckon someone opened up an account for you," Wendell said, like he didn't know perfectly well exactly how this had come about and could only make an educated guess on the matter.
"My Uncle Roger," I said.
"Could be. Could be. All I can say for sure is that there's a credit here and it's yours." Wendell glanced over as the door creaked open and a couple of women came in. "Mornin', ladies," he said. Then he looked back at me and tapped the page he'd shown me. "Anyway, just keep this in mind while you're meandering about, hear?"
Tumbleweed Skies Page 7
