by With Heart
“Baby.”
“Is your baby with you?”
“Baby.”
“Is it sick?”
“Baby.”
“Where is your baby, Hannah?”
“Gone. Baby gone.” She turned away and shuffled out the door.
Kathleen watched her as she passed the window. The skirt that came to her ankles was torn and dirty. The neck of her overblouse was torn and exposed one shoulder. The moccasins were so large that she had to shuffle in order to keep them on.
“The poor wretched thing.” Adelaide shook her head sadly.
“Did her baby die?”
“I don’t know. When she came in a month or two ago, she was as big as a barrel. The next time was the day you arrived. Her breasts were leaking and I asked about the baby. That was when she shoved me.”
“Is she unbalanced?”
“She wasn’t before she had the baby. She was a little strange but not like she is now. Grieving must be making her crazy.”
The next person to come in was Earlene Smothers. She was huffing and sweating. The heavy coat of face powder had caked on her hairy upper lip.
“Adelaide,” she wheezed, “I just saw that crazy Indian woman who roams around town. She was dirty, as usual, and muttering something. She should be put away. My goodness gracious! What’s the world coming to when decent people can’t walk the streets without running into trash like that.”
“What can I do for you, Earlene? This is press day, and we’re real busy.”
“Not too busy, I hope,” Earlene said, and sniffed peevishly. “I have something to add to the notice about the concession the First Baptist Church is going to have at the rodeo.”
“What is it? I’ll try to get it in.”
“Add orange NeHi pop to the list of drinks. Ice cold, of course. Maude Ferman is in charge of the tubs of ice, and she says that we’ll have room. I hope she’s right after we’ve advertised.”
“Oh, you want this in a paid ad?” Adelaide asked innocently.
“Heavens, no! Just add ice-cold NeHi pop to the notice. Surely you’ll not charge us for that.” The fat woman had a horrified look on her face.
“No. I’ll see what I can get it in, but I’ll have to hurry.” Adelaide got up from the desk and headed for the back room. “Good-bye, Earlene.”
“She’ll see if she can get it in?” Mrs. Smothers echoed. “Who’s boss around here? I thought she owned the place or is that . . . that person she took up with in charge now?”
Kathleen acted as if she were stone deaf and continued to type. As soon as the fat woman went out the door and passed the window, Adelaide came back into the office.
“She gets my hackles up,” she explained as she sat back down at her desk.
“I know how you feel. Clara Ramsey got my hackles up last night.”
“Is she back in town?”
“I’m afraid so. She is utterly self-centered and cares not a fig for anyone but herself. Poor Hazel. Clara had made herself at home with my soap, shampoo, bath salts, towels, and even my tooth powder. Little Emily apologized. This morning I locked everything in my trunk and my suitcase before I left.”
“I wonder what she’s doing back in town.”
“She told Hazel she came back for money.”
“I’m always afraid that Clara will talk Hazel into selling her house. Sam Ramsey worked like a dog to pay for that house so that Clara and Hazel would have a roof over their heads.”
“I don’t think that will happen. Hazel takes her responsibility for Emily seriously. She loves that child.”
“Where will Clara get money in Rawlings? Everyone in town knows that she’s a tramp.”
• • •
At that moment, Clara Ramsey was leaving the house in a pout. Miss Uppity-up Dolan had stripped the bathroom, leaving only one ragged towel and a bar of Lava soap, and Mama had guarded the doors to the hussy’s room as if it were a bank vault, giving her no chance to borrow a few things.
Clara picked her way carefully along the rutted road. The spike heels on her shoes were fragile. It wouldn’t do to break one off before Marty got there. She would have worn her other shoes, but wanted the hicks in Rawlings to see her looking good. Her clinging pongee dress was blue with little black dots in it. She had used the curling iron on her hair, making high curls out of her bangs. Her lashes were heavy with mascara, her thin brows penciled, her lipstick bright red.
When Clara reached the street with a sidewalk, she tripped along making sure that her hips swayed so that the full skirt of her dress danced around her knees. She watched her reflection in the window as she passed the dry goods store. She looked damned good. No one would believe that she had a kid almost seven years old, but hell, she’d had her when she was sixteen. She’d make sure Emily stayed out of sight when Marty came. She had a surprise for him, and it wasn’t Emily.
The Rawlings Medical Clinic was six blocks from the center of town. When Dr. Herman built it in 1919 right after the war, it was out in the country. Since then the town had expanded to reach it. Long and low and made of red brick, it sat slightly farther back from the walk than business buildings built later.
Clara was hot, and her feet hurt by the time she reached the clinic. She opened the door and stood for a minute beneath the cool breeze of the ceiling fan. Three of the four doors leading out of the small empty lobby were closed. The other was slightly ajar. Somewhere, far away, Clara heard the sound of a radio.
“May I help you?” A woman in a starched white uniform came silently into the lobby.
“I want to see Louise.”
“Miss Munday is busy right now.”
“Tell her to get unbusy. Clara Ramsey wants to see her.”
“Have a seat. I’ll tell her.”
Like a shadow, the woman slipped back through the slightly open door. Clara sat down, reached down, and wiped the dust off her patent-leather pumps and picked up a week-old paper. She glanced at the headline, then looked to see what was playing at the Rialto Theatre.
“Wallace Beery in The Champ. Whoop-de-doo!” She tossed the paper aside, crossed her legs, and swung her foot back and forth impatiently.
“Come in here, Clara.” The tone of Louise Munday’s voice would have sent waves of apprehension through most young girls. Clara rose leisurely to her feet and followed the tall, stout figure into an inner office. Louise closed the door, turned, and said, “Sit down.”
“Thanks,” Clara said drily.
“What are you doing back in town? I thought you hated this place.” Louise backed up to the desk, sat down on the edge, and folded her arms across her chest.
“I do hate this place. I came back because I need a hundred dollars.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“I doubt if ya do. Ya made plenty.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You know what I’m talking about. You told me never to mention it, and I haven’t.”
“You came to us, Clara.”
“I was sick and pregnant.”
“We helped you. Gave you money to get out of town. It’s what you wanted.”
“Well, I need a another hundred to get out of town again.”
“You bitch! Six months from now you’d be back for another hundred. Is that the way it’ll be from now on?”
“No. I’m goin’ to Nashville and get on the Grand Ole Opry.”
Louise rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “I knew you’d be trouble. I told Doc as much.”
“But I had somethin’ ya wanted. Right?”
“And you had something you wanted to be rid of. It was a two-way street, Clara. You came to us. We didn’t come to you. You’ll get no more money than was agreed upon.”
“I think I will. Do ya know who Mama’s new roomer is?”
“Of course I do. Kathleen Dolan, the new partner at the Gazette.”
“We . . . ll—”
“Are you threatening me?” Louise’s breath quickened as she leaned forward a
nd stared into Clara’s face.
“No, but I can see headlines that’d shock folks outta their drawers.” Clara reached up and fiddled with an earring. “I’m just tellin’ ya that . . . I got things on my side.”
“You rotten little slut. You’re trying to blackmail me! I won’t stand for it, and neither will Doc.” Louise’s heavy jowls turned red and quivered with anger. Her small red mouth was pressed into a thin line.
“So he knows what ya did? I didn’t know that.”
“Of course, he knows, you stupid little twit.”
“He’s got money. He owns half the town and wouldn’t miss it if he gave me some.”
“He’s in Fort Worth and won’t be back until Monday. In the meantime, keep your mouth shut.”
“Monday? I can’t wait ’round here till Monday.” Clara jumped to her feet. “That’s four days. I want to leave here tomorrow or the next day.”
“That’s just too damn bad.” Louise went behind the desk. “Come back Monday, and I’ll let you know what Doc has to say. Go on. Get out of here. I’ve got work to do.”
A shrill scream came from another part of the building just as Clara opened the door.
“What’s that?”
“What do you think you stupid little twit?”
“Someone’s havin’ a baby, and Doc ain’t here. You’re in charge.”
The scream came again and was cut off abruptly. “It’s amazing how smart you can be . . . at times,” Louise said sarcastically. “Get out of here and . . . if you breathe a word about anything, anything at all that happens around here, you’ll wish you’d never heard of the town of Rawlings, Oklahoma.”
“Ya ort to know, Louise, that I already wish I’d never heard of Rawlings, or you for that matter,” Clara said sassily, and flounced out the door.
She walked out into the bright sunshine with the feelings that for once she had given Louise Munday something to think about. She and Doc would find out that Clara Ramsey wasn’t a dumbbell like a few others she could name. Oh, well, if they didn’t come through with the money, she had another card to play.
Marty, hurry up and get here.
• • •
Adelaide had finished stamping the papers to be mailed, and Woody loaded them in the coaster wagon to take them to the post office. The ancient press had cooperated, and they had not had a single clog-up to delay the run. Adelaide gave all the credit to Paul’s knowledge of how to get along with the big, dumb machine.
“If Paul knew as much about the stock market as he does about that stupid press, we’d be rich.” Adelaide placed a stop notice on the last stack of papers to be delivered in town and went to the back room to wash the fresh ink off her hands.
Kathleen sat at her desk, looked out the window and wished she hadn’t made the date with Leroy. The paperboy came in, taking her mind off the evening for a moment. When she looked out the window again, a shiny black car pulled up and parked beside her Nash. A man wearing a light-colored Stetson was getting out. He was well dressed and carried himself like a man who knew where he was going.
Entering the office, he held open the door for the paperboy who was leaving with a bundle in his arms. Kathleen was surprised to see that he was an Indian, a very handsome Indian. She judged him to be in his middle or late forties. His dark hair was threaded with silver at the temples.
“Afternoon, ma’am. I’m looking for some information about the rodeo to be held here on Saturday. Do you have a list of participants in this issue?”
“The story is there on the front page.”
He took a paper from the counter, placed a coin in the cup, and began to read. Kathleen noticed a large turquoise ring on his finger and, when his soft fringed jacket opened, a silver belt buckle. He was tall and broad-shouldered. While she was studying him, he finished reading, looked up, and smiled as if he were terribly pleased.
“Johnny Henry must be quite a cowboy,” he said.
Kathleen had become used to the Oklahoma drawl. His accent told her that he had lived or had been educated in the East.
“I’ve been told that he’s the best around here.”
“You’re not a rodeo fan?”
“I’ve not been here long enough.”
He smiled. His teeth were white, his chiseled features perfect. In her other writings, Kathleen painted pictures of her characters with words. She hoped she could remember every detail of this man’s face.
“You’re from the upper Midwest. Let me guess. Minnesota.”
“Close. I’m from Iowa.”
“When I was young and foolish,”—he smiled—“I spent a couple of winters up on the Chippewa Reservation.”
“I’ve not been that far north. Iowa was cold enough for me.”
“I’m Barker Fleming.”
“Kathleen Dolan.” Kathleen held out her hand, and he clasped it politely.
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Dolan. It is Miss, isn’t it?” She nodded, and he continued. “I’ll be in town until after the rodeo. Perhaps I’ll see you again. By the way, do you know Johnny Henry?”
“I know him, but not well because I’ve been in town only three weeks.”
“Would you know where his ranch is?”
“It’s west of here, I think. I can find out for you.”
“That’s all right. I was just curious.” He folded the paper into a roll and clutched it in his hand. He smiled with his eyes, and little lines fanned out at the corners. “Would you be outraged at my audacity if I asked you to go to dinner with me. I’m harmless and not looking forward to an evening in a strange town.”
Kathleen laughed. “I’m not in the least outraged. My Iowa grandma trained me to carry a hatpin should I have the need to defend myself. Thank you, but I’ve plans for dinner.”
“I should have known. Lucky man.” He put his fingers to the brim of his hat. “Nice talking to you, Miss Dolan.”
“’Bye, Mr. Fleming.”
Kathleen watched him get into his car. He was an interesting man, obviously well-off, and handsome enough to be a movie star. She was sure that she would’ve had a far more entertaining evening with him than with Leroy Grandon.
Adelaide came into the office. “Who was that? I was about to come in when I heard him ask you to dinner.”
“His name is Barker Fleming. He was interested in the rodeo.”
“He came in to buy a paper and ask you out to dinner. Fast worker. Did you say Fleming? That’s a well-known name here in Oklahoma. If he’s one of the Flemings from up near Elk City, he’s not poor by a long shot.”
“He was very nice as well as very good-looking.”
Adelaide sniffed. “He was too old for you.”
“He said something about spending a couple of winters on the Chippewa Reservation in Minnesota.”
“If he belongs to the Oklahoma Flemings, he’s a Cherokee. The story goes that Amos Fleming, a second-generation Scot, came out from Maine and married a Cherokee woman. They had a large family and he saw to it that all his children were well educated. A couple of them are doctors; some are teachers. They are very successful in business. I wonder if he’s one of them?”
“He’s staying for the rodeo. Maybe we’ll find out. Oh, shoot! Here comes Leroy.”
“He’s dressed fit to kill. Maybe he’s going to propose.”
“Adelaide, I swear!” Kathleen put her turban on and pulled some of her hair around her face.
“Go right ahead, honey. If I had to spend an evening with him, I’d swear too. Hello, Leroy. My, you look nice. New suit?”
“No, no,” he stammered, looking everywhere but at Kathleen. “Are you ready, Kathleen?”
“Sure, Leroy, and I’m hungry as a bear.” Kathleen put her arm through his, smiled at Adelaide, and said gaily, “See you in the morning.”
Walking down the street with Leroy was different from walking with Johnny. Because Leroy was no taller than she, she had none of the feeling of protection she’d had with Johnny. Realizing that the man was nervous
, she chattered about this and that on their way to the only alternative to the Frontier and Claude’s: the Golden Rule Restaurant.
They were directed to a table in the corner of the room. It was covered with a white-linen cloth, and a vase held a single fresh rose. Leroy held her chair, and after he was seated, he pushed the vase across the table toward her.
“For you.”
“For me? Why thank you.” Kathleen leaned forward and sniffed the fragrant bloom.
Throughout the evening, Kathleen had to carry the burden of conversation. Leroy was a good listener, too good. She tried to talk about his duties as head of the Chamber of Commerce. He answered her questions and that was all. He perked up only when Barker Fleming came in. He spoke to Kathleen and was seated a few tables away.
“Who is that?”
“He was in the office today. His name is Barker Fleming.”
“Fleming? What’s he doing in Rawlings?”
“I don’t know. He was interested in the rodeo. Do you know him?”
“I know who he is. Are you going?”
“To the rodeo? I’m covering it for the paper.”
“Would you like to go out afterward?”
“I’m sorry, Leroy, but I’ve already made plans.”
“Oh, well—”
After that he seemed to sink deeper and deeper into gloom and spoke only when she dragged a statement out of him. There were long stretches of silence. Kathleen was exhausted and wished fervently that the movie they were going to was short and so that she could go home to bed soon.
I’m sorry for you, Leroy. I know you’re lonely, but please find someone else and don’t ask me out again.
• • •
The offices in the front of the clinic on the edge of town were dark, but lights were on in the back and a car was parked beneath the portico. Louise Munday opened the door for a couple leaving the clinic and bade them good-bye. She waited until the taillights of the car disappeared around the corner of the building before she went back inside and locked the door.
A woman in a white nurse’s uniform came from one of the rooms along the hall. She closed the door softly behind her.
“Everything all right?” Louise asked.
“She’s sleeping.”
“Good. You can go home.”
