He blinked in reply and I took this as surrender. “Do you see these windshield wipers, Joe?” I pulled the lever to operate them. “Did you know that a weak little woman’s hands invented these? Mary Anderson was on her way to New York City when she saw streetcar drivers opening the windows of their streetcars in order to see through the rain. She invented a swinging arm device with a rubber blade that the driver could work from within the motor car - excuse me – au-to-mo-bile. Isn’t that something?”
He scratched his stomach and focused on the remaining herd of vehicles. “Should have put you in that old 1908 Buick and see how well you do with the steering wheel on the right side. Or in that old 1919 Oldsmobile 37 dash B model, I see that right now. But I wouldn’t do that, you want to know why? Because it’s un-roadworthy with bad brakes and steering, that’s why. And I wouldn’t do that to my brother’s wife. I can still get twenty-five dollars for it, although old Franky ran it into a gatepost because his wife was sitting in his lap. Should be a law against that. Fords go for more but I’m getting tired of the black bugs. They’re everywhere, like fleas on a mangy dog. But I bet you don’t know what Ford said about that. He said, ‘Americans can have any kind of car they want, and any color they want, as long as it’s a Ford, and as long as it’s black.’” He said that last line as if not everyone in America hadn’t heard that one over and over. He took a long draw off his cigarette and flicked it out the window. “Well let’s start her up and see what you can do with her.”
I did so, lurching forward. The horses in the corral beside us jumped and whinnied. Wisely, they moved to the other side of their pen.
“You’re going to give my horses distemper if you keep that up.”
I ignored this statement as I concentrated on maneuvering the clutch and gas pedals with the stick. I had suffered through Joe and Harriet’s raised eyebrows when I appeared that morning in my one pair of trousers, but was now appreciative of my choice of wardrobe as my legs worked in unladylike fashion. I slowly motored through the rutted grass, steering toward the lane way.
“You should have seen these horses when I drove these mechanical beasts in here. They took off running, one jumped over the fence, and I almost lost three of them to sickness within a few months. I think they sense that the automobile is replacing them. Can’t be helped. Folks can call them new fangled if they want but you don’t have to feed and care for these babies as much as horses, and automobiles are cheaper. I had trouble keeping hired hands here for a while though. They were as afraid as the horses were. Everybody’s getting used to them now. The town is pretty much split between horse and automobile. We now have four feed barns, three black smith shops, and three gas filling stations. I expect the gas filling stations to increase and the feed barns to decrease. The automobile is taking over and all we can do is step out of its way. Like Tom said, we’re in a new era. But it’ll be fine because right now our only physical contact with the rest of America is over dirt roads, what don’t come in by boat. We’ve now got a paved road all the way to Savannah. There’s even talk of an airport to bring in our mail. Ol’ Pickerville is only got about ten miles of paved streets. We need gutters and drains real bad. People can’t walk in the streets anymore and the children can’t play there so we need more walkways. Of course this road will go both ways and what goes out of Pickerville can come in. People are already complaining about outsiders who are coming into town and robbing and then getting away fast by motor. Hey, did Tom tell you that our town is named after our grandpappy? He just about ran the town himself, through his newspaper. Told everybody how to think and how to vote, just by writing propaganda. Tom could have done the same thing if he wanted to but women keep drawing him up north. First his first wife and now you. This time he says he’s here for good. Did you know that?”
I was concentrating on the main road by now. Attempting to steer clear of the wagon wheel ruts, deeply channeled from many years of travel and the hardened craters from automobile wheels that had spun in the mud. The massive size of the vehicle handled it well, yet still I had trouble keeping it on the road.
“Hold her steady,” Joe said. He slid over to me and reached his arm around my shoulder to the steering wheel and placed his other hand over my right hand, gripping the wheel. “You could use a strong hand,” he breathed into my ear.
“I have one, thank you Joe, and it’s going to punch you in the eye if you don’t move back over to your side.”
He did so quietly.
“No, I didn’t know that,” I finally said to his question. “We must still sell the Lighthouse. It’s advertised for sale now. And then we must pack and say our goodbyes–”
“When you learn to drive,” he continued and then paused to light a cigarette, “you should go to the soda fountain in town. It’s our social center, now that the Prohibition is law. It’s right with the confectionery shop – can’t miss it. But shy away from town at night – it’s no place for a wife. I don’t know about Tom’s rules, but Harriet’s not allowed to go. The dance hall is open every night and there’s a speakeasy behind it, though everybody pretends that it’s not. Of course I don’t see anything wrong with it myself. Making alcohol illegal is only making people want to drink it. It’s like Adam and Eve with the forbidden fruit. Those Yankee government politicians are so confused, they don’t know whether to scratch their watch, or wind their butt. Hardly anybody is tee-totaling anymore. The rage is to take drink.
“Turn into the Warner’s laneway right here and I’ll show you how to reverse. We have to get back. People’s tongues will wag if they see me out with another woman. Especially Ethel Warner who lives right here. She’d complain if Jesus Christ himself came down and handed her a five-dollar bill. The last time gossip of another woman hit home, Harriet’s weight plumb fell off.”
With the warm sun and wind on my face and my hair blowing freely, I was tempted to argue and keep driving, enjoying this sense of having control over both these large beasts, but as his guest I decided to cooperate and show my manners even if I was a Yankee. I pulled into the laneway.
I grabbed the ball of the stick and scratched gears a few times before Joe laid his hand back on mine and we found reverse together. A motor car honked its horn as I began to pull out and we saw it was our Duesenberg. Thomas slowed it down to a stop and got out. My heart lifted upon seeing him. My, he was handsome to me as he sauntered over in his tan suit, wearing his big grin.
“This metal looks good on you,” he said, leaning in the window. He smoothed my hair down and patted my head. “How’s my girl? Is Joe behaving himself? Are you learning how to drive alright?”
“I think it’s more of, she’s teaching me she’s in the driver’s seat, not I,” Joe called out.
“That’s my girl. Get out, Brother. I need to talk to you a moment.” He gave me a wink and walked back to his motor car, Joe following behind. I could only hear murmurs and squirmed in frustration at the intended secrets. After some time of heads shaking and nodding and quick glances my way, Thomas came back and opened my door.
“We’ll ride together. We’re going to Savannah and we’ve only got an hour before night fall. Joe will follow.”
“What about Harriet?” I asked, half-running to keep in step with his long strides.
“Joe wouldn’t allow it. She’d only be in the way,” he said. He gave me the once-over. “You’re wearing trousers. Perfect.”
We soon faced each other in the front seat. “Thomas. She’ll be in the way of what? Why so mysterious?”
“We have a job tonight and I need your help,” he answered, diverting his eyes to my hand and plucking at my fingers.
“Did you get a job, Thomas? Why that’s wonderful! How soon can we move from—”
“It’s not a day job, or one you can do in the open, I should say. It’s the midnight shift, I guess.”
He turned and released the brake, steering onto the road toward east. His business mask was on and his mouth pinched tight. I simply waited; if he needed
my help, he would have to tell me what it is eventually.
Eventually was a long run through Pickerville where he pointed out the train station, the hotel, his old school, friends’ well-appointed homes, the popular soda fountain, and the dance hall. Thomas boasted of their movie house, the marquee gaily claiming Rudolph Valentino in Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. I couldn’t resist gently reminding him that we (and most people in New York) had seen this film of the Great War melodrama months ago.
He nodded solemnly. “Everything moves slower down here but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. It hasn’t yet hit the South to censor dances, like they have up there, now that the New York state legislature passed the law saying the state commissioner could do such a thing. But it’ll be just a matter of time before it will creep right down here, like a snake on a slippery slope. Now that those religious zealots have pushed Prohibition through our Constitution, their power is supreme in pushing forth their certain beliefs. They think that if our Creator disapproves of any pleasure and only tempts us with desires, we can please Him by refusing to go along with them. It’s ridiculous. If a few men over-indulge in drink or in dance, then all mankind must give up the right to indulge at all. Now they’re advocating that Jazz music, card-playing, and dancing be tabooed. Should we just sit in a somber way and wait out our days pondering the joys of heaven? Will we be able to dance in those streets of gold with David and his harp, when we can’t do so now?”
He smacked the steering wheel. “Look at these streets here! They used to be filled with gaiety, music pouring from the saloons, parties and barbeques in many a home. Now any laughter is hidden underground. Those that rise to the top, lose their fizz.”
I couldn’t resist chuckling at that last line. “You should write that down.”
He nodded grudgingly with a smile. “I believe I will.”
“Add that perhaps we should lock all men up, because a few commit crimes.”
He squeezed my hand, his humor returning. “Excellent. I’ll add that in.”
I delighted in seeing some of his passion return.
One main street and we were out the other side. Into darkness we drove until finally we pulled up in front of a quaint Victorian home in Savannah, on a street much like Mama’s, flourishing gingerbread design and wide verandahs. A sign out front said this was Mama Mia’s Italian Eatery. With white tablecloths and cozy rooms, the three of us dined on homemade ravioli and sweet iced tea, all the while enjoying this rare occurrence, with gossip around who’s who here. Thomas was his old charming self, flirting with me, teasing the waitress, and arguing with Joe. I’d never felt so beautiful as I did that night basking in candlelight and Thomas’ green eyes.
Then some signal came from behind me that Thomas acknowledged and he extended to Joe. Too soon we were back in our dark chilly motor cars, bringing on a somber mood. Thomas pulled out a hidden flask from under his seat and threw his head back for a long drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing in the dim light from the restaurant.
He extended this flask to me. I shook my head. He took my hand and placed it on the flask. “Drink this, you’ll need it.”
I obeyed, shaken by the touch of his cold hand. He watched as I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, the strength of the drink stealing my breath. “Take another,” he said. “You’ll need the warmth; it’s getting cool outside.”
“I’m not going to be outside. Besides, aren’t you being presumptuous in drinking this hooch or whatever out in public?”
“It’s against the law to sell it, not to drink it. Now take another.”
I did but shook my head as I at last handed him the flask. I would refuse to drink more of this burning liquid. It smelled like rum balls but the taste was infinitely stronger and was lining my stomach like a rapid timber fire.
Yet my face heated and my body relaxed. I smiled my warmth back at him and and he returned his own smile. I could have gazed at him all night.
“This is not the place to seduce me, you know,” I said, touching his hand.
He breathed a short laugh and flipped under my chin. “Seduction comes later, darlin’.” His expression changed all too quickly and I suddenly felt saddened by this loss of romance. It seemed we’d had so little of it. He turned more to face me, his right knee up on the seat between us, his left arm slung over the steering wheel.
“Joe is a bootlegger,” he said.
“Good Lord, Thomas!” I smiled in spite of myself, sounding so like Harriet.
He nodded with a wry smile. “We’re hoping the Lord will be good to us tonight because Joe’s in trouble.”
“I would imagine so if he’s a bootlegger. What does that have to do with us?”
“Everything. He’s my brother and he needs my help. He’s a broken man, Bess. He put every penny he had into his cotton crop and when the boll weevils killed that, he acquired that inventory of vehicles on an installment purchase.”
I had written enough advertising to understand what installment buying meant but self-respecting families I knew rarely practiced it and then only for required items such as sewing machines. People did not openly discuss such things for it was as much as admitting they did not have sufficient income.
Thomas looked back to ensure Joe continued to wait in his own automobile. “But Joe’s luck continued to turn sour. So many folks around here depend on the cotton crop and the boll weevils hit every plantation around. The south’s right now in a post-war recession from job cuts from defense-related industries. The shipyard is running dry. No one can afford to buy another vehicle, so Joe’s not selling, but of course the installment finance company still expects to get paid monthly. He’s incurring debt, with bootlegging being his only way out.”
“He has my sympathy, Thomas, but right or wrong, bootlegging is illegal and becoming dangerous. All you have to do is read the newspaper to know about the gang wars in Chicago and New York City.”
He waved this off. “Yes, yes, but this is just a small operation in Georgia. No gangs, no one will get hurt, but he needs a second motor car to load the bottles coming in by boat. All you need to do is sit pretty behind the wheel and when we fill up the trunk, you drive back here. Two motors running for too long will look conspicuous and make too much noise. Joe’s been distributing alcohol for months and I’ve already helped a few times, but this time he has a larger shipment coming in and it has to be moved quickly. The demand’s been going up faster than a hot-air balloon, and the local speakeasy, The Blind Pig, wants most of it so it will be an easy drop off. It’s right behind this restaurant. Joe says the harbor police have been bribed quiet by the distiller so everything is set.”
Night had closed in around us and I abruptly shivered. Warm, inviting light made window patches on the lawns of homes down the street, reminding me of the Lighthouse’s beckoning on many cold nights as I walked to its shelter. My chest tightened at my longing to be back there, safe in the arms of the Thomas I knew then. These strange surroundings filled in with Thomas’s unfamiliar almost-pleading tone and alien words, bringing on a nightmarish quality. He had lost some of his self-assurance, instinctively telling me that he, too, was uncomfortable in the circumstances. But for his brother’s sake, he was working hard at making this work. I took a deep breath. Then so would I. Resolve brought tears to my eyes, regret already there.
Someone tapped on the window and we both jumped. My heart lurched so, dredging my stomach to the point of being nauseous. We turned to see Joe by the driver’s window. Thomas cranked the window down and told Joe to drive on ahead and we would follow him. “Is she ready? We don’t want to take this machine off ground until we’re sure she can fly.”
Thomas waved him away irritably. “Let’s just move—” but he didn’t finish as he cranked back up the window.
Soon Joe’s Pierce-Arrow appeared ahead of us and we followed behind through twisted streets, with me trying hard to memorize corner landmarks in order to find my way back. My vision had become blurred by the booze and I blinked repe
atedly to distinguish a post office, a turn to the left, a bakery, three blocks, a hat shop, turn right, a boat repair shop, signs of a harbor with hoisted boats on land, a seafood restaurant, piers coming into sight, a turn and then we backed into a dark alley and stopped. The wooden slabs of the buildings on either side appeared ominous. My hands were shaking so, I felt tempted to bring back out the flask myself, but then decided I was in enough danger with the law as it was.
“Bess listen to me.” He put on leather gloves and then placed his leathered hand to my cheek. I focused on his silhouette, wishing there was light enough to see his green eyes. “Keep the motor running but don’t get out unless I open the door for you. The original plan was to ask you to help load, but now that I think of it, I don’t want you to be identified, so stay inside. You’ll hear the trunk being loaded. When you hear me tap on the trunk hood, that’s your signal to drive slowly away. Don’t rush or you’ll draw attention. Joe and I will then load his trunk and he wants me there to witness the money transaction. I’ll ride back with Joe and meet you at Mama Mia’s. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
He opened the door and with one leg out, paused and looked back at me. “You’re a strong woman, doll, you’ll be fine,” he said and then the darkness took him.
I moved over to the driver’s seat, but sat on my knees facing the backbench and the small rear window, straining my eyes to see beyond the building toward the water. The moon shared only a sliver that night, selfishly reflecting meager rays on the water and this I focused on, knowing he was out there somewhere. I could make out crates and occasionally three different body forms. The trunk finally opened blocking my view but I heard no clinking bottles being loaded; only shuffling feet on gravel. Suddenly the trunk closed and a tapping sounded on the lid, though I saw no one. I turned hurriedly to face the steering wheel and then paused. What was I to do? I had no cargo; this was not as planned. I heard what sounded like a firecracker and then tapping again. Only when the tapping ended in one loud thud, as if a fist had dented Thomas’ precious Duesenberg, did I comprehend his message. I put the car into drive and drove slowly away.
Four of a Kind: A women's historical fiction Page 43
