Everybody always warns you about accepting rides with strange men, and I never had. Not that any strange man had ever offered me a ride before. But if he had, I wouldn’t have gone. What if Walter was some kind of maniac, and had no intention of driving me to Los Angeles, but was right now looking for some deserted spot where he would stop the car and—
“What did you mean, you wouldn’t want me to miss a big story on account of you?” Walter asked.
I was leaning right up against the door, sitting as far from him as I could. I realized I was shredding my tissue into little bits, and my fingers were shaking. I stuffed the tissue back into my pocketbook, hoping he hadn’t noticed. If he was a maniac, I didn’t want him to know I knew it. I knew from the movies I had seen that you had to be really careful with crazy people and never let on that you know they’re crazy.
“Well,” I said nervously, “you’re a reporter, aren’t you? Your card said ‘Good News Publishing.’ Isn’t that your newspaper?”
Walter began to laugh. He laughed so hard I was sure he was a maniac, and I would have jumped out of that car on the spot if we hadn’t been going about sixty miles an hour. I looked ahead to see if there was a place he’d have to slow down, but as far as I could see there was the long, two-lane stretch of black road.
“I sell Bibles,” he said when he finally stopped laughing. “Printed by the Good News Publishing Company of Fort Wayne, Indiana.”
A Bible salesman! At first I felt this kind of twinge of disappointment that he wasn’t a reporter, and wouldn’t be doing a story about me, or even taking me along while he tracked down corruption and crime, like Steve Wilson did, but then I breathed a deep sigh of relief.
After all, what could be safer than riding with a person who was in the Bible business? Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten into a car with a strange man, but if I had to get into a car with any strange man, I was certainly lucky that I had picked Walter Murchison.
I began to relax a little. It didn’t seem so crazy that a person who devoted his entire life to Bibles would want to do a good turn for a desperate girl stranded without a penny to her name. Especially since he believed my story about trying to do a good turn for somebody else. “Do unto others as you would have others do unto you.” That’s from the Bible. Walter probably lived by that rule, which is called the “Golden Rule,” and that’s why he was helping me out.
“So you thought I was a reporter,” Walter chuckled. “That’s a good one. I’ll bet you’re disappointed.” He glanced over at me. “I’ll bet you thought I might do a story about you.”
“Well,” I said uncomfortably, “there really isn’t any reason to do a story about me yet. I haven’t even had my screen test.”
“When is that screen test?” he asked. “You never did say.”
“How long will it take you to cover your territory?”
“I should be able to finish it up in two days, I guess. And even if I don’t, I have to come back this way after dropping you in Los Angeles, so I can always cover any areas I missed on my way back to Fort Wayne.”
“Oh, that’s okay then. As long as I’m there by Monday.” I thought that would give Walter enough time to take two days to work and still get us to California pretty quickly.
“Well, that’s fine. Shouldn’t be any problem. Depending on how much time we make, we might even have a chance to stop off in Las Vegas. Ever been to Las Vegas?”
“No.” The only thing I knew about Las Vegas was that people gambled there. It was legal, and they had big gambling casinos that stayed open all night. Was Walter a gambler? How could he be if he was a Bible salesman? That didn’t seem right. And if he wasn’t a gambler, why did he want to stop off in Las Vegas?
“A lot of show people got started in Vegas,” Walter said. “You ought to see it. They have great shows in the hotels there.”
Walter sure wasn’t talking like my idea of a person who devoted his whole life to the Bible.
“Can I turn the radio on?” I asked. The more Walter talked, the more I started getting nervous again.
“Sure.” He flipped the switch. Some guy was singing:Did you ever see a robin weep
When leaves began to die?
That means he’s lost the will to live,
I’m so lonesome I could cry.
That didn’t sound like any of the music we got on the radio at home, and I was going to change the station to try and find someone playing the Top Twenty-five, but Walter was singing along with the radio as if he liked the music, so I just sat back and listened.
When the song was over he said, “I feel like that sometimes. I’ll bet you do too, being all alone in the world.”
“Yes, I guess so,” I said. “I guess everybody gets lonesome once in a while.”
“Very true, very true, Venida. You can even get lonesome in a crowd, did you know that?”
I thought about how I felt sometimes in school, with all the kids around, the boys singing that dirty version of “Sylvie” at me, the girls all clustered together giggling and making plans for parties and things, and I knew exactly what he meant.
“You’re absolutely right,” I said. “In fact, sometimes you can be lonelier in a crowd than you would be if you were all by yourself.”
“Truer words were never spoken,” Walter said. He nodded. He looked almost sad. “This job I’ve got,” Walter went on. “It can be real lonely. That’s why I’m glad of your company. It’s nice to have somebody intelligent to talk to on these long rides. Sometimes you can drive for hours—there’s more driving then there is selling in these backwoods areas.”
“Where exactly are we going?” I asked nervously. I didn’t like the sound of “backwoods areas” at all.
“Down to Kentucky, then Arkansas. Soon’s I hit my quota we’ll shoot right across Oklahoma and pick up Route Sixty-six. That takes us clear to California—if we don’t stop in Vegas.”
“Won’t that take a long time?” I asked, worried. “I mean, going through two states and stopping all the time?”
“Don’t you worry, Venida. I’ll see you get to your screen test with time to spare.”
Another song came on the radio. It was the same singer, but this time he was singing about a cheating heart.
“Must be a regular Hank Williams festival,” Walter said. He seemed very pleased. “You like Hank Williams?”
“I don’t think I ever heard of him.”
“Never heard of Hank Williams?” Walter sounded like he could hardly believe it. “Where were you raised?”
“New—Jersey.” I’d almost said New York, but caught myself just in time. I still had to be careful about “covering my tracks,” even though the police would probably never expect to find me riding around Arkansas in a Pontiac Star Chief Catalina. But just in case there was anything on the news about a girl missing from New York, Walter might not be suspicious if he thought I was from New Jersey.
“That Hank Williams really knew about life,” Walter said. “This rock-and-roll music, you listen to it, it sounds like savages in a jungle. And the words don’t mean anything, it’s all gibberish. Now Hank Williams, his songs tell you about life. Real life. They speak to the heart. Why, these two songs alone practically tell my whole life story.”
“Really?”
“You bet. The reason I’m so lonesome I could die is because I’m on the road all the time and I don’t have a wife to come home to anymore. And the reason I don’t have a wife to come home to anymore is because she had a cheating heart.”
“You mean, you’re divorced?”
“Yep, that’s the sad truth. She got bored waiting around for me all those times I was out working hard, doing my job, trying to provide her with the good things in life. And I did, too. She had a washing machine and everything. Everything a woman could possibly want. But she said she never had any fun. Imagine that. I said, ‘Lena, you think I’m having any fun? You think going all over the Ozarks for days on end, trying to make enough money to buy you everything any
woman could want, is fun?’
“Not that it isn’t interesting,” he added hastily. He glanced at me to make sure I didn’t misunderstand him. “Don’t get me wrong, selling the Good Book, bringing the word of God to all these people who might never be able to read it otherwise, is very rewarding work. But it’s work just the same. Well, she just up and left one day. Took our little daughter with her too. Haven’t seen either of them since. She mailed me the divorce papers from Reno.”
“You have a daughter?” He must be even older than I thought.
“Yep. She’d be four years old now. Prettiest thing you ever saw. Big blue eyes, blonde curls all over her head. Name’s Penny. Haven’t seen her since she was two.”
“That’s a shame,” I said. “When I get married it’ll be for keeps.”
“That’s right,” Walter nodded. “That’s the way it should be. I never wanted to break up. It was all Lena’s doing.”
We’d been driving through farm country, all flat and open. The breeze that came in the window was getting hotter and hotter. I began to feel hungry, and wondered if we’d ever get to anyplace with a store. Walter had had breakfast, but I hadn’t. It could be hours before he stopped for lunch.
We passed a sign that looked promising. It said WINOTA—5 MI.
“Is Winota a town?” I asked.
“Calls itself a town. It’s hardly more than one street with a couple of stores on it.”
“Well, Walter, I didn’t have any breakfast and I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday, so do you think—”
“Venida, why didn’t you tell me? For heaven’s sake, we better get you fed or you’ll die of starvation. Might as well do a little selling there too, long as we’re stopping. Least it won’t be so far between customers. And listen, Venida, one thing. I’ll introduce you as my daughter, okay?”
“But your daughter’s four years old,” I said, puzzled.
“These people don’t know that. The thing is, see, here’s this beautiful young girl traveling with me, and they don’t know who she is, the easiest thing is to tell them you’re my daughter. You know, a Bible salesman has to be above reproach. Why, back in Fort Wayne, they don’t even know I’m divorced.”
“Oh, sure, I see what you mean.” I wasn’t sure I liked the idea. It sounded sort of sneaky, and I didn’t know if a Bible salesman ought to be telling lies like that, but, after all, who was I to say? I’d told Walter a few tiny white lies because it was absolutely necessary, and it wouldn’t hurt anyone to think I was Walter’s daughter, would it? And it wasn’t as if we were actually doing anything wrong by traveling together.
Because now I was pretty sure Walter was on the up and up, just by the way he was talking and not trying anything funny, so the whole thing was perfectly innocent. And if it was important to his job, why not? He was certainly putting himself out to help me; the least I could do to repay him was to go along with this one little white lie.
“All right,” I said. “I guess I better practice calling you Daddy.”
Walter laughed.
But you know, a funny little feeling went through me when I said that. It was the first time in my life I’d ever called anyone “Daddy.”
Chapter 7
ISELY’S GENERAL STORE, the sign said. IKE ISELY, PROP. It looked just like a store in a western movie. You had to walk up the steps to a porch with a wooden floor and there was even a guy sitting on the porch, tilting his chair back so the two front legs were raised. He was wearing dungaree overalls and a straw hat, and if he’d been whittling or chewing tobacco or something, he would have looked just like Gabby Hayes or Fuzzy Knight, except he didn’t have a beard.
The heat hit me like a ton of bricks the minute we got out of the car. It was like a baker’s oven in that sun, and there wasn’t even a breeze to stir the air around a little like when we were driving in the car.
It was hardly a bit better in the shade of the porch, but right by the screen door there was a big red cooler with COCA COLA written on it, and just thinking of holding an icy bottle against my forehead made me feel a little better.
“Morning,” Walter said to the man on the chair. The man sort of grunted at him.
“Can’t believe it’s only seventy-five degrees,” Walter-said. He pointed to a big thermometer over the cooler. JOHN DEERE was printed at the top of the thermometer and there was a picture of a deer on the bottom.
The man didn’t even look up. “It’s broke,” he mumbled.
“I’m absolutely parched,” I said, and for a minute I had this spooky feeling that I didn’t sound like myself at all. But then it was okay, because I realized I was imitating Vivien Leigh in A Streetcar Named Desire, which was a great movie, even though I saw it when I was only eleven, so I’m not sure I understood all of it.
“Absolutely parched,” I repeated, just to hear the way it sounded again. I was really pleased. I never realized I could do a Southern accent. That would be a big help in my career, if I could do accents. Especially Southern accents, because there are a lot of movies made about the South.
“Get yourself a Coke and get me a Mission Orange,” Walter said, “and come on inside.”
“Thanks, Wal—Daddy.” Boy, that felt strange!
Walter winked at me and went inside the store.
I opened the cooler and took out a Coke and a Mission Orange. I wanted to leave the top of the cooler off and just stand there, feeling the cold come up from deep inside and hit me in the face, but I didn’t. Ike Isely might not like all his soda bottles getting warm, so I just took out the sodas, opened them on the bottle opener, and went into the store.
I never saw so many things crammed into one small space in my life. Isely’s had everything from Uneeda Biscuits to undershirts. I couldn’t figure out how he could manage to fit sewing thread, axes, lipstick, candy, electric fans, razor blades, laundry baskets, teddy bears, nightgowns, Carter’s Little Liver Pills, blankets, saws, straw hats, and a ton of other things I could hardly keep track of, all in that little store, along with a whole line of groceries.
Then I thought, Well, Winota is such a small town, maybe he doesn’t have to keep a whole lot of each item, just one or two of everything, so that probably saves space.
Walter was talking with a man with a round, red face and no hair who was standing behind a counter with a cash register on it. There was hardly any space on the counter to put things down. I went over to them and handed Walter his soda.
“Here, Daddy.” I hoped Walter noticed how careful I was being.
“Thanks, honey.” He tilted his head back and took a long swig of soda. I couldn’t help staring at the way his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. Then I reminded myself I shouldn’t stare at it, because after all, if I was supposed to be his daughter I’d seen his Adam’s apple all my life.
Walter wiped his lips. “Very pleasant town,” he said, smiling at the man, who I guessed was Ike Isely. “Looks like a nice place to raise kids.”
“Well, ’course it’s no Kokomo or Terre Haute,” Mr. Isely said, “but it’s all we got. Kids don’t stay on, though, like they used to. Guess by the time they graduate school they’ve had enough of farming. You know, how you gonna keep ’em down on the farm after they’ve seen Fort Wayne?”
Walter laughed out loud. “That’s a good one!”
“You planning on settling down ’round here?”
“No, just passing through. My daughter here got hungry, so I thought we’d stop and get her something to eat. I’ll tell you the truth, I’ve passed this place so many times and always meant to stop and look around, because I’ve seen a lot of places in my line of work, but this is one of the prettiest patches of land from Fort Wayne to Little Rock.”
“You don’t say?” Ike Isely looked pleased. I wondered what he’d think if he knew what Walter had said about Winota five miles back.
“What line of work you in?”
“I spread the Good Word,” Walter said proudly.
“You a
preacher?”
“Nearest thing to one. Got a lot of godly people here?”
“As many as most places, I guess.” I thought Ike looked a little suspicious.
“Well, as long as we’re here, maybe I’ll call on a few. Now, Venida, what would you like to eat? Looks like Mr. Isely has about anything a growing girl could want.”
I’d finished my Coke and went to get another one while Ike cut up some ham to make me a sandwich. Walter was paying him when I went back inside.
Ike Isely was grinning at Walter and saying, “.. . hit most of them if you just follow down this road. They’re none of them big spreads so it shouldn’t take you too long.” I guessed Walter had said something to make Mr. Isely less suspicious because he waved good-bye to us real friendly.
“Say,” he called, as Walter opened the door to go out, “where did you get that dress?”
“May—” I’d started to say “Macy’s” but I didn’t know if they had any Macy’s in Indiana, so I switched it really fast. “My Daddy got it for me in Fort Wayne.”
“Sure is pretty. I’ll bet if the girls around here could get dresses like that, they wouldn’t leave home.”
“Thank you,” I said politely.
Walter gave me my ham sandwich and helped me into the car.
“That was quick thinking, Venida,” he complimented me. “I heard how you started to say something else.”
Walter started up the car and I tore into my ham, sandwich like I was starving, which I was. It was delicious. I held the Coke bottle against my forehead and neck when I wasn’t drinking from it, but the minute the bottle wasn’t pressed against my skin I felt as hot as ever. Hotter even.
“I’ll tell you what, though, Walter,” I said. “I am just about perishing from this heat.” I was still talking like Vivien Leigh. Who, by the way, is English, so it’s really amazing she could play a Southern lady. I don’t know why I kept talking that way, except maybe it was so hot I felt like I was in a movie about the South.
“I wish there was someplace I could change out of this dress into something cooler. I have nylons on and all these crinolines and I’m just about to die.”
To All My Fans, With Love, From Sylvie Page 6
