by Alisha Paige
Excuse me, little lady he said and he tipped his hat at me. It was almost so strange the way it made me feel. My heart beat a little faster and I felt all flushed all over, maybe from being a might too shy or something I don’t think I’m to know yet. (I don’t know why I know this, but I just know it.) He was so darned polite and he had the whitest smile underneath all that soot. His teeth shined just perfect and he didn’t strike me as a hobo or even a boy who would become one someday, but I tell you, I think he is. All that talk of trains and towns and hoping they don’t find them. Who they is, I’m not sure. Maybe his folks or I hope not, (I pray not for the nice boy’s sake) the law. I don’t think so though. It would be hard to think of him in such a bad light. He hardly looks the outlaw type.
I said, Yes? and tilted my eyebrows up, just a bit, like Miss Crowfeet and I think my hair was sticking out of the side of my bonnet and I wanted to fix it, but I didn’t. How I wished I would have known I was to run into him today. I would have taken more time and wore a better dress, maybe an older looking dress, like my older sister Lily has. One with lace around the collar, but oh, well, it’s over now and no since in crying about it.
He asked me if I was very hungry and I don’t really remember what I said, because I was staring at his perfectly white teeth and how I wanted to scrub his face. Even a poor person can do better than that, that’s what Mama says. At least we’re clean. No sense in looking the part, but that was not a nice thought I had and I felt bad the instant I thunk it. Maybe he couldn’t help it, specially if he was living out life as a hobo on the run. I think when I got my wits about me, I said I wasn’t but that my little sister was kinda hungry, or maybe I should have said picky, but even I didn’t want to talk bad about Ida on a count of she is still my little sis and all.
He fished around in his pocket for a sec and he had a lot of pockets with all sorts of stuff stuffed in them. When he opened his coat, why there was a whole lot of pockets. I saw a bowl and a spoon tucked up high, under his shoulder in a big pocket that looked like he might of stitched himself, for the stitches weren’t at all straight, not at all. I think Ida coulda done a better job. By and by he found something in one of the pockets and I pretended not to stare too hard, but it was hard not to. He had so much stuff in his pockets. I was wondering if he was maybe a magician traveling from town to town. I’ve heard of them.
He smiled real big when he found it and held it out to me. I just stared back at him. I didn’t know what it was and I didn’t know if Pa would want me to take it and he’d be back at any time. He’d be powerfully mad if he saw me taking gifts from hobo boys. He took my hand and I felt the scratchy wool mitten and noticed it had holes and only two fingers, the other three were gone. I bet his fingers were cold, but I can assure you, they were not.
He opened my hand and put the object in my palm. I feel dumb for it now, cause it was a gift, but he had to close my fingers over it and he smiled again. The most wonderful smile I’d ever seen and I could close my eyes and see his face as if it were clean. He was most handsome. What’s your name? he asked and I told him it was Marjorie, but that I hated that name so I went by my middle name, Louise.
You can have my wooden nickel, Louise. We shared a big potato today and you two look really hungry. I was sort of taken a back at that statement from him, but it was still nice. I hoped I didn’t look too hungry, but now when I think about it... I feel sure he was mostly talking about Ida since she carried on forever about her growling stomach and all.
Then he was gone. Him and his brother left the line and I watched them walk away, kicking each other the whole way and I noticed that they did head straight for the train yard and I felt sad for them, cause I bet he coulda used the wooden money more than me...that was what I thought, but when we got to the front of the line to buy the bread, they wouldn’t take my wooden nickel anyhow. The man had laughed at me and said it had already expired and then laughed some more, saying it could only be used in Washington anyhow.
I wondered how the boy got the wooden nickel cause we were a long way from Washington. I asked Pa on the way home and he said it was like six or seven states away and we live in Texas. Pa said I could keep the wooden nickel on a count of it ain’t no good anyhow. (Don’t worry, Pa was still able to get us some bread and it didn’t cost a thing.) I think I’ll keep it as a souvenir. I wrapped it in some nice tissue paper from last Christmas and put it in my shoebox. I keep it by the window in my room and I can look at it whenever I want.
I love that old wooden nickel. Whenever I unwrap it, I get a nice feeling. I’ve taken it out three times today already and I can still see his face. Ida says I’m in love with the boy, but I’m not so sure if I am or not. I just thought he had the nicest face in the world and I wonder if he’s riding the train right now and far away from here. (Secretly, I’ll tell you something dear Diary.) I hope to go to town again soon. I pray to run into him again. I forgot to ask his name, but I’m sure it’s a fine name, whatever it is. I hope his mama gave him a good first name, not like mine and he’s proud to say it.
Well, good night, sweet Diary. I hope I have some good news to tell you soon. Something full of venture and excitement. Maybe I’ll hop the train, too. (Not really, you know me. Plain Louise, sticking around to help out and besides, I would miss Mama and Pa and Ida and even snobby ole Lily, I guess.)
Hoping Beyond Hope,
Louise
~ * ~
“Come on, Hank, there’s an open car down here,” fourteen year old Cliff hollered as he jumped over the tracks between two stopped railroad cars.
Hank followed, jumping between the two cars a few seconds behind his brother, looking both ways before emerging into the moonlight. “But, it’s empty,” Hank said with disappointment.
“So?”
“So? What do you mean numb skull? If they come to reload it, there’s nowhere for us to hide. No boxes, no nothing.”
“So what,” Cliff replied easily, jumping into the car and out of the cold. At least the metal box provided some sort of shelter from the frosty wind. “They won’t load it again until morning and by then we’ll be gone.”
Hank jumped in and they both closed the large metal door. It was pitch black inside, but they were used to it. They sat down and fished inside their pockets for the two hot potatoes they had gotten from the old hobo hitching a ride on the same train. He had found a whole sack of them two days ago and heated them over a fire at the end of the rail yard.
The hobo told the boys that the engineer had approached him once, but only asked where he had come from and the next day brought him a warmer jacket and a loaf of bread. Everyone was poor, just some more than others and in a way, it brought the country closer. People helped their neighbors like never before. Families stuck together and shared their food if they were able. Cliff and Hank took off in search of work. They left home by hitching a ride in the back of a truck before catching the rails. They planned to ride them all the way to Oregon or Washington if they could make it that far. They had had their share of odd jobs, but more often than naught, their pay was in rations and never money.
Hunger and hope had carried them this far and they had yet to send a single penny back home where their mother and two sisters barely got by. Their father had lost everything when the stock market crashed back on that fateful day in ‘29. He nearly drank himself to death on homemade moonshine, but decided a bullet would be quicker. Cliff still hated him for giving up on life and abandoning all of them, but Hank insisted that President Hoover killed their Pa by refusing to go off the gold standard. Cliff was tired of arguing about it. How many times had he told his thick headed brother that you couldn’t lay blame on one man alone? No amount of finger pointing would bring his father back or feed his family back home. They were the men of the family, though it hardly felt like it now days. Best buckle down and face it like real men ought to.
Cliff longed to be ten years old again. Back then he had had a normal life. It seemed like a lifetime ago now. Ba
ck then, he and Hank walked to school with their little sisters and came home to Mama’s homemade cookies before hitting the books. Dad was still alive. Cliff could still picture him coming home after work, wearing his hat and tie and a wide grin on his face. He would make his way to the kitchen where Mama was cooking dinner and sneak up behind her, kissing her on the neck. Cliff could still hear his mom giggle. She would hear him come in and even look over her shoulder, but she always pretended not to hear. Cliff figured she must have wanted a kiss on the neck or else she wouldn’t have always acted so surprised. Back then, no one could have told him that in a few years, his dad would be long gone, giving up on life and the people who loved and depended on him most. He would have never thought that he’d have to grow up so fast and become a man overnight.
Last time he saw his mama, she was wiping her tears away with her apron, standing on the porch waving at him and Hank as Mr. McCurdy drove them off in his old Ford. They sat in the back of the truck and watched the dust swirl around her skirts. That damned dust. How long had it been since it had rained real good? How bad was it gonna get? First the stock market crashed, then the banks fell and now the earth opened up into one gigantic dry crack of nothingness, yielding not even a weed.
Hank pulled an old wool blanket from his satchel. He had carried it with him all the way from home and Cliff had to admit that it had come in mighty handy. Cliff had scolded his older brother, telling him that it would be too heavy, but Hank had refused to leave it behind. “In case you didn’t know it, winter’s on its way, little brother and I intend to be prepared.”
Cliff had shrugged and let it go with them. Though he was the younger of the two, he was mature beyond his years and except for his brother towering over him a mere two inches, he took the older role in their relationship. Their age difference meant nothing to Cliff. In his mind, he was the older one, besides a year and a half was nothing and Hank was way too irresponsible to be in charge. Cliff wanted to go alone, but his brother begged and begged. Besides, his mother thought it would be safer and they would at least have each other.
“Why are we getting off the train? I thought we were gonna ride the rails all day tomorrow and see where we end up,” Hank said as he snuggled down, pulling the blanket up to his chin.
“I want to stay in this town a few more days,” Cliff said.
“What in the world for? There ain’t nothing here, but more dust. Heck, there ain’t even weeds here.”
“I saw the unemployment line today. Maybe we can sign up and see if they can get us any work.”
“Don’t be a dummy. There ain’t any more work here than there was at home. Remember? That’s why we left in the first place.”
“I know. I know. But the closer to home we can find work, the better. It’ll be easier to send the money back home.”
“All we found so far is work for food. We need money, Cliff and fast. Mama’s gonna lose the house, then where will we be?”
“Don’t you think I know that, numb skull? Go to sleep. I want to get up early and get in line.”
“One day, Cliff. That’s all I’m staying in this dirt factory. If the unemployment office can’t find us a job by tomorrow, I’m catching the next train out of here. With or without you.”
“We’ll stay until the end of the week, Hank and that’s final! Go to sleep. Besides, you’re too much of a scaredy cat to ride the rails alone.”
“Am not!”
“Hush,” I think I hear the bull coming. Bulls were big, burly men hired on by the rail yard boss to kick any and all hoboes found stowing away on the trains.
“I thought you said the engineer of this train was nice,” Hank whispered.
“He is, numb skull, but they change shifts you know. They ain’t all nice like him. Someone else could be on duty,” Cliff whispered back.
They heard footsteps outside on the white rocks that lined the tracks. Suddenly moonlight swept into the car as the large metal door swung open, clanging loudly. Both boys froze, huddling together in the dark shadows. A muscled arm swung through the door with a big stick, swiping at the cold air. Satisfied, he slammed the door shut. Neither one of them breathed a word as the footsteps grew fainter and the sound of other metal doors opening and closing echoed in the distance.
“That was close,” Cliff breathed into Hank’s ear.
Hank nodded, still unable to utter a word.
“Go to sleep big brother, tomorrow is another day.”
Hank nodded again, like a puppet, lying down on the cold metal floor of the car.
Something about this dried up town appealed to Cliff and he couldn’t help but wonder if it was the tiny face that peered out at him from behind a crisp, white bonnet. She had smelled like a flower and how he wanted to tuck the blonde hair that fell over her cheek back into her bonnet, just so he could feel its silkiness and see her blush again. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen and he knew it was silly, but he wanted to make sure she was okay. It broke his heart to see her standing in a bread line. She was much too beautiful for that, but so were his mother and his own two sisters. That’s why he was out here, in the cold, riding the rails at night and searching for a job in the middle of a dust bowl. He tried to remind himself of that as he drifted off to sleep, huddled next to his brother under the wool blanket that still smelled of home. He breathed it in, thinking of his warm bed at home and his mother’s home cooking.
~ * ~
Eric stood on the kitchen stool washing the fuzzy peaches, laying them in a wet circle, at the bottom of the metal colander next to the cutting board. Louise peeled and sliced the peaches with a knife without thinking. The thin, pink flesh peeled easily, falling softly to the side before she cut them into six equal pieces, letting the freestone seed fall on the peelings as well.
“So did you see him again, Grandma?” Eric asked, handing her another wet peach.
“What do you think?” Louise asked with a twinkle in her eye.
“Well, I know you did or else he wouldn’t be my Poppy, but when?”
Louise laughed while she poured sugar onto the mound of freshly cut peaches and began stirring the gritty texture until the peach juice turned it into thick, pink syrup, begging to be united with homemade vanilla ice cream.
“At school,” she replied easily, smiling at the memory.
“Was he in your class?”
“Yes, we were all in the same class, even though he was three years older than me. We just studied different things. Our school was a one room school house.”
“Was it crowded?”
“Well, not really. We just didn’t know any other way. We sat on long benches, like at church.”
“Did he say hello to you?”
“He sure did,” Louise replied as she spooned ice cream into four bowls.
~ * ~
“I think it’s senseless to go to school,” Hank howled as they walked toward the white brick building. Several clusters of boys and girls were huddled in the school yard, awaiting the morning bell. Cliff saw her standing under a tree, with her little sister and another girl who looked a little older. She was straightening her baby sister’s bonnet and retying her apron. Louise wore the same dress and the same bonnet she had days ago and his heart went out to her. He wanted to buy her a new dress and instantly felt guilty for it, because his own sisters desperately needed new school dresses, too. His mother had made two new dresses out of flour sacks. Cliff suspected that his father had rolled over in his grave at the sight of it.
“You know how much Mother stresses our education,” Cliff argued as the bell began to clang.
Hank gave him a crazy look. “This is about that girl, isn’t it?” he asked skeptically.
“No, now hush, she’ll hear you. I told you we’re gonna stick around these parts for a few days and see if anything pans out. We might as well get some learnin’ while we’re stuck here.”
Hank snorted and spit on the dry ground.
“Stop that, you fool. Girls don’t like t
hat kind of behavior,” Cliff scolded.
“What kind of behavior?” Hank asked, completely bewildered.
“Spitting. They don’t do it and don’t want to see no boy do it, neither. Now stop it or I swear, I’ll pretend not to know you.”
“It is about that darn girl,” Hank replied as he kicked a rock.
“Act your age, Hank!”
The children began shuffling inside while the morning bell continued to clang and echo in the dewy air. Cliff and Hank walked in and sat at the rear of the classroom. Most of the children were poorly clothed, but clean. At least half of the girls’ dresses were made of flour sacks and most of their shoes were worn down to nothing, filled with holes and missing shoe laces. Their hair was combed neatly and most of the girls wore ribbons, even if they were made of torn flour sacks and frayed on the ends.
Cliff licked his palm and smoothed his hair back from his face. He felt dirty, but he held his head high. Mother had always told him that pretty is as pretty does and he felt sure that handsome worked the same way. Maybe if he pretended to look handsome, people would believe it. He had already come to realize that confidence was very important. It had come in handy in many a scrape. Most often he pretended to be tougher than he was and he had come to realize that most boys would back down if he acted the part just right. Soon enough he began to believe in himself more and more. Act tough and get respect. Act weak and get beat up. He had learned to live by those words. They’d come to help him more than he ever thought possible.
Mrs. Crawford began calling role and checking off each child’s name. When she finished, she stood up and walked down the middle of the classroom, straight up to Hank and Cliff. She placed her half-moon spectacles at the end of her pointy nose and frowned down at them.
