“No problem.” Cole opened a notebook hoping it would signal his lack of interest in conversation.
“Quite a stack you have there,” the man said, snapping open his briefcase and taking out a sandwich wrapped in wax paper. “You a teacher?”
“No, just reading.”
“Uh, huh. Richard Quinn.”
“Cole Sage,” Cole said, not looking up.
“I’m an attorney. Here from Woodward. Nasty case.”
Cole didn’t respond, just scanned another page. He could sense that Quinn was watching him. He stuck his finger in the notebook to hold his place and looked up. Quinn took a bite of his sandwich and tore the straw off a box of apple juice. Cole never saw an adult drink juice from a box, though he helped his granddaughter Jenny poke the straw into the tiny aluminum dot in the top many times.
“I used to finish off these things when my kids were small. Acquired a taste for them, now it’s all I drink it seems.”
“What kind of case are you here about, Mr. Quinn?” Cole wished he hadn’t asked.
“Nasty divorce. Nasty people actually. Don’t like either one, no sir, don’t like either one.” Quinn took a sip of apple juice. “How ‘bout you? You married?”
“Nope.”
“Divorced.”
“Nope.”
“Happy? Never mind, who is?” Quinn took a bite of sandwich. “You’re not from Orvin, are you?”
“No.” Cole wondered what it would take for this guy to get the hint he didn’t want to talk.
“Giants t-shirt, dead giveaway. Most folks here fall into two camps, Rangers or Royals. I went to school in Boston, no, not Harvard, so I’m a Red Sox fan; although, I haven’t watched a baseball game in twenty years.”
“Do you like being a lawyer? I mean constantly working for people who may be morally in the wrong, but just because the constitution guarantees it, you defend or represent them in court.” Cole thought if he had to listen to Quinn babble he might as well talk about something of some interest.
“Nope, you’re not from around here. New York? LA? No, not really. When I was in college my mother said that it would be very hard for a lawyer to get into heaven. Said they were all liars and God would judge them for it. She prayed all day long, the day I took my bar exams, that I would fail. I should have listened to her. No, I don’t like it, but it’s too late to turn back now. What do you do?”
“I’m a newspaperman. I love it.”
“That why you’re reading? Research on a story?”
“No, I am reading the journals my grandfather wrote. He left them in a trunk in the house I inherited. I find I have a lot of time on my hands. I’m sitting out the silly thirty day’s occupancy ordinance so the State doesn’t take the property.”
Quinn reached into the inside breast pocket of his jacket and withdrew a business card and put it on the table in front of Cole. “Be a waste of thirty days.”
“How’s that?” Cole asked, now giving Quinn his full attention.
“That law is so full of loop holes it’s like legal Swiss cheese. Who told you, you had to occupy thirty days? Never mind, give me a call and we can have the paper work done in forty-eight hours. Hundred bucks and you’re on your way back to...”
“San Francisco,” Cole said, somewhat stunned by Quinn’s pronouncement.
Quinn shoved the last bit of sandwich in his mouth and sucked on the straw until the juice box’s side collapsed and a hollow slurping sound came from it. “Time for me to be in court. Justice must be served in the case of Fleming vs. Fleming.” Quinn stood. “Give me a call and we’ll get you back to the City by the Bay.” And with that Quinn was off making his way toward the courthouse doors.
Cole wondered if the lawyer really knew what he was talking about. He tapped on the notebooks in front of him, his mind racing with the thought of going home early. How could one lawyer be so certain he had to occupy the property and one seemingly so certain he didn’t? He picked up the business card and flipped it between his fingers. The sun was creeping up the table; soon there would be no shade. Cole flipped the notebook over and began reading again.
November 3, 1931
The sky is as clear as a summer day. It is so strange to never see rain. The talk is that the drought has all but wiped out the wheat in Kansas. The grass, what is left of it, is dry and sparse. The churches in town have organized a prayer meeting to pray for rain. I told Mattie she should do a rain dance.
I won close to fifty dollars in a game that lasted thirty-two hours. Twenty dollars of which came from Tom Wilkerson. It felt good to stick it to him for a change. It is six o’clock as I write this and I just now got home. I hear Alma down the hall puking again. She has been sick every day since she got pregnant this time. The sickness has not helped her disposition. Even the girls are giving her a wide range.
The cards have been good to me of late and we have food enough to go around. Things have not been going so good for other folks around town though. Samuel Hunter the manager at the bank has been buying up houses and land for the back taxes. I knew he was up to no good. I paid the taxes on the house and Mattie’s place with the proceeds of a big game in Lawton ($125.00). These are strange times we live in that a bank manager can steal people’s homes and land by using the knowledge from his job. It just doesn’t seem right.
Nov 18, 1931
I HAVE A SON! George Coleman Sage is a fine, healthy, strapping big boy. There is a cold, dry, north wind blowing, but I feel like it is the middle of June! I love all my girls, but the wish for a son has filled my heart a long time.
Effie has always been my favorite child, but it will be hard not to show George special favor. Like my father before me, I chose not to make him a junior by giving him a different middle name than mine. My mother’s maiden name was Coleman and so I thought it fitting to pass it on.
Dec 24, 1931
It is hard for me to see the page to write. Sometimes I feel silly continuing to keep this record of my life. I will never become a Charles Dickens. Life has other plans for me I suppose. My head is pounding and my eye is swollen shut. Alma thinks I may have a broken rib or two. Not that she gives a shit one way or the other.
I won a good size poke last night and bought a round for everybody in the place. It seemed a good-natured holiday gesture at the time. I had a few myself, so I was looser with my tongue and greenbacks than I would have been otherwise. I have been pretty good about my drinking lately and this was the first time I have allowed myself a good buster.
I left just before closing time and started walking home. Two, maybe three, men came out of the alley at Chestnut and one hit me with a sap before I realized they were coming at me. When I came to, my roll was gone and I felt like I was hit by a train. They must have worked me over after I went down, but I was out cold from the blow to the head, so I didn’t much feel what went on next.
I can’t prove it, but my gut feeling is that Tom Wilkerson was one of the boys who stomped me. He has been talking big about winning back what I cheated him out of. Everybody knows he’s all talk but that star of his makes him think he’s got license to spout off whatever he thinks.
Christmas 1931
I rode out to see Mattie in the afternoon. I told Alma I was going to take a plate to Mr. McMaster’s, which I did, but my real purpose was to see Mattie and the girls.
I was embarrassed for Mattie and Effie to see me all beat up. Mattie gently kissed my cheek and told me she loved me, black eye and all. Effie sat on my lap next to the stove and patted my cheek softly and said she would ask God to make it better.
I have never seen Mattie look so pretty. She was given a red velvet frock from one of the ladies she does washing and sewing for. She wore a bit of rouge on her cheeks and a sprig of holly leaves in her hair. Sometimes I love her so much it hurts. I saved back some, for little presents for the girls. I got Effie a coloring book and a box of crayons. Little Lottie is too young to understand but I gave her a little stuffed kitten. Mattie made me pr
omise I wouldn’t spend any money on her but I still bought her some ear bobs. They have red stones in them and looked beautiful with her red dress.
She roasted a chicken and made sweet potato pie. Effie made some sugar cookies. They were mighty low on the sugar but I made like they were the best I ever tasted. I am so proud of how she is growing up. She will be a very pretty woman someday.
I try so hard to never have a drink before I see Mattie. She worries so about my drinking. I tease her and say it is my Alma medicine and without it I get real sick. She says that it is not funny. If I could only live with her I would never drink again.
When I got home Alma was in bed, and the bedroom door was locked. To hell with her.
Cole’s cell phone chirped from his pocket. He stuck Richard Quinn’s business card in the journal to mark his spot.
“I’m at the airport. Just wanted to give you an Oklahoma goodbye.” Kelly sounded a million miles away.
“I hope you have a nice flight.” The phone crackled, and Cole wasn’t sure she heard him. “Kell, can you hear me? I met a lawyer who says the occupancy ordinance can be worked around. I could come home earlier than we thought. Kelly, are you there?”
Cole could hear her voice but couldn’t make out what she was saying. He closed the phone. The sun completely covered the table and the cool of the morning was beginning to be overcome by what was going to be a hot afternoon. Cole glanced at the stack of three notebooks still unread. It was getting too warm to stay where he was and he glanced around the street for a cool place to retreat and finish reading. The Dutch Creamery’s blue and white sign caught his eye.
Scooping up the notebooks, Cole left the courthouse lawn, and headed for the little shop across the street. Inside the air was cool and sweet. The blue and white checked tablecloths gave a friendly, old-fashioned look to the little ice cream shop.
A heavy, broad bosomed woman behind the counter greeted Cole. She wore a blue gingham dress with puffy sleeves under a white apron. The only thing keeping her from looking like a very large version of Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz was the stiffly-starched, little, white Dutch cap on her head.
“May I help you?”
Cole smiled and looked at the menu written in chalk on an ancient blackboard behind the counter.
“You look like you would make a mean chocolate shake.”
“Best in town! Maybe Oklahoma!” the woman answered cheerfully.
“Then a chocolate shake it is.”
Cole took a seat at a table tucked back in the corner and laid the notebooks down. As the sound of the whirring milk shake blender whined behind the counter, he put the three unread notebooks in front of him. He intentionally turned the top book in the stack over so it could be read when he was served his milkshake.
“This is a cool way to start off the afternoon,” the large woman said, setting a tall glass and a metal canister in front of Cole. “If you need anything else, just holler.”
“If I could get a glass of ice water I would be all set.”
The little bell above the door tinkled and a couple with a little boy came in the shop.
“I’ll be right back. Hi Lillie, hey Curtis!” The woman waved to the couple and dashed off to get the water.
Cole opened the notebook to where he placed Richard Quinn’s business card and began reading. He flipped the page back to the Christmas entry, then to the next page; there was a three month gap.
March 3, 1932
The wind has not let up in over a week now. The sky is black with dust. Folks have taken to wearing handkerchiefs over their nose and mouths when they go out. Downtown looks like a bunch of holdup men roaming the streets.
There has been so much dust in the air; it is piled up along the sides of buildings like snow drifters. If I didn’t know better I would swear the old Bible thumpers were right and it’s the end of the world.
I received a letter yesterday from Lloyd. He’s settled out in Colorado now. He said folks aren’t too worried about his prison stint, once they find out it was for running liquor. He has a job as a mechanic in a Ford garage in Colorado Springs. He said the Depression hasn’t affected them nearly as bad as other parts of the country. The gist of the letter was that we should pack up and come up there and get a new start.
I have not shown Alma the letter. She would want to leave tomorrow if I did. I can’t bear the thought of leaving Mattie. I have half a mind to send Alma to visit her brother and hope she never comes back. I know that sounds like a terrible thing to say but she is so mean I can hardly bear it at times. If she were to go I could move out to the farm with Mattie and maybe have a little happiness for a while.
I have begun another book. I believe that it is a piece of work. Mattie says the story flows and the characters are real to her. She has become a ferocious reader and always has a stack of books from the library. She has taught Effie to read and they spend evenings reading to each other. I will keep the manuscript with Mattie so there is no chance of Alma destroying this one.
March 7, 1932
Paula and Josie went to school barefoot today. They have outgrown, and wore out, their shoes to the point they flopped when they walked. Connie still wears Josie’s hand-me-downs she outgrew. I told them how sorry I was there wasn’t money for new ones right now, but they said I shouldn’t worry, that the other kids don’t have shoes either. I promised as soon as I came into some money we would buy them pretty new ones. What is this country coming to when we can’t provide our children with shoes?
March 18, 1932
The Sages went out on the town tonight! I won big Wednesday night! Took Alma and the girls to the hotel for dinner tonight. After, we went and bought Paula and Josie new dresses and new shoes. Connie got a new dress and a promise of new shoes when she out grows the ones she’s got. That seemed to satisfy her. Alma bought a housedress and some underwear. Little Georgie got a rattle to keep him busy.
For the first time in a long, long while we felt like a real family. Whoever said money can’t buy happiness must not have ever been without it for very long.
March 20, 1932
A couple of high rollers from Oklahoma City came to Charlie’s looking to put together a game yesterday. They claimed they heard Orvin boasted some first class card players. I think they think we are a bunch of hayseeds that would make easy picking. They arranged a table for eight players and the buy in was $100.00. That’s a lot of money these days and it took all of my bankroll I have stashed. I am lucky that Saturday night I won fifty bucks in Lawton and hadn’t spent a cent.
I have pledged to Mattie that I would stop drinking and this is the second week I haven’t had a drop. It seems to have improved my card playing. Either that or I have hit a really good streak.
The game last night was friendly and the pace was pretty fast. Two men were out within the first hour or so. I was up most of the night. I played tight and didn’t take any big chances. Tom Wilkerson was the only problem. He was drinking pretty steady and kept mouthing off to the boys from OKC. The younger one always called the older man King-high and was not amused by Wilkerson’s remarks. At one point he took out a nickel plated revolver with pearl handles and laid it on the table. Charlie came over and said that he would have trouble in his place and to put it away.
Around three a.m. I was getting real played out and even nodded off after a hand I folded. King-high said he was real tired from the long drive and suggested we start up again this afternoon. Wilkerson would have none of it. He was down to his last ten dollars and was pretty well drunk and started accusing the OKC boys of cheating. We all told him to quiet down but he just got louder. I was up a little over two hundred and he accused me of being in cahoots with them to steal his money. He said that I hated him because he knew about me and my “nigger gal”. I held my tongue and let him carry on. Then he said something about knowing “who Paula’s real daddy was” and I cracked him over the head with a chair.
Charlie and a couple of the boys bounced me out of the place
and I came home.
March 31, 1932
I take up this pen with a broken heart and a dead spirit. My beloved Mattie is dead. Even writing the words wrenches my soul to tearing. I am blind with sorrow and weak from despair.
Monday last at a quarter to nine in the morning there was a knock on our door. It was the sheriff. He said there was a fire at the farm. The house burned to the ground.
“Did they get out?” was all I could say.
“Tom says he didn’t see anybody.” The sheriff began, “I’m very sorry George, the house is a complete loss.”
“I don’t care about the house, what about Mattie and the girls?”
“What was Tom doing out there anyway?” I said, fighting back tears.
“He was on patrol,” the sheriff said.
“He was at Charlie’s last night just like me!” I cried.
“Now don’t get excited, he went on shift at six. Saw the smoke and went to take a look. I’m really sorry about the woman and the little girls, George.”
I ran upstairs to finish dressing and drove out to the farm. I was blind with tears as I drove. I pulled up to the house and it was just a pile of black soot and ash. Beams and large timbers still smoked and burned. I dropped to my knees and cried to God for a reason for this horrible thing.
As I wept I felt a hand touch my shoulder. “Papa, don’t cry.”
I looked up to see my Effie still in her night gown holding Lottie in her arms.
“Dear God you’re all right!” I threw my arms around them and wept for joy. “Where’s your mama?” I asked hopefully.
Effie just pointed at the burned house. Tears ran down her cheeks. “I been hidin’ with the baby in the shed.”
I could not believe that my Mattie was in that blackness.
“How did you get out?” I pleaded.
Cole Dust Cole Page 20
