No Normal Day IV (Travelers)

by Richardson, J.

  The young woman looked around and after a pause said, “But, if no one is here and you do not go to the town, how do you survive, Caleb?”

  “For the past years, I hunted and scrounged around all the abandoned trailers. I survived okay, don't take much for one aging old man. Lately, I ain't been able to do much hunting. Some days I eat, some I don't. You know Miss, I never planned to live forever.” He gave the woman a smile, that still had most of it's teeth, “Anyways, you listen to ole Caleb. That town is full of danger. The no-goods don't bother to climb the hill and mess around here, you'll be pretty safe here.”

  The wagon rolled again, “Thanks for the warning. I will think about it.”

  As she pulled away, the old man looked up at the sky and said, “Another thing, the winter weather is coming on now. It would be real hard on the road. Spring would be a much better time to travel.”

  Emily kept moving up to the last level of campsites. She heard Caleb move back into the trailer. Dam-mit, old coot is probably lonely. He's not in good shape at all. What did you say, Emily? No more things to take care of. She trudged up the hill and stopped beside a teeny old round topped camper trailer. She took Girl down and let her run around a bit. The day had drifted away, it was chilly and it would only be two or three hours until dark. She swung open the door, the camper was so low and small that it was only one step up for her. Girl still jumped up and down, trying to get inside. She laughed and lifted her up. Nothing scurried away and nothing was torn up, obviously the camper had been closed up tight for years. It was musty smelling and the curtains that hung over the roll out windows were faded and rotten. She jerked them down and threw them outside, rolled the windows out a little for air.

  She stood in the middle of the compact space, saw the porti potti and a useless little shower stall on one end. A table with cushioned benches on each side, was on the other end. In between, there was about a foot of counter top, a single sink and three cook burners under a metal cover. It would do. Fact was, the old man was right about the weather. She would stay for at least now, and take some time to decide what she would do up ahead. She took off the big heavy back pack and laid it down. Before dark, she had the wagon unloaded and pulled up beside the door. She had gotten rid of the curtains, brought in her water and used it sparingly with bleach to clean the trailer. She stored some of her stuff in the shower stall and stowed away her minimal food supplies in the two foot of cabinet space. There were dishes, a drawer held utensils and another held spices and seasonings. The salt was hard but still useable, a few might be okay, most were ruined. There was even some towels, blankets and sheets on a shelf above the table. With some airing, they wouldn't be too bad. She gathered some kindling and twigs for her hibachi cooker that she sat on top of the metal cover.

  It was dark now, she lit her oil lantern and put some water on the hibachi fire to make some rice. She checked that the door was locked and rolled in all the windows except the one behind the cooker. A blanket spread on one of the benches, the dog curled in the corner. Emily leaned back against the side of the camper, hugged her legs up to her, waited for the water to boil. Out loud she said, “Guess we are home, lil girl.”

  The winter weather was there to stay. Though it wasn't the extreme winter of the northern states, it was cold and wet, often there would be snow but it wouldn't stay around for long. Emily's dad had taught her a thing or two about people and their pride, he had taught her to respect others. A couple of mornings after she was settled in the camper and after some considerable thought, she made an extra two cups of coffee and put it in a thermos that she had found under the cabinet. With the dog under one arm and the thermos under the other, she knocked on Caleb's door. She offered the coffee and said, “Um-m, I hate to ask but do you think you could watch Girl for a bit. I want to do some hunting and I hate to leave her in the camper.” The old man poured out a cup of the coffee and inhaled the warm liquid with a sigh. Girl wagged her tail wildly at him, for some reason she was just in love with the old man. He smiled, picked the dog up and snuggled it up close.

  “Sure, I would be glad to watch her.” The tiny tongue was licked and he gently patted.

  So began the tactful routine of the next four months, through the winter at the RV park, where only two residents and a tiny canine shared the grounds. The young woman took the man's advice and she did not go down into the town. She would hunt, usually managing to bring back at least a squirrel or rabbit. At first, she would just insist that Caleb take half of the kill. Eventually, she said, “Hey, why don't you let me take this and cook it and bring you some back.” She knew every chore was a job for the man. At night, she sometimes burrowed under the covers and lay awake, asking herself, And why are you here, taking care of a decrepit old stranger? She knew the answer to that question. If her Dad was still here, she would not want to explain to him, why she had let an old ailing man starve to death. Thanks to her, Caleb was eating better and Girl brought him great joy and company. Still, he was failing and she knew it. No amount of care would halt the death march of the man.

  On a rare occasion, it would be decently warm and Caleb would have a good day. He would tap on her door and be holding two or three fish that he caught from the small pond at the base of the campground. The would build a fire outside and fry the fish up in a skillet. On these warm days, Emily thought of what she would do in the Spring, where she would travel to. If Caleb still survived, would she be able to leave him?

  ***

  Jeff and Kevin turned east, they moved across the Texas panhandle and into Oklahoma. One of the oldest letters in the canvas bag, was addressed to Joe Redfern, 403 Flint Lane, McAlester, Oklahoma. Jeff located the city on the map, right near the middle of the state, he was headed in that direction. Usually, he avoided the bigger cities and always cautiously approached new towns of any size. He made a decision to try and find the person the letter was written to. Not very far from the city, you crossed the border of what was designated as Indian Territories. He didn't think that marauding natives would be a likely danger, at least not more than any bad marauders these days. If old western movies were remembered, a survivor of the Before world could not help but be intrigued with the names of Indian tribes printed on sections of the map.

  The countryside was hilly and rolling, sometimes a hill was nearer to being a mountain. Many lakes dotted the state and the water was plentiful. The day was clear and quite chilly, they each wore a lightweight jacket, bouncing along on the wagon seat. There was still a paved road to follow but it was cracked and the vegetation grew in from the sides and up through the breaks. The cart clanged and clattered and announced it's arrival far ahead of the visual of it. Jeff always remained vigilant as they traveled and he scanned the surroundings. The wagon had just emerged from a long stretch with trees lining each side of the narrowed road, up ahead a rocky hill rose to the north. Kevin pointed to the crest of the hill, “Look Dad, up on top.”

  Jeff squinted and slowed the donkeys pace. On the rise, three figures on horses stood. As they came into better view, he thought how it was just like in the old movies. But, this was not the movies and this could break bad. The sun was in his eyes and kept him from seeing clearly. The horses rushed down the side of the hill towards them, the figures whooped and yelled. He pulled up the donkeys and three slim young men moved to the sides of the cart. Indeed, they did have long dark braided hair and their white teeth flashed in their golden brown faces. They wore jeans and boots and they all had rifles. Jeff, his hand on his pistol, nodded to them. They pranced around looking at all the gear on the wagon. In a flash, one of the men reached down and pulled Kevin up on the horse in front of him. Jeff's gun came up, “Put him down, now!”

  One arm was around the boy's waist and the other brought a knife up to his throat. All three young men were silent. Jeff lowered the gun, “Take what you want and give the boy back,” he said. The one man stayed still and held on to the boy, the other two dismounted and pulled things down off the cart. One climbed
up in the back, picked up a blanket and threw it out on the ground. He kicked around at the sleeping bags, a lantern, some cards and games stacked in the corner. He spotted Kevin's .22 and threw it out on the blanket. He jumped down, he and his friend continued to toss some items on the blanket and some things they just smashed or flung. They found a hunting knife, several containers of food supplies, a few first aid items and one of Jeff's gaudy printed shirts.

  The man and his son always collected small treasures, a piece of jewelry, a china cup, a leather belt or satchel, cigarette lighters or papers for rolling cigarettes. All manner of things filled the various bags and containers, dangling from the wagon. They bartered and traded with these things. The young men took a couple of belts and some pieces of jewelry. One of the men looked curiously at the US MAIL bag, he drug out the letters and threw them to the ground. The one that Jeff had been determined to deliver lay on top of the scattered envelopes. The man squatted down, his single braid fell across his shoulder and he picked up the letter. “What the hell are these...you stealing old mail, Dude?”

  Jeff said, “No, sometimes we meet folks and they want to send a letter, just in case we go their way and could deliver it. We are travelers.”

  “Who gave you a letter for Joe Redfern?” said the man.

  Jeff said, “A woman in Arizona. I have had it a long time, maybe three years. Do you know him?”

  The man stared at the envelope for a minute and then tossed it down. “No.” He lifted himself back on his horse, spoke to his friends, “Tie up the blanket, put the boy down. Let's go.”

  The young man pulled the knife away, grabbed Kevin under the arm and dropped him to the ground. A thin red slash at his neck, oozed red. He had not said a word through the whole encounter. This was not the first time that he and his Dad had run up against trouble, he knew to keep quiet and let his Dad handle the situation.

  The blanket full of loot was tied to one of the horses, they all three galloped away and disappeared over the top of the hill. Jeff went to his son and helped him up. “Are you okay? Let me see your neck.” They walked to the back of the wagon. Jeff climbed over inside and pushed the sleeping bag out of the way. He pulled up a section of what looked like floor. In a long narrow hidden space lay six guns and ammo, extra first aid, food and other basic supplies. This wasn't his first rodeo, as the saying used to go. He took out some antiseptic and gauze for Kevin's neck. They gathered up the belongings from the ground and secured them back to the wagon.

  Kevin said, “That was my favorite gun, darn it.” He picked up the letters, shook the dirt from them and placed them back in the mail bag. Jeff thought about the young man staring at the Joe Redfern letter. He would nearly bet that the thief had known the addressee. They got all the gear back together and moved just a short distance down the road, stopped under another stand of trees to block some of the cold wind and camped for the night.

  The next afternoon, the wagon rolled into the outskirts of McAlester. The hulls of many old brick buildings stood silent and hollow. The town had not been a huge town, just big enough to have all the basics available. Across the town, Jeff could see smoke rising in about a half a dozen locations. On the covered porch of a modern bank, a man and woman and two small children stood and looked out at the well announced parade that was coming their way. Jeff pulled back on the reins and the donkeys came to a stop, the man walked closer, “Hello, where you headed?” asked the man.

  Jeff said, “Just traveling. Hey, would you happen to know where Flint Lane is?”

  The man looked at the assorted bags of junk and tools that hung on the wagon, “I might...what cha' got to trade?” Jeff got down from the seat and stood with the man. The woman and the children, who were raggedy but clean, came in a little closer.

  A little girl looked up at Kevin with curiosity, “What's your name? I'm Emma. Hey, what happened to your neck?” She held the hand of a smaller brother.

  Kevin said, “Hi, I'm Kevin,” he placed his hand on the bandage on his neck, “It's nothin', just a little cut.”

  To the man and woman, Jeff said, “I don't have much food. We ran into a bit of trouble back down the road. Some thugs took quite a bit of our stuff. Think I might have some dried beans and some oatmeal.” The man motioned to the woman and she went up the steps and into the bank, she returned with a bank bag, heavy with coins.

  Money was of no use in these times, on a rare occasion someone would take some silver coins in trade. Jeff said, “Unless you have some pure silver coins, I really have no use for money. What I really need is that information and I will do some trading for it.”

  The woman reached inside the bank bag, she pulled out a sterling silver spoon and about ten silver dimes. The man said, “I know where the street is and I will tell you how to get there.”

  “Well, let's see what we might have that you need,” said Jeff with a smile. The three of them walked around the wagon and explored the bags and cases.

  The small boy stuck his hand out towards Kevin and opened up the little fingers. A pile of copper pennies lay in his palm. “Look, me trade,” he said in a baby voice.

  Kevin bounded down from the seat, looked over at his Dad, who gave him a wink. He used his best imitation of his father's doing business voice and said to the tot, “Wow, pennies...let's see what we could trade you for those.” Emma did not let go of her brother's hand and the two followed Kevin to an old suitcase that was tied to the wagon. He lay the case on the ground, blew some dust off and opened it up. Emma and her brother's eyes widened, the little boy squatted down and giggled. There were books and small toys like whistles, some yo-yos, a doll or two, miniature cars and trucks, various sizes of balls...a jumbled up pile of children's playthings, numerous items the father and son had accumulated and found during their travels.

  The little brother slowly ran his stubby hands over the treasures, he passed and returned to a metal truck with rubber wheels and a driver inside. Kevin has pushed the toy truck over many different dirt piles. He looked up and Kevin said, “You like the truck? You can have it then. Emma, what do you want?” He held up a doll but she didn't look very interested. She bent down to the suitcase and looked over the contents. She picked up a sparkly purse and opened it up, inside was a brush, comb and mirror. There was what had originally been child's lip gloss but it was melted away, there was a ring with little fake stones and she slid it on her finger. She smiled, looked at her brother, who promptly handed the pennies to Kevin. He said, “Okay, well thanks, it's a deal.”

  The man and woman took some of the beans and oatmeal and a small container of sugar cubes that were hard as a rock, but could be dissolved. A small hand ax hung from a strap and that pleased the man. A bar of flowery smelling soap, still in it's faded wrapper made the woman smile.

  The family stood with their newly acquired goods and waved goodbye. The man had told Jeff to go about four blocks straight ahead and turn to the east on Main Street. Flint Lane would cross Main, several blocks along. That was good, because east was the direction that Jeff wanted to continue traveling. They followed the man's directions and had nearly left the town when they spotted the faded leaning street sign, Flint Lane. They had only encountered one other person, a lady who traded them about a dozen hot house cherry tomatoes for a small jar of instant coffee. They eased down the street and looked for any remaining house numbers. The wagon pulled up in front of a weathered frame house, above the door, a 4 and a 0 and a 3 that was swung down. Jeff said to Kevin, “You stay put for now.” The boy put his rifle between his legs and nodded. The letter lay in the top of the bag, he took it, walked to the door of the house and knocked firmly.

  The man who opened the door, stood tall and straight. He was elderly but unbent, his dark hair showing only scattered streaks of gray. There was no question of his regal native American heritage. He spoke with a precise and correct grammar, “What do you need?”

  Jeff pulled the letter out, “Are you Joe Redfern?”

  “Yes, that is my nam
e,” replied the man.

  “I have a letter for you,” said Jeff.

  The man looked rather surprised and said, “Come in.”

  “Is it okay if my son joins us?” The man consented, Jeff motioned to Kevin. The two entered the dim house and were led through the sparse living room into a brighter kitchen. They all sat down at a vintage formica table and Jeff handed the letter to the man.

  He stared at the envelope for a moment, took some glasses from his shirt pocket and opened the letter. He read the two lined pages of handwritten words. He took the glasses off, wiped his damp eyes and said, “Where did you find this letter?”

  “We were traveling in Arizona,” he looked at his son, “Do you remember the town?” The boy shrugged his shoulders in a negative motion. “Well anyway, we sometimes take letters from folks that we meet. You understand, of course, we can't make promises to deliver them but we can try. We met a young woman, very pretty. She asked us to take her letter.”

  The elderly man sighed, “My daughter. Was she well, how long ago was this?”

  The boy spoke up, “I remember...Tonya, and it was in Williams, near the Grand Canyon.”

  “Yes,” said his Dad, “That was about two years ago but she was well. She was with a small group and they were surviving.”

  Joe Redfern said, “This is a very good thing that you do, Son.” He stood and took off a leather belt with a turquoise inlaid buckle and held it out to Jeff.

  He started to refuse to accept the gift but hesitated, somehow he knew the man would be insulted. He looked at the man and said, “That is very generous of you. I will keep this for myself.” He shook the man's hand and stood to leave.

  The back door of the house slammed and a young man stood in the doorway. It was one of the men who had robbed them the day before. The pistol was in Jeff's grasp. He was not going to let Joe be harmed and he was not going to be put in a position like the day before. A stunned look came across the young man's face. He saw the letter on the table, he saw the bandage on the young boy's neck. “Father?” he said. The old man turned and smiled, “My son, it's amazing, a letter from your sister.”