Dust in the Wind: A Story of the Wheat Harvest

By Tom Morrow

Dave White, a young man growing up in Oklahoma in the early 1960s, feels hopelessly trapped by his life. He knows that if he doesnt leave, his heart will break. Dave knows he cant deny his dreams of a better life for a minute longer, so when a vague shadow of opportunity arises, he grabs it. Finally, he gets his chance to spread his wings and fly away with the wind. Dave follows his heart to the wheat harvest, but what he finds isnt exactly the stuff of dreams.

Each year, thousands of men, women, and children from every crossroads, whistle-stop, town, and city go to the wheat harvest. Like these others, Dave finds twenty-four-hour days, working in the never-changing, sun-blistered fields. He finds a world of prejudice, pain, and sudden death. In this world, once a person is ten miles from home, no one cares if that person lives or dies.

In seeking their dreams, Dave and the other workers find themselves challenged by a harsh reality. But in spite of these hardships, Dave also discovers true friendship and even love in these fields.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 16, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469790831

Tom Morrow

Tom Morrow volunteered twice to serve his country in Vietnam. For twenty years, he worked for the Oklahoma City Fire Department, fourteen of which he served as an arson investigator. He owned his own home construction business and worked for the United States Postal Service. He’s a graduate of Oklahoma State University.

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CHAPTER 1

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Crane, Oklahoma. June, 1960.

I looked into the faded blue eyes, almost buried in the gaunt, seamed face of Early Dean. He was taller than my five-seven, broader too, heavier than my one-forty, but stoop-shouldered and work worn. He shuffled his feet and a worried look wrinkled his face even more. I’m sorry, Dave, his voice came from deep in his chest. You been a good hand and I got no complaints, but Troy here, he motioned with his head to the battered truck in the driveway and the rawboned man, sitting next to the tousle-haired girl. Why he’s got a wife and kids to feed and you know as good as any how hard times are.

I studied the gravel of the road, then looked up, I know, Early. But I need a job too. Hauling hay wasn’t much of a job but I had counted on it for the whole summer.

I know you do Dave. But you know I can’t use both of you. He glanced up at the mockingbird that was calling his war cry from the oak tree, close by. I’m gonna have trouble just keeping Troy working. Anger crept into his voice now, and he growled. You’re just a kid, Dave. Troy here’s, he’s got a family to feed, kids… You know how it is.

Yeah, Early, I know how it is, I looked away from the eyes that had grown hard, I just wish…

I do too Dave, his voice softened. I hate to let you go, but…

But Troy’s got a family to feed. I smiled at Kathy. She was Early’s sixteen-year-old daughter who drove the truck in the hay fields when she wasn’t running the tractor, cutting, raking, and bailing the hay we hauled for the farmers and ranchers in the area. The ones that couldn’t afford their own equipment. I looked back at Early. It’s alright, I ain’t got no hard feelings, but maybe if things get better…

You’ll be the first I call, Dave.

And maybe, if you hear of someone else needing help, maybe you can…

I’ll sure tell them to get hold of you. Call you here at your Daddy’s.

I’d appreciate it. I sure would.

I’ll do it, he held out a weather and work-battered hand.

I took it in a firm grip, the way Dad had taught me to shake hands. It’s been good, Early. You’re a good man to work for.

I appreciate that and I’m sorry I can’t use the both of you, he said as he pulled a tattered billfold out of his faded blue jeans. I figure you got twenty-six dollars coming for the last two days, he smiled. Tell you what. I’ll just make that an even thirty, for your trouble. He held out three tens.

I thank you Early, for the bonus too. It wasn’t necessary though.

He glanced away. It was to me Dave, I hate to do things like this.

He scruffed the gravel under his feet purposely and I looked back at him, I guess that’s all that needs saying, I said and turned.

The door slammed on the battered truck. The engine started. I was almost to the house when Kathy yelled, bye Dave, I’ll see you around.

I waved at her as they drove off, took out my billfold and put the thirty dollars that represented two days of back-breaking, slave labor to move seventeen-hundred, thirty-some-odd, forty to sixty pound bales of hay. We loaded the bales on the truck in the sun-blistered fields, then unloaded and stacked them neatly in the top of an airless, overheated barn somewhere for a cent and a half a bale. But it was a damn sight better job than I had now.

I’d hoped to work the whole summer for Early, hauling, cutting and raking hay. I had my eye on a little 1953, Ford Coupe, a ticket to freedom that I could buy for two-hundred and fifty dollars. But now I had to find another job and I knew that might be tough.

Mom opened the screen door for me. What’s happened Davie? Lines of worry wrinkled her forehead and eyes.

There was no easy way to say it. I lost my job to Troy Calendar. He’s got kids to feed. I walked on through the living room to the kitchen. The smell of the breakfast we had eaten still lingered in the air.

That’s too bad, Davie, Mom said from behind me, But times is hard.

I know how hard times are Momma, but I need a job too. I got things to buy, school clothes, and I’d like to have a car.

I know, Davie, she poured two cups of coffee and sat with me at the metal-legged table. "They even made up a new word for how hard times is. They call it a ‘recession’ now instead of a depression, like when me and your father was young. But it means the same thing. People’s out of work all over the country, not just here."

She touched my arm, Davie, you ain’t but seventeen. I know you need the work but Troy’s got kids to feed. It’s hard when you got kids to feed and you can’t. It’s hard watching your kids go hungry. It’s something I hope you don’t ever know.

I lit a cigarette, watching a fly crawl across the table. I know, Momma. I’m not saying he didn’t need the work more than me. I’m just saying I needed it too. My voice almost broke at the end.

She smiled then, You’ll find something else, Davie. I’ll listen out for you and I’ll tell Sara to listen too.

The fly reached a clear spot. I crushed it with a wire swatter, glad to hurt something. Momma, you know I was lucky to get that job. You know there wasn’t that much work around here, and now, what work there was is taken.

She gently patted my arm. You found that job. You’ve worked every summer for the last four, you’ll find something else. Just you wait and see. Your father found work. Things are beginning to open up a little. You’ll find something.

I had to smile, but she was right. Dad had found work with the county, rebuilding the road to Madill. Who knows? I might even find something better than hauling hay. Anything I found would be easier for sure. The thirty dollars in my pocket came to my mind and the eighty I had saved from the last two weeks. One hundred-ten dollars, almost half what Fred Means wanted for the little Ford.

I smiled. Yeah, Mom, I’ll find something else. I got to find something else.

Her face lit up, sure you will Davie. She brushed a strand of her dark brown hair, that was rapidly becoming salt and pepper with gray, behind her ear and looked at the clock. Goodness, it’s almost eight o’clock and I haven’t even started on my housework.

She stood, Davie, it would do your father proud if you was to do up some of the work around here today.

Yeah, I guess I could start working the garden out, turning it and laying out a few more rows.

That would be real good, Davie. Your father would like that.

My gaze traveled to the old elm tree that had fallen across the fence last winter in a high wind and generally messed things up. Dad and I had been cutting on it for a couple of weeks now but there was still a lot of work there. I might even cut some on the old tree.

Mom looked that way, just something. Your father will be disappointed if you don’t do something.

Yeah, I know. I took the coffee cups to the sink and went outside to the pump house. I got the shovel, then went to the far end of the garden. We had worked the ground here once but the Bermuda grass had almost taken it again and Dad wanted to plant a late crop here. I took off my shirt and started turning the ground. The moist, earthy smell of it came to me as I chopped the loamy clods into fine pieces. The work wasn’t hard but it was boring and my mind went to the Blue River bottom where Early was working today. It would be hotter than blazes in there and the surrounding trees blocked what wind there was. Maybe Troy wouldn’t think too much of hay hauling after today. But then, my mind went to his three ragged, big-eyed kids and I knew my job was gone. He’d do whatever it took to put food on his table, even stealing another man’s job. Well, I’d go to town this afternoon and ask around. Maybe something would come up.

The next shovel turned up three fat earthworms so I got a can to put them in. A couple of more shovels full and I had a half-dozen. I crumbled some dirt on them and put them in the shade then turned my mind off, concentrating on the shovel work.

I’d finished turning the ground once after about two hours. It would take at least one more turning before it was ready to plant but it would have to set for a couple of days till the grass roots died. I put the shovel away and went into the kitchen, poured a glass of ice water from the jug we always kept in the refrigerator and sat at the table.

Mom came in and sat down with me. Hot today?

Not too bad right now but it’s going to be this afternoon. I think I’ll go to town, just to ask around about work.

Did you get the garden work done?

I got that piece at the far end turned again but it’s going have to be done again before it’s ready. I sure wish we had a rototiller. And remembering the old tree again, and a chain saw. It sure would make things easier around here.

We could use a lot of things around here, Davie, but we don’t have the money for them.

I know, I was just wishing. I dug some worms. I’ll try to get me and dad a big catfish for supper after while.

That would be nice. Do you want some dinner now?

No, I’m going to go on downtown. I went to the bathroom to clean up.

You sure you don’t want to eat? Mom said over the rush of the water. I’ll fix you something.

No, I’ll be by the café after while and grab a hamburger.

Okay, she said as I walked through the house to my bedroom. At least it was mine now. It had been both of my sisters, then mine and my brother’s but they had left home to make lives of their own. Now, it was mine.

The ceiling was white, the walls blue. There was a girl’s dresser and a mirror, left by my sister Ginger. A chest of drawers that didn’t match, left by Betty. I had a double bed and a night stand with a radio and a reading lamp that I had bought. A gun rack, that I had built, hung on one wall and was adorned with a homemade Bois d’ arc bow, a .22 rifle and a hunting knife. Several boxes of ammo sat on the shelf. A hunting vest, studded with shotgun shells, hung from a corner of the rack. A large picture of several mountains peaks, glaciers, a small lake and an old cabin hung on the opposite wall. I had found the picture out back of a five-and-dime store that had gone out of business and brought it home. I looked at it often with an empty longing. I loved mountains, and especially this picture of them. It was bleak in its starkness, lonely looking. I had made the frame myself.

I took the thirty dollars out of my billfold and pulled out the eighty I had saved, wondering if I’d ever get the chance to actually see a mountain glacier or anything outside of Crane, Oklahoma. Losing the job with Early wasn’t the end of the world, but it was sure close.

I put the money away, keeping out ten. I grabbed a clean tee shirt, and hollered, I’m gone, Mom.

Okay, Dave, she said from the other bedroom and I crossed the yard to the road. The gravel crunched under my boots as I walked steadily down the hill. A breeze played across the narrow field on my right, bringing the dank smell of deep woods, spiced with the sharp tang of cedar from the trees farther over. The locusts were shrilling steadily now that the day had heated up and from a distance I could hear the rasping caw of a crow. The woods thinned giving way to grassland that had a lighter, dusty smell of grass withering in the still heat.

I topped the last hill then left the gravel road for the asphalt highway. A few minutes later I was walking through a tree-shrouded residential area with big houses that sat way back from the highway. Squirrels played on the yards that had been neatly clipped, almost manicured, by someone that didn’t live there, and I wondered what it would be like to live in a house with more than five rooms.

Crane was practically deserted but it always was during the week. The clock and thermometer at the bank said it was eleven-thirty and ninety-four degrees but it seemed hotter with the sun radiating off the brick buildings. Only two old men sat on the concrete benches by the corner. On Saturday, there would be fifteen or twenty of them arguing about religion or politics or whatever old men argued about.

I crossed the street and went in the pool hall. My eyes took a second to adjust after the bright sunlight. The combined odors of chalk, leather, man-sweat, cigar and cigarette smoke, tobacco juice and dusty old building came to me. The sharp click of two ivory balls hitting was drowned by the crash of a rack breaking. There were four snooker tables close to the door, four pool tables farther back. All the way to the rear of the narrow building were the domino tables where some of the old men played. No matter what day it was there were always at least two domino games going on. Today was no exception. What was the exception was the number of men playing pool, snooker and dominos. Almost every table was full.

Denver, sat on one of the high stools that lined the wall. I went over and sat beside him. He was a tall, lanky guy who had ridden bulls in the rodeo before one of them fell on him, crushing his right leg, crippling him for life. He limped badly, but he worked out his arms and upper body constantly. He was terribly strong and terribly proud of it, making up, I guess, for his handicap. He glanced at me as if I wasn’t worthy of the spoken greeting, but I said, how’s it going, anyway.

He nodded slowly, lighting a small, brown cigar, then drawled, why ain’t you working today?

Lost my job to Troy Calendar. I shrugged as if it didn’t matter.

Heard you was going too, day before yesterday, Denver grunted. He was a guy who knew everything that went on in town. Don’t feel bad about it, he added. Early said you was a good hand but times is hard and Troy’s got a family to feed.

I mumbled, If I hear one more time about how hard times is and how Troy Calendar’s got kids to feed, I think I’m gonna puke.

Denver scorched me with a glare. Boy, times is hard! he growled. They’re calling it a recession now, but if Hoover was President instead of Eisenhower, they’d call it by another name. And, no, I don’t know of anyone that needs any help, he snapped in answer to my unasked question. You see them boys playing pool back there? He pointed with his chin.

I nodded.

Well, them’s the Perkins boys from Filmore. They been working up to the City for a couple of years. Now, they done come back here cause there ain’t no work, even up there. And they got families to feed too. All you got is a car to buy.

I started to tell him that I had more than a car to buy. That car would eventually take me away from this one-horse town that seemed to be smothering me but I needed Denver and I had no need to make him mad.

Someone hollered, rack! from one of the pool tables and Denver limped to the table. He racked all the tables after each game and collected the money. If anyone got caught racking their own table they got kicked out and barred for a month. That was serious because the pool hall and the picture show were the only entertainment in the whole town.

While he was gone, Rocky Cobb came in and sat beside me on Denver’s stool. He took out a comb, running it through his greasy black hair then cut his narrow eyes to me and said, what do you know White? Say, you got a cigarette?

I grinned, shaking one out to him. I know you’re sitting in Denver’s place and he’s gonna pull your arm off when he gets back.

Piss on Denver, Rocky growled as he got up. You want to play a game of snooker?

Yeah, might as well. There ain’t nothing else going on. Go ahead and break them. I walked to the wooden rack that held the cue sticks and selected one. Denver limped back to his stool as the crash told me Rocky had broken the rack of balls. Say, Denver, I said. I’d appreciate if you kept an ear open for me.

He looked at me hard then nodded slightly. I ain’t never heard too much bad about you, Dave White. Everyone you ever worked for says you made them a hand. ‘Sides, I like your mother. She’s the best cook in this town. I’ll keep an ear out for you. He turned, climbing back on his stool.

Your shot, White, Rocky said, and I turned to the snooker table. I made one on the break, he said as I bent over the table, lining up the white cue ball on a red ball near a corner pocket. I thought you was working, hauling hay for Early Dean, Rocky said as I made the red ball and lined up on the six.

I was, till today. I made the six, respotted it and took aim on another red ball. Lost my job. The red ball dropped into the center pocket and I lined up on the four.

You out of work then? Rocky asked as I missed the shot.

Yeah, I wrote my score on the small black board hanging on the wall. But I’m looking for something else.

We ought to go out West and cut wheat then. Rocky missed his shot.

I studied him curiously, what are you talking about Rocky?

He looked up slyly as if he had a great secret. The wheat harvest, Man. All you got to do is drive a truck or a combine and keep them serviced. And they pay good money out West.

Won’t do me no good. I can’t drive a truck. I made another red ball then missed the six. Early or Kathy did all the driving. I just humped the bales.

Well, whatever. I don’t reckon you’re wanting a job too bad. He made a red ball, then missed the seven.

I’m wanting work bad, Rocky, but not bad enough to go chasing all over the country for a job I can’t do.

Okay, okay, it ain’t no problem. It’s just that I’m going out there soon and I wouldn’t mind some company.

I looked up from the table. Reckon you better find you someone else then. I got better sense than that. I made the red ball then the seven. I respotted the seven, and then missed a red ball.

I’m telling you Dave, the money’s good and the work ain’t that bad.

I shook my head but then had second thoughts. Tell you what, I’ll think on it.

Rocky leaned on his cue stick. Don’t think on it too long, I’m leaving in a couple of days.

Y’all gonna shoot snooker or jaw, jack all day? Denver yelled. I got people waiting on that table.

You just hold on to yourself there. Rocky yelled back at him.

How’d you like me coming over there and slapping shit out of you, Rocky Cobb, Denver said with an evil-looking smile.

Rocky bent over to shoot and I shut up. We finished the game and played one more before I decided to walk down to the café.

The heat outside was like a hammer now even under the shade of the store awnings and I was almost soaked with sweat by the time I had walked the two blocks to the other end of town.

The Crane café sat next to the Ford dealership and across the street from the picture show. Sara’s old green Chevrolet was parked in its usual spot so I knew Mom got to work alright. Sara was the waitress and cashier, Mom was the cook. Together, they made up the two till ten shift of the café. Sara always picked Mom up at home to bring her to work. Mom was always trying to pay Sara for her trouble, but she wouldn’t take the money. So Mom filled her car up with gas once a month.

Sara was only eighteen but she seemed older. She’d dropped out of school her junior year when she was sixteen, got married and moved to Ardmore. She came back about six months later and started working at the café. That had been just over a year ago. She lived alone now and dated grown men. Not that I blamed them. She was about five-two and only weighed about a hundred pounds, all in the right places. She had dark hair and green eyes with flecks of gold in them. Her teeth were tiny and straight and the purest white I’d ever seen. Her only flaw, that I knew of, was freckles. She had thousands of them on her arms and her face. I always wondered if they were all over the rest of her, but I knew, for sure, my chances of finding out were as remote as the stars I looked at from the top of the house on the nights I climbed up there to be alone.

She was sitting at her usual place in the back booth, facing the door. The smell of burned coffee was strong in the air combined with the smell of food being cooked. I got a pack of cigarettes from the machine then a Coke from the box behind the counter. Marty Robbins, moaning about a white sports coat, came from the big jukebox on which a large fan stirred the hot air.

Sara grinned, looking up from the crossword puzzle as I slid into the booth with her. What’s going on Kid? Her voice had a musical tone with an underlying huskiness.

Nothing but the heat.

She smiled, I heard about your job. Too bad. I haven’t heard anything, but I’ll keep an ear out for you.

I’d appreciate that Sara. Just about anything will do.

How much do you have saved?

A hundred. I need two-fifty.

She grinned again. That’s a good price, and it’s a good little car. I’ll bet Gayle will like it. How is your love life anyway?

She was alright the last time I saw her but that was Sunday night. I thought I might get Dad’s car and go over there tonight.

She shook her head, not in your daddy’s car you won’t. There’s a poker game tonight. I heard one of the mechanics at the Ford house talk about it.

Are you sure?

She smiled knowingly, not positive, but that’s what I heard. Maybe Robert will win enough to buy you that car. The jukebox went silent, Sara slid out of the booth, punched some buttons and Del Shannon, began singing, Runaway.

Yeah, and maybe the sun will come up in the south tomorrow. I said over the music. You know what kind of bills we ran up while Dad was out of work.

Sara smoothed her uniform and slid back in the booth. Yeah, I know. And I know how tough it is, but things will get better. The door opened and a couple of men came in. Sara grinned at them.

Just a cup of coffee, Sara, one of them said, And, say, dump that out and make a fresh pot, if you would.

Sure, thing Joe, Sara slid out of the booth. I watched her tugging her blue uniform into place as she walked to the counter. She had freckles on her lower legs too.

She joked with the men a second then went to the jukebox, which was silent again and dropped in a quarter. Sam Cooke started moaning about working on a chain gang.

One of the men watched her walk away. Sara, when are me and you gonna run away from here? Then he laughed.

Her laugh was a husky tinkling, just as soon as you come up with about a million dollars and divorce your wife.

He grinned, that’s about what I thought. Never.

She laughed again. Hell, Joe, you never know. You might make it someday, but give me a day or so warning before we have to leave.

I’ll do it Honey, he laughed then turned to the other guy while Sara poured their coffee. She came back to the booth, going back to her crossword puzzle.

Mom came out of the kitchen. A food splattered apron covered her white uniform. Well, did you hear of anything?

Not really. But I’ve got Denver and Sara listening out for me. Between the two of them, they know everyone and everything that happens in this part of the state.

Sara laughed and added, and most everything that is going to happen.

Mom laughed, You hungry? You want something to eat?

I glanced at the big clock over the jukebox. It was three o’clock. Yeah, why don’t you fix me a hamburger then I’m going back out to the house.

Mom nodded and went back to the kitchen. A second later I heard the sizzle of frying meat. Two highway patrolmen came in and Sara got up to wait on them. I turned the paper around opening it to the auto sales page, feeling my chances of getting a car this summer were pretty slim and getting slimmer.

Sara came back to the booth and lit a cigarette, looking at me. You can use my car tonight, Dave, if you want to.

I grinned, I’d sure appreciate that, Sara. I’ll ask Dad first, but I’d sure like to see Gayle tonight. I’m feeling pretty low.

She patted my arm, I can tell you do.

Mom came out with my hamburger and sat beside me again. I ate the burger, wishing I’d ordered two. When I finished I said, I think I’m going on home.

Mom got up, yes, it’s getting pretty late. Your father will be home by five-thirty.

I hate to tell him about the job. I slid out of the booth.

It’s not your fault, Davie. You had no control over it, Mom said.

I don’t care. I still hate to tell him about it. I’m going home. I’ll see you tonight. I walked to the door and outside. The heat was even worse as I started down the street. Both the old men were gone when I turned at the bank. It was an even one, hundred degrees.

When I got home, I went into my room and changed clothes, putting on my oldest and most ragged pair of jeans. I took down the .22 rifle and went back outside. I got two cane fishing poles from the pump house and the can of worms I’d left in the shade then started to the big pond across the road.

A bullfrog, big from the sound of him, was ‘barumping’ his love call and a great blue heron clumsily took flight then soared high into the light-blue sky as I started across the earthen tank dam. I baited both poles and set them in the deepest water, jamming the sharp ends into the soft ground to secure them. Then I lit a cigarette and sat in the shade of a huge oak tree to let the animals settle down some. After about ten minutes one line began jerking and I landed a nice three pound catfish. I killed and cleaned him then took the rifle and made a circle around the pond killing four big bull frogs as I went. When I returned to the poles, both were jerking. I had another three pounder and a smaller catfish on the lines. I turned the smaller one loose and cleaned the frogs and the other fish, then walked home.

I washed everything, put all of it in a pan of salt water to soak and turned on the TV to watch the last of American Bandstand’, ‘The Mickey Mouse Club,’ came on after that and when it was about half over, Dad walked in, sweat-soaked and flushed with the heat.

What are you doing home so soon? He was about my same height but forty pounds heavier, dressed in stripped overalls, a cotton shirt, and a red ball cap. He took off his cap, wiped his forehead with his shirt sleeve then replaced the cap in one easy motion. The sleeve was dark, almost dripping with sweat.

I followed him into the kitchen telling him what had happened. He nodded as he sat. Well, it ain’t no good deal, but you can’t help that. You made Early a hand and that’s all a mule can do.

I poured both of us a glass of water. I caught some nice fish and killed four big bullfrogs for supper.

You do any work around here today? The tone of his voice was questioning, hard.

Yeah, I turned the far end of the garden over again.

That’s good, long as you do something. I’ll cook supper after I rest a bit. He took a bottle of whiskey out of the refrigerator and took a gurgling drink.

Damn, it was hotter than a bitch out there today.

I nodded silently.

I never knew a little old flag could get so heavy, and standing on the fresh asphalt is worse than having both feet stuck in a fire. I used to laugh at them old boys flagging traffic but it’s just about the worse job I’ve ever had.

He took another drink of whiskey, then put the bottle back in the refrigerator.

You gonna need the car tonight? I asked, hoping against hope, knowing Sara was seldom wrong.

Yeah, I got something to do tonight, why? He took off his ball cap, wiping his forehead with his sleeve again.

I thought I might run over to Connerville for a while to see Gayle.

Maybe tomorrow night. I got things to do tonight. His tone said there was no need to ask further.

Sara offered to let me use her car. How about that?

He shook his head slightly. I don’t like you using her car Dave, but I guess it’ll be alright. You put her some gas in, you hear? He stood, Now, get out of here while I fix supper.

Alright. I headed to the bathroom to clean up and change clothes again. The food was ready by the time I finished.

Dad had rolled the catfish and frog legs in corn meal, and dropped them into deep grease that was hot enough to light a match. He broke an egg in the corn meal, added a little milk, salt and pepper. He rolled it into balls with diced onions and garlic then dropped them into the same grease, and fried up a plate full of sliced potatoes. He’d warmed the red beans left from supper last night and sliced up a side dish of pickles and onions.

When he finished eating, he pushed his chair back grinned and lit a cigarette. Damn, he said, I wonder what the poor folks is eating tonight.

I just shook my head, too full to talk. The hushpuppies had been crunchy on the outside, moist within. The catfish was flaky moist and not overdone, the potatoes, the same. The frog legs added a muddy, wild flavor, and the day-old beans were just the right addition to a full meal. I groaned, wondering if I’d ever be able to stand again when Dad said, You want a ride to town, you better get them dishes done.

I groaned again as he walked into the bathroom to clean up. Finally, I got up, made dishwater and began cleaning the kitchen. I was finished by the time he was, leaving the dishes to drip dry. He’d changed into khaki pants and shirt and traded his ball cap for a Stetson. I noticed too the bulge in his right front pocket. He was evidently playing with the wild bunch tonight. He usually didn’t carry his pistol.

We rode to town in silence, an old Hank Williams song, Hey Goodlookin’, was playing on the radio and the late afternoon sun was glaring through the windshield. Dad let me off at the café. Don’t forget to be back about ten-thirty. Sara and your mother will be tired and ready to go home. And you be careful with that car.

Okay, Dad. You be careful too.

He just grunted and drove away.

I went in the café, several people were eating, Mom and Sara were both busy, so I sat in the back booth alone. The paper was still open to the half-finished crossword puzzle. Sara got a break about then and sat beside me. She smelled musky, sort of a mixture of sweat and perfume that immediately made me wonder about those freckles, which made me start getting hard.

I smiled at her as she bumped me with her shoulder. You still need the car tonight?

Yeah, if it’s okay.

Dave, if it hadn’t been okay, I’d never offered it. You just mind your manners though and drive it right. Be sure to check the oil too. It burns a lot. And for God’s sake, be careful, okay?

Okay Sara. I know how to drive.

She nodded but didn’t smile. "Yeah, I know you know how to drive but that ain’t all I’m talking about. You be careful with Gayle too. You two have