I tried picturing it in my mind, how it would be on the day we left Red River.
I imagined us putting the last few things on the truck, moving slow and not saying much of anything. We’d put some of Beanie’s things in a box, one Mama didn’t know about just then. A box we’d show her later on when she was some healed up from the stab of losing her.
After we’d finished loading up, Daddy would give me a wink and reach for Mama, putting his kiss on her temple. He’d tell Ray to come on, too. Ray would feel strange about sharing in that family moment until Daddy put a hand on his back and called him “son.”
Mama would make sure to let him know he was one of us now.
She’d let a tear or two drop from her eyes when she took one last look through the house to be sure she’d gotten everything. It had been her home as long as she’d been married to Daddy. She’d made it a good place for us to live.
I’d take Mama’s hand so she’d know I felt it too, the leaving. We’d stand together, the four of us, taking our time in the last minute or so before stepping outside.
Once we did walk out, I’d try not to look at the house too close for fear I’d never be able to leave it. That place was all I’d ever known.
“Well, I guess we oughta,” Daddy would say, turning toward the truck.
Ray would climb up in the back, settling in for the ride. I’d let him be there by himself for a bit. Men needed to be alone in moments of sadness, I knew that much.
Nodding, Daddy would open the passenger side door and take my hand, helping me climb in. I’d shimmy over to the middle of the seat and wait for Mama to slide in beside me. She wouldn’t right away, though. She’d be caught up in Daddy’s arms, the two of them giving one another a little comfort. Daddy’d whisper something into her ear and kiss her hair the way he did sometimes. I’d ache right along with them, but I’d keep it to myself so they wouldn’t worry about me more than they already did.
“At least there’s still us,” Mama would say, leaning back to look full into Daddy’s face. “We’ll be all right. You’ll see.”
Daddy would make sure Mama got up into her seat and that the skirt of her dress was all tucked up under her so it wouldn’t get slammed in the door. He’d take his time getting around to his side, stopping to check a few things on the truck to be sure it would run without any problems. He’d see to Ray, asking if he was all right.
Ray’d tell him he was. Daddy wouldn’t believe him, not all the way, but he wouldn’t push him. He’d know Ray was going through a real hard time, leaving his mother like he was.
“Here,” Mama would say, pushing up against me. “Rest your head on my shoulder a spell.”
I would, and she’d hum a little song to help me relax the way she had when I was real small and upset about something or other.
I imagined Daddy getting in on the other side of me and turning over the truck engine. When he eased the truck away from the house I would turn and look out the back window. It was my own way of telling home good-bye.
The truck would run smooth over the road leading out of Red River. Smooth and quiet.
The only person out and about that day would be Mad Mabel. The orange and red sunrise would glow on her wilted wedding dress and she’d stand out front of the church, blowing kisses at us as we drove away.
On the morning of the day we left Red River, Mama was sore at Daddy. I knew by the way she didn’t meet his eyes and how she’d hardly said so much as boo to him since breakfast.
He tried, Daddy did, to get her to smile. Used all his tricks like calling her sugar and cracking a joke. Not a one of his attempts worked. Seemed to just make her more and more upset.
When I asked her why she was angry, she sighed and told me just to keep still on the davenport. I knew I remained under the don’t-move-an-inch Bible promise of the day before. I could’ve sworn that if I had to sit on my behind any more it would flatten out just like a flapjack. I wondered what Doc Clem would say about a thing like that.
Right around midmorning Mama and Daddy came down the steps, one after the other, arms loaded with quilts and pillows, both of them red-faced. I didn’t think it was from all the rushing around.
“We can’t take the davenport,” Daddy told her for the tenth time that morning. “We don’t have room.”
“You haven’t tried.” She made her voice hard as a rock, like she did when she wanted to get her way.
“Where are we gonna put Ray if we’ve got that big old thing in the back?”
“Maybe you should’ve thought about that.”
He stopped beside the table and turned to her. “Mary, we will make him feel welcome.”
“But what’ll we sit on once we get there?” She dumped her pile of linens on the table. “We’re already leaving so much.”
“Gus said he’s got plenty to let us have once we get a place.”
“Did he say he’s got a davenport for us?”
Daddy sighed and hung his head.
“We can’t take it, Mary,” he said. “That’s it.”
“I’m not leaving without it.” She stomped her foot and crossed her arms.
“I thought you couldn’t wait to get out of Red River.” He shook his head at her. “I seem to remember you saying you’d kill yourself if we didn’t move. You remember that?”
“And you refused to budge,” she said, her voice icy. “And we lost our daughter because you wanted to stick it out. Darn near lost Pearl, too. Now I get to be the stubborn one. I’m not going anywhere without this davenport.”
“Have it your way.” Daddy turned toward the front door. “But when I pull that truck away from the house, that sofa is not going to be on it.”
She let out a frustrated howl.
They went on back and forth like that, neither of them like to win. So I shattered my promise to stay put and got myself up off that old, lumpy davenport Mama held so dear and made my way, slow and steady, out the front door and closed it behind me.
Neither of them seemed to notice.
Standing on the porch I looked out over what I could see of Red River. It’d turned more ghost town than anything with plenty of memories left to haunt.
Still, I had enough good recollections that might’ve given me cause to smile on any other occasion. Some day I’d need them to soothe the ache I’d feel for the place. I didn’t believe anything could ever feel like home again.
If I’d even had one ounce of strength in my legs I would’ve wandered around all by my lonesome. Cupped my hands to see in the windows of the empty shops along the main street, tiptoed through the alleyways. Visited the abandoned sharecropper’s cabins and the overflowing Hooverville, looking one last time at the folks living there and their slapped-together shacks.
If I hadn’t been so weak I would have sifted the red Oklahoma dirt through my fingers, feeling the land I’d most likely never see again.
It would be my so-long to a whole lot of ruin.
Ray would’ve gone with me if I’d asked him, but that sort of wandering needed doing alone. It wasn’t just the lame legs that kept me on the porch. It was fear that held me there. That fear was newer in me than the desire to wander. It’d been born the day Eddie DuPre hopped off the train and it grew after the black storm barreled down on us, sucking Beanie’s life away.
So I just sat down on the porch, my elbows resting on my knees and hands holding up my chin, a mask covering the better part of my face. I never would’ve admitted it, but I was feeling sorry for myself something awful.
Millard came around the side of the house and hefted a toolbox into the back of the truck. He was one to whistle while he worked unless he had a plug of chaw in his lip. When he did whistle, he’d waggle his eyebrows up and down. Most days it would’ve made me laugh. Not that day, though.
I didn’t think anything could cheer me up, not just then at least.
“How long you been sittin’ there?” he asked, seeing me out the corner of his eye.
I shrugged.
“You not feelin’ good?” He took a couple steps toward me.
“I’m all right,” I answered. “This mask is awful. Wish I could tear it right off.”
“Don’t it work?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“That’s fine.”
Pointing his finger, he told me to make room for him on the step. I did and he sat beside me. Fishing around in his pocket, he pulled out a pink candy and put it in my hand.
“I found them in Boise City when I was up there,” he told me.
“Thank you.” I pulled the mask away from my face a bit and popped the sweet into my mouth. It worked up a good spit and soothed my sore throat.
“You remember my comin’ up to see you?”
I told him I didn’t.
“Didn’t figure. You was in and out, up and down. I was sure worried about you. We all were.” He put a piece of the candy in his own cheek. “I come a couple times to sit with you.”
“I’m sorry I don’t remember,” I said.
“Nah. Don’t bother me none. Wasn’t there to be remembered.” He put an arm around my shoulders. “Some of the best things we do ain’t remembered by anybody but God.”
I wondered if he’d got that line from Meemaw. It sure did sound like something she would’ve said.
“Can’t you come with us?” I asked. “We’ve got plenty of room.”
He licked at his lips and blinked a couple times. “Wish I could.”
“You could eat all the tomatoes you want,” I said. “And Mama could make you a blueberry pie whenever you had a taste for one.”
“Wouldn’t that be somethin’!”
“Daddy said it’s green as anything you could ever imagine.” I took his chin in my hand, turning his face so he’d look right at me. “Millard, please come with us.”
“Pearlie, I can’t,” he whispered. “My place is here.”
I dropped my head so it rested on his chest and bawled my eyes out. He held me close, letting me cry as long as I needed to.
“Old men like me have a hard time leavin’ a place they’ve known most their life. No other place’d be home for me. That’s all there is to it, darlin’.” He put his hand on the back of my head. “I sure am sorry, Pearlie.”
What I wanted to say was that it wouldn’t have to be home, Michigan wouldn’t. It wouldn’t be for me, either. But it could be a place where he’d be happy anyway. Happy along with us. With me. I wanted to tell him I’d even call him “grandpa” if he wanted. But all that came out was my sobbing.
“You’ll write me, will you?” he asked, his voice thick like it was in the days after Meemaw died. “Tell me about all the trouble you and Ray’re gettin’ into up there. I’m sure you’ll find plenty.”
I nodded, my cheek rubbing against his soft flannel shirt.
“Tell me about that new school and all you’re learnin’.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And, if you think of it, grab up a handful of grass and stick it in one of them letters you send me,” he said. “It’s been so long since I seen somethin’ green.”
I promised I’d do just that.
Everything we were taking was packed into the truck. The davenport sat where it always had, right under the big window in the living room. Mama stood beside it, feeling of the upholstery, whispering about what a shame it was to leave such a fine piece of furniture behind.
I decided I’d best not point out the worn spots on it or how one of the springs liked to poke up at folks’ behinds. Being quiet was a good idea right then.
Daddy stood in the doorway, rubbing his hands together. He bit at his lip and let his eyes wander around the living room. He nodded and made a noise like he was clearing his throat.
It was time.
Ray went out first, followed by Millard and Daddy. I made my way around the room, running my finger along the wall, steering around the davenport and Meemaw’s rocking chair, walking my fingers over the top of the table. All of it we were leaving behind. I thought if we ever did come back, it would be waiting for us.
Mama’d gone to the kitchen, checking the cupboards one last time. Finding nothing, she slammed the last one shut. It hit so hard, the door bounced open, barely missing her head.
She said a cuss and slapped at the counter, holding on for dear life. Then she started sobbing, making the same horrified sounds from the night Beanie died.
It didn’t go on long, her crying. When it’d passed, she used the collar of her dress to wipe her face dry. Holding herself steady, she turned and took in a couple shaky breaths.
Seeing me, she reached out, taking my hand. Her fingers were cold.
“It’s all right,” she told me.
She left the cupboard hanging open.
Daddy double-checked everything he and Millard had packed on the truck, making sure nothing was like to blow off or crush Ray if we went over a bump. The rest of us stood together, not saying a word, watching him work. I wondered if we’d stand there in front of the house for hours, no one ready to pile in and drive away from Red River and Millard.
Every few minutes Ray looked over his shoulder toward the sharecropper cabins. No matter how much he checked, his mother didn’t come. I wondered if he hoped she’d change her mind and pack up to go along with us. Or if he wished she’d come to take him to Arkansas along with her.
The least she could do, I thought, was to see him off.
But she didn’t come. I knew from the pit of my heart she never would.
“Ray?” Daddy went to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You wanna drive past on our way?”
“No, sir.” Ray shook his head and stood a little taller like he had his pride to think of. “We already said our good-byes,” he said, hardly louder than a whisper.
“You’ll see her again soon,” Daddy told him. “I have faith she’ll stick by her word. She will find her way to you one of these days.”
Ray nodded and turned away from all of us. I didn’t watch him. I knew how he hated for anybody to see him cry.
“Guess we’d better get going,” Daddy said. “If I don’t now I might lose my nerve.”
Mama was the first to go to Millard. They shared a couple words and a quick hug before she stepped aside.
Millard went to Ray and stood beside him a minute, keeping quiet the way men did. When Ray turned to him, Millard took his hand and gave it a firm shake.
“I’ll sure miss you, son,” he said. “I’m real proud of you. You’re a good man.”
“Thank you, sir,” Ray said.
“You’ll need to watch after Pearl for me,” Millard told him. “You keep her smilin’, will ya?”
Ray promised.
I was sure grateful for it.
It was my turn next and I didn’t know that I had the courage to leave him behind. He came, stooping down to face me before giving me a kiss on the cheek.
I started crying again and he rubbed my back. “It’s all right, darlin’,” he whispered.
Closing my eyes I remembered when Daddy got me out of Eddie’s cellar, how Millard had taken me in his arms.
I got her, he had said. It’s all right.
“I love you,” I said, my voice so quiet.
I hoped he’d heard it. It was the first time I’d told him and I wanted to be sure he understood.
“I love you, too,” he told me back. When he wrapped his arms around me, he whispered in my ear. “If you ever need me—I mean really, really need me bad—you give me the word and I’ll get on a train. I’d do that for you, Pearl.”
I nodded.
“I’d do it for you,” he said again.
Millard Young had never gone back on a single one of his promises.
Not even once.
Daddy climbed into the truck beside me. His hands shook and he wiped the palms against his thighs. He kept his face forward, eyes open wide. His mustache wiggled as he bit at his upper lip. As hard as he held onto the steering wheel I thought he was like to snap it into a hundred pieces.
“Ready?” he asked, not turning to look at Mama or me.
“Just go,” Mama said, looking out the window.
He started the engine and waved at Millard one last time before pulling away. Turning, I watched Millard waving back, his big hand in the air. He got smaller and smaller and I kept my eyes on him until Daddy turned off the main street of Red River toward the road that would take us away from home.
Not one of us said so much as a word for a long time. There wasn’t anything to say.
“I ever tell you about the last time Jed Bozell came to town?” Daddy asked after we crossed the line outside of Cimarron County.
He’d been telling me stories about Jed Bozell and his traveling show as long as I could remember. I never did know if the stories were true or not. It didn’t matter so much, though. I just liked it when Daddy got to storytelling, tall as the tales might be.
“Now, Jed and his show came around town every year, always in the summer.” Daddy tapped the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. “Folks would save up nickels and dimes to see whatever attractions he brought with him. It was a different show every time.”
I already knew that much, but didn’t say anything to interrupt him.
“Guess I must’ve been seventeen that last time. School had been out a full month and I’d been working alongside Millard in the courthouse.”
“What job did you do?” I asked.
“Oh, a little bit of everything. Anything that needed doing,” Daddy answered. “My pa died the winter before and I had to make money any way I could to take care of Meemaw.”
In my whole life I could only remember a handful of times when Daddy mentioned his father. Mama didn’t talk about her folks much, either. I did know they were dead like Daddy’s pa was. I wondered if we’d stop talking about Beanie, too, after a while. Seemed the way of things.
“Anyhow, I could hear the commotion of Jed’s men setting up for the show all day long. Couldn’t hardly work for the distraction.” Daddy glanced at me. “Problem was, I knew Meemaw would have supper waiting when I got done working. You know how she hated to serve a meal cold.”
I nodded.
“Well, I got out of the courthouse and decided I’d just take a quick look-see.”
“What did he have in the show?”
“Little bit of everything. Sure did go all out on that trip. He had this kangaroo that’d box anybody if they’d pay a dime.”
“Why’d anybody pay for that?” I asked.
“Darlin’, a man’ll pay about any price to prove he’s stronger than a goofy-looking creature like that.”
“Did the kangaroo ever win?”
“Every single match. That kangaroo had a nasty uppercut.”
“Tom …” Mama said. “Don’t fill her head—”
“And he brought the world’s stinkiest pig.” Daddy made a hooting noise. “We couldn’t get the smell of that thing out of town for a full month.”
“What did it smell like?” I asked.
“It’s not polite to say.” He winked at me. “Now, Jed had set up a grandstand at the far end of the grounds. I made my way to see what was going on there, forgetting all about Meemaw and supper. By the time I did remember I was stuck in the middle of a crowd pushing me forward toward the stage.”
“How did you get out?”
“I’ll get to that.” He cleared his throat. “Well, there on the stage was Jed Bozell himself. Turns out he wasn’t just the ringmaster, he was also a performer. Bozell the Amazing Pretzel Man.”
Mama sighed and shook her head.
“I never would’ve thought it, but old Jed was sure flexible. He bent and twisted himself into all kinds of knots. Didn’t know how he did it. Never did figure it out, either,” Daddy went on. “He pulled his legs over his head and folded in half. Then he stood on his hands and reached his feet up behind him to play a piano.”
“How’d he play it?”
“With his toes.” Daddy waggled his eyebrows at me. “Played a little Beethoven if I remember right.”
“Mama,” I asked, “did you see him, too?”
“Can’t say I did,” Mama answered, not turning her face from the side window.
“Well, I remember seeing your mama there.” He let out a whistle. “Boy, was she ever pretty in her yellow dress with her hair all loose around her shoulders. Almost spent as much time watching her as I did old Jed.”
Most days, when Daddy said a thing like that Mama would blush. She’d smile and turn her eyes to her lap in a way that made her look real pretty. That day, though, she didn’t blush. She just turned her shoulder so her back was to Daddy and me and she kept her face toward the window like she didn’t want to miss anything as we passed it by.
It was like she’d stuffed her ears with cotton and didn’t hear a word Daddy said. I thought about telling her she was being rude, ignoring Daddy after he’d paid her such a nice compliment, but I didn’t want to be accused of being a sass mouth just then. I kept my trap shut.
“Halfway through Jed’s pretzel show I started smelling the carnival food. Buttered corn and fried dough and … goodness, everything you can imagine. It made my stomach rumble.” He wiped at his mouth like he was drooling. “That’s when I remembered Meemaw was waiting supper for me. I thought I was in for a whole world of trouble.”
“Did you get home in time?”
“Nah. Never did. When I looked to my right I saw Meemaw standing there, her eyes wide and staring at Jed Bozell.”
“Meemaw told me Jed Bozell wasn’t real,” I told him.
“Course she’d say that. She didn’t want you to know she was smitten with him just like all the other ladies in town.”
“Mama, were you smitten with Jed Bozell?” I asked.
She just snorted and gave me a look that told me she thought it was all ridiculous.
“No. Your mama never had eyes for anybody but me,” Daddy said.
“Not that you know of.” She gave him the same look she’d just given me.
“Maybe,” he said. “But I’m the one who got ya in the end, sugar.”
He winked at her and gave her a crooked smile. She repaid him with a roll of the eyes that irked the dickens out of me.
“What did Jed Bozell do next?” I asked, not wanting Daddy to stop his storytelling.
“Well, he got himself all untangled and stood up tall in front of us.” Daddy tipped the brim of his hat back and scratched at his hairline. “And he told us he was done. He wasn’t coming around to perform anymore.”
I leaned forward, waiting for Daddy to say that Jed Bozell disappeared in a puff of smoke or took off his mask to reveal that, really, he was an ape in disguise. Every one of Daddy’s stories about Jed Bozell ended with something silly, something impossible.
“Then what?” I asked.
“The crowd gasped. A couple women cried even. It was hard news to hear.”
“Why did he quit?”
“Said the traveling got him feeling lost. Like he didn’t have a place in the world.”
Daddy stopped talking and I knew the story was over. Just like that. He drove past a man standing by the side of the road. The man waved and Daddy waved back. It was an Oklahoma thing to do, waving at folks or tipping hats at them whether we knew them or not.
I rested my head on the back of the seat and closed my eyes, picturing Jed Bozell as I’d always imagined him. Long and lanky, with wild hair and big feet. He wandered, moving in circles and zigzags and going one way only to turn and go back the way he’d come. Lost.
Then I imagined him on the path to a nice house. A good one. One with a door painted yellow. He opened the door and a big smile spread all the way across his face before he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.