CROSS ROADS WAS A PLEASANT LITTLE TOWN, considered a good place to live by the slightly more than five thousand residents. The businesses were nearly all located along Main Street. Branching off it were ten streets of homes, most of which were small, some with ample space for a garden and chickens. On the outer edge of town were acreages with barns and pastures. This was ranch country, and almost everyone who had a place to keep a horse had one or two.
Not all the houses in Cross Roads were small. As in every place where people settle, there were those who had more than their neighbors. The banker’s house and several others would have looked quite at home in the affluent sections of Amarillo or Albuquerque.
There were three churches in town, a school with grades one through twelve, one hotel, two barbershops, a five-and-dime, two dry-goods stores, a shoe repairer, a hat shop, a pawn shop, hardware /lumber yard, feed store and four beer joints. There were no known whorehouses, but circulated among the men were names of women who would, for a price, scratch any particular itch they happened to have.
The business area of Cross Roads was large because it served ranches that were spread across two counties. The town was justifiably proud that its bank had remained solvent while banks all over the country had gone broke.
One overworked doctor cared for the sick and injured. Three lawyers, one of whom Mary Lee was on her way to see, took care of the citizens’ legal problems.
She took her time, knowing that Mr. Morales might not reach his office until eight o’clock. In front of the post office, she stopped to speak to Miss Watson, one of her high school teachers.
“Mary Lee! It’s good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you, Miss Watson.” Mary Lee was sincere. The teacher had been a good friend while she was in school.
“Are you here on a visit, or do you plan to stay?”
“I’m staying . . . awhile.”
“And heavens! You’re going to have a baby. Poor little thing. I know you’ll handle being without your husband just as you’ve handled everything else in your life.” She gave Mary Lee a hug. “You’ll make a wonderful mother.”
“Thank you, Miss Watson.”
“I was sorry to hear about Bobby.”
“It was a shock.”
“I imagine it was. Come by and see me. You were one of my favorites, you know.”
“I’ll do that. Good-bye, Miss Watson.”
Mary Lee continued down the street. She knew perfectly well to what Miss Watson was referring. Not only had her mother’s drinking been an embarrassment to her, she had married a weak, shiftless man. She had known almost from the start that her marriage had been a mistake. She couldn’t undo a lifetime of the undermining of Bobby’s self-confidence. But the time she had been with him had not been for naught. It had given her a baby to love and to work for.
A few of the men she met on the street nodded and tipped their hats. One woman looked at her curiously, and another turned her head and pretended to be looking in the window of the hat shop until Mary Lee passed.
Even in a town the size of Cross Roads there were class distinctions. Because her mother had made a spectacle of herself more times than Mary Lee had fingers and toes, she wasn’t welcome and, at times, not even acknowledged by those in the higher social circle, even though her father had been a respected businessman. Such discrimination didn’t hurt as much now as it had while she was in school. She no longer had an interest in hobnobbing with a bunch of snobs.
At eight o’clock according to the clock in front of the barbershop, Mary Lee climbed the stairway that separated the dry-goods store from the billiard parlor. In the upper hallway she paused when she reached a frosted-glass door. On it, printed in fancy gold lettering, was the sign: SIDNEY MORALES, ATTORNEY AT LAW.
After a moment of hesitation, she opened the door. Mr. Morales was sitting at a paper-strewn desk. He looked up over glasses perched low on his nose, then got to his feet.
“Morning, ma’am.”
“Morning, Mr. Morales.” Mary Lee held out her hand. “Do you remember me? Mary Lee Clawson, Scott Finley’s daughter.”
“I thought you looked familiar. I just couldn’t place you for a minute. It’s been some time since I saw you.”
“I’ve been away for a while.”
“I’m sorry about your husband. The whole town was shocked.”
“It was a shock to me too.”
“Sit down, Mrs. Clawson, and tell me what I can do for you. I sent you a copy of your father’s will. When I didn’t hear back, I presumed that you understood the conditions.”
Mary Lee gave him a blank stare. “I never received a copy of Daddy’s will. I’d no idea he even had one.”
The lawyer looked at her steadily for a minute, then said, “I mailed it a week after Scott passed away. Let me see”— he pulled open a file and took out a folder —“it’s right here. I mailed it on the third of January and sent it registered. According to the post office, Bob Clawson signed for it.”
“Mr. Morales, I’ve not seen it. I came to ask you if I had any authority at all to make some changes out at the motor court. Things out there are in a mess.”
“You have all the authority you need, Mrs. Clawson. Your father left all his possessions, including the motor court, to you with the request that you take care of your mother.”
“He . . . did?”
“Yes, he did. I’ve a copy of the will right here.”
“I wonder why Bobby didn’t tell me.”
“I’ve no idea.”
He was afraid that if I knew, I would leave him and come home. He couldn’t stand the thought of being alone, and he’d rather be anywhere in the world than in Cross Roads, so he didn’t tell me about the will. The . . . weasel!
While these thoughts were going through Mary Lee’s head, she looked away from the lawyer, lest he see how embarrassed she was that her husband would keep such important news from her.
“Frankly, Mrs. Clawson, I’ve been disturbed by the conditions out at the motor court and wondered if you were aware of how it was being run. Scott took out a small loan to do some painting and minor repair about a month before he died. I don’t think he had time to do the work.”
“I’m sure he didn’t. The place is terribly run-down, and Mama has rented at least one cabin by the month.”
“I don’t mean to be unkind, but it’s common knowledge that she has some unsavory hangers-on out there.”
“Do I have the authority to clear them out?” Mary Lee asked bluntly.
“The place is yours, lock, stock and barrel. Your father requested that you take care of your mother. He knew, and I’m sure you know, that she has a drinking problem.”
“I’ve known it all my life. It’s one reason I wanted to get away from here. I should never have left him —”
“Now, now. Your father understood that you had a right to a life separate from your parents.”
“He told me that. But I . . . jumped out of the frying pan into the fire,” she admitted. “I exchanged one set of problems for another.”
“Have you seen Bobby’s father?”
“I just got here last night.”
“He’ll probably be interested in your . . . ah . . . condition.”
“Why is that? He kicked Bobby out. Disinherited him. He’ll have no claim on Bobby’s baby.”
“Well, I could be mistaken.” Mr. Morales made busy work straightening the papers on his desk. “But after all, Bobby was his sole heir, and now that he’s gone —”
“Bobby wasn’t and never was going to be Mr. Clawson’s heir. He made that plain enough. He didn’t even acknowledge the wire I sent him when Bobby was killed. The county had to bury the son of a rich man!”
“Perhaps he would have changed his mind.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Mary Lee said heatedly. “He’s partly responsible for the way Bobby . . . was.”
After a small silence, Mr. Morales said, “Would you like to see a copy of Scott’s will?”
“Yes, please.”
Mary Lee turned slightly to the side so that the light from the window fell on the document. She quickly glanced over the legal heading. Tears dimmed her vision as she read: To my beloved daughter, Mary Lee Finley Clawson, I leave the total sum of my worldly goods . . .
The lawyer accepted the document when she returned it. “You should see Mr. Rosen over at the bank and find out if anything has been paid on the loan.”
“I’ll do that.”
“And, Mrs. Clawson, it might be a good idea to have your mother’s name taken off the bank account . . . if there’s anything left in it.”
“Thank you for the advice, Mr. Morales.”
“One more thing, Mrs. Clawson. I’m sure you know that nothing goes on in a town this size that isn’t gossiped about. Jake Ramero has been staying out at the motor court. He got out of the pen a few months ago and has been working out at the Quitman ranch and doing some steel work on a bridge now and then.”
“What was he in prison for?”
“Cattle rustling. Ocie Clawson accused him of stealing fifty steers. The judge gave him two years. I’m surprised he came back here.”
Mary Lee frowned. “Bobby talked about him a time or two. He didn’t like him. He said he would steal the pennies off a dead man’s eyes.”
“I don’t think he’s quite that bad, but I understand why Bobby would say so.”
The lawyer swung his chair around to the file cabinet, clearly ending the conversation about Jake Ramero. Mary Lee went to the door.
“Is there anything I need to sign?”
“No. It’s been taken care of. The deed has been registered in your name.”
“Thank you. Do I owe you anything?”
“Scott paid for my services when the will was drawn up. I wonder if he had a premonition that something was going to happen to him.”
Mary Lee walked down the stairs holding tightly to the railing. The shock of what she learned in Mr. Morales’s office had made her weak.
“I would like to speak with Mr. Rosen.”
“I’ll see if he’s busy.”
The teller had been polite and businesslike, but had not acknowledged knowing her. He had been several grades ahead of her in school. Mary Lee remembered vividly the night he and another boy had followed her home from play practice, scaring her with their lewd remarks. Holding her head high, she looked him in the eye when he returned to say the banker would see her in a few minutes.
Mary Lee waited in the bank lobby for twenty minutes, sitting on a hard bench, before she was ushered in to see Mr. Rosen.
“Come in, Mrs. Clawson. Have a seat.”
“Thank you. I’m here about the motor court. I was told my father took out a loan just before he died.”
“He did. Three hundred dollars.”
“Has any of the loan been paid?”
“Not a cent.”
“When is it due?”
“October first.”
“Is there a balance in the checking account?”
“Not a cent,” the banker said again. “There has not been a deposit made since Scott died.”
“That will be changed now. I was unaware that my father had left the motor court to me.”
“Unaware? How can that be?”
“A slipup in the mail.” Mary Lee kept her eyes on his and refused to say more.
“May I make partial payments so the loan will be extended?”
“No. It must be paid in full,” he said briskly. “I may have a buyer for the court.”
“It isn’t for sale.”
“My advice would be that you sell before it’s run completely into the ground.”
Mary Lee stood up. “Thank you for the advice. I have four months to pay the three hundred dollars, is that right?”
“That’s right.”
“And if I don’t?”
“The bank will take over the property and sell it. We protect our stockholders.”
“You would sell it out from under me for a three-hundred-dollar loan?”
“Business is business. We’re a bank, not a charity institution.” He stood up and looked her over as if she had come riding into town on a freight train.
“I wasn’t asking for charity. Just a reasonable amount of time to pay the loan.”
“October first, Mrs. Clawson.”
“Good day, Mr. Rosen.”
“Good day, Mrs. Clawson.”
Mary Lee left the bank with questions floating around in her mind. Her father hadn’t had time to spend the money he borrowed on repairs. And he always kept a small balance in a checking account. Her mother had either blown the money on booze or had let her worthless friends take advantage of her.
More determined than she’d been in all her life, Mary Lee headed home, forgetting that she had planned to buy tooth powder until she was a block past the drugstore. Her future and that of her unborn child depended on her making the motor court pay. Her father had done it, and so could she.
It was a warm May day, and Mary Lee was hot when she stepped up onto the back porch and entered the kitchen. Her mother, Pearl, and the man they had called Jim sat at the table. Mary Lee could smell bacon and fried potatoes. The sink was still full of dirty dishes, and the sheets she had brought up from the number four cabin were still on the floor in the corner.
“Where you been?” Dolly asked as if she really didn’t care.
“To see Mr. Morales.”
“What for?”
“To find out about Daddy’s will. He sent me a copy, but it must have gotten lost in the mail. Daddy left everything to me, Mama. The house, what’s in it, and the cabins are in my name.”
“Ah, he didn’t. Frank said that will wasn’t worth the paper it was written on.”
“Frank Pierce is a lazy, no-good deadbeat who doesn’t know beans. I want him out of here.”
“Now, see here.” Dolly stood up. “He paid for a month.”
“When?”
“A couple of weeks ago.”
“Does he have a receipt for his money?”
“I don’t . . . remember.”
Mary Lee looked at Pearl and then at Jim. “I want you to leave too. We’re having no more freeloaders around here.”
“Now, wait a goddamn minute!” Dolly yelled. “You got no right comin’ back to my house telling my friends to get out. Who do you think you are?”
“My house, Mama. I’m the owner here. Lock, stock and barrel. The attorney said so. What I say goes. I will not have your drunken friends here!”
“I’ve been helpin’ Dolly,” Pearl said lamely.
“We don’t need your help, and I need my room.”
“You don’t have to go, Pearl. You can sleep with me.” Dolly glared at her daughter. “It ain’t right that Scott left it to you.”
“Daddy knew that you’d do just what you’ve been doing. In six more months everything would be gone.”
Jim got to his feet. “I’ve not been stayin’ here. I only come once in a while to visit Pearl.”
“I see,” Mary Lee said, tight-lipped. “Well, the whore-house is closed as of this minute. Don’t come back.”
“Jim, where’ll I go?” Pearl whined.
“You figure it out. You’ve no strings on me.” He pulled out his wallet and threw a five-dollar bill on the table, turned and walked out the door.
“You son of a bitch! You horny bastard! You got what you wanted. . . .” Pearl burst into tears.
“Mama, we’ve got a lot to do. Why don’t you clean up this mess in here while Pearl gets her things out of my room. I’ll change my dress and start the washing so we can put clean sheets on the beds in the cabins.”
When Pearl went to the bedroom, Dolly slumped down in a chair and covered her face with her shaking hands. It was hard for Mary Lee to remember the young and pretty mother she’d been so long ago. Dolly’s hair was streaked with gray; her eyes were dull and sunken. Her print dress hung from her shoulders, scarcely touching the rest of her thin body.
“Have you eaten anything today, Mama?”
Dolly didn’t answer, and Mary Lee hadn’t expected her to. In the living room, Mary Lee took off the jersey skirt and overblouse, the only thing she owned that did not wrinkle, and put on a print dress that was snug but still wearable without the belt. She put on her everyday shoes and went back to the kitchen. Dolly was still sitting at the table.
“Mama?” Mary Lee put her hand on her shoulder and shook her gently.
“Get away from me! Why’d you have to come back?” “Because this is my home.”
“That shithead Scott always cared more for you than he did me.”
“That’s not true. He put up with your drinking all these years, and he never had a harsh thing to say about you. He left me everything because he knew that you’d do just what you’ve been doing. He left it to me knowing that I’d take care of you.”
“He never wanted me to have any friends or —” “Where’s Daddy’s car?”
“Sold it. Wasn’t doing no good sitting here. The stingy fart wouldn’t teach me how to drive it. He was afraid I’d run off, and I would’ve.”
“Hush!” Mary Lee shook her mother’s shoulder. “Don’t you say a bad word about Daddy. He loved you, put up with you, and it probably killed him.”
“You always took his side.”
“What did you do with the money from the car and the three hundred dollars Daddy got from the bank? He didn’t have time to do the repairs.”
“I don’t have to account to a snot-nosed kid about what I do with my money. You went off with that brat of Ocie Clawson’s and got yourself knocked up, then come crawlin’ back here to take over.”
“Bobby and I were married. I can show you the marriage certificate. I want you to understand that things are going to be different around here. I’ll have no more hangers-on here. Anyone who stays in one of those cabins will pay for it. You’re going to have to help me.”
“Maybe I’ll just go with Pearl and leave it to ya.”
“If that’s what you want to do, go right ahead.” Mary Lee had heard her mother threaten to leave a hundred or more times and knew that she never would.
“You don’t care what happens to me. I’m . . . sick —”
“I care. You’re my mother. And it’s no wonder you’re sick. You drink that rotgut whiskey and don’t eat. Fix yourself something to eat, then clean up in here. I’m going out to light the hot water tank so I can do the wash.”
Mary Lee opened the door to her old room. Pearl was bending over an open dresser drawer. She looked up with pure malice on her face.
“I didn’t hear a knock.”
“Why should I knock? It’s my room.”
“You could wait till I get out. I worked for this room.”
“It doesn’t look to me like anyone has worked around here for quite some time.”
“I cleaned cabins and this is the thanks I get.”
“I imagine you were well paid — in whiskey. But I’ll not argue with you. Clear out or I’ll call the sheriff.”
When Mary Lee pulled the sheets off the bed, she smelled the sickening odor of cigarettes and sex. Gathering the sheets into a roll, she took slips off the pillows and went into the bathroom that connected the two bedrooms, to collect the towels. It had been a while since the room had been cleaned.
Why wasn’t she surprised?
She closed her eyes for a moment and wondered how she was going to do all that had to be done.