Memories Of Another Day Part 8

Jimmy laughed, but there was humor in it. "That Fitch, he sure is a smooth talker."

"You mean there's no jobs?" Molly Ann's voice was anxious.

"I don' mean that. There's jobs, all right. But at seven cents an hour, you gotta work at leas' twelve hours a day to git that kind of money."

"We don' min' workin'," Molly Ann said.

He looked at her. "You ever work in a mill?"

"No."

"You Stan' on your feet all day changin' bobbins on a speedin' machine fer twelve hours an' yer body feels lak it's about to break into a hunnert pieces. It ain't easy."

"Nothin' is," she said. "If n the pay is good, we don' expect it to be easy."

"Good pay!" He laughed again. "You call that good pay? Why do you think they use kids? Because they kin pay you seven cents an hour when they have to pay grown people fifteen cents an hour, an' they keep the diflference in profits."

"It's none of our concern what others do," Daniel said. "On'y that we do an honest day's work."

Jimmy wanted to laugh again, but something in the boy's expression stopped him. This was no ordinary hillbilly. Somewhere behind those eyes lurked an earth-bom maturity, an awareness of people that went far beyond his years. After a moment, he spoke. "People mus' do what they mus' do."

But in his heart, Jimmy knew better.

Out here, people did not do what they must; they danced like puppets on a string, maneuvered by other men for their own profit and purpose.

It was after nine o'clock when they came down Main Street and the wagon stopped in fi-ont of Mr. Fitch's store. The door was closed and the windows were dark. They sat there a few minutes in silence.

Jimmy felt he had to apologize. "I'm sorry. If this ol' mule didn' have such a min' of his own, we would've been here an hour earlier."

" 'Tain't your fault," Daniel said. He looked at his sister. "Mebbe we better git off here."

"No sense in that atall," Jimmy said quickly, "Y'all come over to the Widdy's with me. YouJl git some supper an' a bed, an' you kin be here fiist thing in the momin'."

Daniel met his eyes. "We don' want to put n.o.body out. We're already obliged to you fer your favor."

''You'll put n.o.body out," Jimmy said. "Room 'n' board is the Widdy's business."

The Widow Carroll was an angular woman with a sharp face and an equally sharp tongue, which she used to keep her boarders in line. A rough, strange mixture of men who worked in the mills and factories and mines, they came from near and distant portions of the world. Slavs from Central Europe were thrown together with thin-lipped, taciturn mountain men, who were working in an environment as alien to them as it was to the immigrants. Despite everything, the Widow kept them in tow. No fighting on the premises, no drunkenness, no blasphemy. What the men did outside was none of her concern, but when they came to her table, they had better come with clean hands and washed faces or she would not let them be seated. And every one of them lived in holy terror of her, speaking in strangely hushed tones whenever she was around, because none of them wanted to lose his place in her boardinghouse. The meals were not fancy, but she set the best table in the area.

"Yer too late fer supper," she snapped at Jimmy. "You well know that supper's at six thirty."

"It's that or mule." Jimmy turned on the charm. "I jes' couldn' git him to move nohow. Then I foun' these kids walkin' on the road in all that heat, an' I couldn' let 'em do that, could I?"

The Widow Carroll looked at Daniel and Molly Ann and sniffed without speakmg. They fidgeted under her baleful gaze.

"They was comm' down to Mr. Fitch's to git their-selves placed," he said. "But the store is closed."

"No women," she snapped. She turned to Jinrniy. "You know the rules of my house."

Daniel took his sister's hand. "Come, Molly Ann," he said. "We don' want to make you no trouble, Mr. Simpson. Thank you fer your kindness."

Something in the tone of his voice reached into the Widow Carroirs memory. Her husband had been a mountain man, and many years ago, when they had both been young, he had sounded like this boy- strong and filled with a sense of pride. But that was long ago, before the mines used up his lungs and the white mule had rotted his gut, and he'd died spitting up black blood all over her clean white sheets. "Besides, I on'y got one room vacant," she said.

Daniel met her eyes steadily. *'That's all right, ma'am. My sister an' I been sleepin' in the same room all our lives, together with our brother an' sisters^."

^''I don't care what you been doin'," she said sharply. ''No man an' woman shares a room in this house even if they is brother an' sister."

"I kin sleep on the porch, with your permission, ma'am," Daniel said. "Molly Ann kin have the room."

"I don't know," the Widow said doubtfully. "It ain' proper to have someone sleepin' on the porch."

"He kin use the cot in my room," Jimmy said quickly.

The Widow Carroll made up her mind. They looked like nice, respectable children from a good family. "All right," she said. "But the on'y thing left to eat is some cold pork and bread."

"That will be mighty kind o' you, ma'am," Daniel said.

She looked at him. "That'll be ten cents for each of you," she said. She hesitated a moment, then added, "Including breakfast, which is at five thirty prompt."

Silently Daniel took some coins from his pocket. He put two nickels and a dime in her hand. "Thank you, ma'am. We appreciate yer bother."

She nodded and turned to Molly Ann. "Now you come with me, miss, an' I'll show you yer room."

Molly Ann lay on the bed in the small dark room and listened to the quiet. It was strange. There was not a sound. It was the first time she had ever slept alone in a room, without the familiar nighttime noises of her brothers and sisters. It took getting used to.

She wondered about them at home and if they missed her. Unaccountably, the tears began to roll down her cheeks. A soft knock came at the door. She slipped out of bed and crossed the room. *'Yes?" she whispered.

**It's Dan'l.'* The soft voice filtered through the door. ''Are you all right?''

'*rm fine," she replied.

He hesitated a moment. "Well . . . good night, then."

''Good night."

She heard his soft steps move away from the door, and she crept back to her bed. In just one short day, so many things had changed. Everything had changed.

Until now, Daniel had been her younger brother. But now, today, suddenly he was different. There was a strength in him she had never known before. As if in one flashing moment he had grown past her into manhood.

A curiously warm feeling of comfort and security came over her, the tears stopped and she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Ann, but he didn't speak to them. ''What do they want?"

'They lookin' fo' Mistuh Fitch."

"You kids lookin' for jobs?" The little man spoke to them now.

Daniel got to his feet. "Yes, suh."

"Well you can't sit there," he said abruptly. "That there bench is reserved for customers."

"I'm sorry," Daniel began to say, but the little man had already disappeared into the store. He turned to Molly Ann, who had already risen to her feet. They stood there uncertainly.

"They's a bench 'roun' the side of the sto'^ y'all kin use," the old Negro said.

"Thank you," Daniel said. He led the way around the comer of the building and they sat down again.

Slowly the small town began to come to life around them. Stores were opened, people started to appear on the street; then there were a few wagons, then more, and by a few minutes after seven the day was in full swing.

They watched curiously, silently. People walking by seemed to pay no attention to them. They all seemed caught up in their own thoughts. Men going to work, women to their marketing, children playing. All seemed preoccupied.

"How much longer?" Molly Ann asked.

Daniel squinted at the sun. "Half-hour, mebbe."

"Did you see Mr. Simpson this morning?" she asked.

"He was still asleep when I lef the room," Daniel replied.

"He didn' come down fer breakfast," she said.

"He tol' me afore we went to sleep, he never eats breakfast," Daniel said. "An' that lady serves a real good breakfast, too. Aigs 'n' grits, com bread 'n' b.u.t.ter 'n' real coffee. It don' make sense to me that he should miss a good meal like that."

*'I wanted to thank him for his kindness," Molly Ann said.

''You don' have to fret about it," Daniel said. ''I thanked him fer both of us."

''He was real nice," she said softly.

Daniel glanced at his sister. He grinned. "Reckon yer a little sweet on him?" he teased.

She blushed. "Don' be silly. Cain't a girl say a feller's nice 'thout it bein' misunderstood?"

Daniel smiled. He could have told her that Jimmy had wanted to know all about her-but if she knew that, it might turn her head.

The old Negro came around the comer to them. "Mistuh Fitch jes' came in, iTn yo' wants to see him."

They followed him into the store. The darkness took some getting used to after the bright sunlight, but in a moment their eyes adjusted, and they saw the barrels and sacks piled around them and the shelves stacked high with all kinds of articles from canned food to bolts of cloth. He led them down around the long counter, past the officious little man, into a small gla.s.s-enclosed office, Mr. Fitch was seated behind his desk, his broad-brimmed hat still on his head. There was no recognition on his face. "What do you kids want?" he asked gruffly.

"Paw tor us to come down here," Daniel said. "He said you tol' him you would git us jobs."

Mr. Fitch's face was still blank. "Yer paw?"

"Yes," Daniel said. "Jeb Huggins."

The big man's voice suddenly changed. It became more jovial. He rose from behind the desk. "You're the Huggins kids. Danged if'n I recognized y'all in them fine clothes. Sure thing. That's what I tol' yer daddy."

A sense of relief came over Daniel. For a moment he'd thought there had been a misunderstanding. "That's right, Mr. Fitch."

Fitch looked at him. "You're Dan'l?"

Daniel nodded.

He turned to Molly Ann. "And you're Molly Ann?"

Molly Ann smiled. ''Yes, Mr. Fitch."

"That was a delicious rabbit stew yer mother served fer supper," he said. "I'll never fergit it."

They didn't answer.

He sat down and began to shuffle some papers on his desk. "Now, let me see. . . . Ah, here they are." He held them toward Daniel. "Now, you git youah daddy to sign these papers an' we kin git you ajob."

Daniel stared at him. "Paw didn' tell us there was no papers to be signed."

"They's always papers to be signed," Mr. Fitch said. "You kids is still minors under the law, an' until yer twenty-one yer parents have to sign fer you."

"But Mr. Fitch," Daniel protested. "That's more'n a thirty-mile walk each way. It would take us two days to git 'em signed."

"Cain't he'p that," Mr. Fitch said. "The law's the law."

Daniel felt an anger rising in him. "Why didn' you tell that to my paw afore you tol' him to send us down here?"

Fitch looked across the desk at the boy. Daniel's eyes had suddenly turned dark. The kid had a temper. He didn't have the disposition to work in the mills and gla.s.s factories around there. The best place for him would be about twenty miles farther south, in the coal mines at Grafton. He let out a deep breath. "I plumb fergot," he admitted. "But since it's my fault, I'll git you to work right away an' see to it m'self that your daddy gits the papers to sign."

Daniel relaxed. He nodded silently.

"How tall are you, son?" Fitch's voice was more friendly now.

"Almos' five ten, I reckon," Daniel answered. "Paw says I got my growth early."

"You are tall," Fitch agreed. He thought for a mo- ment. ''You're too tall fer work in the gla.s.s factories. They lookin' fer shorter boys because all the pipes they have to duck under. You objec' to workin' a tipple?"

''A tipple?" Daniel asked. ''What's that?"

"Coal mine," Fitch answered. "You kin start by pickin' slate; later you kin git right into the mines."

"I don' objec'," Daniel said.

"Good." Fitch nodded. "There's a good openin' in a new mine near Grafton. I'll give you a note an' send you down there right away."

"But Grafton's twenty miles away," Daniel protested.

Fitch fixed him with a glance. "You want to work, don't you, boy?"

Daniel nodded.

"Yer daddy trusted me enough to sen' you down here; now you jes' got to trust me to git you the bes' job I kin."