Young Adult/Teen

136

Linda's home life is intolerable since her mother has re-married, so she decides to visit her beloved Aunt Ruby in West Texas. She finds that life is hard on a dirt-poor cotton farm in West Texas in 1950. There are no modern conveniences...and she doesn't count on the lecherous advances of Uncle J.R.

Linda loves the school and her new friends, but she just doesn't know how to handle the increasingly persistant J.R., and the unhappiness of Aunt Ruby.

Chapter l "Jackson City, comin' up Ma'am." Squinting his small eyes, the pudgy-faced bus driver peered back at me through his wide-view mirror. I was huddled in a seat with my long, black coat wrapped around my legs. Impatiently, the driver pulled at his sticky shirt collar and adjusted the dial of a small transistor radio swinging above the dash. The strains of country music and twanging guitars grew louder. These last three hundred miles from El Paso through heavy rain had been a long drive for both of us. Finally, the Greyhound's tires crunched gravel and rolled to a stop at an old weathered-looking gas station. Through rivulets of rain clinging to the window, I gazed at a billboard nearby with a distorted image of a cowboy swinging his shimmering lasso around "Grandma's Bread." What a way to arrive! I slipped into my coat, lifted my overnight bag from the rack above, and brushed past the few dozing passengers. Shifting his toothpick to the other side of his mouth, the stout driver drawled, “Y’all be good now, sugar.” As the doors swung wide, a sharp gust of wind whipped drizzle in my face. Scurrying under the station's sheltering overhang, I watched the heavy bus, gears meshing mournfully, lumber back onto the highway. Where were they? No sign of Aunt Ruby or Uncle J.R. anywhere to be seen. I brushed a wet strand of hair from my eyes. Why hadn't I remembered to bring a scarf? Along the block of parallel, gray-stone buildings, sidewalks were empty. The only sign of life was the lighted marquee of "Slim's Cafe." Parked in front was a mud-spattered, green pick-up truck. They were late. Well, the rain had probably held them up. What was Larry saying to Mom about me now? It was dumb of us, my younger brother Tom and me, to think that when Mom divorced Daddy after his years of drinking and night affairs, we'd finally have her to ourselves. No such luck! Six months later she married Larry who had as many problems as Daddy. Thrusting my hands in my coat pockets, I hunched my shoulders against the cold rain, and shifted from one foot to the other to keep warm. I should forget Larry. He was miles away, and the fights were behind me. Besides, thinking about him gave me a big pain in the stomach, so forget it. I was safe now. But was I? My reflection in the dimly lighted window showed a slim figure with eyes too big, for a pale, narrow face. Long strands of sandy-blonde hair, darkened by rain, lay on the collar of my coat. And with my sharp elbows extending outward, I looked like a wet, little blackbird with rain on its wings, certainly not like a confident fifteen-year-old trying to find a new life in August 1950. Where were Aunt Ruby and Uncle J.R.? It was already late afternoon. Still no one in sight on the rain-soaked street--only the blinking, red signal hanging over the intersection at the corner. Well, it was silly to stand in the cold. Inside the musty, station office, a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling spread its dull glare over the counter. An ancient, black-scrolled cash register squatted on the glass top like a tired, heavy toad. Leaning comfortably across the glass case, grinning at me through yellow-stained teeth, a lanky, straw-haired, unshaven young man waited. Over his skinny frame hung a pair of grease-stained overalls. "Come right on in, Ma'am," he said. "Saw ye step off the bus out yonder, and I was thinkin' ye better get yoreself on inside 'fore ye got soaked wetter'n a momma hen!" He pointed a bony finger to the pot-bellied stove in the far corner. "Take yoreself right on over there and dry off." He sounded friendly enough. Putting my bag on the rough wooden floor, I stretched out my hands to the stove's pleasant warmth and smelled the sweet odor of burning cedar wood. Then, in the distance, a loud rumble of thunder sounded. I shivered. They would be here any minute. But suppose they didn't come? "Law me," the lanky Texan said, peering out the doorway. "It's rainin' like it ain't never gonna quit." Wagging his scraggy head, he turned and slowly dragged a cane-bottomed chair closer to the stove. He lowered himself, stretched his legs out full, and motioned for me to sit in the vacant chair beside him. "Floyd's my name," he said eyeing my bag. "Y’all got kin in Jackson City?" "Umm." I nodded. I leaned my head toward the stove's heat and ruffled my damp hair. Might as well ask him---I needed help. "I'm Linda Hodges," I said. "Do you happen to know J.R. Franks? His wife is my dad's sister." A wide smile stretched across Floyd's mouth. "Sure nuff! Well, I declare!" His tobacco wad shifted to the other cheek. "Reckon, I know J.R. Franks. His place sits about eight miles out of town, the other side of Meecham's General Store, about a mile down the--" "Yes," I interrupted impatiently. "I sent them a telegram two days ago from California telling them I was coming--" A look of surprise crossed Floyd's homely face. "They're not here now and I--" "Wait just a danged minute!" He hopped up, scraping his chair against the floor, and reached the cash register in three loping strides. "Law me -- reckon?" He jabbed the no-sale button, lifted a yellow Western Union envelope from the drawer and held it at arm's length. "Well, I'll be a ring-tailed monkey! Yes sir, J.R. Franks." Floyd's tobacco wad popped his cheek out like a round candyball. "Shoot fire, Ma'am! This here telegram must be yores." He strode over to me. "I was aimin' to drop by their place last evenin' but then, this danged rain come on." He slapped the envelope against his hand and chuckled. "Kin you beat that?" I just sat there dumbfounded. "Well, Ma'am," he hurried on, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously like an excited turkey. "Charley Bob over to the post office asked me the other night if I'd drop it off fer him. Ye see, we ain't got no regular delivery service here in Jackson City for such things." His pale, blue eyes studied my disappointed expression. Then he threw his arms out in exasperation. "Well, Ma'am, this ain't no big city like Abilene, ye know!" He seated himself again. I felt numb. So that explains it! Now what do I do? The stove's snapping and popping sent comforting warmth that gradually diminished my chill. Floyd leaned over slowly, took careful aim, and placed a shot of tobacco juice dead center in the spittoon beside the stove. He watched it spatter and hiss in the hot can. Turning to me with a satisfied expression, he winked and drew his shirtsleeve across his stained mouth. I grinned weakly. How could I contact Aunt Ruby? She didn't have a phone, so that was out. All this long way, just to be stranded in West Texas! I felt the bitter sting of tears. I had to think of something. Life was miserable at home, the way Larry picked on me. When I had a date or went out for fun with my girlfriends, he told Mom I was a tramp, and she shouldn't trust me. I wasn't going back home now, no matter what! "Ma'am," Floyd drawled, "soon as the rain lets up, and I close this place down, I'm aimin' to head out to Ida May’s." He lowered his eyes and whispered confidentially, "Uh--she's my gal, ye know. And if ye've a mind to come along, I'd be right proud to drop ye off at yore uncle's place." "Thanks, Floyd," I said gratefully. "I'd really appreciate it." Floyd leaned forward, slowly aimed, and spat. Another dead center shot! I smiled, feeling better. But what would Aunt Ruby and Uncle J.R. say when they saw me, a runaway, with a telegram in one hand and a suitcase in the other?