Listen, p.8
Listen, page 8
Willie’s car was in the parking lot just outside the castle when they exited. “There he is now,” Eden said.
“Thank you for helping me out,” Liam said. “And keep an eye out for a message.”
She started to leave, then turned back to him. “I have to do the paintings whether I’m paid or not. It’s probably crazy, but I have to, you see.”
chapter 13
Eden got out of Willie’s car, opened the gate, and waited for him to pull through. Looping her arm around the gate post, she hooked the wire over it and climbed back into the car. Willie pulled off slowly, letting the car find its way along the narrow tracks.
“How is it you came to know Liam, Wille?” she asked.
“He stays at the Pribble,” he said. “I checked him in when he arrived in Atlas.”
She opened her window and let the breeze whip her hair about her face. “Why the interviews? I mean, why this place?”
Willie looked over his shoulder at her. “They want to know how the bottom half lives.”
“Liam said he was in advertising. I would never have thought of advertising as a way of life.”
“How did the interview go? Were the questions hard?” he asked.
“Kind of unimportant,” she said. “What do I want to be? What kinds of chores do I have to do? Things you might ask a kid.”
Willie shifted into second as they climbed the hill where the road turned onto Dub’s property. He said, “Folks will do about anything to make a buck, I guess. There was a time I sold liniment for a living.”
“I think he was fishing, trying to figure out if I was smart or dumb, just another Okie, you know.”
“Oh, hell, that’s easy to find out,” he said. “Just ask them one question.”
“And that would be?”
“What is nine times eight. They ain’t one in a thousand knows that.”
“Seventy-two,” she said.
“Damn,” he said. “But you wouldn’t know eight times nine?”
Eden rolled her eyes. “You better stick to selling liniment, Willie.”
They pulled into the driveway. One of the boys was hanging upside down on the tire swing, and Eden’s father was on the front porch, his hat pulled down over his eyes.
She gathered up her purse and turned to Willie. “Liam wants to talk to me again,” she said. “I don’t know if I should.”
“Does he know what nine times eight is?” Willie said. “You can’t trust a man who hasn’t taken time to figure it.”
“Do you think he’s married, I mean, him living off by himself like this?”
“He ain’t never complained about a wife, though sometimes he acts like he’s in a hurry to move on, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do know,” she said. “Thanks for the ride, Willie.”
Her father pushed back his hat and watched her climb the porch steps. “Where you been, Eden?”
“Library,” she said. “Willie gave me a ride home.”
“You can’t just go off like that and leave everything to Leah.”
Eden could see Leah sitting under a tree down by the river. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would take so long. I’ll make it up to her.”
He pushed his hat back over his eyes and folded his arms over his chest. “See that you do,” he said.
There would be time enough to deal with Leah, so Eden cut back to her shed, her place of comfort. She had spent hours filling it with memories, her collection of miniatures and her high school diploma, which she kept in a picture frame on the wall. And there were her paintings and drawings, and the art supplies she’d managed to get here and there.
A photograph of her mother sat on the desk, an old black-and-white picture with coffee stains on it, but it was her mother, and she was smiling. It made her feel good. Over the years, Leah had systematically rid the house of her mother’s things, but Eden had managed to salvage most of them, including her mother’s gold wedding band, which had worn thin over the years.
For Eden, romance had been set aside while she concentrated on getting her diploma. Her interest in the opposite sex had not been much more than a kiss behind the schoolhouse with Ross Eppleton, who smelled of tobacco and whose hair hung over his ears in greasy strands. The experience had been less than memorable and had left her feeling empty and disappointed.
Today, those feelings had changed. She found Liam Walker to be smart and more than a little intriguing. Perhaps it was his interest in her as a person, someone who had taken the time to discover her wants and ambitions, that had excited her. The whole process had been quite exhilarating, more than she could ever have anticipated.
On top of that, she had met Dr. Houston, head of the art department, and with a personal invitation to come visit. And there was Carl something-or-the-other, the studio assistant, who had also extended an invitation.
These weren’t just ordinary people but people who loved art, people who made art and lived it each day. It gave her hope that maybe someday others would see value in her art, would see her worth through it. Perhaps they would discover that who she was and what she did were important as well.
Sitting down on the bed, she thought about the way Liam had treated her during the interview, his gentle way, as if he were in cautious search of her truth. She had told him more in that short time than she’d intended, personal things that she hadn’t told to anyone, much less a stranger.
But she’d felt comfortable with him, confident that her feelings would be protected, and she had been drawn in. She admitted to be taken with his intelligent eyes and broad smile and the way he folded his hands in his lap. They were the hands of a gentleman—smooth, strong, and unabused by manual labor.
She’d risen to do some painting when Leah suddenly opened the shed door. She stood there for a moment, her arms folded across her chest.
“Well, you’re home,” she said. “Where have you been?”
“I went to the library at the Castle on the Hill. I waited for a ride home with Willie.”
“With all we have to do? Really, Eden.”
“I was going to ask if there was anything you wanted of me, but you weren’t around.”
“I was down at the river.”
“I’m sorry, Leah. It was thoughtless of me.”
Leah looked at the paintings that were stacked about and hanging from the walls. “Why do you keep all these things?” she said. “Look at this mess, for God’s sake. What will you ever do with all these paintings?”
“I like to do them,” she said. “What does it hurt?”
“I swear, sometimes I think you’re still a child.”
“I’ve never been anyone’s child,” she said.
“Maybe if you’d tried a little harder to accept things, me and the boys. Anyway, your father wants chicken and noodles, and I’m short of eggs. You think you could manage to gather eggs?”
“Leah?” Eden said.
She stopped at the door and turned. “What?”
“Do you think I could sell some of these paintings, the better ones, I mean?”
Leah shook her head. “You need to grow up, Eden. You need to take on some of the responsibilities around here. We would all be better off.”
“Leah?” she said. “Do you ever have regrets, getting married to my father? You were so young.”
“What kind of talk is that?”
“Weren’t there things you wanted to do?”
“I needed a place, and I didn’t have the luxury of wasting my days painting pictures. Anyway, I have the boys. Now, go gather the eggs. Your father be wanting his noodles.”
chapter 14
Liam struggled with the write-up of Eden Sawyer. Like most young women in these parts, her opportunities were clearly limited. There was marriage, of course, the most acceptable and available way to a reasonably secure future. The problem for her was that she apparently had rejected the usual path in the hope of pursuing the arts instead. It would be a disappointing decision, of that he was pretty certain, though her attributes were obvious, even to the casual observer. She was clearly bright, with a pleasant disposition and enough personal drive for two people. Offhand, he didn’t know many men who had as much character, nor the ambition and drive to carry on in the face of such poor odds. Eden’s major problem, perhaps an insurmountable one, was that she was female, poor, and living in a situation that failed to value any of her assets.
Less clear to him was what accounted for such initiative in the absence of any positive reinforcement. Where did it originate? She accessed it quickly and brandished it with a seasoned confidence, despite no obvious encouragement from anyone. Still, he thought he detected moments of desperation—fleeting, to be sure, but there nonetheless. Even the strongest succumb, he supposed, when beaten into submission long enough.
He set his report aside. Perhaps when they met again, he would be able to ferret out more details about her character. He’d received his first paycheck from Uncle Sam. Now, if only he could just make the state director happy. Until then, he needed to have more material, more folks to fill in his montage of the citizenry of Atlas. There was one person he could turn to for help, and he just happened to work downstairs.
Liam found Willie playing solitaire at the front desk. “You cheating?” he asked.
“Whatever it takes to win,” Willie said. “How did your interview go with Eden?”
“Interesting,” he said. “An intriguing young lady. You don’t happen to have another interview for me, do you?”
Willie pulled at his chin. “Can’t think of one right off. ’Course, I’ve been distracted, overdue bills and the like.”
Liam took out his wallet. “I nearly forgot,” he said, peeling off some bills. “Here’s your cut of Roosevelt’s money.”
Willie slipped the bills into his pocket. “I might have an idea or two tucked away, come to think on it. You wanting male or female?”
“Your call, Willie. What do you recommend?”
“I know this guy, see. His name is Wheeler Benson.”
“Is he interesting?”
“You might say, though not as pretty as Eden Sawyer.”
“Could you drive me to meet him?”
“Can’t,” he said.
“Why not?”
“He’s working on my car.”
“Your car?”
“That’s right. Wheeler is my mechanic.”
“You’re suggesting I interview your car mechanic?”
“My call,” he said.
“I’m thinking I gave you that money a little too soon, Willie.”
“Wheeler is one of a kind,” he said. “I’ll be seeing him tomorrow, if you want to go along.”
“If he has your car, how are we going to get there?”
“Walk,” he said.
“No wonder you have to cheat at solitaire,” Liam said.
“I’ll meet you here, ten o’clock in the morning.”
Hattie was sitting in her usual spot when he pulled up his chair and set his plate down next to hers.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey, yourself,” she said. “So, I saw you at the castle the other day with a rather pretty girl.”
“Eden Sawyer. Female interview, as per Hattie’s suggestion.”
“And?”
“And it went well. She’s one of a kind.”
“You were impressed?”
He nodded. “But she’s a bit unhappy. She’s trapped in a rather difficult situation.”
“How do you mean?”
“Ambitious, smart, and with no place to take it.”
“Ambitious? In what way?”
“Needing to experience the world, I suppose, to fly away. It’s not so easy for her.”
“Hmm,” she said. “You seem to be rather taken with this girl.”
“I can empathize. I mean it’s OK to be tied to your family, but not with chains. And then add in hard times. I doubt she could afford to follow her dreams even if she were allowed. You’d think there would be some financial help available for girls like her.”
Hattie got up and refilled her water glass with ice. When she sat back down, she said, “Scholarships have dried up, Liam, loans as well. They’ve even cut back on faculty at the college. A lot of young girls are in her situation nowadays.”
“I suppose,” he said. “Pass the salt, will you?”
“I had a long talk with Father the other day,” she said.
“Oh?”
“He’s very busy putting together his real estate company. He suggested that you might want to visit with him again. He’s looking for someone to help organize a comprehensive advertising campaign.”
“And if I were to meet him, where would it be?”
“I presume it would be at the home office in the city. I’ll let you know, if you’re interested in talking to him. And there’s more.”
“What, more?”
“He’s asked me to come home and work in the company as well.”
“The real estate company?”
“Yes, but frankly, I don’t know. I’d be working for my father. I wanted to do this job on my own, you see. I wanted to prove myself, I suppose. I only learned later that he’d pressured the college to hire me.”
“Working for your father might not be so bad, Hattie. He strikes me as a rather nice person.”
Hattie stood, picking up her plate. “It isn’t Father so much as me.” She looked at her watch. “Oh, dear, I’m running late. Oh, there is one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“You must stop adding salt to your food before you even taste it.”
Willie walked faster than he drove. Liam struggled to keep up and had worked up a fine sweat by the time they came to Wheeler Benson’s mechanic shop. The shop itself sat back in a grove of trees that had grown up around the place after it was built. A chain winch hung from one of the trees with an old pickup truck hoisted up in front. Transmission parts were scattered about in abandoned heaps, and a three-legged stool sat in the shade. A water jug, wrapped in burlap, was sitting on it. Here and there over the entire lot were the remnants of past projects, piles of abandoned gears and gaskets and grease rags.
There was little left of the house that had once sat there, save for the foundation and a crumbling brick chimney. Wheeler’s shop consisted of the remaining garage, an old army Quonset hut, and an outhouse with the door missing. Willie’s car was in the garage on a lift. Country music blared from the radio that had been mounted on a board next to an electrical outlet.
Willie stuck his head in the doorway. “Wheeler?” he said, above the din of the radio. “You in here?”
The volume of the radio went down, and a voice issued from out of the gloom. “Come back tomorrow.”
“It’s me, Wille.”
“I ain’t taking nothing today.”
“I just want to talk, Wheeler, if you ain’t too goddang busy.”
“Don’t you ever change the oil on this son of a bitch?” he said. “It’s black as tar.”
“Want you to meet someone, Wheeler.”
Wheeler stepped into the light. He was a small-like man, thin, as if he might have suffered from some sort of malady in his younger days. He wore grease-spotted coveralls and a sweat-stained baseball hat that was two sizes too big. The bill was covered with greasy fingerprints and was torn away from the cap proper over one eye.
“Wheeler, this is Liam Walker.”
“I ain’t taking nothing more today. I got to finish that pile of junk of Willie’s in there.”
“He’s not needing mechanic work,” Willie said. “He just wants to talk to you.”
“He has the look of a tax man to me,” Wheeler said.
Liam shook his head. “I’m doing interviews with the locals for the Federal Writers’ Project.”
“Interviews? Why the hell would you interview me?”
“Willie says you’re an interesting guy.”
“If you believe anything Willie says, the government’s in serious shape.”
“What’s the matter, Wheeler?” Willie said. “You siphoning gas out of folks’ cars again?”
“You want your car fixed or towed to the junkyard?” Wheeler said.
“If you will talk to this guy, I’ll get my car later, providing there’s any gas left in it.”
“I’ll talk to him, long as you ain’t part of the conversation, Willie. I ain’t got time to explain the big words.”
“I’d be happy to give up my share of the conversation, knowing full well what I wouldn’t be missing.”
“I ain’t had my lunch yet,” Wheeler said.
“Liam will buy you lunch. Won’t you, Liam?”
“Thanks, Willie. Yes, I’ll buy Wheeler’s lunch.”
“Well,” Wheeler said, looking around. “I ain’t got nothing much to say.”
“That’s the understatement of the year,” Willie said.
Liam said, “I’ll walk back by myself, Willie. If you want to excuse yourself now, Wheeler and I will have lunch. Any suggestions where, Wheeler?”
“How about the café down the street?”
“That works,” Liam said. “Willie, what about you?”
“I’ll catch you later. You think you can find your way back, or should I pin a note to your shirt?”
“I’ll manage,” Liam said.
“Call if you ever get my car finished, Wheeler.”
They watched as Willie walked off down the road. Wheeler called after him. “And change the oil once in a while, for Christ’s sake.”
Liam turned to Wheeler. “Mind if I take a look at your shop first?”
“Ain’t much to see,” he said. “But come on in.”
What Liam had figured to be chaos turned out to be the exact opposite. Though the shop was small and cramped, everything was stowed away in its place. Tools pegged on the walls were ordered by size and function, clean and shiny with wear. The smell of gasoline and oil was heavy in the air. There were funnels of all sizes and cans of oil stacked on metal shelves. An old desk sat in the back, manuals piled on top. A compressor kicked on, momentarily drowning out any conversation. When it shut down, Liam asked, “How long you been in this shop, Wheeler?”
