The Heavenly Table

62

AFTER THE ALTERCATION with the cabdriver, Chimney had a sweet roll and a glass of milk at White’s Luncheonette, then went to the hotel and asked the clerk for his key. He stumbled weak-kneed up the stairs to his room. Locking the door, he laid his pistol on the nightstand and stripped off his clothes. He fell onto the bed, intending to sleep the rest of the morning away, but within a few minutes, he knew that wasn’t going to happen. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Matilda as a little girl lying on a corncob mattress with a bunch of dog turds. Finally, he gave up. He splashed some water on his face and put his clothes back on, then went downstairs and out to the Ford. He started it without a hitch and drove out into the country west of town. He ended up in a little burg called Bourneville. He bought some cheese and crackers and two bottles of warm beer at a general store and asked the man behind the counter if he could leave his automobile parked there for a while. He walked along the border of a field planted in winter wheat until he came to a creek. Taking out the Remington, he fired off a few rounds, reloaded it. Then he sat down on the bank and ate his lunch while watching the water roll by, thinking about what Matilda had told him last night. He’d never met anyone before who’d had it rougher growing up than he and his brothers, and for some reason, maybe because she was a girl, that bothered him. What would happen to her when she got older and the men didn’t want her anymore? She told him last night that the only reason Esther, the fat one, was still working was because she’d do things nobody else would do. He opened the other beer and drank it fast, then tossed the bottle into the water. What if he asked her to come with them to Canada? Tell her he’d take care of her, that…that he was offering her…shit…offering her an opportunity, a chance to quit whoring. Be honest with her, so she’d know what she was in for. Sure, Cane would pitch a bitch, but he knew his brother well enough to know he wouldn’t hurt her, no matter how much she knew about them. He stood up and stretched, then started back up through the field. Wouldn’t hurt to ask, he thought, and if she turned him down, well, at least he’d have tried to come to her rescue.

As he approached the store lot, he saw two dirty-faced boys looking at the Ford, though standing back at a respectful distance. One appeared to be around eleven, the other nine or so. They were weed-thin and barefoot, dressed in patched overalls and frayed, homespun shirts. They reminded Chimney of him and his brothers when they were that age. “You ain’t thinking about stealin’ my car, are ye?” he said, as he walked up behind them.

They both whirled around when they heard his voice, then the bigger one said, “No, mister. We was just lookin’ at it.” The other didn’t say anything, just looked shyly at the ground.

“This here’s what they call a Tin Lizzie,” Chimney said. “What kind do you drive?”

“Shoot, we don’t have no car. Do we, Theodore?” the older boy said. “Heck, we don’t even have a bicycle.”

The quiet one glanced up quickly at the man in the lavender shirt, then back down at his feet. He shook his head.

“What, two studs like you don’t have a car? I find that mighty hard to believe,” Chimney said.

“No, it’s true, ain’t it, Theodore?”

“Well, you ever rode in one?” Chimney said.

“No,” the boy said. “We used to have a mule, but he got sick last year and Pap had to put him down.”

Chimney looked up and down the short street. A few clapboard houses, the store, a post office, a granary. An old lady in a black dress and bonnet hanging out wash on a line. A three-legged dog sniffing around a stump. Christ, what a sad little place. Here the days would seem like weeks, and a stranger passing through would be talked about for months, maybe years. Even thinking about it made his eyes heavy. “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “If your wives don’t care, I’ll take ye all a ride.”

The bigger boy laughed. “We don’t have no wives.”

“Ah, so you’re still waiting on the right girl to come along.”

“We don’t even like ’em, do we, Theodore?”

“Well, that’ll change,” Chimney said. “You just wait and see.”

“What about you?” the bigger boy asked.

“What about me?”

“Where’s your wife?”

“Oh, well,” Chimney said with a grin, “we’re still courting.” He stuck the crank in the engine and gave it three turns. “How about it? I’ll drive ye up the road and back.”

The boys looked wide-eyed at each other, then scrambled into the backseat as Chimney started the Ford. He pulled out of the store lot and drove west for several miles until they came to the outskirts of another burg called Bainbridge, then turned the car around in the middle of the dirt road. When he got back to the store, the boys climbed out reluctantly. They thanked him, and he started to pull out of the lot, but then stopped and waved them back. “Almost forgot,” he said. He pulled out some money and handed them each a five-dollar bill.

“What’s this for?” the older boy asked, a puzzled look on his face.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Chimney said. “I might need a favor someday, and this way you’ll owe me.”

“But we don’t even know your name, mister.”

Chimney started to say Hollis Stubbs, but then he hesitated. For some reason, lying to these two didn’t feel right. They would be deceived enough in the next few years without him feeding them more bullshit. And after all, what would it hurt, telling them who he really was? He was leaving for Canada tomorrow, and would never see this place again. It would be something they could tell their kids about someday, about how they once took a ride with the famous outlaw Chimney Jewett. “If’n I tell ye, can you keep a secret?”

“Sho we can. Me and Theodore keep secrets all the time, don’t we, Theodore?”

Chimney looked over at the other boy, saw him nod his head solemnly. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the store clerk with his nose pressed up against the door glass watching them. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea after all. “It’s Bill,” he said. “Bill Bucket.”