Cole Dust Cole Read online

  Her only request was that she and I share the big bed upstairs and give the town the impression of a happily married couple. I said I would not intentionally be cruel to her. I told her I didn’t love her and probably never would. She said it was to be expected. To my surprise the talk we had was civil and lacked in hostility.

  There does seem to be one good thing about marriage. Alma is a good cook. We have now spent almost two weeks together. I find I have little to say to her. She for her part hasn’t much of anything to say to me except for the running of the house. We are from very different worlds.

  I have taken my old bedroom as a place to write. I will lock the door and keep the key with me. I will be a writer. Neither she nor the gates of Hell will keep me from my dream.

  April 15

  I have begun a book, a novel of the romantic type. I have no real experience in the world but like my hero Mr. Charles Dickens, I will use the peaks and valleys of my life as a framework for the story I will tell.

  I have begun to make as much playing poker as I can killing turkeys. I think the time will soon come to give up the slaughter of those stupid, dirty birds.

  I spend the hours of slaughtering birds thinking of the story I shall write. The noise makes it almost impossible to talk to my fellow workers. Several times I have found myself so lost in my thoughts that the whistle blows for lunch and I don’t know where the time has gone. I do believe that even drenched in blood and nearly deaf from the screaming of the birds I can live in a world of adventure and beauty in my thoughts.

  April 18

  Old man Jacobs offered Lloyd and me a chance to make some quick money tonight. He needs a couple of fellows to drive a truck up into the hill country and get a load of hooch. We’ll use his truck and split a hundred dollars. It will take the better part of a day and a half.

  Lloyd says we can take turns driving. We will sleep on the way there and drive straight through on the way back. I never thought I would drive a truck for a bootlegger. It is kind of exciting. Lloyd says we should take a gun with us. He said that there have been times when the trucks have gotten stopped and the load stolen. Once he heard that the drivers were shot.

  If this were a regular thing I could stop killing turkeys once and for all. It was nice, the months I quit. Maybe I will use the fifty bucks to stake a poker game. The cost of feeding Alma and with the baby coming I have to be careful. I didn’t mind going hungry a couple days when I used to lose. Alma minds and is quick to tell me I am not holding up my end.

  April 22

  Old man Jacobs said we made record time on our run to the hill country. He said if we could get back that fast every time he would give us seventy-five apiece. I asked how often we could make the run.

  “If you two can haul it, I can sell it.”

  I went and quit the poultry plant and gave the pay envelope to Alma. I am through killing turkeys forever.

  April 24

  Another run and Jacobs was true to his word. Seventy-five dollars! I gave Alma fifty for the household and I have stashed the other twenty-five for seed money.

  I have begun using the time away to make notes and think about my book. I have written over a hundred pages. I have reread and edited what I have written several times. I don’t know if it is just vanity, but I like the story. I thought of Effie today and wished she was here to read my book. I was overcome by a melancholy that didn’t pass for a long while.

  April 30

  Thirty days of marriage and things have settled into a routine. I have been making a run with Lloyd every three days. Two days away, one day home. The hill country people are getting to know us. Last trip they gave us four barrels for a speak in Walnut Grove. We got twenty dollars for dropping it off. This could grow into something good.

  Lloyd is not very quick to realize an opportunity. As a matter of fact, Lloyd as it turns out, is not very smart at all. We have known each other since we were small, but I never spent any time really talking to him until we were stuck in a truck together for hours on end. I try to talk about books and it turns out he has never read any. I try to talk about my desire to write, and he doesn’t understand why anybody would waste the time “scribbling” when they could be drinking or hunting.

  We have agreed to not speak of Alma. He will never know how close I came to giving him a beating when he began to tease me about my being “chained” to her.

  May 7

  We had a close call on this run. About a hundred miles from home, we blew out a tire. We had to unload several barrels in order to get the truck up on the jack. Just as we got the patch on the tube a deputy sheriff pulled up.

  “What have we got here?”

  “Blowout, sir,” Lloyd said.

  Then as the deputy started toward the barrels, Lloyd reached in his pocket and started fingering his pistol.

  “Heavy load like this, you mighta rolled over,” the deputy said, eyeing the barrels. “What you got in these barrels anyway?”

  “You a married man, deputy?” I asked, ignoring his question.

  “Sure am. Twelve years and five kids worth.”

  “My first one’s on the way. Hard to make ends meet sometimes.”

  The deputy turned and faced me. He looked at me for a long while then said, “I’m always looking for ways to pull them ends together.”

  “Man like you probably knows a lot about this area I would reckon.”

  “That’s the job.”

  “You a drinkin’ man, deputy?” I smiled.

  “Used to be.”

  “Used to be?”

  “Well I do still take a nip now and again. Damn stupidest law I ever heard of. Even when we had dry counties we could slip across the line to buy a pint or two.”

  “Where would a fella buy a pint around here if he had a mind to?”

  “Why?”

  “Might be thirsty.”

  “Might be a ‘legger,” the deputy said dryly.

  My blood nearly froze in my veins. He stepped towards me and put his thumbs behind his belt buckle.

  “Might be looking for a partner.”

  “A partner?” The deputy stepped closer. “For doin’ what?”

  “Havin’ information and bad eye sight mostly.”

  “What kind of information?”

  “Well I was thinkin’, a man who likes to take a nip now and again would have to know where to buy a pint or two. This here is a big county, must be more than one place a pint’s available for a price. You see, I’d love to know where to buy a pint myself.”

  “I see you sellin’ more than buyin’,” the deputy said turning to look at the barrels. “Course, I could run in a bootlegger and make a lot of ‘good will’ with my boss.”

  “‘Good will’ don’t put shoes on all them kids’ feet, or a new dress on your wife.”

  “Maybe not. But what about the eye sight?”

  “What you don’t see can’t get anybody in trouble.”

  “And what if the partner is thirsty?”

  “So long as he don’t drink barrels, he probably will never go thirsty again.”

  The deputy stood looking down at me for the longest time. Then he walked over and stuck out his hand.

  “Bud Slaughter.”

  “George Sage. That bandy-legged fella there is my brother-in-law, Lloyd Perry,” I said, shaking his hand.

  I walked over to a barrel that we had loosed the plug on and rolled it on its side. “Lloyd, fetch me that cup.” I removed the plug and gently rolled the barrel over enough to splash out a cup for our new friend the deputy. “See what you think, Bud.”

  The deputy wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and slowly raised the cup to his lips. He took a drink and swallowed. His eyes squinted together real tight. “Whew dogs!” he squealed. We had a partner.

  Deputy Slaughter gave us the names of five different speakeasies in his county. For his help we siphoned off a gallon out of the barrel and sent him on his merry way. We agreed to paint a white star on the canvas back
of our truck. We said we would be back through in three days.

  May 11

  We made real good time on yesterday’s run. Bud Slaughter met us at the county line with another deputy. We were afraid he was going to re-nig on our deal but to our surprise he introduced us to the deputy for the next county. We agreed to the same deal we had with Bud. Deputy Tallmadge is younger than, and not as experienced as Bud, so I worry a bit about him. They are both older than me by a long shot so I guess we have something to offer.

  I noticed coming back this trip that Alma’s belly is getting big. She complains of the stairs and says her back hurts. Last night she asked me to rub her back. It was a kindness I didn’t mind doing.

  “Look at this!” Cole said, holding up a torn envelope. “It was between the pages. Stuck in the binding.”

  “Who’s it to?”

  “Mr. George Sage, 314 Walnut St., Orvin, Oklahoma. And someone tore it right in two.” Cole stood holding up one piece in each hand. “Let’s go in to the table.”

  Cole laid the two halves of the envelope on the kitchen table. “Postmark is Topeka, Kansas, May 24, 1920.” He opened the right side of the envelope first. “Letter is still here.”

  “I love this!” Kelly said excitedly.

  Cole laid out the two halves of the letter side by side; the paper was yellowed with age and the ink was a pale faded blue.

  “Dear George,” Cole began.

  “I remembered how you went to the library to read sometimes. I am at the library now. A nice lady is writing this for me.

  I have missed you very much. I want to come back to Orvin. I had a job with a family here doing cleaning and such, but I got fired on Friday. The missus left a note on the table for things she wanted done for a party. I couldn’t read it. So I did my usual work. The party wasn’t ready.

  If I came home, could you help me find work? Maybe at the hotel? I have saved up a little bit and can get a train ticket. I really must leave here soon.

  You have always been a good friend to me. I could really use a friend right now.

  I will be there on Friday the 28th on the four o’clock train.

  Yours,

  Mattie

  P.S. This young lady tells me you have done her and her family many kind turns. It is none of my business, but from what she tells me of her people here, she will be ill-used if she remains. She is a sweet soul and needs someone to do her a kind turn. She speaks very highly of you. I hope you can help.

  Clara Peterson

  Librarian

  Shawnee County Public Library

  Topeka, Kansas

  “What is the next entry?” Kelly said, still gazing at the letter.

  Cole opened the notebook. “May 12, 13...” He scanned the entries. “Nothing really here. Here we go, May 27.”

  May 27, 1920

  I can’t believe it! Today I received a letter from Mattie! She is coming home. I have missed her like I would miss my very heart. My joy is mixed with deep sorrow and resentment. What will I ever tell her about Alma?

  Mattie is my one true love. If she loves me, the truth will be all I need in my defense.

  I went to the hotel straight away after reading her letter, because she asked me to find her work. They have no work for another girl. I asked at the café and they said they didn’t hire coloreds.

  I will help her any way I can. I have been trying to think how I could hire her to work here in the house. I have rejected the idea. I could not bear Alma giving her orders and treating her like a servant.

  I must think. Something will be done. I have sent Lloyd to do today’s run. I must be here tomorrow.

  Cole cleared his throat and turned the page of the notebook. “May 28, 1920. As much as I love reading these,” he lifted the notebook and turned it from side to side, “sometimes I feel like a peeping tom or like I’m eavesdropping or something. These are the very personal, private thoughts of my grandfather. I think this is why I have never kept a diary or journal. I don’t want somebody when I’m dead and gone poking around in my life.”

  “Knock, knock!” Ernie called through the front screen.

  “In the kitchen!” Cole yelled.

  “Oh no, I want to see what happens when he picks Mattie up at the train!” Kelly sighed with exasperation.

  “Hey, what’s goin’ on?” Ernie asked.

  “We were reading,” Kelly answered.

  “The hell you say. How ‘bout I buy you two dinner?”

  “That’s very nice, but...” Kelly gave Cole a pleading look.

  “I don’t smell nothin’ cookin’. You guys ever had Indian flat bread and chili?”

  “Nope,” said Cole.

  “You’re about to. No need to dress up. You do need shoes though,” Ernie said pointing at Kelly’s bare feet.

  “I’ll go get them.” Kelly smiled with resignation.

  “So what you so busy readin’?”

  “Remember how I told you I found a trunk full of my grandfather’s journals?”

  “The hell you say.”

  “Yeah, I told you. We have been reading through them each evening.”

  “A fine looking woman like that and you spend your evenings with your nose in a book? I swear to God Sage, there is something wrong with you.” Ernie shook his head.

  They returned home two hours later. Kelly developed a migraine and went to bed. Ernie stayed a little longer than he was entertaining and Cole went to bed early. He didn’t yield to the temptation of reading ahead in the notebooks; instead he read a copy of the Oklahoman he picked up in town.

  He spent almost two weeks without reading or watching the news. His life changed in the past couple of weeks, and the news didn’t seem all that important. As he read of the wars, crime and mayhem in the world outside Orvin, it seemed distant and unrelated to the life of this sleepy little town. Even the run in with Alvin and Willie seemed almost laughable when he read of the ten and twelve year olds that beat an old man to death with garden tools.

  Bodies continued to pile up in the Middle East and the liars and thieves on both sides in Washington pull scams and get caught, depending on who is in power.

  “Gloom, despair and agony on me,” Cole sang softly. “Deep dark depression, excessive misery. If it weren’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all. Gloom, despair and agony on me.” He chuckled quietly, tossed the paper on the floor, turned off the light, rolled over and thought about George and Mattie. As he drifted toward sleep, Mattie turned into Kelly and he stood on the train platform, arms out to greet her.

  FOURTEEN

  The morning was cool and the sky was filled with massive grey clouds. Even with her best efforts, it was clear that Kelly was not well. She slept until nearly ten o’clock and then took a long shower. When she came downstairs, Cole was outside finishing the trim on the windows on the side of the house. He saw her in the kitchen window and went in the house through the back door.

  “Good morning, how are you feeling?”

  “Pretty rough.” Kelly smiled but her eyes showed the dull pain she was doing her best to hide. “I get one of these stupid migraines about twice a year and they just knock me flat. I am so sorry it has happened here.”

  “What can I do to make you feel better?”

  “Luckily I brought some pills that knock me out so I slept through the worst of it. Now I just feel dopey. The headache is there but it’s like it is smothered in pillows.”

  “Can you eat?”

  “Maybe coffee right now.” Kelly rubbed her temples and closed her eyes.

  “How ‘bout we have that coffee in the living room where it is nice and dark?”

  They took their coffee to the living room and sat on the sofa. Cole talked, but Kelly’s responses were short and lacking her usual spark. After a few minutes he took her half empty cup to the kitchen. When he returned she was fast asleep. They bought a quilt at a craft sale the day she arrived and Cole used it to cover Kelly. He bent and kissed her gently on the forehead. She smiled ever
so slightly and Cole returned to his painting.

  Around two o’clock Cole went into town to buy replacement hinges and screen for two of the damaged window screens. When he returned, Kelly was in the kitchen cutting rectangles of wallpaper to fit inside the cupboard doors.

  “Somebody’s feeling better.”

  “I think I may live.” Kelly smiled. “Where’d you sneak off to?”

  “I’ll have you know I boldly drove to town with credit card in hand to bolster the local economy.” He laid the roll of screen and bag with the hinges on the counter.

  “I made some soup. Would you like a sandwich?” Kelly said, laying down her scissors and moving to the stove.

  After they ate Cole helped Kelly glue the wallpaper to the insets of the cupboard doors. They wallpapered the remaining walls with the same pale blue pattern. The smell of fresh paint and wallpaper glue filled the air. Outside, Cole walked around the house inspecting his paint job. Kelly watered her new flowerbed and swept the front porch.

  The changes to the old house were dramatic and Cole smiled as he thought of the sad little place he pulled up to just two weeks before. Now it was as if the house were smiling. The paint and flowers added life to the tired shell. Ernie’s plowing of the field showed someone cared what happened to the property. Cole knew he wouldn’t get a lot for the place but he also knew it would be far easier to sell now. When he finished the trim and re-hung the screens he would call a realtor and get the paper work started to sell.

  Kelly did wonders with the interior and finished the redecorating in amazing time. Never completely satisfied, she said there were still a few touches she intended to make on the inside and with a couple of hours tomorrow the job would be complete. Cole needed to think of something for her, a special thank you. He could never have done the kind of job she did picking colors and wallpapers. Even though he wouldn’t be living in the house, he felt it was important to get it ready for the next owner, and he had Kelly to thank for having done it so beautifully.