Forty Dead Men Page 7

  “If he deserted, she didn’t get his insurance,” Gee Dub said.

  Holly’s expression indicated that she thought that was small comfort.

  Alafair gently lifted Holly’s blistered feet out of the water and onto her aproned lap to dry them with a soft towel. “Gee Dub, hand me that salve, there.” She gestured vaguely toward the counter. “Miz Johnson, do you aim to go have a talk with the other wife?”

  Holly made a surprised sound. “Why? You think I can make her split Dan’s back-pay with me?”

  “Well, at least you deserve enough to get you home again, if that’s what you want.”

  Gee Dub had taken advantage of his mother’s summons and seated himself at the table, the better to join the conversation. “If I were her, I’d think it was worth it to give you train fare. I’d want to see the back of you as quick as possible.”

  Holly’s bottom lip poked out, stubborn. “I don’t want anything from them.”

  “You could still go back to Okmulgee and work for my Uncle Charles,” Gee Dub said.

  She sighed. “It’s a generous thought and I certainly need the job. But I just can’t go back there where people might recognize me for the fool I am.”

  “We have a slew of relatives and friends in Boynton,” Alafair said. “Surely one of them would be able to scare up a job for you. My oldest daughter, Martha, and her husband own a land and title company.”

  Gee Dub lifted an eyebrow. “Might want to let Martha and Streeter decide about that, Ma.” Alafair was as quick to offer her children’s charity as she was her own. The children were generally good-natured about it, but Martha had already told Gee Dub that the McCoy Land and Title Company would have to give the men who went to the war their old jobs back before they could think about hiring anyone new.

  Alafair was undaunted. “What work are you looking for, Miz Johnson? What sort of jobs have you had before?”

  “Well, I had to take care of my father after my mother died. I can cook and clean and sew as well as anyone. During the war I did several jobs at the shipyard, whatever they needed. I started out as a file clerk in the procurement office. That’s where I met Dan. But at night I took a typing course, so most of the time I was in procurement I was a typist. I can operate a switchboard, and for a little while, right at the end of the war, I worked as a welder.”

  “A welder?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Once I learned how not to burn my hands off or blind myself, it wasn’t such a hard job, and it paid a lot better than typing and filing. They put six of us girls on the night shift so that the experienced men could have the better hours. The worst part was what we had to put up with from the men on our shift. But that’s always the way it is. I made a lot of money and I tried to save it, but most of it went to the doctors and the other bills when my father got sick and couldn’t work anymore. Then he died and most of the rest went to bury him. That’s when I decided to find Dan. I only had enough money left to buy a train ticket to St. Louis.”

  Gee Dub had been listening to this recitation with a combination of admiration and growing amusement. The image of little Holly welding iron plates onto a battleship delighted him no end. “Sounds like you have job skills to spare. Maybe Mr. Turner could use her in his new automobile repair shop, Ma.”

  Alafair brushed the remark away. “Quit teasing, son. Still, there’s something to what he says, Miz Johnson. With all your experience, we ought to be able to find you a job of work around here with no trouble.”

  “I can hardly think right now, Mrs. Tucker. If you’ll grant me one more kindness, I could surely use a rest. Oh, and you’d better stop calling me Miz Johnson. Seems I’m not Holly Johnson, after all. From now on I’d better be Holly Thornberry, like I was born.”

  “Thornberry! I like the way Thornberry goes with Holly,” Alafair said.

  Holly took the soft cotton socks that Alafair offered and carefully slipped them onto her damaged feet. “Yes, that was my mother’s clever idea. It’s better than Johnson, though.”

  Alafair stood up. “I reckon. Now, the bed you slept in last night is still made up. You go on in and have a lie-down. I expect Scott will be by to see if we’ve found you after you ran off from him. He’ll probably have some news.”

  Chapter Ten

  The afternoon was well along by the time Scott came chugging down the drive in his Paige with Holly’s carpetbag on the seat next to him. Once he was assured that Holly had indeed made her way back to the farm with Gee Dub’s help, Scott sat down with her in the parlor to tell her what he had discovered in Okmulgee. Supper was on the stove and the men were due in from the fields any minute, but Alafair had no intention of leaving Holly on her own to hear what could be depressing news. She had seated herself in her armchair, next to Holly, with yet another grandchild in her lap, a bouncy two-year-old blonde named Judy Lucas. Holly didn’t know this one. Alafair and Scott were discussing something Holly only heard with half an ear while she studied the toddler, bemused. Infant grandchildren seemed to pop up out of the ether around here. Blanche, Sophronia, Grace, and Alafair’s nephew Chase Kemp had all dragged kitchen chairs into the parlor and lined themselves up next to the wall, the better to eavesdrop. Alafair made a move to send them off, but Holly said she didn’t mind. So a silent and wide-eyed Greek chorus of children would serve as witnesses to the proceedings. Holly briefly wondered where Mr. Tucker was. Or Gee Dub.

  “I’m sure glad to see that you didn’t run clean back to Maine, Miz Johnson,” Scott said. “When I didn’t come across you on the road back to Boynton, I feared you’d gotten yourself so lost that nobody would ever see you again.”

  Holly’s cheeks reddened. “All I could think was that I had to get away from there. That’s all. I didn’t have a plan.”

  “I understand. Miz Johnson…I mean Miz Thornberry, I didn’t want to tell you at first, but back in the winter, when I thought that our dead soldier was your husband, I contacted his folks by wire and they told me they didn’t want to claim his body because he was a coward and a murderer who deserted the Army. If they had seen the body and realized it wasn’t their son, we wouldn’t be in this situation. I didn’t know Johnson was married. After you scarpered, I went to see the…other widow. I’m sorry to confirm that her and Dan were indeed married in church a month before he got drafted. She showed me the license. So I’m afraid your marriage wasn’t legal and you don’t have any claim to his property. Which, as near I could find out, there ain’t any, anyway. I have to say that…” he hesitated, unwilling to say “the other widow” again. “Pearl Johnson is not living in heartbreak. She’s found her another man and aims to remarry next fall. She was knocked for a loop when she heard that Dan might not be dead.”

  Holly straightened in shock. “Wait a minute. You think Dan really is still alive?” She felt foolish the moment she uttered the words. When she found out that someone else was buried in Dan’s grave, she had not seriously considered the implications.

  Scott swallowed his words and sat back. His expression was compassionate. “It’s possible, ma’am. Once I knew that the man we buried isn’t Daniel Johnson, I had a real close look at that identification card. Somebody probably scraped off the original photograph and glued Dan’s on. Whoever it was did a good job. Now I’m guessing that we have a case of switched identities, here, so the next thing we have to do is discover who is buried in yonder graveyard.”

  “But how in the world are you going to do that, Sheriff? Even if you dug him up…” Holly glanced at the row of children by the wall and didn’t finish the thought.

  “We may be in luck, there,” Scott said. “The man we buried had an Army ID disc in his pocket. I kept it, but the disc was partially defaced. Looked like it had been struck with a hammer. The name and rank were too damaged to read very easy so I didn’t much try. I didn’t think much of it at the time. But there is a serial number on it. I never did bother to cross-check th
e number with the Army since I had his card, and the picture on it was definitely the dead man.”

  “If Dan went to so much trouble to change ID cards, why deface the name on the disc instead of just trade that with his own, too?” Alafair pointed out.

  “That’s just it, Alafair. I don’t think the ID tag was defaced on purpose. It was probably some kind of accident. Maybe it deflected a bullet. The soldier had taken it off and put it in his pocket. If it was Dan who made the ID switch, could be he didn’t know the disc was there. As soon as I get back to town I’ll fish that tag out and have a good look at it. Maybe I can make out a name with my magnifying glass. Even if I can’t, the Army will be able to tell me who belongs to that serial number.” He slapped his hands on his thighs. “All right. Now, as for you, young woman, looks like you’ve come to the end of your search. Whether Dan Johnson is alive or not is none of your lookout anymore. You’re a free unmarried lady. Have you given any thought to your next move?”

  The question made Holly laugh. “Sheriff, I have no idea. I’ve been talking to Mrs. Tucker about finding a job here until I can earn enough money to go back to New England. Other than that…”

  “Well, you’re in good hands. Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”

  “Will you keep me informed about your investigation?”

  Scott and Alafair exchanged a glance before Scott said, “Sure I will, if that’s what you want.”

  She lifted one shoulder in a weary shrug. “He wasn’t much, but I thought he was my husband for over a year. I would like to know what happened to him.”

  ***

  The next morning, Holly helped Alafair and the girls get breakfast ready. No one asked her to pitch in, nor did she ask permission. She simply didn’t know what else to do with herself. Alafair didn’t remark on it. She just ordered her around in the same businesslike fashion as she did her own daughters. Holly found that oddly comforting.

  Holly was grateful when Alafair handed her a basket and directed her to the henhouse to gather eggs. She pulled on her coat and stepped out into the backyard, accompanied by her constant companion, Charlie Dog. She paused for a moment to breathe in a lungful of crisp February air. She could see her breath in the air when she exhaled. The sun was not quite up, but the horizon was a shocking pink with a layer of cream on top, decorated with the dark frilly outlines of the bare trees in the copse a few yards behind the house. She looked for the henhouse in the general direction that Alafair had pointed before sending her outside, and was just starting toward a low building surrounded by chicken wire when she saw that Grace—she of the black braids and missing front teeth—had followed and was watching her from the porch steps.

  Grace grinned her toothless grin when she realized that she had been spotted. “I’se wondering where you were going.”

  “I’m going to gather some eggs for breakfast. Would you like to come with me?”

  Grace didn’t have to be asked twice. She flounced off the porch and took Holly’s free hand in hers, a move so natural that Holly hardly noticed.

  “Is it usually your job to gather the eggs in the morning? Am I taking your job?” Holly said.

  “No. Well, sometimes Mama sends me out, but usually that’s Fronie’s job. I just figured I’d fill up my ears with some quiet this morning before breakfast, is all, and then I seen you.”

  Grace trotted along beside Holly, swinging their clasped hands in wide arcs. “I’m glad you let me come. Daddy said you may be needing some extra peace and quiet for a spell after your disappointments.”

  That surprised Holly. “Did he, now?”

  “Would you rather be alone? I promise I won’t prattle on.”

  “Well, if you aren’t going to prattle, I expect it’ll be all right for you to come and help me out.”

  Grace gave her a sidelong glance, judging the level of humor in her voice and deeming it sufficient. “Sometimes I like to come out here and be alone myself. It’s hard to be on your own when you’ve got so many brothers and sisters and cousins and nieces and nephews.”

  “I would imagine.”

  They reached the henhouse, and Grace imperiously ordered Charlie Dog to sit, before leading Holly through the chicken-wire gate. Holly had to bend down to make her way inside the coop. It was much bigger than the little chicken house that she had kept on the tiny patch of ground behind their house in Portland, but the smell of feathers and hay and the rustle and cluck of the hens were familiar. She and Grace took up their conversation along with their task.

  “Do you have brothers and sisters?” Grace said.

  “I don’t. I’m an only child.”

  “That must be lonely.”

  “Sometimes it was,” Holly admitted. “But I never knew any different.”

  “I like the way you talk. When you say ‘Miz Tuck-ah’, and ‘good mawnin’ and ‘ayeh’ instead of ‘yes’.”

  “I like the way you talk, too. When you say ‘y’all’ and ‘howdy’ and ‘Tuck-errr’ like a dog growling.”

  That made Grace laugh. “I been learning to play the guitar.”

  Holly blinked at the shift of topic. “Have you?”

  “Mama said I could practice on Gee Dub’s guitar while he was gone.”

  “Well, he wasn’t using it.”

  Grace put her three eggs in Holly’s basket and sat down on an empty roost box. She crossed one leg over the other in a surprisingly adult manner and grasped her top knee with both hands. “I missed hearing him play,” she said.

  “Sounds like you came up with a good solution.”

  She shrugged. “His guitar is kindly too big for my hands, so I’m not too good with the chords yet. But I can pick out some songs all right. Mama taught me a couple tunes.”

  “What’s your favorite?”

  “Right now I like ‘Pretty Polly.’”

  “I don’t know that one.”

  “That’s kind of a sad song. I mean, old Willie stabs his love and all. It’s got a nice tune, though. I like ‘Cotton-Eyed Joe,’ too.” She began to sing in a piping voice that caused a stir among the hens. “If it wasn’t for Cotton-Eyed Joe, I’d have been married a long time ago…”

  “You like songs about unhappy lovers, don’t you? Are you pining for some boy?” There was a laugh in Holly’s voice.

  “I like songs I can play,” Grace said, matter-of-fact. “You want me to play you something after breakfast?”

  “I don’t know. Are you any good?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Well, I’d love to hear you anyway. Let’s see if we still have time after breakfast. I plan on starting my journey home as soon as I can.”

  “Why, that’ll be sad,” Grace said, “We’re just getting to know you.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Holly spent the morning washing out her laundry on the back porch and airing out her carpetbag, after which she insisted on helping with housework while she waited for her clothes to dry before repacking for her journey.

  Late in the morning, Alafair took Holly out to the garden to check on the progress of her crops. On the edges of the garden, a few little seedlings were poking up, but in a sunny plot on the south-facing side of the house, some of the lettuces, radishes, and scallions were almost big enough to pick.

  Alafair nodded, satisfied, and handed Holly a willow basket before the two women knelt down in the dirt. “I ought to let these here greens do a little more growing, but if we just take some outside leaves, I think we can get enough for a salad, especially with some little radishes and a green onion or two.”

  “Where I come from, it’ll be May, maybe June, before it’s warm enough to start an outside garden.” She pulled a nice-sized red radish out of the ground and held it up for Alafair’s inspection. “Look at this,” she said, delighted.

  “See if you can find a few more like that.
I declare, Shaw and the children will be mighty happy to see a green salad on the table. You know how it is after a long winter with no fresh food right out of the garden. Once the carrots come up, my family eats so many of them that I swear their noses turn orange.” She examined the lettuce plants closely. “I don’t think I can get a half-peck of lettuce without pulling up the plants. I saw some young chickweed back near the woods. I’ll add some of that.”

  Holly sat back on her heels. “Every spring me and my mother would go hunting for fiddlehead ferns. How I always looked forward to that. She’d cook them up on the stove in a little butter.”

  “I never heard of fiddlehead ferns. I reckon they don’t grow down here.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad. That’s how I knew winter was over, when it was time to forage! I lived right on the shore. All year my mother and I could go down to the cove and go clamming. My favorite is lobster, though. We’d get lobsters at the dock after the boats came in, maybe two, three times a week. Lobsters are cheap, poor-people food, but I love lobster meat.”

  “I never have eaten a lobster,” Alafair said. “I’ve seen pictures, though. Them claws look like they could snap your hand right off. They look like great big crawdads. I wouldn’t want to meet one in the dark! My boy Charlie loves crawdads. Made himself a crawdad rake. We’ve got crawdads galore in the cricks and ponds around here. I’ve never been to Maine, but it sounds like it’s mighty different from here.”

  “It surely is.” Holly’s eyes misted and she looked away, distressed. “I miss my mother.”

  Alafair reached across the row of radishes to squeeze her hand. “It’s all right, honey.” She set her basket on the ground and sat down, crossing her legs Indian style. “You know, back a few years ago, Blanche come down with an awful lung infection and the doctor said the best way to fix her was to go to Arizona for a spell. So her and me and her daddy took the train all the long way out there and stayed with my sister in Tempe for a few weeks. I had the idea that Arizona isn’t all that different from Oklahoma, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. I felt like I had gone to the moon, it was so different. I didn’t recognize one tree or bush that grew wild, and the food that folks ate! Now of course, my sister Elizabeth grew up eating the same way I did, so most of her cooking wasn’t that strange. But her neighbors that grew up in Arizona cooked food like I had never eaten before. It was mighty tasty, and sometimes I still get a hankering for a tamale. But there just ain’t no food that will satisfy you like the food you grew up with.” She gave Holly’s hand a little shake. “That’s because your mama’s food tastes like love. And it is, because when somebody who loves you makes something with her own hands, it gets transferred right into the food, and nothing else will ever compare.”