But then, after maybe thirty miles he began to ask questions. Lee answered him in one-syllable lies, then started with questions of his own. Were did he hail from? What was he hauling? That shut the man up. Lee pulled his hat over his face and went to sleep. It was some hours later that Morgan nudged him. The trucker had slowed, they were in a little cow town, two blocks of dusty wooden buildings and a small old caf? marked with a wooden sign: TRAIN STATION. The train track ran behind it, parallel to the highway. The trucker dropped them at the caf?, drove another eighth of a mile, and turned west on a dirt road that looked like it led to nowhere; maybe he was headed home.
Stepping into the wooden building, sitting on stools at the counter, they treated themselves to fried eggs, fried potatoes, and hot apple pie. The waitress, a pillow-fat blonde in her sixties with an understanding smile, looked them over as she poured their coffee.?The eastbound?s due in half an hour,? she said. ?The westbound, an hour after that.? And Lee guessed they weren?t the only hobos traveling this route. Finishing their pie and coffee, Lee thanked her for the information, made sure he tipped her, and they hiked out along the train track to a stand of pale trees. Sitting down with their backs against the thick trunk of a giant cottonwood, they made themselves comfortable, listening for the far-off rumble, for a lone and distant whistle.
?It?s nearly Christmas Eve,? Morgan said. ?A few more days. Will they go home to Caroline?s or stay at Anne?s? Maybe Caroline will drive down from Rome. I hope Sammie will be happy Christmas morning, excited to open a few presents?? he said doubtfully. ?What?s she seeing in her dreams? Maybe only the good times? Maybe she dreamed of Beanie?s warm little house on the flatcar and the good hot stew??
Lee only looked at him. They both knew Sammie would dream of the bad times, the brutal cold, the man with the knife and evil eyes.
?I can?t hold her and comfort her,? Morgan said. ?I can?t help her.? He was in a dour mood when they left the cottonwoods running, swinging aboard a boxcar as the approaching train slowed for the small rural station.
Settling back to watch the land roll by, they managed to stay with this freight several days, slipping behind shipping crates when they made a stop. The nights grew warmer, the wind didn?t cut like ice, Lee?s cough subsided. New Mexico was cool but not freezing. Lee liked seeing sheep grazing, and the herds of antelope that hardly stirred as the train sped past them. Approaching Phoenix, they dropped off the car onto bare red land among the red bluffs and raw canyons. The Arizona sky was blue and clear, buzzards cruising the wind searching for the stink of anything dead. Walking through Phoenix, they replenished their supplies at a small, side-street grocery. Moving on past the freight yards, they saw no sign of cops. On the far side when they slipped aboard, the boxcar was crowded with men settled in small groups. They nodded at Lee and Morgan and didn?t seem threatening. Most of them werebraceros, keeping to themselves. West of Phoenix, Lee began to get nervous.
Maybe he was a fool, wanting to drop off in Blythe, take the chance of being seen. Would the feds figure, once they broke out, he?d head straight there, wanting the money from his savings account? Seemed likely, the way a federal agent?s mind worked. He knew he shouldn?t risk it, but once they found a lawyer they?d need every penny they could lay hands on, might need that eight hundred real bad to add to the six hundred Becky had scraped together.
He worried about the feds until they reached the desert north of Blythe. As they rolled up their blankets and tied up their packs, the smell of Blythe hit him, the salty tamarisk trees and the damp breath of the irrigation canals. When the train topped a rise, the Colorado River ran below them dark and turgid. They dropped off just outside town when the cars bucked and the train slowed, Lee hit the ground rolling. It was late afternoon.?Christmas Eve,? Morgan said. ?At least they?re together, and with family.?
They moved through a willow thicket to an irrigation ditch flowing with dark, fast water. Ragged cotton fields stretched away on both sides. They were past Delgado Ranch, three fourths of the way to town. It had been nearly a year since Lee pulled into Blythe straight out of the federal pen at McNeil, ready to go to work for Jake Ellson, thinking even that first day how he could cheat Ellson. In the end, he hadn?t had the stomach for that.
On the bank of the irrigation ditch Lee dug the bar of soap from the burlap bag, the razor and the little mirror Becky had packed. Stripping off their clothes they bathed and shaved in the swift cold water. With the last of the soap they scrubbed their shirts, socks, and shorts, hung them on willow branches, and sat on a blanket letting the sun dry their wet bodies. Not a soul out there, only the lizards to see their white nakedness. Twice, jackrabbits leaped out in the fields and went racing away, stirring a cloud of dust. Both times, a second dust cloud followed, dodging and doubling close on the rabbit?s tail?but they could see no second beast chasing. Nothing, just the detached swirl of dust pursuing the rabbit. Morgan turned to Lee, puzzled. Lee frowned and shrugged. ?The wind, I guess.? Did the ghost cat have to be such a show-off?
When their clothes were nearly dry they smoothed out the wrinkles and dressed again. The winter sun was setting as they made camp beneath the scruffy willows. The small clearing reminded Lee of the meadow where he?d kept the gray for a few days, the gelding that had helped him pull off the bank robbery. The good horse he?d used to get the stolen money away, to where he could bury it. He thought about riding the gray along the riverbank in the evenings, peaceful and serene, and that had been a good time.
They cooked a meal of Spam and potatoes, and made coffee, Morgan missing Becky and Sammie, Lee edgy with the prospect of entering the bank.?We?ll have to lay over tomorrow,? he said nervously. He?d prefer to get it over with. ?Everything closed, Christmas Day.?
?A day to give thanks,? Morgan said. ?To go to church with your family.?
Lee looked at him and said nothing. When he was small they seldom went to church; it was half a day?s ride away. His mother had read the Bible. His father didn?t want to listen. Lee wasn?t sure just what his pa thought about such matters. But Lee knew?he?d better know, after his own encounters?that there was more in the universe than a person saw. That amazements waited beyond this life, which a mortal might not want to consider.
?Early the morning after Christmas,? Lee said, ?we head into Blythe. We?ll leave our gear here. If luck?s with us, we won?t need it anymore.? Rolling into his blanket, he tried not to think about lying idle for a whole day. Tried not to think about entering Blythe, about what might happen, tried not to borrow trouble.
32
THECHRISTMAS TREE shone bright in the Chesserson living room with its many-colored lights, its red and golden balls, silver ropes and bright tinsel. Sammie seemed hardly to notice the tree, nor did she gently rattle the colorful packages. This wasn?t Christmas Eve. Christmas would be when Daddy came home. For days her stubborn spirit had remained with Morgan and Lee aboard a speeding train or walking cold beside the highway, two lone men crossing the vast, empty land.
When Anne put a Christmas record on to play softly, Sammie didn?t want to hear the music. Rolling over on the couch she pulled the afghan over her face, pretending to sleep. In the dark beneath the cover she lay thinking of Christmas when she was little, when Daddy was there. When they were together in their own house decorating their own tree or having supper at Caroline?s among the scents of Christmas baking. The music, then, had been wonderful, the boys? choir Sammie loved, the church music, but now music only brought tears. This Christmas week, her mother had gone to church several times, but Sammie didn?t want to go, she didn?t want to seethe life-sized cr?che or hear the story of the Christ child, they only made her sad.