"This is a fancy spread." Chester wouldn't say any more than that. Lurking behind the bland statement was a not-so-bland worry. If you're out of work, how can you afford it?
Casually, Louisa Martin said, "Otis and Sue gave us a little help. Not much, just a little." Chester nodded. Otis was still working. The older Martins must have told him so they could make sure they got whatever help they needed for a proper holiday dinner.
Knowing what Chester knew took some of the enjoyment away from the feast: it seemed too much like sharing a condemned man's last meal. But that didn't stop him from eating till he was groaningly full. When would his next chance to gorge himself on meat come? He had no idea. Like a savage in the jungle, he made the most of the chance he did have.
About ten o'clock, Pete started getting sleepy and fussy. Sue and Otis took their son and some leftovers and headed back to their place. Chester had waited for that; he needed to speak to his parents without his sister and brother-in-law listening. He started, "Pa, the bosses had no business-"
"No business?" Stephen Douglas Martin said. "Ha! Business is all they had, the… so-and-so's." Yes, he had trouble swearing in front of women.
"What I meant was, we'll figure out something now that…" Chester's voice trailed away. He thought his father would know what he meant any which way. Now that the elder Martins had no money coming in, how could they afford to give anyone else a hand? They had to worry about keeping their own place.
"Yes, we'll manage. One way or another, we'll manage," Rita said. She had the same stubborn pride as anyone born a Martin.
Stephen Douglas Martin said, "I hear you two were talking about California."
"Yes, that's true," Chester said. "There's no work in Toledo, or none to speak of. If you have a job, you're all right. If you lose one, though, you haven't got a prayer of finding anything new."
"Thanks so much," his father said. "That's just what I wanted to hear."
"I'm sorry, Pa. I'm sorry as… the devil. But that doesn't mean I wasn't telling the truth."
"I know," his father said. "I sure wish it did, though."
"What about California?" Rita kept her mind on business.
"I'll tell you what," Chester's father said. "Louisa and I have some money set aside. They aren't going to throw us in the poorhouse right away, so you don't need to worry your heads about that. I know this is a hard place to find work, on account of you've both done everything you could, but you haven't had any luck. If I stake you two train tickets out West and enough money to keep you going a couple of months… well, what do you think about that?"
"We'll pay you back," Chester said without even looking at Rita. "As soon as one of us gets something, we'll pay you back, a little bit at a time till it's all done."
"You don't need to say that, Chester," his father said with a small smile. "If I wasn't sure of it, you think I'd offer?"
"I don't know," Chester answered. "Depends on how bad you and Ma want to get rid of us, I guess."
"Chester!" his mother said reproachfully.
"California." Rita murmured the word. "Things are supposed to be good there, or as good as they are anywhere. They've got the farms, and they've got the moving pictures, and they've got all the people building houses for the people moving there for the other things."
"And the weather," Chester said. "If we go to Los Angeles, we can kiss snow good-bye. I wouldn't miss it a bit, and that's the truth."
"You ready to tear everything up by the roots?" Stephen Douglas Martin asked. "If you do this, I can't give you much more help till I'm back on my own feet." If I ever am hung unspoken in the air. He went on, "Don't want you winding up in a Blackfordburgh out there, even if you did vote for the fellow."
"I voted for Coolidge and Hoover this time around," Chester said. Rita made a face at him. He made a face right back, and went on, "I held my nose, but I did it. But I don't think Hoover's exactly a ball of fire."
"He's a ball of…" Now Rita seemed hampered in her choice of language. " I didn't vote for Coolidge," she added.
"He's had most of a year to make things better. He hasn't done it," Louisa Martin said. "He hasn't done much of anything, not as far as I can see."
"President Blackford did everything under the sun for four years in a row," Stephen Douglas Martin said. "He didn't make things better, either." Chester's father was a rock-ribbed-Chester sometimes thought a rock-headed-Democrat. He continued, "Look how the war with the Japs is winding down now."
"Neither side ever wanted to fight that one all out, though," Chester said. "That's why it's winding down. It's not anything special Hoover's done."
"They haven't dropped any bombs on his head, the way they did on Blackford's," his father retorted. He wagged a finger at Chester. "Still want to go to Los Angeles after that?"
"Yes!" This time, Rita spoke up before Chester could. She sounded even hungrier for California than he was.
"Thank you, Pa, from the bottom of my heart," Chester said.
"If you get work, I may come out there myself," his father said. "Anybody who thinks I'd miss snow is crazy."
"California," Rita said again, as if she expected to pan for gold and pull nuggets the size of eggs from a clear, cold mountain stream.
"California," Chester echoed, as if he expected to go to Los Angeles and wind up a motion-picture leading man the day after he got there. He went on, "There are people who hop a freight for a chance like this." He had, every now and then, thought of being one of them. "I will pay you back, Pa. So help me God, I will."
"I told you once, I wouldn't stake you if I didn't think you were good for it," Stephen Douglas Martin answered. "Only thing I worry about is how many people will be going out there, looking for whatever they can find."
"At least there are things to find in California," Chester said. "This town is dying on its feet. I've lived here all my life, except for when I was in the Army, but I won't be sorry to say good-bye." He laughed. Sorry? He hadn't been so glad since the day the guns stopped and he realized he'd made it through the Great War alive.
AmericanEmpire: TheCenterCannotHold
XX
A t three in the morning on an early December day when the sun wouldn't be up for hours and hours in Berlin, Ontario, Jonathan Moss thought wistfully of California or the Sandwich Islands or Florida or some other place with a halfway civilized climate. It was snowing outside. It had been snowing for a month. It would go on snowing till April, maybe May. He twisted in bed, trying to go back to sleep. Trust me to move out of Chicago for a place with worse weather, he thought. Most of the time, such musings carried wry amusement. Every so often, as tonight, they felt too much like kidding on the square.
"There," Laura said from the other bedroom. "Isn't that better?"
"Mama," Dorothy said. At not quite a year, she could say a couple of dozen words. That made her advanced for her age. She wasn't nearly advanced enough to keep from needing her diaper changed, though.
"Now lie down and go back to sleep," Laura said. The crib creaked as she put the baby back into it.
"Mama!" Dorothy wailed as her mother left her bedroom and came back to the one she shared with Jonathan. That desperate appeal failing, Dorothy started crying and screaming and making as much racket as she could.
All the books said you were supposed to let children cry themselves out when you put them to bed. After a while, they would get used to the idea that they could settle down by themselves. What the books didn't say was how you were supposed to keep from going crazy while the baby had conniptions. Earplugs might have helped, except that Jonathan had never found any good enough to keep out the noise.