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“’Night, Miss Sugarpuss.”

Chapter Nine

B
efore Kathleen left her room to go to breakfast, she locked her personal papers, her manuscripts and all her underwear and hosiery in her trunk, and her toilet articles, including her comb and brush, in her suitcase. All that was left in the room were her shoes, dresses, and coats.

Clara was asleep, sprawled on the couch, when Kathleen passed through the living room on her way to the kitchen. Hazel and Emily were at the table. Hazel jumped up.

“Sit down. I made your tea.”

“Thank you. Good morning, Miss Sugarpuss. How would you like a ride to school this morning?”

“In the car?” Emily smiled, showing the big gap in her front teeth.

“In the car. I’m driving uptown this morning.”

“Hear that, Granny?” The little girl had lowered her voice to a whisper. Without waiting for a response from her grandmother, Emily leaned toward Kathleen. “We whispered so we’d not wake Mama up.”

“I wondered if there was something wrong with my ears,” Kathleen whispered back and stuck her finger in her ear.

Emily giggled. “I told Granny she could go to the rodeo with us.”

“And I told you that I can’t go.” Hazel poured Kathleen’s tea and set a plate of hot biscuits on the table.

“The
Gazette
has three tickets, Hazel.”

“Won’t Adelaide use one?”

“She said she’d just as soon skip it this year.”

Kathleen drank her tea hurriedly and ate a biscuit with jam. She wanted to be gone before Clara got up. Emily was excited about riding in the car to school and was waiting at the back door when Kathleen came back after repairing her lipstick and putting on a light blue turban that matched her dress.

“You look pretty, Miss Dolan,” Emily said.

“Thank you, and so do you.”

Emily giggled and took Kathleen’s hand. “’Bye, Granny.”

“’Bye, honey. See you at noon.”

Hazel stood on the back stoop and watched the car back out into the alleyway. She looked sad standing there. Kathleen had seen a tear on her cheek when they left, but Emily had been too excited about riding to school in the car to notice.

• • •

As soon as Kathleen entered the office, Adelaide wanted to know about her
date
with Johnny.

“It wasn’t really a date,” Kathleen said, taking off her turban and placing it on her desk.

“Looked like a date to me. He went out and bought a new shirt.”

“He probably didn’t want to go to supper in a shirt he’d worked in all day. You’re making too much of it. He’d heard that the two men who tried to hijack me were going to get even because they had to go to the sheriff’s office again. That’s why he took me home.”

“Does he think they might . . . attack you?”

“I don’t know what he thinks they’ll do, but he wanted me to drive the car up here so I’d have it to go home in.”

“Good idea. Paul says he’s got a crush on you.”

“Paul’s . . . crazy!” Kathleen felt heat on her cheeks.

“Why are you blushing?”

“I’m not,” Kathleen protested, and rolled a sheet of paper into her typewriter. “I’m probably—Oh, never mind.”

Good Lord, she had almost said that she was probably older than Johnny. Being conscious of the age difference between herself and Paul, Adelaide would have been terribly hurt. But Kathleen’s age was what Clara had pointed out last night, and the taunt had stuck in her mind like a burr.

“How’d the big date go?”

Kathleen looked up to see Paul grinning at her.

“It wasn’t a
big date!
”

“Johnny bought a new shirt.”

“Paul, dear, I already mentioned that.” Adelaide and Paul exchanged conspiratorial glances.

“All right, you two. Cut out the matchmaking.”

Paul passed behind Adelaide and caressed the back of her neck.

He touches her every chance he gets,
Kathleen thought as Adelaide smiled up at him.
Will anyone ever love me as much?

“I told Johnny that you had a date with Leroy tonight. He didn’t seem to be too pleased about it. It doesn’t hurt to let a fellow know he’s got a little competition.” Paul winked at Adelaide and hurried into the back room.

“Oh, my gosh. I forgot all about Leroy Grandon. Sometime today I’ll have to go home and tell Hazel that I’ll not be there for supper.”

For press day, the day went fairly well. Paul had two front page stories: one about Japan declaring that they would provide arms for Germany and Italy if it became necessary. The other story was about fifty-five thousand hungry people rioting in Pittsburgh. Kathleen was impressed, but she was not sure how many people in Rawlings were interested in what went on in Japan and in Pittsburgh. But it was good journalism, causing her to wonder once again about the man’s life before he came to Rawlings.

“Paul thinks the war in Europe will spill over, and before long we’ll be involved,” Adelaide said after she had proofed the piece.

“Oh, I hope not. I don’t know how the country could fight a war when we’re having a hard time feeding our poor.”

Hannah, the Indian woman Kathleen had seen the day she arrived, came into the office. She appeared dazed. Ignoring Kathleen, she went to Adelaide’s desk.

“Hello, Hannah,” Adelaide spoke gently.

“Baby.”

“Is your baby with you?”

“Baby.”

“Is it sick?”

“Baby.”

“Where is your baby, Hannah?”

“Gone. Baby gone.” She turned away and shuffled out the door.

Kathleen watched her as she passed the window. The skirt that came to her ankles was torn and dirty. The neck of her overblouse was torn and exposed one shoulder. The moccasins were so large that she had to shuffle in order to keep them on.

“The poor wretched thing.” Adelaide shook her head sadly.

“Did her baby die?”

“I don’t know. When she came in a month or two ago, she was as big as a barrel. The next time was the day you arrived. Her breasts were leaking and I asked about the baby. That was when she shoved me.”

“Is she unbalanced?”

“She wasn’t before she had the baby. She was a little strange but not like she is now. Grieving must be making her crazy.”

The next person to come in was Earlene Smothers. She was huffing and sweating. The heavy coat of face powder had caked on her hairy upper lip.

“Adelaide,” she wheezed, “I just saw that crazy Indian woman who roams around town. She was dirty, as usual, and muttering something. She should be put away. My goodness gracious! What’s the world coming to when decent people can’t walk the streets without running into trash like that.”

“What can I do for you, Earlene? This is press day, and we’re real busy.”

“Not too busy, I hope,” Earlene said, and sniffed peevishly. “I have something to add to the notice about the concession the First Baptist Church is going to have at the rodeo.”

“What is it? I’ll try to get it in.”

“Add orange NeHi pop to the list of drinks. Ice cold, of course. Maude Ferman is in charge of the tubs of ice, and she says that we’ll have room. I hope she’s right after we’ve advertised.”

“Oh, you want this in a paid ad?” Adelaide asked innocently.

“Heavens, no! Just add ice-cold NeHi pop to the notice. Surely you’ll not charge us for that.” The fat woman had a horrified look on her face.

“No. I’ll see what I can get it in, but I’ll have to hurry.” Adelaide got up from the desk and headed for the back room. “Good-bye, Earlene.”

“She’ll
see
if she can get it in?” Mrs. Smothers echoed. “Who’s boss around here? I thought she owned the place or is that . . . that person she took up with in charge now?”

Kathleen acted as if she were stone deaf and continued to type. As soon as the fat woman went out the door and passed the window, Adelaide came back into the office.

“She gets my hackles up,” she explained as she sat back down at her desk.

“I know how you feel. Clara Ramsey got my hackles up last night.”

“Is she back in town?”

“I’m afraid so. She is utterly self-centered and cares not a fig for anyone but herself. Poor Hazel. Clara had made herself at home with my soap, shampoo, bath salts, towels, and even my tooth powder. Little Emily apologized. This morning I locked everything in my trunk and my suitcase before I left.”

“I wonder what she’s doing back in town.”

“She told Hazel she came back for money.”

“I’m always afraid that Clara will talk Hazel into selling her house. Sam Ramsey worked like a dog to pay for that house so that Clara and Hazel would have a roof over their heads.”

“I don’t think that will happen. Hazel takes her responsibility for Emily seriously. She loves that child.”

“Where will Clara get money in Rawlings? Everyone in town knows that she’s a tramp.”

• • •

At that moment, Clara Ramsey was leaving the house in a pout. Miss
Uppity-up
Dolan had stripped the bathroom, leaving only one ragged towel and a bar of Lava soap, and Mama had guarded the doors to the hussy’s room as if it were a bank vault, giving her no chance to
borrow
a few things.

Clara picked her way carefully along the rutted road. The spike heels on her shoes were fragile. It wouldn’t do to break one off before Marty got there. She would have worn her other shoes, but wanted the hicks in Rawlings to see her looking good. Her clinging pongee dress was blue with little black dots in it. She had used the curling iron on her hair, making high curls out of her bangs. Her lashes were heavy with mascara, her thin brows penciled, her lipstick bright red.

When Clara reached the street with a sidewalk, she tripped along making sure that her hips swayed so that the full skirt of her dress danced around her knees. She watched her reflection in the window as she passed the dry goods store. She looked damned good. No one would believe that she had a kid almost seven years old, but hell, she’d had her when she was sixteen. She’d make sure Emily stayed out of sight when Marty came. She had a surprise for him, and it wasn’t Emily.

The Rawlings Medical Clinic was six blocks from the center of town. When Dr. Herman built it in 1919 right after the war, it was out in the country. Since then the town had expanded to reach it. Long and low and made of red brick, it sat slightly farther back from the walk than business buildings built later.

Clara was hot, and her feet hurt by the time she reached the clinic. She opened the door and stood for a minute beneath the cool breeze of the ceiling fan. Three of the four doors leading out of the small empty lobby were closed. The other was slightly ajar. Somewhere, far away, Clara heard the sound of a radio.

“May I help you?” A woman in a starched white uniform came silently into the lobby.

“I want to see Louise.”

“Miss Munday is busy right now.”

“Tell her to get unbusy. Clara Ramsey wants to see her.”

“Have a seat. I’ll tell her.”

Like a shadow, the woman slipped back through the slightly open door. Clara sat down, reached down, and wiped the dust off her patent-leather pumps and picked up a week-old paper. She glanced at the headline, then looked to see what was playing at the Rialto Theatre.

“Wallace Beery in
The Champ.
Whoop-de-doo!” She tossed the paper aside, crossed her legs, and swung her foot back and forth impatiently.

“Come in here, Clara.” The tone of Louise Munday’s voice would have sent waves of apprehension through most young girls. Clara rose leisurely to her feet and followed the tall, stout figure into an inner office. Louise closed the door, turned, and said, “Sit down.”

“Thanks,” Clara said drily.

“What are you doing back in town? I thought you hated this place.” Louise backed up to the desk, sat down on the edge, and folded her arms across her chest.

“I do hate this place. I came back because I need a hundred dollars.”

“Who doesn’t?”

“I doubt if ya do. Ya made plenty.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You know what I’m talking about. You told me never to mention it, and I haven’t.”

“You came to us, Clara.”

“I was sick and pregnant.”

“We helped you. Gave you money to get out of town. It’s what you wanted.”

“Well, I need a another hundred to get out of town again.”

“You bitch! Six months from now you’d be back for another hundred. Is that the way it’ll be from now on?”

“No. I’m goin’ to Nashville and get on the Grand Ole Opry.”