Stumptown Kid Read online

  “That sure is a big sack,” I said. Up close now, I could see it was made of a couple of gunnysacks sewn together. I was wondering what he was lugging in it, but it seemed kind of rude to ask. I was hoping he’d tell me.

  “Just got into town last night,” Luther said. “Haven’t found a place to stay yet.”

  “Where’d you stay last night?” I asked him.

  “Oh, I built a camp south of town on the river. Fixed me a lean-to and caught a catfish for supper. You got pretty good catfish in that river.”

  We walked along in silence while I chewed on what he’d just told me. Why didn’t he just get a room somewhere instead of camping out? Maybe he didn’t have the money.

  I looked over at his big sack. Maybe he used it because he had too much stuff and it wouldn’t all fit into a suitcase. But the sack didn’t look too heavy.

  I wanted to ask him where he came from and why he was here in Holden. But I didn’t want be nosy, so I kept still.

  We walked some more, crossed the railroad tracks, and headed into my neighborhood. The houses here are pretty small, with just one floor and four or five rooms.

  “This is Stumptown,” I said. “My house is about three more blocks, down by the river.”

  “Interesting name, Stumptown,” Luther said.

  “Yeah. I guess a long time ago when people came up the river, they stopped in Holden and cut down trees for houses. They moved on with the wood and left the stumps. So when my neighborhood was built, the stumps had to be pulled out little by little, and everybody started calling the place Stumptown.”

  “Makes sense,” Luther said.

  A few more minutes went by, and then I pointed to my house on the corner. It’s one floor and white. Dad used to keep the grass mowed, but since he’s gone, it’s been my job. It looked pretty good. Especially with the flowers blooming and the maple in the front filled out with leaves. “That’s where I live,” I said.

  “Looks nice,” Luther said.

  We walked up the gravel drive and over the grass to the front stoop. I opened the screen and the hinges squealed. The big door inside was standing open.

  “I can wait out here,” Luther said, backing off a ways.

  “How come?” I asked. “Mom works downtown, but she’s always home by now. Come on in and meet her.”

  Luther smiled and set down his sack. “Oh, I’ll just stay here and enjoy the sunshine.”

  I shrugged. “Okay. I’ll go get us some lemonade and have her come out.”

  “That’ll be fine,” he said.

  I went inside. The living room smelled of lemon oil, and the doily over the back of the davenport was straightened, so I knew Mom had done her usual Monday tidying up after work. I went to the kitchen, opened the Frigidaire, and pulled open the freezer compartment. When I took out the metal ice cube trays, my fingers stuck a little on them. I pulled up the lever, and the ice squeaked and crunched as it came loose. I filled a couple of glasses with ice and poured the lemonade from the pitcher in the Frigidaire.

  Mom came in the kitchen door from the backyard, brushing a strand of dark hair out of her eyes. She was wearing the old housedress she puts on after work and an apron over that. She carried a bowl of peas in their pods, picked from the garden, and a pair of scissors. On top of the peas were some daisies she’d cut from a clump that grows next to the house.

  “Oh, Charlie, I didn’t know you were home,” she said, heading for the sink. “How’d the tryout go, hon? Did you make the team?”

  “No,” I said. “I got too nervous.”

  “Oh, honey, that’s too bad,” she said. “But you’re a good player. You shouldn’t have been nervous.”

  “I know, but this kid named Brad Lobo kept yelling stuff at me.”

  “Brad Lobo? Do I know who he is? I don’t think I’ve heard you mention him before.” The water rushed over her hands and she turned to me, frowning. “I should’ve gone with you. I can’t believe the coach let some boy get away with making you nervous that way.”

  I should’ve known better than to tell Mom what happened. She’s always hovering around, trying to keep everything perfect. I don’t tell her so, but it gets on my nerves.

  “Come on outside,” I said to change the subject. “I met somebody, and he’s real nice.”

  “Oh, a new friend?” She smiled. “That’s nice, Charlie. But didn’t you ask him in?”

  “Yeah, but he said he likes the sunshine.”

  “Okay,” Mom said, “give me a second and I’ll be out.” She picked up a dish towel and ran a hand through her hair. “At least let me run a comb through this mess. The humidity makes it all frizzy.”

  “You look fine,” I said.

  I took the glasses of lemonade outside. Luther was sitting under the maple tree, his big old gunnysack next to him on the ground.

  “Mom’ll be right out,” I said, handing him a glass.

  “Thank you, Charlie,” he said.

  He must’ve been awful thirsty, because he drained the glass in a few seconds. He wiped a hand across his mouth and leaned his head back against the tree trunk and closed his eyes.

  “That was the best lemonade I ever had,” he said, “and that’s a fact.”

  “There’s plenty more.”

  Mom opened the front door and came out on the stoop. She’d taken off her apron and looked like she’d fixed her hair. She stopped when she saw Luther, like she was surprised. She came out to the maple tree.

  Luther got to his feet.

  “Hello,” Mom said.

  “Mom, this is Luther Peale,” I told her. “Luther, this is my mom.”

  Luther lifted his cap with his left hand and shook Mom’s hand with his right.

  “Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he said. He smiled at her but then looked at the ground. “I don’t shake too good. This hand isn’t what it should be.”

  “Luther showed me some good baseball stuff after the tryouts,” I said.

  “Well, that was nice of you, Luther,” Mom said. She smiled, but she was peering hard at him the way a scientist might look into a microscope.

  “Charlie’s got a good arm,” Luther said, glancing up again. “He just needs a little practice. He’ll come around, you wait and see.”

  “Mom, do you know of anybody needing a man to work?” I asked.

  “Oh. Here in Holden?” Her voice sounded far away. She cleared her throat. “Well now, let’s see.” She put her fingers to her mouth and looked away, thinking. “I believe Mr. Landen from the egg-buying station said the other day he was looking for help. Maybe you could talk to him.”

  “Thanks very much, ma’am,” Luther said. “I’ll go see him.”

  My stomach growled. I remembered I’d been so nervous about the tryouts, I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “What’s for supper?”

  “Spaghetti,” Mom said.

  “Good. Mom makes great spaghetti,” I told Luther. I turned back to her. “Can Luther maybe stay for supper?”

  “Oh now, Charlie,” Luther began. He held up a hand and took a step back. “I better be going now.”

  Mom paused a second. Just past her at the house next door I saw Mrs. Banks peeking around her living room drapes. She must’ve seen me see her, because she let go of the drapes and backed away from the window. I still felt her eyes on us, though, like she was watching us from deeper inside the room. Mrs. Banks is an old busybody. She’s always watching us, but I figured she was spying on us now because Luther was a stranger. Probably because he was colored, too.

  “Well,” Mom said, “if you like spaghetti, Luther, you’re welcome to have some with us.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, ma’am.” He looked away into the trees.

  Mom blinked a couple of times. “We’d be pleased to have you.” She sounded more definite now.

  “Well, if you’re sure it’s no trouble,” Luther said slowly.

  “She don’t mind,” I told him.

  “Doesn’t,” Mom corrected.

  “She does
n’t mind.”

  “That sounds good then.” Luther nodded, but he still didn’t look Mom full in the face. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  I wondered then if Luther had eaten anything since that fish last night.

  “I’m gonna get Luther some more lemonade,” I said.

  “I’ll get it,” Mom said quickly and took Luther’s glass from him. She cleared her throat again. “Charlie, will you come in and help me, please?”

  I followed Mom back inside. In the kitchen, she said, “It was nice of Luther to talk to you about baseball.” Her voice was light, but I could tell she was deliberating on something.

  “Yeah,” I said. “He seems real nice.”

  “He does seem like a nice young man.” She pulled open the Frigidaire and got hold of the pitcher. “But you know you should be careful about strangers.”

  “I am,” I said. “I wouldn’t have gone anywhere with him. And I wouldn’t have brought him home, but I knew you’d be here.”

  She set the pitcher carefully on the counter. “I’m glad you’re thinking about that, hon. I’m not trying to scare you. I just want you to keep in mind how to be safe.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m just not sure if Vern …” Her voice trailed off.

  “If Vern what?” I asked.

  She poured the lemonade into Luther’s glass. “Well, I’m just glad he’s not coming tonight.” She said it so quietly, I almost didn’t hear.

  “Why not?”

  “Oh, it doesn’t matter,” she said. “We’ll talk about it later.”

  “No, let’s talk about it now,” I said. “What about Vern?” I could hear my voice getting louder. Just hearing that man’s name was setting my teeth on edge.

  “Well …” She frowned a little. “It’s just that he—he doesn’t like colored people very much.”

  “How come?”

  Mom took the pitcher back to the Frigidaire. “Well, some people are just that way. And there’s no point getting him upset.”

  I didn’t care if Vern was upset. “Why do you have to see him, anyway?” I asked her. “He’s nothing like Dad. Vern couldn’t be a war hero if you jammed the enemy’s guns and told him exactly what to do.”

  “Nobody’s like your dad,” Mom said. “And you remember that. It’s just that I … get lonely sometimes.” She looked at me close for a second or two. “Being your mom is easy, sweetheart, but I’m not very good at being a dad, too. It’d be nice to have some help with that.” I started to open my mouth, and she rushed on. “I don’t mean for anyone to take your dad’s place, honey. But it would be wonderful if you had someone to do father-son things with.”

  “I don’t want to do father-son things with Vern.”

  “Now Charlie, Vern’s a good man in a lot of ways. He can be very thoughtful. And he has a good, steady job.”

  “I still don’t like him.”

  Mom sighed. “Charlie, Vern cares about you, you know. So don’t say anything against him. Now, you go on out with Luther, and I’ll call you when supper’s ready.”

  I felt like arguing some more, but Luther was waiting for me. I took him the lemonade, and we sat under the tree.

  “You sure your mama don’t mind if I stay for supper?” Luther asked. He wrapped his big hands around the cold glass.

  “No, she wants you to stay,” I said.

  “She’s a nice lady.”

  “Yeah.” I blew out, puffing out my cheeks. “I just wish she’d get rid of Vern Jardine.”

  “Who’s that?” Luther took a drink of the lemonade.

  “He’s her friend. He travels around and sells brushes and vacuum cleaners. When he’s in town, he comes around at suppertime, and Mom invites him to eat.”

  “He nice to you?”

  I thought about that. “Well … he acts friendly, I guess. But you ever look into somebody’s eyes and know that behind their eyes, they’re different than they want you to think?”

  Luther kept his eyes steady on me. “Yes, I do.”

  “Well, that’s Vern,” I said.

  Luther and I didn’t talk a lot after that. We sat on the grass with the breeze brushing against our faces and worked on our lemonade. I couldn’t see Mrs. Banks at the window, but I figured she was still there. I felt like walking right up on her porch, knocking on the door, and saying, “What’s the matter? Ain’t you never seen a colored man before?” She probably didn’t like colored people either. Vern Jardine should take her out instead of Mom. They’d make a good pair.

  Petey Wilder, who lives about a block away, came galloping along the street wearing his cowboy hat. He’s five years old, and I’ve never once seen him without that hat. He must think it makes him look like Hopalong Cassidy or something. He took out his popgun, pointed it at a robin, and made the sound of a gun blasting away. The cork flew out of the gun and he nodded, looking pleased with himself. Then he looked over at us. He squinted hard at Luther and grabbed his cowboy hat like the wind just came up.

  “Hey!” he hollered. The cork from his gun was swinging back and forth in front of his knees.

  “Hey, Petey,” I said. I didn’t know what he was about to say, but I guessed it wasn’t going to be polite.

  He ran over to the edge of the yard and stared at Luther. “How come he’s brown?” he asked.

  I couldn’t think of what to say. Poor Luther must have felt like an animal in the zoo with everybody staring.

  I frowned and said in a loud voice, “Petey, why don’t you go on home?”

  “That’s okay,” Luther murmured. “He didn’t mean anything bad.”

  Petey walked into the yard and stopped. He was still staring at Luther, and he scratched his cheek. “How come he’s all brown, Charlie?” he asked again.

  “Some people just are,” I said.

  “Oh.” He stared a couple more seconds. Then he nodded and galloped off again up the street.

  I didn’t know what to say to Luther, so I said, “Sorry.”

  Luther closed his eyes and held the lemonade glass up to his face, feeling the cold. “It’s all right. I guess you don’t have many colored people living here.”

  “No,” I said. “We don’t have any.”

  I wondered about that. Why didn’t Holden have colored people? The town had a population of more than two thousand, but even with that many people, we didn’t have a lot of things. One drive-in movie but no indoor theater. One bookstore. One dime store. Two markets and one elementary school. The high school kids were bused into Mt. Vernon. If we wanted clothes other than Sears & Roebuck, we usually drove to Cedar Rapids.

  A sign on the highway coming into town says “Welcome to Holden: Population 2,100. The Town of Flowers.” Somebody wrote BLOOMING IDIOTS on it in big letters, which made people really mad. The mayor ordered the sign to be repainted and offered a ten-dollar reward for anybody who would tell who did the vandalism. Nobody’s spoke up yet. So anyway, I guess not everybody thinks highly of Holden.

  Mom called us in to supper after a while. Luther took off his baseball cap when he came inside. The kitchen smelled like tomatoes and spices.

  The kitchen table is small, and I hate being so close and bumping knees when Vern’s over. But with Luther sitting there, it felt kind of cozy. The oilcloth on the table was clean, and the daisies were standing in water in a canning jar on the middle of the table.

  We sat down, and Mom and I reached for food: spaghetti with tomato sauce and meatballs, bread, and green peas. We took some and passed the bowls to Luther.

  “I can take you down to the egg-buying station tomorrow,” I told Luther. “Mr. Landen’s nice.”

  Luther looked at Mom, and she didn’t say I couldn’t, so he said, “Thank you, Charlie. I’d appreciate that.”

  I liked the idea that Luther might settle down around here. Maybe he’d give me some more pointers about baseball, and maybe sometime he could show me how he built his lean-to.

  It was good having him here.

  But that good feeling d
idn’t last long. Because right then, Vern Jardine walked through the front door.

  Chapter Three

  Hello! Mary?” Vern called from the living room.

  Mom froze a second. Then she cleared her throat. “In the kitchen, Vern.”

  I whispered to Mom, “Why don’t he knock?” and she waved at me to be quiet.

  Footsteps clomped across the wood floor in the living room. “Thought I’d surprise you. I didn’t think I’d get here tonight, but I sold all the—”

  Vern stopped in the kitchen doorway and his smile faded. He was wearing the wrinkly tan suit he wore a lot, and his hair was messed up. He stared at Luther.

  Mom stood up and her hand went up to her collar. “Oh—Vern, this is a friend of Charlie’s,” she said. “Luther—what did you say your last name is?”

  “Peale, ma’am,” Luther said. He looked back and forth between Mom and Vern.

  Mom was nervous. Her hands fluttered around her neck and hair like a couple of butterflies. “Yes, that’s right, Luther Peale.”

  I realized that I was feeling jittery, too, and it made me mad. What was I nervous about? So what if Vern didn’t like colored people? This wasn’t his house.

  Mom’s smile at Vern was crooked. “And Luther taught Charlie some things about baseball today.”

  Vern stared at Luther, his jaw set hard. “Can I talk to you privately, Mary?” he asked.

  “Sure.” Mom hurried after him into the living room. The front screen door banged shut, but we could hear them talking fast and whispery clear out on the front stoop.

  Why did Vern have to show up now, just when we were all having a good time?

  I tried to drown out the sounds by talking, and the words were flying fast out of my mouth.

  “So I’ll take you to the egg-buying place tomorrow,” I told Luther. “It’s not very far from here. Maybe six blocks or eight blocks away, so we’ll just walk down there—”

  “I better be goin’, Charlie,” he said quietly. He stood up and picked up his cap that he’d put on the table next to him.