Pages of Promise, page 16
Stephen was offended. His lips grew tight, and he shrugged. “Well, if that’s the way you feel about it, that’s all there is to be said.” He changed the subject, asking, “What are you doing in L.A.?”
“Came to help another mangled victim, somebody else who got caught up in the machinery.”
Stephen stared at him as if he had discovered some sort of fault. He glanced at Mona and said nothing. It was a strained meal after that, and when it was over, Stephen paid the bill, put down a large tip, and said, “I’ve got a meeting. Can I drop you anywhere?”
“I’ve got my errand to run.” Tom stood and put his hand out. “I know you want to help, and I appreciate it. It was kind of you.”
Stephen was mollified by the words. “Well, anytime I can help, let me know. And you tell Richard that I’m pulling for him.”
Mona rose and hugged Stephen, saying, “I’ll call you later, maybe tomorrow.”
When they left the restaurant, Mona said, “I still haven’t made my decision whether to go on with the movie or not.” She hesitated then said, “Could I go with you on your errand?”
Henderson shook his head slightly, saying, “It won’t be much fun for you, Mona. But come along if you like.”
The taxi took them to a part of Los Angeles that Mona did not know. The businesses were dingy, run-down. There were many bars, hock shops, and dilapidated hotels. She said nothing, but when the cab driver pulled up in front of a tenement with several broken windows, she began to question whether she should have come. After Tom paid the driver, they walked up to the front door. Half a dozen youngsters were playing there, most of them under six, and they seemed to have no one watching them. Their enormous brown eyes watched the strangers, reminding Mona of wild animals alerted at danger. Tom knocked on the door, and a large woman with hard brown eyes and hair growing gray said, “What is it?”
“I’m looking for Carmen Rio.”
“She’s upstairs. Second door to the right.”
Mona followed Tom into the dark hallway. There was the smell of cabbage and grease and bodies not thoroughly washed and decay. The stairs gave under their weight, and when they came to the door, Tom knocked. A small man, wearing a dirty white undershirt, faded trousers, and no shoes, opened the door and peered at them, saying in a heavily accented voice, “What you want?”
“I’m looking for Carmen Rio.”
“What you want with her?”
“A friend of mine asked me to look in on her. He thought I might be able to help her. Is she here?”
The man hesitated then said, “Sí. You come in.”
The two entered and saw a room cluttered with cast-off furniture. An old couch with broken springs and a faded orange cover sat against one wall, with a battered coffee table in front of it. Along another wall, two double-decked bunk beds were fastened, and from two of the beds, which had flat pads for mattresses and ragged blankets, small children looked out, like owls from a tree. A doorway led into a kitchen. The man said, “My name is Manuel Gonzales. I will get Car-men for you.” He disappeared into the kitchen, and the sound of voices could be heard.
A young woman emerged, no more than twenty-five, Mona judged. A small girl was hanging to her skirt, and a boy of about six, wearing only a pair of shorts, followed her, his eyes carefully watching the visitors. “I’m Carmen Rio,” the woman said. She was not tall, but her figure was well formed, as revealed by the thin cotton dress she wore. The dress had been washed until it had little color left. Carmen’s hair, tied at the nape of her neck, was black and fell almost to her waist and had a lustrous glow to it. Her dark eyes studied the strangers. She was a very pretty woman, Mona saw, and if she had proper clothes and her hair and nails were cared for, she would be beautiful.
“My name’s Tom Henderson. We’ve got a mutual friend, Juan DeSilva.”
“You know Juan?”
“Yes, we’ve been friends a long time. He asked me to come and see you.”
“What for?” The instant response was blunt, and Tom looked around and saw that the man had appeared in the kitchen with a heavy woman beside him. There were two more young people there, and it was apparent that they all shared these two rooms.
Henderson said, “Is there any place we could go have a cup of coffee?”
“There’s a cafe half a block from here.”
“Sounds good. Can we go there?”
“I have to keep my children.”
“Why, bring them along. What are their names?”
“This is Consuela, and this is Enrique.”
“This is Mona Stuart, a friend of mine.”
For a moment the woman seemed about ready to refuse; then she shrugged wearily and said, “All right.”
Tom turned to the little girl and knelt down so he could look her directly in the eyes. “I bet you’re hungry. What would you like to eat, Consuela?”
Consuela stared at him, then buried her face in her mother’s skirt. Tom laughed and said, “Well, you’re shy, but you’ll like me later on. What about you, Enrique? Are you hungry?”
Enrique looked up at his mother and said nothing. Henderson got up and said, “Well, let’s go.” He walked along talking about DeSilva, their mutual friend. “He’s had a pretty hard time lately, but I think he’ll pull out of it.” He waited for Carmen to answer, but, sullenly, she said nothing.
The cafe was a dingy hole-in-the-wall, and Tom cheerfully said, “Looks like we’re the only customers. We ought to get good service.”
The proprietor greeted them with a smile and took them to a table, handing them several flyspecked menus. Mona noticed Carmen did not even look at hers. There was suspicion in Carmen’s eyes, as if she had been deceived many times, and she kept her eyes fixed on the pair in front of her.
Tom gained the confidence of the children before long. Soon he ordered for Carmen and her children, explaining that he and Mona had just come from lunch, and when the food came, it didn’t take any encouragement to get them to eat. Then Tom ordered pie all around, and Mona could not eat hers, but he said, “Well, I bet Enrique and I can take care of that.” He cut it in two and shoved it to the boy, who had loosened up considerably. “Sí, it’s good,” he said.
Carmen said, “What is it you want with me?”
“I live in Arkansas; that’s a state about in the middle of the country. I live on a farm we call the Vine,” Tom said, speaking quietly. He told her of the Vine and what it did and how people came there who had no place else to go. He made no pleas but said, “If you’d like to go there, Carmen, there’s a place for you. It won’t be fancy, but there’s good food and a place to sleep and work to do.”
Her eyes were unfathomable. “Why are you doing this?”
Henderson shrugged. “I was badly hurt at one time. I needed to get away. Then I found that there were others like me. So I bought a piece of land, and we all work, and I know it must sound strange, but it’s like a big family. Juan said you and your children are in trouble. He isn’t in a position to help you, so he thought I might be able to.”
Carmen was silent. Her dark eyes were fixed on Henderson’s face. When he said no more, she put her hands on her children and drew them closer to her. “You would not want me. We are not American.”
“If you want to come, you’ll be welcome,” Henderson said. “About being American—well, I guess you can become citizens if you want to.”
“I’m Cubano. I would not fit in. I do not read or write English.” Fear became obvious in her eyes. “And my children. I am afraid for them.”
“I can’t make you any guarantees, Carmen,” Tom said quietly, “but if you come, you’ll find people who will love you and accept you just as you are. Just exactly as you are. And the children will have enough to eat and a place to play and beds to sleep in, and Enrique can go to school.” He did not urge her, but she began to ask many questions. It was obvious that she had a terrible fear of not being able to provide for her children. She said, “My husband was killed in a holdup. If he had been captured, he would have been in prison.” She glanced down at her children and said, “He was a good man once, but he fell into the wrong company.”
“Do you have any relatives here?”
“No. My parents are in Cuba. They’re old. Manuel lets us stay with him, but it is very bad.”
“I think you should come to the Vine, and if you don’t like it, I’ll bring you back.”
Carmen suddenly turned to Mona. She had not spoken to this expensively dressed woman, but her eyes narrowed, and she asked, “Do you live there, too? At this place?”
“No. I live here in Los Angeles. I’ve visited there, though, and I think you’d like it. It’s a nice place, with very kind people.”
Carmen took a deep breath. “There’s nothing here for me or my children. I have nothing to lose, but I do not believe I will be accepted outside the barrio.”
Tom nodded, saying, “You’ll just have to come with me and find out. When can you leave?”
A bitter smile touched the wide, full lips of the young woman. “Right now,” she said bitterly. “It will only take a few minutes to gather our clothes.”
“We’ll have to stop at my hotel long enough for me to pick up my things, then we’ll go to the bus station and take the next bus to your new home.”
Tom and Mona stood on the sidewalk in front of the tenement while Carmen got her and the children’s things together.
Something troubled Mona, and she came out with it. “She’s very pretty, isn’t she?”
“Yes, she is.”
“Tom—be careful.”
He turned to her with surprise. “Be careful of Carmen? Why, don’t be foolish, Mona. I just want to help her and her children.”
“She’s a pretty woman, and you’re a man. No man’s a match for a woman in things like this.”
Henderson turned his full attention on her. “I don’t understand why you’d say a thing like that.”
“She’ll be there all the time,” Mona tried to explain, “and you’ll be there, and I know you get lonely at times.”
Surprise came to him then. “I didn’t know you saw that.”
“You do, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do. Very lonely, but there’re always friends, and it’s better than what I’ve had before.”
“It would be like you to marry her out of pity, but she wouldn’t suit you.”
“Why are you saying these things, Mona?”
“I don’t want you to be hurt again, Tom. I don’t know what hurt you so badly in the past, but I can see one thing. You’re educated, and you love books and art and music. You keep it covered up with that rustic outfit of yours and the act you put on, but I know you better. Carmen could be a good wife for someone but not for you.”
“Well, in that case, I’ll keep my guard up.”
He tried to laugh it off but saw that she was not smiling. “I will be careful. Loneliness makes people do odd things.” He took her hand and held it, and surprise came to her eyes. “I get lonely for you.” He lifted her hand to his lips, kissed it, and then looked at her and saw her shock. “It’s nice that you’re worried about me—but I’m worried about you. What about this picture?”
“I’m not going to do it.”
He squeezed her hand and said, “I’m glad. I think that’s a wise decision.”
He summoned a cab for her. When she got in, he said, “Will you come back and visit?”
“If I can, Tom.” She flushed slightly and said, “I didn’t mean to interfere in your affairs. It’s just that I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you.”
Henderson leaned in, kissed her on the cheek, and said, “That’s nice, and I feel the same about you. Come to the Vine.”
12
FALL OF A MAN
Richard felt uncomfortable around Laurel. He had a sense of obligation toward her—he knew that for the past year there had been something growing between them. And he couldn’t find it in his heart to blame Johnny for the circumstances of his birth. But Richard had begun to think about the future. He was serious about becoming a preacher, and he didn’t know what to do next. And what should he do about Laurel? A minister couldn’t marry an unwed mother with an illegitimate son.
He put these concerns in a letter to Owen, and he’d gotten a response within a few days.
Dear Nephew,
The questions you raise are important, and I wish I could come and talk to you face-to-face, but my schedule just won’t allow that.
I’ll call you next Sunday afternoon at the home place at 3 o’clock. (I figure things will be quieter there than the place where you’re staying.) In the meantime, read John 8:3–11. And pray for God’s light.
Love,
Owen
Richard looked up the verses Owen suggested. They were about a woman brought to Jesus who had been caught in adultery. Was Owen suggesting that Richard disregard Laurel’s past? He had a couple of days to think about it before Sunday. And he took Owen’s advice about praying, too.
The phone rang at exactly three o’clock. Logan and Anne had gone for a little stroll so Richard could have privacy.
“Hello.”
“Howdy, Richard,” said Owen’s voice. “Glad you got my note. I’m sorry I couldn’t come to see you just now, but I didn’t want to wait a long time to talk about these things.”
“Hello, Uncle Owen. I’m glad you called. I sure need your advice.”
“Well, what did you think about what you read in John 3?”
“It sounds like you’re saying I should forget about Laurel’s past. Is that what you mean?”
“There’s more to it. You dated some in high school, didn’t you, Richard?”
“Yeah, some.”
“Anyone serious?”
“Well, I went out with Annie Regan for about a year. It seemed pretty serious at the time. But I was only sixteen. It didn’t mean anything. What are you driving at?”
“Now, I’m gonna get real personal with you, Richard. Be honest with yourself even if you don’t want to tell me. Did you and this Annie Regan kiss much? Did you spend much time alone with her?”
Richard flushed even though no one was there to see. “Well—yeah, I guess.”
“Did you ever feel like maybe the two of you got a little too intimate—like you went a little too far?”
Richard was silent.
“If that happened to you, maybe you can put yourself in Laurel’s situation. Maybe things just went a little too far.”
“But it’s up to a girl to make a guy stop, isn’t it? Annie sure stopped me. Laurel should have made her boyfriend stop.”
“Did your daddy teach you that?”
Richard was silent again. Then he said, “No. He said a man has to control himself.”
“See, Richard, girls are taught that it’s up to them to say no because boys are just born more aggressive. But the truth is, it’s up to both a girl and a boy to say no.”
“So, it’s as much her boyfriend’s fault as it is Laurel’s.”
“Yes. And to my way of thinkin’, in Laurel’s case maybe even more his fault. Maybe that boyfriend was taking advantage of her loneliness. She thought she was his first girlfriend—maybe she was and maybe she wasn’t. Or maybe he was lonely, too. Or maybe he didn’t have a daddy who told him it was up to him to control himself.”
“So it’s not so simple, huh?”
“Maybe. Now think about John 8 again. Do you have your Bible there?”
“Yes.”
“See where it says, in verse 7, ‘He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her’? What do you think that means?”
“I think it means that even though I didn’t sin in that way—but maybe not for lack of trying—I have sinned other ways, so I have no place pointing my finger at Laurel.”
“I think you’ve got it, boy.”
“But Uncle Owen, does that mean I should marry her?”
“You have to decide if you really want to marry her. You haven’t been in too much of a hurry, it seems to me. Do you love her?”
“Well, yes, but what about being a preacher? If I marry Laurel I can’t be in the ministry, can I?”
“Richard, there’s all kinds of people and all kinds of preachin’. Seems like maybe you need to think about if there’s people that wouldn’t care if Laurel had a baby out of wedlock.”
“Who wouldn’t care?”
“You’re a smart boy. You think about it. And what about Bible school. You think about that?”
“You didn’t go to school.”
“No, but times are changin’. When I started preachin’ most people didn’t have any more education than I did. There’s a school in Chicago you might think about. I’ll send you some stuff I’ve got that tells about it. And it’d be nice if you was there near your grandma and grandpa.”
“You’ve given me a lot to think about, Uncle Owen.”
“Good! It’s good for a young man to think. Keep in touch. Tell me where your thinkin’ leads you. And keep on prayin’ like I told you. Good-bye, Richard. Tell Logan and Anne I’ll talk to ’em soon.”
“Good-bye, Uncle Owen.”
Richard sat quietly after he hung up the telephone.
He had supper with Logan and Anne, and when he returned to the Vine that evening, he was a bit warmer to Laurel than he had been since she’d told him about her past. She looked at him in cold surprise and turned and walked away. Looks like I’ve got some making up to do, he thought. But I’ve got to sort this all out first.
Vaguely aware that the phone was ringing, Mona climbed out of the black pit of sleep into the twilight zone of semi-consciousness. “All right. All right,” she muttered. She groped for the phone, picked it up, and fell back on the pillow. “Hello?” she said, her voice slurry with fatigue. It was her father’s voice.
“Mona?”
“Yes, Dad. Is something wrong?”
