Chapitre 1957: ON THE ROAD WITH JEREMIAH
Jeremiah jumped out of the box car as it slowed coming into the rail yard. It was dusty. Jeremiah hated dust, but then, this is why this part of the country had been labeled "The Dust Bowl". "Somewhere in Oklahoma," Jeremiah mused. "Someday, maybe I'll get a map and figure out where the hell I am."
He had been on the road for six days and intended to be gone for two months. Jeremiah, his notebook and his camera. He was lean. At about six feet, he was muscular, not skinny. He had angular features which were not unpleasant. Blue eyes set evenly on each side of a rather long nose. His mouth, however was soft, sensual. He had brown hair which he kept closely cropped.
It was 1934. Things were not going well in the U.S. of A. Mr. Franklin /Delano Roosevelt had taken office the year before, telling everyone that we "have nothing to fear but fear itself", yet bread lines still formed and in the Midwest and south, the dust blew and the people were picking up and heading to California.
Jeremiah had left New York telling his editor at Life Magazine that he wanted to document what the depression was doing to the ordinary folk. Not just in the big cities, but in the small towns and specifically out here in the farm belt. So, he had taken a train west to Pittsburgh. There he had found a camp of hobos, people on the road, either out of choice or necessity.
The next day he had joined some young men who were headed west, going to find work in California. They made their way to the rail yard, waited until a westbound train
had slowed and then jumped aboard an open box car. Jeremiah had made the jump easily. He was well fed, very fit and until that night, had slept in his own bed every night, unlike his traveling companions.
They headed west, changing trains a couple of times, ducking the railroad cops who would beat your head in if they caught you. He had stayed in other Hobo Camps, slept one night in what could best be described as a flop house in Missouri. And now, here he was, dusty and stiff, watching the train from which he had jumped moving out, gaining speed.
Now, here in this dusty place, he hoped to find yet more stories and a few more pictures for a spread in Life Magazine. He swung his pack up on his shoulder and picked his way across the rails out of the yard. He found himself on a road that was a black ribbon stretching north from the rail yards. "Good as any," he muttered to himself and strode on to the asphalt.
It was hot. Dry, but hot. He took a swig from the army canteen that he carried and squinted at the sun and pulled his wide brimmed hat lower over his eyes . He kept walking. About a mile up the road he saw, off the road about three hundred yards, a farmhouse. The field between it and the road looked parched and the corn was stunted. He started across the field towards the house, figuring to get out of the sun as much as anything else.
As he approached the house he saw two children playing around an old truck tire, tied to a tree with rope. They were giggling and swinging back and forth. A boy and a
girl, about six and eight he figured. As he approached they stopped and stared. Jeremiah put on his most charming grin and waved.
"Hi ya!" He called. "Havin'fun?"
The two looked at each other and giggled then ran for the steps to the porch. As they reached the porch the screen door swung open. The woman who stood there had to be about forty, Jeremiah figured. She was a thin blonde going a bit to gray he thought. She wore a shapeless dress and an apron. She lifted a hand to her hair, pulling it away from her forehead. Jesse put on his grin again and moved to the bottom of the steps.
"Hello," he said gently. By moving closer he could see that she was not forty. More like in her thirties. But the times and the troubles had taken their toll. There were lines in her smooth skin and the blonde hair had probably been luminous at one time but now was trending towards dull.
"My name's Jeremiah Watson. Wondered if I could set a bit and talk to you and the kids" he said as he gestured to the two tykes now wrapped around their mother's waist.
"You sellin' somethin' Mister? Cause if you are, we got no money." He was startled by the voice. It was husky, pitched low and he felt it deep in his gut.
"No ma'm," said Jeremiah, taking off his hat. " I'm a photographer and writer from New York. Come west to tell the story of what's happening out here"
She looked at him, her mouth a slim line. Slim yes, noted Jeremiah, but her lips were anything but thin. They were a bit pouty and very sensuous. "What's happening out
here?" She said it with a note of disgust and frustration. "Dust and depression! That's what's happenin' out here!"
He saw that her eyes were blue. While they had circles under them, they were indeed a startling blue. "Yes ma'm," he said. "That's exactly what I want to tell all those folks back east. They got it hard, but I do believe for all of you, it's a bit harder."
"A bit?" The blue eyes blazed for a moment and then went soft. "I don't know Mr. Jeremiah Watson. I never been back east. But this is as tough as it gets, I do believe. Well, " she said, gesturing, "come on up and set a spell. We don't get company often, so you're welcome."
Jeremiah climbed the steps which squeaked under his weight. The two children peeked out from under their mother's dress. As they pulled back on it he got a glimpse of strong, long legs. Jeremiah smiled at the woman. She smiled back. When she did, little dimples appeared on her cheeks. He blue eyes took on a deep shine and the lips were indeed sensuous. He got the idea that she did not smile very often.
"Get you some water? She asked in that husky voice. "'Bout all we got, sorry to say."
"No ma'm, said Jeremiah, staring directly into those blue eyes, unable to tear his gaze away. "Got my canteen here and that'll do just fine, thank you."
She motioned to an old rocking chair. "Sit down, you must have been walking for quite a spell in this heat."
"Just from the rail yard. But it is indeed a hot day."
She leaned against the rail of the porch across from him. She crossed her arms over her chest and Jeremiah saw the outline of her small breasts under the dress. While it looked like she wore a slip, she did not appear to have a bra on and her nipples were clearly outlined above her crossed arms. "Come from New York, did you?"
"Yes ma'm. Been riding rails since Pittsburgh. Not a pleasant way to travel."
"I bet it wasn't," she said and cocked her head to the left. "Why did you stop here?"
"The truth is it's the first sign of life I've seen since I started down this road. Hope I'm not disturbing anything."
"No, Mr. Jeremiah Watson. Not a thing. My husband left for California three months ago and said he'd send for us. But I heard nothing since. Neighbors have mostly packed up and gone that way too."
"May I know your name -- and that of the children as well?" He took his notebook from his back pack.
She gestured at the little blonde boy. "That 'un is David and the girl is Elizabeth."
"Let's see," Jeremiah was making notes. "David about eight? Elizabeth about six?"
"You got that, Mister Jeremiah Watson. Got some of your own?"
"No ma'm", he said and smiled at her. "Not married and no kids."
"Well then," she said and sat on an old porch swing next to the rocking chair. "What you want to know about us?"
"Well, let me start with your name."
He could have sworn she blushed. "Louise," she said. My daddy had a thing for French history and loved that name. He's been gone for quite a while... Name's Louise Thornton now. Come from over Sweetwater. Lousy name for a town that's become so dusty. Married a farm boy and here I am."
Jeremiah asked about life on the farm before the drought and the dust storms. He asked if he could take some pictures and shot the kids on the tire swing and then asked her to pose by the screen door and took about five shots of her, from across the porch and then close to get just her top half and her face which he found absolutely fascinating.
She seemed to really enjoy the attention he gave her, asking her to turn one way and then another, kidding with her to get her to smile and then quickly shooting the picture. Finally, he stopped, let the camera dangle around his neck and smiled at her as she stood in the doorway. They looked in each other's eyes for close to a full minute before Jeremiah broke it off.
"Well," he said, picking up his hat which he had left in the rocking chair. "I guess I better get on down the road before it gets dark. I'll head on back to town."
She kept staring at him. "It's a long walk. Why not stay for dinner, such as it is. Then I'll take you to town. Got an old Model A, but it still runs."
"I don't want to trouble you," he said, but never took his eyes from hers.
"No trouble. Just some stew, but we got some meat for it."
"Ma'm, Louise, I have not had a hot meal in two days. That sounds just fine. But, I'd like to wash up first. I've got half Oklahoma on my shirt and in my hair."
"Pump's out back," she gestured. "Davie! Lizzie! Go show Mr. Jeremiah Watson where the pump and bucket are. Hurry on now!"
He followed the two skipping blonde children around to the back of the house. The field stretched behind the house for a half mile. Corn, more stunted corn. A small pen with some hogs and a few chickens pecking away at the dust. There was a shed back there as well, not a barn but a shed. He could see the Model A through the open door.
The pump and bucket stood just behind the house. There were some short steps leading up to the back door. Jeremiah put his hat on the steps and grinned at the kids.
"Thanks for the short trip, I'll take it from here. You go on inside and help your mama."
They giggled and ran up the steps, turning once to look at him and giggle again, then they were inside. Jeremiah stared after them. "What kind of life?" he muttered to himself. Then he stripped off his shirt and leaned on the pump handle, pulling it up and down until a trickle of water started into the bucket. He was careful to just fill it half way, mindful of the drought.
He stuck both arms in the bucket and brought water to his face and hair. He reached in again and again. The water was cold. Colder than he thought it would be in the summer. When he finally came up for air, there she was standing on the lower step looking at him.
He shook his head and smiled. "Didn't think the water would be that cold!"
She continued to look at him. "Need a towel?" She asked.
"Well, I guess in a minute I could. Thanks!" With that he plunged his arms back in the water and washed under his arms and across his neck.
She watched the muscles on his back ripple as he washed. When he stood, his strong chest with a small mat of hair dripped with water. As he cleared the water from his eyes for the second time, she was beside him with a towel.
"You look like you've done some farm work yourself," she said in that husky voice.
"No, just always been physically active. Did some day labor when I could get it to help with expenses." He went to take the towel from her, but she held on to it. He did not want to tug at it so they stood, he with his hands on one end, she with hers on the other.
He finally broke the silence. "Am I going to have to wrestle you for the towel?" He grinned widely as he said it.
"No," she said. "I'm sorry, got lost for a minute there." But, she did not let go of the towel. Instead she moved closer to him. He dropped his end, beginning to wonder what was going on. She took the towel and began to dry his chest and neck. He bent his head and she rubbed his hair roughly. She was almost up against him now and he could smell her clean, soap smell. As he looked up from a half bent position, he saw the underside of her jaw and how her neck was longer than he thought. It was soft and the pulse in it was beating strongly. She stopped toweling him and he straightened, but she hadn't moved.
Suddenly, he was face to face with her, a good head taller and only about six inches apart. He looked down into her blue eyes. She was breathing deeply and a bit fast for the little exercise that drying him required.
They stood like that for half a minute. Then she shook her head, making her blonde hair fall across her face. "I..I'd better go get the stew warmed or the young 'uns will be out here jumpin' and screamin."
"O.K." He said, surprised that his mouth was dry and he felt his hands shaking. She turned and went up the steps, looking back once and smiling. He had the towel draped over his shoulders. "She must have put it there," he thought, but did not remember that at all. He took it and finished drying, realizing suddenly that he had grown hard and it showed through his jeans.
At dinner, the kids said little, staring at him from time to time and giggling. He smiled back and made small talk with Louise, trying to draw them into the conversation from time to time and having as much luck as you could with a six and an eight year old who had a stranger at their table.
As they finished eating, Jeremiah took a piece of bread that had obviously been baked that afternoon by Louise and mopped up the last of what was really a thin gravy. "Wow!" He said. "That was a scrumptious stew!"
She looked at him with that look he was becoming used to, her head down, looking at him as her blonde hair fell over her face and then lifting her head to look him right in the eyes. "You're kind Jeremiah Watson, but I know what it's like as to what it should be like." She turned to the children. "Now, you two off to bed! C'mon now!"
As kids do, they argued and pouted, until Jeremiah took Lizzie up in his arms and asked Louise where she went. Louise pointed to one of the two open doors off the kitchen and Jeremiah swept her into the children's bedroom making noises like an airplane. Lizzie giggled and held his neck very tight. He plunked her on the bed, but Louise came in and told her to get outside and brush her teeth and get into her nightgown.
David sat at the kitchen table waiting. Jeremiah repeated what he had done with Lizzie. David laughed and Jeremiah deposited him outside and waited until the two of them had brushed their teeth by the pump and ran back in the house.
When they were settled in their tiny iron beds, Louise kissed them both. Jeremiah stayed at the door until they finished a simple prayer. Louise blew out the kerosene lamp that was between their beds and came to the door. He stepped back a step but she brushed by him, her hip touching his leg. He felt as if a bolt of electricity had gone through him.
They went silently into the kitchen. He helped clear the table and dried the few dishes. They looked at each other. "Care to sit on the porch?" She asked.
"I do indeed," said Jeremiah. " And would you care for a glass of wine?"
"Wine?" She said, looking at him in that slow way again.
"Yes m'am. Carried it all the way from Pittsburgh in my pack, hoping for an occasion to drink it and here it is!"
The two of them sat on the porch, he in the rocker, she on the porch swing. They listened to the crickets and a night bird or two. They drank the red wine from two tin cups that had held the kid's milk during dinner. She got up from the swing and went into the house. A few moments later he heard a radio playing music.
She came out and sat on the swing again. "One of the few things we could buy after the crop failed," she said with no bitterness. "I like to listen to the music, some of it coming from so far away."
The radio began to play a slow dance tune as the announcer said "The music of Russ Morgan coming to you from the Ambassador hotel in Chicago."
"Wow!" she said dreamily in that husky voice. "All the way from Chicago. Imagine that!"
"Ever been?" he asked, sipping the wine.
"Chicago?" She laughed, that deep throaty laugh. "Heavens no! Been to Dallas once for a farm show and to Tulsa for the State Fair, but that's it."
He listened to the music through a slight static. Then without thinking, he stood, reached over for her hand and said "Care to dance?"
She held back for just a moment, then rose and stood very close to him. "Dance? I haven't danced in years!"
"Well," he said reaching an arm around her slim waist, "what we got to lose?"
She looked up through her hair, threw it back and smiled. Her hands came up to his shoulders, one then slipping behind his back. They danced slowly, scraping on the wooden porch. He held her close, feeling that thin body against his. She reached her arm further around his back. He nuzzled his face in her hair.
The music stopped and they didn't move. A commercial for Camel Cigarettes came on. She leaned back to look up at him. As she did, his crotch felt her lower body move into his. "I guess that's the music for now," she said, not moving.
Ah, yes," said Jeremiah, returning to the here and now. He moved a step back from her, and dropped his arms. M'am -- Louise, I guess I better be on my way. I'll just hike, because I don't want you leaving the children alone."
She hadn't moved. Just looking up at him. "They would be all right, I guess. Got nobody around and no critters either. But," she hesitated, "It is late. Why not stay here and you can get going in the morning."
"I don't want to be any trouble."
"No trouble at all. The shed's got a room where the hired man slept when we had one. Nice bed. Nuthin' fancy, but I' bet it'll be better than those box cars."
He laughed. "Yes Louise, right you are. And I thank you. He tipped his cup at her and she clanked hers back as they drained the last of the wine. They stood silently for another moment. He felt the heat between them. "Now!" He said to himself. "Break this off now!" Aloud, "Uh, if you'll show me, my pack's at the back door."
She took his hand in hers. Small hand, rough palm. He held it tightly as they walked in the dark around the house. He picked up his pack and she led him to the shed. She pulled a kerosene lamp from a shelf next to the car, took a box of matches sitting there and lit it. The soft light permeated the shed. She gestured to a door on the far side of the shed.
"That's it. Bed's all made."
"Really?" he said. "How come?" He smiled in the soft light. "Did you know I was coming?"
"No, Mr. Jeremiah Watson, I did not. But I keep that room for any poor soul wandering down this road. But," she gave him that look again. "I'm glad it was you."
"And I am, too, Mrs. Thornton," returning to the formal. "I guess I better turn in now." With that he smiled one more time and walked across the shed. He opened the door, turned to wave at her and carried the kerosene lamp inside. The room was small, but the bed was roomy and there was a window on the side for air.
He slid out of his shirt and jeans, hung them on the bed post, put his boxer shorts and shoes on the floor and slid between rough cotton sheets. He was tired, and the wine gave him a buzz. He blew out the lamp and lay in the dark. He tried to think of the story he would post tomorrow, but Louise's face and thin body kept interrupting his thoughts.
As he lay, he reached down and put his hand around his penis. He shook his head at the fantasy coming into his mind. Her rather rough palm doing what his own hand was doing now. He heard a rustle in the shed and thought, "Oh my god! If that's a barn rat, I'll fucking die!"
The rustle got closer and then the door to his room opened slightly. The little bit of moonlight that came through the window showed him the willowy form standing there. She hesitated a moment and then slipped the dress over her head. He could see in the moonlight that she indeed was wearing only a short slip under the dress. She moved quickly to the bed and sat on the edge, her back to him.Should I pretend to be asleep?" He thought. "Oh hell -- how long can I fight this? Obviously, she isn't going to any more." He rolled over as quietly as he could and sat
behind her. She still sat, motionless. He reached one hand up and caressed the back of her neck. She shivered, visibly.
He knelt behind her and caressed her neck with both hands. She arched her back just a bit and leaned her head back. He kissed the top of her head and let his hands slide down to the front of her neck. He stroked for a moment and then reached down the front of her Muslim slip. He felt the small breasts, standing straight up and covered with goose bumps. He began to stroke her erect nipples. He felt her breathing coming faster and faster.
He moved is head down and kissed the back of her neck, still holding both breasts. A small growl escaped her lips, in that same husky voice. She half turned and took his head in her hands. She kissed him fully and passionately on the lips, grinding her lips into his with almost desperation. Her tongue sought the inside of his mouth as his rose to meet hers and then find her mouth.
He let go of her breasts and grabbed her by the waist, turning her to him. She moved around and climbed on the bed. They were facing each other on their knees. She took his hair in both her hands and pulled. Not roughly, but enough to bring his head down to hers. They kissed again.
She pushed him roughly back on the bed. He was surprised by her strength. She took one of his legs and turned him so that he was flat on the bed, lengthwise. He lay there for a moment, watching her move on to the bed and then astride him, one leg on either side of his body. She reached up and took the slip over her head and threw it to the floor. She smiled down at him as the moon gave them just enough light to see each other.
He had grown hard as he had held her breasts and now was throbbing and totally engorged. She adjusted herself just a bit and then leaned down and took both his hands. He raised his arms to meet her hands. She rocked back and he found the space between her legs. He took a breath between his teeth.
She sat straight upright and reached back, taking his largeness in her hand. Fleetingly he thought about his fantasy. Here it was and it was more and sweeter than he could have dreamed up. She raised her knees and held him until he could feel the dampness against the head of his erection. She moved slightly and he felt how wet she was. Then carefully, she held him, her hand reaching back between her legs until she felt him begin to slide inside her. Then she brought both hands to his arms and slowly settled until he was completely absorbed by her wet warmth. He saw her looking down at him, her hair over her face, her tongue between her teeth. She began to move, up and down slowly, that guttural sound coming from her each time she lowered herself.
He began to thrust up to meet her. Together they made the sounds of love. The moon poured in the room and a thin veneer of sweat appeared on her slim body. He felt his orgasm coming and knew it was useless to try to hold it back. He dropped her hands and grabbed her hips at her waist. He thrust up and pulled her down on his chest. He swelled inside her and she felt it. He came with a deep groan and she met him with a slight scream and a louder growl. They shuddered together for a full minute before subsiding.
She lay on his chest. He could feel her heart beating against his ribs. His arms were around her. She was so thin! She nuzzled in his neck until her breathing had returned to almost normal. She lifted herself up and looked at him through her hair, now damp with her love sweat.
"So, Mr. Jeremiah Watson, how'd you like desert?"
He lifted her up and put her on the bed and looked down at her. He tried to suppress a smile, but couldn't. And then he broke into the heartiest laugh of his life. He laughed a booming, wonderful laugh, laughing till his eyes teared and his stomach hurt. Louise lay, her head propped on one elbow, watching him with a little smile playing about her lips.
"That funny?" She said.
"Sorry," he said, controlling himself and wiping his eyes with a corner of the sheet. "But to have you say that after..well after....it just hit me."
She reached down and took his cock in her hand. It lay there, flacid and damp with her juices. She began to stroke it gently. "Do you think I'm a bad girl?" There was the look again, up from under her hair.
"Oh God no, Louise!" He stroked her face as she continued to stroke his cock. It was beginning to respond. "Look, we both felt this almost from the first minute I saw you. I did not intend anything. But you came to me and.."
"That's why I'm asking. I did come to you because I wanted you and because I have not been loved in months and because you are something really special, Mr. Jeremiah Watson!" With this, she gave a hard squeeze to his now erect member and bent
from her waist. She pushed at his hip and rolled him again on his back. Her lips found the tip of his cock. She licked it as if it were a lollypop. Then slowly, those sensuous lips closed over the head and began to suck gently. He felt his legs stiffen, his breath grow more labored. He had no idea that he could get hard again so fast. He was still sensitive from their intercourse and he felt this gentle sucking would drive him out of his mind.
Without stopping she climbed between his legs and began to stroke his testicles. She stopped sucking, lowered her lips to them and licked both. He reached down and stroked her hair. She took his cock in her hand and moved it back to her mouth. She sucked gently and slowly, then faster and faster. He felt it coming and grabbed her hair in his hands. He thrust up and came with a shudder. She kept sucking gently until he had gone completely soft.
He lay, drained and satisfied. She slid up between his legs and lay again on his chest. "Was that good?" she said softly, the husky voice as sexy as ever.
"My God girl!" He sighed. "You are an incredibly talented lover! I never dreamed.."
She put a hand over his lips to quiet him. "Just because we come from the country does not mean we don't know how to satisfy a man," she said. "Before we were married, Thomas and I would try all sorts of things in the back of the car. So, I know. Somehow, though, after we moved here and times got rough, it changed. He would come to bed and once a week maybe he'd come up behind me, slip his dick between my legs and just barely get in my pussy. He'd cum and then go to sleep. Don't know how I got pregnant with Lizzie, really."
He rolled her off his chest once again. He got up on elbow and looked down at her. He stroked her body from her neck, across her small breasts to her stomach and down her long legs. "God, Louise, I have never been loved like this. And you are entitled to more, much more." With that he slid a hand between her legs and reached for her opening which was still damp. He began to move his finger slowly inside and then out again. She arched her back a little and spread her legs. He leaned over her and kissed her nipples while stroking the inside of her vaginal lips. He found the spot at the top where her clitoris was actually pulsing. He held it between his thumb and forefinger and gently rolled it between them. She began to pant and arched her back. "Oh God," she screamed and came in a shudder. He did not stop and she began to ride a crest of orgasms.
He stopped while she was still shuddering and moved down to kiss her flat stomach, to put his tongue in her navel and to then come down to her legs and lick the inside of her thighs. Then he took both hands and spread her vaginal lips and moved his head to the lips and began to lick the inside and then right to the Clitoris and rolled his tongue over it. She actually began to buck up and down on the bed and he had a hard time keeping his tongue in place.
"Oh god! Oh, God!" she cried and grabbed his hair with both her hands, thrusting up and thrusting his face deeper into her. He felt her convulse and actually felt her cum gushing onto his face. She shuddered twice more, clamping her legs around his whole head and then collapsed, legs spread, breathing with shudders making her chest heave.
They lay like that for what seemed a very long time. Then slowly, she lifted his head and stared into his face. "Jeremiah Watson, I don't know if I will ever see you again, but you have made me feel more like a woman than I ever have in my whole life. I thank you for that."
He come up to his knees, straddling her has she had done at the start. He reached down and tousled her hair. "Oh m'am, you will indeed see me again and soon, that I promise."
She slid her legs out from under him, reached for her slip, pulled it over her head, grabbed her dress and then from three feet away she looked at him. "You're probably lyin' Jeremiah Watson, but I don't care." With that she was out the door and gone.
*****
He lay for a long time staring out the little window. Eventually, sleep overcame him. He awoke to farm sounds. The hogs were being fed. He heard Lizzie's voice calling "Chick, chick" and heard their clucking in response.
He got up, stretched, reached in his pack for a clean shirt. He got dressed and emerged into bright morning. Louise was no where in sight. He went to the pump and filled the bucket half way and washed himself. He heard the screen door open and when he looked up, she was there with the towel.
"Well" he said, half smiling and a bit embarrassed, "Seems I'm last one up."
She came down the steps, wearing the same dress as yesterday. She seemed to be glowing. "Take this towel Mr. Jeremiah Watson, dry yourself and come into breakfast.
Then I'll take you to town before we waste a day." She smiled and winked when she said that and he grinned back.
He had coffee and a piece of toast and they made small talk with no hint that they had been lovers the night before. They piled the kids in the back of the Model A and jolted their way to the road. She drove expertly and in fifteen minutes they were in the small town of Lester, just few steps from the rail yard. He looked up and down the main street. Not much stirring here.
"Is there a telegraph office and a post office here?" He asked.
"Oh yes," she said. "We are not that backward. The telegraph office is in the train station and the post office is part of the general store, right over there."
He looked in the back of the car, where the two children sat primly. "Kids," he said, let's go shopping!"
"What do you mean?" She asked. But, he put his finger to his lips and got out, pulling the children out of the back after him. She had parked across from the general store and she had to rush to catch up with them as they entered.
The middle aged man behind the counter looked at the four of them and frowned. "Mornin' Miz Thornton," he said. "Mornin' children."
"Good morning, Mr. Jeffers," both children replied.
Before Louise could say anything, Jeremiah thrust out his hand. "Good morning Mr. Jeffers. My name is Jeremiah Watson. I'm a reporter from Life Magazine. He pulled his card from his shirt pocket and gave it to a startled Mr. Jeffers. This lady was kind
enough to pick me up so I could get to the train station. But, I'd like to interview you, if I could."
Jeffers was confused, flattered and nervous. "Well, sure! I guess! What you want to ask me?"
Jeremiah spent the next fifteen minutes, dutifully asking good reporter questions about the business and the depression and how he collected money in times like these. Louise came up to the counter with a small bag of goods. Jeremiah looked at her and said "Mrs. Thornton, you had me make out a whole list of stuff in the car, don't you remember? To buy with that money that came in the mail."
She looked up at him, bewildered. "What money? Where?" But he was off among the shelves, taking both children with him. In fifteen minutes they had the counter full of cereal and meat and potatoes and corn and a number of other goodies. He helped her put the last bag of onions on the counter and as he did, he slipped his hand in the pocket of her dress. She felt his hand touch her hip and the electricity was still there.
He pulled his hand out and she reached in the pocket. There was a roll of bills there.
She looked at him and frowned. He smiled, took his hat off and shook her hand. "Thank you for your kindness, m'am. I'll be on my way to the telegraph office to get this fascinating story about Mr. Jeffers to New York." He reached in his pocket and pulled out two rolls of film. He put them in an envelope from his back pack and gave them to Mr. Jeffers. "Will you see that these are on their way today?" Jeffers nodded and waved as Jeremiah left the store, never looking back.
Three week later, as he rode a bus into Los Angeles at the end of his cross country journey, he looked at the news stand in the bus station. There was the new issue of Life. On the cover was a thin, rather pretty woman in a shapeless dress, leaning against her open door with a stunted corn field behind her. He smiled. "Well, Jeremiah Watson," he thought. "Maybe we won't take the fast way back east."
END
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone