Peaches and John
Deere
By: Revia
Perrigin
The mixed pellets of sleet and snow
beat upon the windshield. The wipers
operated as fast as possible. This was
not just any trip. The occupants were
homeless. Thirty-one year old Victor,
his wife, Michelle and their two children were going to an unknown
destination hoping to find work. Cameron,
their six-year-old daughter, was asleep on the back seat. Three-month-old Buster was on the floorboard
snuggled in blankets. Their few
belongings were packed in the trunk of Victor’s pride and joy, a 1970 Oldsmobile
442.
The car slowed and jerked making a
sputtering sound. Victor mashed the
accelerator harder. The car jerking
shook Michelle awake. “What happened?”
she asked sleepily.
“Damn”, Victor said, “The car quit.”
“What are we supposed to do?” asked
Michelle with fear in her voice.
“There’s nothing we can do tonight. Come morning, I’ll check under the hood”,
Victor said trying to keep his voice normal so as not to show his worry.
“Where are we?” asked Michelle.
Victor took a deep breath before
answering, “There was a sign back there, Piggot, Arkansas, thirty miles wherever
the hell that is.” Victor thought,
flickering his lighter to light a filter less Camel, the last in the pack, what
were they going to do? The logo on the
lighter read Anheuser Busch know when to say when, God, he could use a
beer. The flare of the lighter showed
his features dark, almost as dark as his outlook. Usually levelheaded, they had not thought
about the weather when making travel plans.
They had been living in the car and eating at a mission since he had
lost his job for fighting. He took care
of his family the best he could but sometimes that wasn’t good enough. Victor didn’t think
of himself as a thug but after spending three years in a Mississippi prison, he
didn’t take crap off anybody and had
lost job after job for fighting.
With snow steadily falling, the
family sat out the night. Victor and
Michelle dozed but never slept soundly.
They spent the night trying to keep themselves and the children
warm. As dawn was breaking, only an
occasional snowflake was falling. Buster
stirred and started crying. He was
hungry. Michelle reached for the baby
unbuttoning her cheap faded cotton blouse.
Victor didn’t look her way as
she started breast-feeding the baby.
Victor
looked out the window remembering. When
he first saw Michelle, she had long brown hair with reddish highlights, a southern
drawl, and a small waist. At twenty-two,
she was car hopping at Sonic in Benoit, Mississippi. Tennessee Williams filmed his movie, Baby
Doll, there putting the town on the map but Michelle hated the small, mostly
African-American populated town. Victor was her ticket out of the Mississippi
Delta.
Opening
the door, Victor stepped into the new fallen snow wearing a blue plaid shirt,
faded Carhart jeans, denim jacket and high-topped work boots. Opening the hood, he found moisture on the
distributor cap. He learned auto
mechanics in prison and knew the points wouldn’t fire
while damp. Walking to Michelle’s side
of the car, he said, “The distributor’s wet.
I’ll have to try to find help.”
Michelle said angrily as if the car
quitting was Victor’s fault, “I can’t sit here all day.”
Victor knew he didn’t want an argument
so he mumbled, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
His boots made a crunching sound as he walked away. After walking a few miles, his heart felt
like it was going to burst. About to
turn back toward the car thinking their situation was hopeless, he spied a
house in the distance. Tired of walking,
Victor made his way to the steps of a huge white house with a wraparound porch.
Victor knocked on the door. Inside an old sounding voice said, “Go
away. Leave me alone.”
“My car broke down up the road. My wife and two children are in it. I need help.” Victor replied hoarsely.
The door opened a fraction. Victor was looking into the haggard face of
an old woman with dirty, grayish hair, dressed in a ragged housecoat. Victor said, “Please I know the kids are cold.”
Sizing Victor up she
saw a sandy haired man, probably six-foot and two-hundred pounds. Stepping aside, she allowed Victor to enter a
high ceiling room with torn wallpaper. A
small fire was smoldering in the fireplace even though plenty of wood was
stacked against the wall. Shivering
Victor moved closer to the fire.
“I’m
Alice Marlow. “The wood ‘s heavy.”
Victor put a stick of wood on the
fire and watched the red and yellow flames glow. He wanted to stay by the fire but knew he had
to get back to his family. “Mrs. Marlow, I’m Victor Fletcher. Can I bring my wife and children here? They’re in the car up the road.” Mrs. Marlow just nodded.
Arriving at the car he said, “I
found a house and there’s a fire. Bring
what food we have."
Wrapping
the children in blankets, both parents took turns carrying Buster. Victor had a harder time trudging to the house
a second time. His boots were wet and
his socks seemed frozen to his feet.
Alice
opened the door quickly hearing Victor’s knock.
Michelle grasped under her breath seeing the woman. Her filthy housecoat had several buttons missing
and was hanging on a skeletal frame.
The poor woman looked as if she hadn’t eaten a healthy meal in
days. Michelle said, “I’m Michelle. You’ve met Victor. This is Cameron and the baby is Buster.”
“Come in by the fire.” invited
Alice.
After
getting warm, Michelle asked, “Are you hungry?”
The old woman pointed to the kitchen.
The room was cluttered with pots, pans, old newspapers and boxes.
Getting bread, a can of tomatoes and a can of lima beans out of her bag along
with a manual can opener Michelle said, “I’ll start cleaning tomorrow if you’ll
let us stay a few days. Our car needs
work. What’s in the boxes? She was hoping cans of food.
Mrs. Marlow replied, “Just stuff.”
After
eating, the Fletchers rested on two rickety couches. Alice sat in her unpainted rocker by the
fire.
Early
the next morning, Alice showed Michelle a few jars of peaches, jelly and apples
in the cabinet. After breakfast Michelle
asked, “Mrs. Marlow can I put your hair in a bun? You will feel better.” Mrs. Marlow sat in a kitchen chair while
Michelle brushed her hair. She wanted to
suggest Mrs. Marlow get into cleaner clothes but did not want to sound
offensive.
Victor
walking around to the back of the house noticed the sun breaking through the
clouds. Behind the house, he found a
tool shed, several John Deere tractors, plows, cultivators, and other type of
farm equipment. Slamming the door, Victor asked, “Mrs. Marlow who farmed?”
Mrs.
Marlow answered, “My husband Robert. He
quit trying after our son, Bobby, was killed in Iraq.
Victor
said, “I was raised on a farm in Mississippi.
I can see this was a paying farm. Can I help?”
Before
there was an answer, a knock was heard.
Opening the door, Mrs. Marlow found a deputy sheriff. The deputy was big. His jacket sleeves were too short for his
arms. His jaw was poked out with a plug of tobacco. Without smiling, the deputy asked, “Ma’am,
have you seen anyone. There’s a car up the road, looks like children’s
clothes inside. They could have walked
in any direction.
Mrs.
Marlow replied, “That belongs to my Nephew, Victor. He and his family are staying awhile.”
Stepping
off the porch the deputy walked quickly to his 4x4 jeep. Victor and Michelle stared at each other
unable to speak. Mrs. Marlow said, “I always wanted a daughter!” Turning to Victor, she said, “If you get your
car running we can go shopping. I have some
money in the bank.” Smiling and laughing
the three of them hugged. Victor and
Michelle could work on the house and Mrs. Marlow would be warm, clean and eat
healthy. Victor smiling started walking
toward his car to see if the distributor was dry.
Victor
was tired of trying to make ends meet.
He needed a cigarette. He
silently made his plans. They would all
go to town letting Mrs. Marlow take her money out of the bank. After buying supplies, which would include
cigarettes and Bud Light, he would work on the farm, find a job, and be kind to
Mrs. Marlow.
One
day he might own the farm, Buster could help him work while Cameron learned
from Michelle. Grinning, he broke into a
slow run toward his 1970 Oldsmobile 442.