Uclaimed Hearts - 1. Chapter 1

“I’m going to tell you this because you insist. Pay attention. You know I don’t like to repeat myself. Get comfortable this may take a bit. Oh, what the hell do I care if you are comfortable or not, this was your idea, you asked for it, so park it. Just sit your ass down.”

In those days, I didn’t get many visitors. A county-maintained gravel road doesn’t encourage local travel let alone tourists. I had to fight to keep them from paving it. I don’t like people. The only human I had seen within a month, within miles of the house was Myrtle. I saw her almost every day, except Sunday. I didn’t actually see her. Just the evidentiary junk mail. If I mailed off a bill, she dropped the flag on my mailbox to let me know she got it. I didn’t check the mail every day, still don‘t. Mail has patience. Fred, the milkman came twice a week. I’d rarely seen him. He came way too early for me. I just knew that on Wednesday I had to get stuff off my porch or else it would freeze or sour depending on the season. It had done both. Not at the same time. Back then seeing Myrtle and Fred was enough for me. I figured if the world ended one of them would see fit to alert me or I would figure it out by their absence. I like fresh milk so I would notice within a few days if the mail stopped or the milk and butter quit.

I can’t say that I was lonely. Not like some folks who set around refusing to feel anything else. I am not one of those who need to know or to share personal gab. There were times when it got like that I’d drive to the big city and see what I could find. I wasn’t looking for anything near permanent, just something to get me by.

It was on one of those forays into town for feed, supplies, and relief that I picked up a hitchhiker. Those days things were different. Hitchhiking was an acceptable form of locomotion. I’d used it myself in college on those weekends I wanted to come home.

He was standing alongside the WPA highway. He looked to be between twenty-five and thirty. Close-cropped blond hair was a common enough style. The O. D. green “Ike” jacket and highly polished combat boots combined with the duffle bag at his feet were a dead giveaway. Army, either on leave or furlough. I stopped about fifteen feet ahead of him. He left his bag and approached the passenger side of the pickup. He wasn’t assuming anything, I liked that.

Up close I could see he had blue eyes and a smooth, pleasant face. Some women might say he was handsome. It was my job to know what women thought of as handsome. His smile was friendly but you could see wariness too. Stopping at a distance from the door he said, “Good afternoon.” When he got a close look at me his smile changed. The wariness disappeared. His smile ripped his whole face open, displaying a mouth full of shiny, white teeth. It crinkled the skin at the edges of his eyes. For a moment I considered the idea he thought he knew me. I knew he was a stranger, I would have remembered him. I figured he was six feet at one-eighty. I had him by two inches and forty pounds.

I didn’t smile I just nodded. I’m not a conversationalist. Yeah, I know, I was gonna be a teacher. Well, math is more doing than saying. My nature was to think more, do more, and talk less. The fact that I probably had a couple of inches in height and reach plus forty pounds on him let me take my ease. The added fact that I kept a pistol between my door and my seat didn’t hurt none either.

The windows were down ‘cause spring came in like a lamb and promised a hot, probably dry summer. “’ Where're ya' headed?” It was an open-ended question that allowed him to respond with anything from a compass direction to his life’s story. I hadn’t smiled yet, but I hadn’t frowned yet either. We both knew no matter where he was headed, I was offering a ride when traffic was scarce. If I took him up the road a half mile, dropped him off, and turned around, he’d be that much farther along.

“I’m actually heading out west. Maybe California, not sure… just mostly away.”

“Throw your bag in back and hop in. I can take you as far as Dayton. You can catch a ride to anywhere on Highway 40.” I didn’t ask why “mostly away”. I don’t stir my stick in other people’s business, especially strangers.

He sat almost sideways against the corner. One arm squaring the window the other over the back of the seat. His posture was to provide comfort for him and not to make me feel uncomfortable. I liked that he felt relaxed right away. He looked me up and down as I maneuvered the pickup back onto the blacktop. I stood a little over six feet two inches tall. I weighed in about two twenty. I had a little fat camouflaging a six-pack that was on permanent hiatus. On the sundown side of thirty, a man’s entitled to build a shed for his tools. I had black hair and blue eyes and an almost perpetual five o’clock shadow. I figured his gawking at me so he could give the Cops a good description or he just liked what he saw. Not likely.

A closer inspection confirmed my estimation of his height and weight. He wrestled himself out of his Jacket. As he did the breeze through the truck brought a pleasant combination of Old Spice and clean sweat. He had a solid build. He had sandy hair and blue eyes. Looking at him closer, seems that half smile he first gave was probably a permanent fixture. He was clean shaven and his clothes weren’t dirty. He wore jeans, like me, and a faded blue Oxford shirt over a tee shirt. I can’t stand a tee shirt until it gets well below freezing. A profusion of chest hair peeked over the collar of the tee shirt in shades of auburn.

After I got a good dose of sizing him up. He said, “You live around here?” I figured that was a dumb question considering that he could see I had no luggage and a pickup ain’t the most favored vehicle for long-distance travel. It does, however, beat the hell out of the “shoe leather express“ he’d been riding. Still rather than being rude, “Yep.” And to show that he was in good company that could match his own eloquence I parried with, “How 'bout you?”

He turned that half smile back into his, probably patented, genuine, good-hearted, glad-to-meet-you kind that made his eyes crinkle at the edges and warmed the insides of anyone on the receiving end. Just to show me he understood, “Nope.”

I smiled. He offered his hand, “Bill Weekly, like Life magazine.” His grip was firm. I noticed his hands were smaller and his fingers were longer. I felt no calluses.

“Joshua Tibbits, glad to meet you Bill, as in dollar, right?” the crinkled smile returned.

“Ok, Josh, can we get to normal conversation? I’m not the brightest bulb in the chandelier. I’m worried this talking in single syllables is going to lower, my already dangerously low, IQ. I don’t know if I can even figure out which of us just asked the more dimwitted question.”

I smiled again, “Well, if you’re keeping score Bill Weekly, I figure you get extra points for asking the first one.”

“Ok. Now is a good time to change the subject. How about some getting-to-know-you conversation?” His arm went back to squaring the window the other seemed a little closer now. Not close enough to bother me, just closer.

“Alright. But, I’m not much of a conversationalist. How about you talk, I’ll listen and then I’ll answer your questions about me.”

Bill told of his life growing up on a farm out in Kansas. Oldest, with two younger sisters. Got drafted into the army after his junior year in college for failing to file for a deferral. Two years in Germany. Traveled around Europe as much as leave would allow. When his time was up, he was mustered out in D. C. He was heading back to Kansas to help with the farm and continue his education. His family was pushing him to marry the neighboring farmer’s daughter. He had dated the girl in high school and later they dated a bit when he was in college. They got along great. She wrote and he wrote back. His folks got the impression it was a lot more serious than it was. His Mother was already planning a June wedding. The letters they had written were never “love letters”. His family figured twenty-seven was old enough to have sewn all his wild oats. She was a nice girl who happened to be an only child. Her folks apparently approved of the unconfirmed engagement and the potential increase in acreage.

I could certainly understand their wanting a handsome man like Bill as a son-in-law.

He had missed his connection in Cleveland and then got robbed, of tickets, a watch, and cash. At least they left him his wallet.

I was beginning to wonder if he was one of those, you know, glass-half-full idiots.

He had called home to tell his folks what had happened. They wanted to send money. He refused…. I liked that. He decided hitchhiking would give him time to clear his head and decide…. Hitched or Hollywood. He would head toward home. But right now if home meant marriage, he would go on to California.

He had caught a ride out this far with a chicken rancher and had walked since before five this morning. Bill fell silent. When it lasted longer than I thought normal, I glanced over and saw his head leaned back, eyes closed and mouth slightly ajar.

That was the first time I could ever recall that silence bothered me. I liked the sound of his voice. He didn’t have an accent, it just sounded like a voice I could get used to hearing. I am not a conversationalist. I swear this was the most I had ever listened to any man since college… I wanted more. I was tempted to wake him… almost.

I don‘t like people. Well not most of them anyway. They seem mostly to lie from the git-go. Like they have to impress you cause they somehow don’t feel like they are good enough, or they want you to feel that you aren‘t good enough. I figure most folks probably lie to themselves more than they do to others. I just don’t like people.

Bill, I figured wasn’t like a lot of people. He seemed just straight up as a pole cat’s tale, stink and all. There was something honest in his smile and in his voice. It was like he was talking without thinking, unlike most liars. He was either the best liar on this side of dogdom or he was an honest man. I chose to believe the latter.

I thought about what he told me about being robbed and all. I could tell that the boots he wore were scuffed no more than a day’s wear would affect the polished shine. He probably put those on when he started walking. I considered where he got dropped off at that chicken ranch, to where I had picked him up. He had made good time and just as likely he walked the whole way. I completely understood his wanting to think long and hard about marriage. I always knew that marriage wouldn’t agree with me. A few, well, a couple of young ladies had tried to change my mind. I am sure they are married now and a lot happier than if they had hooked me.

Bill put a crimp in my plans. I didn’t feel it would be proper for me to tell him I was coming to town to sin. I figured I would get him something to eat and take him across town to Julie’s “Dine and Drive”. There maybe he could catch a ride with a truck driver heading west. He had been asleep for over thirty minutes when I pulled into a family-owned diner. The food was good and plentiful for the price. I was going to wake him after I parked.

I guess the turn into the parking lot woke him. He didn’t just wake up… he exploded! His eyes bugged out. Fists clenched and ready for action. His face formed a scowl as he sucked wind through clenched teeth. Spittle was running down his chin. I was still in the process of parking. I wasn’t sure what was happening with Bill. I eased my left hand down and felt the comfort of the cool steel of my Smith & Wesson thirty-eight. It was short and stubby. It wasn’t pretty but it offered one helluva convincing argument for keeping things peaceful. You may wonder why a man like me kept a gun handy. Believe me, it was for their protection… not mine.

Bill didn’t attack, he didn’t make a move toward me. Once I considered it, his reaction was purely defensive. I coasted to a stop in front of the diner. Bill blinked and relaxed, just that fast. He rubbed his hands across his face and when he moved them I could see his embarrassment. I let my pistol slide back into its hiddy hole.

“Josh, I’m sorry. Ever since…. " His voice fell off to a whisper and then resumed normal volume. "Well, I’m just sorry. You can let me out here and thanks for the ride. I’m sorry I fell asleep. That’s the first time I ever fell asleep when I’ve hitched a ride with someone. Guess I didn’t realize I was so tired. Anyway, thanks again for the ride”, this last as he was opening his door.

“Hold on Bill, this ain’t your drop-off point. That’s clear the other side of town on Highway forty. I just stopped here so we can get something to eat. I eat here pretty much every time I come to the big city. We're gonna eat then I’m going to go over to the feed store over on the main highway. There’s a little diner close by where you can nurse a cup of coffee and maybe catch a ride with a westbound truck driver. I’m hungry. My treat. A man shouldn’t turn down an invitation from a fellow when the food is this good. Let’s go.”

I got out of the truck. Everything about Bill made me feel good except his waking up like he was about to be beaten. Beaten. Robbed and beaten... Now it made sense. Bill woke thinking he was gonna be robbed again. I liked everything about Bill and now I kind of felt sorry for him.

I didn’t have to look around to know that he was following me. I held the door open and then followed him. Once inside he looked to me to choose a booth or table or the counter. I indicated a booth against the window just in front of my truck. I couldn’t help but think we could have ordered while seated in the truck if Bill had attacked me while I was trying to park.

He refused everything but coffee. I was insisting that he order a meal and we was arguing back and forth like an old married couple. He was courteous and I was insistent. Finally, I ordered coffee too. The waitress was only too amused watching us. When she left I tried not to glare at the hard-headed dumb ass across the table.

“My daddy always told me not to argue with a fool. People around never can tell the difference. He never told me how to deal with a hard-headed bastard like you.” Bill was wearing a smug look like he was winning. That pissed me off. “Come to think of it, Daddy did say he had to apply a 2X4 swiftly and severely right between the eyes to be sure he had his attention. I don‘t have one in my truck but when we get back home, I can run on out to the tractor shed and get one. That ought to knock that smug look off your face.”

I was watching Bill with his elbows on the table taking his first sip of coffee. When I finished talking his eyes jerked up to meet mine with a question. I was wondering if maybe he thought I was serious about that 2X4. That questioning look faded into one of those crinkly smiles. I couldn’t figure out what was so funny. I mean the dumb son of a bitch was probably starving to death and his pride wouldn’t let him accept a free meal. I finally realized that I had told a complete stranger he was going home with me. My face grew hotter than my cup of coffee. Now I had my elbows on the table trying to hide behind my cup. I am only too aware that when I blush it stands out like a sore thumb between my black hair, blue eyes, and five o’clock shadow. The few times I’ve seen it, it looked neon pink. Grinning full on at my blush, Bill sat his cup back into the saucer and asked, “Josh don’t you think you ought to at least ask the little lady before you go inviting a stranger into your home?”

I admit I was rattled. I only like a few people. If someone shows up at my place uninvited I send them on their way. The point is I don’t like people and here it’s like I was insisting this stranger come home with me.

“Bill, I’m hungry. I not gonna sit here and sip coffee while my stomach is thinking my throat’s been cut. I’m gonna ask again, will you please eat with me? I hate to eat alone. I sure can’t eat with somebody watching me. Its like peeing in front of strangers. I can do it but it takes a little longer and it don’t feel right.”

While I was saying this I got the waitress's attention. I ordered a double country fried steak, smothered with gravy. Hash browns, with peppers and onions, turnip greens, and Biscuits. She had interrupted Bill saying again how he wasn’t hungry and coffee was all he wanted. I told her to bring two orders. As I said that I was giving Bill my ‘don’t say shit’ look. He must have understood my threat cause after she left he just said, “Thank you, Josh.”

I have a hearty appetite. Bill must have a hollow leg. He ate his order and one of my steaks. As he sopped up the last smidgen of gravy I couldn’t help it, I figured I owed him one. “So, Mr. Weekly, how much do you eat when you are hungry?” He blushed. I thought that made him look adorable…. I don’t like that word. But, it’s the right word. I wanted to take him in my arms and squeeze him to death like a small child squeezes a new puppy until it whimpers. He was prettier than a speckled pup. I convinced him to have a piece of apple pie with ice cream, and more coffee, and all too soon we were done.

I knew he wasn’t gonna take no cash from me even if I gave him my address and told him he could send it back. I contented myself in knowing I had forced him to already accept far more than he would have liked. We were almost at the feed store, where I never buy feed. I got nothing to feed. But, I figured I had better buy something or Bill would think I lied to him. I bought a hundred pounds of dog food. Bill helped me load it.

The diner was just next door and there were at least a half a dozen Tractor Trailers parked in the lot and probably more on the other side. Bill had no money, no prospects, and no real direction. He was as he said, “mostly moving away from”. We were standing on either side of my pickup truck. He had his hand already on the straps of his duffle bag.

I still don’t know why I did it. It’s not like me! I leaned my forearms on the truck bed rail. “Bill, it don’t make much sense for you to head off without a penny to your name. Look here, I got things around the farm that need some attention. I can give you a place to sleep and food and pay you enough to maybe get you to the next stopping place. I ain’t talking long-term. It won’t take more than a couple of weeks to get things lined out. You’d be doing me a favor. Some things need two pairs of hands.” I knew that he felt obliged to me for the meal… asking a favor would be giving him an opportunity to relieve that obligation.

Even as I said all this I was wondering who this man was that he could get in my truck and under my skin in a matter of hours. I knew that if he left now, I’d remember him for a long time.

He searched my face with his hand still on his bag. Finally, he said, “Joshua, I am not sure this is such a good idea. You don’t know me. I don’t know you. We really are strangers. I could be a killer on the run. You could have a nasty habit of feeding strangers to your hogs. But, truth be told, I haven’t had a better offer, in a while. As long as you understand that after two weeks, I’ll be moving on.”

“In two weeks, I’ll bring you back here so you can be on your way." We shook hands and got back into the truck.

I was faced with a couple of problems and a dilemma. First, the house was not clean. Second, I had almost nothing most people describe as food. There were cans and some of the new “TV” dinners in the freezer. I have on more than one occasion eaten spinach from the can? And no! I was not imitating Popeye. The dilemma was how to explain one hundred pounds of dog food when I don’t have a dog.

I create fiction for a living… I can do this.

“Bill, how do you feel about cleaning the inside of a house?”

“You mean a mop and broom kind of cleaning or are we talking shovel and rake?” That asshole smiled at my discomfort.

“The broom and mop kind with dusting and dishes and laundry thrown in.”

“Well, what my Mother didn’t make me learn the Army did. So, I guess I’m fair to middlin in all of those. What kind of laundry setup are we talking about? Running stream over rocks or something a little more up to date?” That smile never left his face.

“I have an automatic washer and a gas dryer, a dishwasher, a vacuum cleaner, several brooms, and mops.” I could have mentioned the stand-alone freezer except it had been empty and unplugged so long I wasn’t sure it still worked. “All I need is someone to use them. Now that I think about it, I'm not so sure you are up to the challenge."

“The more you talk the more I get the impression we are really talking shovel and rake. Guess will wait and see. It’s beginning to sound like Hercules and the Augean stables.” Still the smile.

“Well if you’re going to make the comparison, I can tell you two things. You’re not Hercules and you will be pleasantly surprised. I pick up after myself. I just don’t like to clean. I tried to find a woman to come in and clean once a week but none liked the idea of coming out into the middle of nowhere and cleaning up after a single man living alone. I hesitated a moment and then, “Bill?”

The look he gave me was clearly one of suspicion. His left eyebrow cocked really high. Doing that probably helped those crinkles when he smiled. Maybe I should try that sometime. I liked the crinkles. I realized I had been watching him too long when the right front tire ran off the blacktop. I corrected, blushed, and committed my eyes again to the road.

“Josh were you about to ask a question or do you just like the sound of my name?” Smartass, yes I know but it is one of my more endearing traits.

“Yeah, I, mean no, I mean, ah hell. Bill, do you know how to cook?” This time there was no smile. It was a gut-busting laugh. “Look here, Goddamnit, if you’re gonna laugh at me I can stop this truck and let you go your way.” He ignored the threat. Son of a bitch! I thought about slowing down to make my point. I almost did. The laugh ran on until it completely ran out. He had to wipe his eyes. Shit head.

Then he got control and apologized, almost. “Geez, Josh, don’t get your panties in a wad. I was only having some fun. It doesn’t matter how bad your place is, we can get it straightened out. Might take a couple of days, a Farmall, and a trailer.” He snickered at his own joke. I scowled. “Josh, you said you live alone, right?”

Impatient now, even after the apology… that was an apology, right? “Yes, I live alone. Have now, four almost four years. Why?… and this better not be a goddamned joke.”

That smile tickled his lips like a fly on a fresh-cut watermelon and was just as annoying. “Josh, if you don’t cook, what do you have in your house that can be cooked?”

“Fuck!”

“Yeah, I like that too. But, what do you have to cook? Four years and no cooking can’t leave a lot of choices. I am a really good cook. But, I can’t make something out of nothing. After all, I ate today, I’ll probably never eat again. But, if I am going to earn my keep, there probably should be some food to cook.”

“Well, I’ve got a large refrigerator, a large freezer. A pantry stocked with four-year-old home-canned vegetables. Fresh milk, butter, cream, and eggs are all delivered once a week. That’s how I know to throw out whatever gets replaced. The freezer has been unplugged for a long time… I think it still works. The freezer over the refrigerator works ‘cause that’s where I keep TV dinners. I can scramble eggs and toast bread so I’m not totally lost in the kitchen… and, I can cook TV dinners. I’ve done alright for four years without a cleaner or a cook.”

“So, you have nothing to cook. Sounds like your pantry has to be cleaned out. Why would you ask me if I can cook, if you have nothing to cook?”

“Look, I was just asking so I could figure out how to make the most effective use of your skills.”

“Bill, do you know how to shop for stuff to cook?”

Shut up! I know what you’re thinking… I have made it ok. You got no right to think I’m a loser. Even Bill didn’t smile this time.

We stopped at a Supermarket and walked every aisle. I told Bill to get whatever we needed. After asking me if I had a particular basic item about three times and getting a puzzled look and a shrug three times, he quit asking. We walked every aisle of the supermarket with him asking me if I like this or that. The ladies all smiled at us and said hello.

That is until we were in the produce section and Bill asked me to get a head of Iceberg lettuce. Lettuce was at the other end of the aisle. When I got about halfway down the aisle, he called to me, “Josh honey, are you sure you want cabbage, you know it gives you such gas.” My mouth dropped open and I couldn’t move. I could feel my face blaze red hot… I was frozen in humiliation.

There were three ladies, one with two small children. All looked from Bill to me and back again. Bill was on the edge of busting a gut when he realized he had gone too far. He turned in the general direction of the ladies, smiled that smile, and said, “I can’t wait to get home and tell the wives about this. They are gonna crack up when I describe the way his face looks right now. From one he asked, “Would you describe his coloring as neon pink? All three ladies turned to verify the shading of my blush, so Bill could properly describe it to our wives. There was some discussion apparently about shades of Avon lipstick or nail polish or some such shit.

Once we were out of earshot, he apologized profusely. When I ignored him he took my arm and looked me in the eye and said, “Bill, I swear I’ll never say anything like that to you again, forgive me.” He looked down at where he was still holding my arm. He blushed lightly and jerked his hand away.

I thought how that whole thing would have been funny… if it had happened to someone else. Hell, I didn’t know these people, why should I even give a shit what they think? I don’t even like most people.

At the checkout stand, as I was writing out the check I stopped and asked, “Honey, did you remember that salve?” You know.” Indicating his crotch, with my pen. “You know, for that rash?”

Without missing a beat, “Now sugar lumps, that would clear up on its own if you’d stop… you know.” The cashier was somebody’s grandmother. She verified my check and license and hurriedly helped the bag boy bag our last few items. Our shopping filled two carts. I wondered how much was what we needed and how much was because we were having a good time. In the parking lot, the kid helped load the paper bags into the truck bed.

Once finished I tipped him fifty cents. He said, “Thank you sir.” looking at Bill and then at me again he smiled and said, “You two guys are Hep. I mean real gone… I don’t care what Mona thinks. You guys are great.” With that, he turned the carts away and was gone.

I didn’t look at Bill. I just got in and we drove away. At the edge of town, I stopped for gas. Bill, went to the men’s room while I sat in the truck. The attendant washed the windshield, and checked the oil and water. He offered to check the tire pressure. By that time Bill was back. I handed the attendant a five and told him to keep the change.

Neither had spoken since we left the supermarket. “Are you always a big tipper? First the bag boy, now this guy. You only got a little over ten gallons…. you gave him more in that tip than he makes in an hour. Maybe we should discuss whether you are gonna tip me for each meal or just one really big one at the end of the two weeks.

“Lovers don’t get tips.” I had to see his reaction.

Bill, didn’t blush. His jaw went slack and his eyes opened wide. Finally, he spat and sputtered, “Are you, are we, I mean I never… I mean.”

As much as I was enjoying his discomfort and my revenge, I cut him some slack. “Relax Bill, I have never done that either.”