IMAGES OF ONESELF
Prologue
October, 1930
Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin
A haze hung over Bridge Street, this warm
October afternoon. Now and then a car or farm truck clattered across the bridge
spanning the Chippewa River, raising a bit of dust. Groups of school children
raced up and down the sidewalks happy to be free for the day. A few women
hurried in and out of the small shops buying their last minute purchases for
dinner. In another hour or so, the stores would close and the bustling street
would become a ghost town until the morning. The only places open would be the
back door of Reilly’s, where the resourceful knew how to get their bootleg, and
the hotel. And most respectable folks in town had no use for either.
Wally Bishop and Bill Taylor were hunched
over their usual table at the Welcome Inn café, at the corner of Bridge and
River, front and center by the window so they wouldn’t miss a thing. Doris,
their regular waitress, had brought over their usual order, two cups of coffee
and two doughnuts. This was where the two men met to have a talk every
afternoon before closing up for the day. Wally was the proprietor of the IGA
Market and Bill owned the Coast to Coast hardware store. Once in awhile they
were joined by “Gus” Gustafson, who had the Ford dealership, or Bobby Lowell,
the postmaster, but today it was just the two of them.
“How was business today, Wally?” Bill asked
him. He knew darn well what the answer would be. Same as Wally told him
everyday. Bill looked fondly across the table at his old friend Wally. Except
for the gray color, Wally still had the same shock of thick hair and lively
dark eyes. They had been pals since high school. Bill cherished these
afternoons that they spent together.
“It was good. Real good,” replied Wally.
“Pork roast on sale for five cents a pound. Loaf of bread for a dime. Lots of
ladies coming in this week for the contest, ya know.”
Bill nodded his head. It was always five
cents a pound for some cut of meat and always a dime for the bread. That plain
old Sunbeam Bread. “What contest now, Wally?”
“Didn’t ya read the paper,” Wally groused,
good naturedly. He pushed his glasses up on his nose, then poured some cream
into his coffee. “It’s this fancy Silverseal pot and pan set. You buy five
dollars in canned goods and you get to enter in the contest for a free set of
pots and pans. One winner a week for the next month. Customers sure are
flocking in for that.”
“Funny, Myra didn’t mention anything about
free pots and pans,” commented Bill. But his wife wasn’t much for contests and
things.
With the depression, it seemed as though
everyone had some idea on how to generate a little more business. The store
owners were struggling, but Bill and Wally were lucky. Everyone needed hardware
and food. There had been other problems in town. The bank had closed and then
reopened. Some small shops selling things that people could really live without
were shuttered. The neighbors that had been hit the hardest were the farmers.
There had been many foreclosures in the county and now there were too many
abandoned farms.
The men munched on their doughnuts and blew
over the rims of the steaming coffee cups. Their routine everyday followed the
precision of a drill team. Two, three minutes of conversation about the same
thing, then some food, followed by the real gossip. That was the prime purpose
for being here, after all.
“I heard the Granby farm was foreclosed on
yesterday. Saw the family passing through town, everything piled on that old
truck. Such a shame. Real nice folks,” said Bill, sadly. “Sad for those folks
that have families. Uprooting everyone like that.”
Both men keep their thoughts to themselves
and thought about how fortunate they were. They were keeping their families fed
and their bills paid. Not too many could say that these days. Only other one
person in the area came to mind, that was equally successful in staying afloat.
But he had no family and few friends. That was no bargain either, even if it
did mean he had a little more money.
Wally pursed his lips and shook his head.
“That so? I heard the bank over in Elk Mound is running out of cash. So they
say.” Wally was pleased that he had something new to contribute. “Elton Hawkes
has his appendix out in the hospital in Eau Claire. Clarice came in today. Told
me that. She said it was nice and peaceful at home without Elton. I can believe
that.”
Bill chuckled and pounded his hand lightly on
the table. His face lit up in a smile, thinking about old Elton driving the
nurses crazy at the hospital. He glanced out the window and just as suddenly
his smile faded. A young boy in his late teens passed by the window of the
café. He was bent over by what must be the weight of his backpack. Straight
blond hair tumbled over his eyes. His clothes were rumpled from what must have
been days of traveling. Bill strained to see which direction he was heading. He
poked Wally’s hand.
“Did that kid come in your store today?” Bill
leaned his head toward the window.
Wally squinted and his eyes followed the boy
as he continued down the street. The boy moved quickly, almost furtively,
glancing behind him from time to time. Once he stopped briefly and took a drink
of water from a canteen. Then he continued on his way.
“Yeah. He did. I waited on him myself. Just
bought a candy bar. When he fished the money from his pocket, I could see there
was nothing left. Didn’t say much though. Just please and thank you. Kind of
polite for a drifter,” said Wally.
“Well, I can tell you more.” Bill took a sip
of the coffee and sloshed it around in his mouth. He had a juicy little tidbit
to share and he was going to make Wally wait.
“The kid comes in just after lunch. He kind
of walks up and down the aisles, picks up a couple of things, a hammer, saw,
paint brush, looks them over and puts ‘em down. Then he comes up to the counter
and looks me straight in the eye and asks if we carry any five inch bolts.”
Wally’s head drooped slightly knowing that
there had to be more to the story. He knew Bill’s game. He was going to have to
work to get it out of him.
“Do you have any?” Wally asked, knowing full
well how well stocked the Coast to Coast store was.
Bill sighed and lifted his eyebrows. “You know
I carry five inch bolts. But I don’t think he was going to buy anything. He
says okay, that he would be back. He opens the door to leave and stops and
turns to face me."
Wally gritted his teeth. He and Bill had
known each other for forty years now and Bill was still telling stories the
same way. Bait and wait.
“Then what did he say?” Wally prompted him,
knowing that sooner or later Bill would get to the point.
“He stops and turns and asks me, if I ever
heard of anyone here in town named Dawson,” He stopped, watching for Wally’s
reaction. Sure enough he was rewarded with a look of shock. “I just looked at
him, kind of stunned. In the last 18 years, no one has ever asked about Jack,
no one has come looking for him. You know that. Besides, he is the only Dawson
around here. Anyway, I told him how to find the place, told him then he could
see for himself. That was the right thing to do, wasn’t it?”
Wally thought about this for a few minutes.
He took a slurp of his coffee and gave Bill the answer he wanted.
“Sure thing. Don’t know what this kid wants
or what he is after. Let him find out for himself. Sort of strange though.”
“What’s strange, Wally? Are you thinking what
I am thinking?”
“Bill, that depends on what you are
thinking.”
The two men laughed and clinked their coffee
cups together.
“That kid sure is a dead ringer for Jack,
when he was young. Same shaggy blond hair, those piercing blue eyes. Kind of
lanky build. You don’t think he’s some relation, do you?” wondered Bill.
“That’s my thought too,” agreed Bill. “You
don’t think he could be like his…….” He moved his head from side to side. “Nah,
but they say everyone has a double. Probably just a coincidence. Still though,
you never know.”
“That’s the truth. Something to think about,
eh.” Wally got up and threw some loose change on the table. “I better get
going. Joe will have a fit if I am not there to lock up on time. See you
tomorrow, Bill. Let me know if you see this kid again. Hope he’s not up to no
good.” Wally reached for his flannel jacket and shrugged it on, anticipating
the chill of sundown.
Bill turned his head and looked back out into
the late afternoon light. He could still see the young man, disappearing now
over the bridge. Despite the fact that the boy was obviously a drifter, he was
well mannered. He had almost an air of refinement. Then too there had been
something so sad, yet straightforward about the boy’s eyes. He appeared quiet
and lonely. Very much like the man he was looking for. It was almost haunting.
“No, I think the kid is clean.” He put his
hand out to Wally. “See you tomorrow.”
Wally shook hands and walked over to the
front door. He pulled it open, the little bell on the door jingling. “I still
say he sure reminds me of Jack.”
The boy who had been the topic of this
conversation looked behind him to see if anyone but those two men had been
watching him. He’d heard about small towns, where everyone knew everybody else
and their business. He was sure that he’d attracted a little attention and he
certainly didn’t want to make any more commotion. He’d ended up in this town by
accident and he wanted to get out of here fast. Didn’t want anyone to ask him
any questions. If he could make it out to the Dawson place before dark and see
for himself what was there, he could be gone by tomorrow morning. His curiosity
would be satisfied and he could get on with his life. If the place was
abandoned, maybe he’d find some old papers. Something that would give him some
clue about his dad. At least he’d know more about where he’d come from.