Jeannette Walls - Half Broke Horses: A True-Life Novel

LAMBS

Big Jim holding Rosemary

WHEN PEOPLE KILL THEMSELVES, they think theyre ending the pain, but all theyre doing is passing it on to those they leave behind.

For months after Helens death, pain laid so dark and heavy on me, like a big slab of lead, that most days I wouldnt have gotten out of bed if I hadnt had kids to teach. The idea of riding horsesmuch less racing playing cards, or driving the Flivver out into the country seemed so pointless as to be repulsive. Everything got on my nerves: kids yelling or even just laughing in the school yard, church bells ringing, birds chirping. What the hell was there to chirp about?

I thought of quitting my job, but I was under contract, and anyway, I couldnt blame the kids for what the parents had done. But I was through with Red Lake, and when the school year was over, I was moving on. I wasnt even sure I wanted to be a teacher anymore. I felt like Id given everything I had to the kids of this town, and when Id needed a little understanding, their families hadnt cut me any slack. Maybe I should stop devoting myself to other peoples kids and instead have some kids of my own. I had never particularly wanted kids, but when Helen killed herself, she also killed the little baby inside her, and something about that made me want to bring another baby into the world.

As time passed, and without my even realizing it, this idea of having a baby of my own eased my grief. One day in the spring, I got up early, as usual, and sat on the front step of the teacherage, drinking my coffee as the sun rose over the San Francisco Mountains to the east. The shafts of light gliding across the plateau had that golden color that they get in the spring, and when they reached me, they warmed my face and arms.

I realized that in the months since Helen had died, I hadnt been paying much attention to things like the sunrise, but that old sun had been coming up anyway. It didnt really care how I felt, it was going to rise and set regardless of whether I noticed it, and if I was going to enjoy it, that was up to me.

* * *

And if I was going to have a baby, I needed to find a husband. I started looking at Jim Smith in a different light. He had plenty of good qualities, but the most important one was that I felt I could trust that man inside and out. Once Id made up my mind about this, I didnt see the need to beat around the bush or make any grand gestures. It was late afternoon in early May with school over for the day when I saddled up Patches and rode over to the garage. Jim was on his back underneath a car, and all I could see were his legs and boots sticking out. I told him I needed to talk to him, so he slowly pushed himself out and stood up, wiping the grease off his hands with a rag.

Jim Smith, do you want to marry me? I asked.

He stared at me a moment and then broke into a big grin. Lily Casey, I wanted to marry you ever since I saw you take that fall off that mustang and then get right back on him. I just been waiting for a good time to ask.

Well, this is it, I said. Now, I only got two conditions.

Yes, maam.

The first is that weve got to be partners. Whatever we do, well be in it together, each sharing the load.

Sounds good to me.

The second is, I know you were raised a Mormon, but I dont want you taking any more wives.

Lily Casey, from what I know of you, youre just about as much woman as any man can handle.

WHEN I TOLD JIM how my crumb-bum first husband had given me a fake ring, he got out a Sears, Roebuck catalog and we chose a ring together so Id know I was getting the genuine article. We got married in my classroom once school was out for the summer. Rooster was the best man. Before the ceremony, he gave me a kiss.

I knew I was going to smooch you one day, but I didnt think it would be because you were marrying my buddy, he said. Still, Ill take what I can get.

Rooster had a friend with an accordion, and since I still had a soft spot for teaching, instead of Mendelssohns Wedding March, I asked him to play the PTA anthem.

The year was 1930, and I was twenty-nine. A lot of women my age had children who were practically grown, but getting a late start didnt mean that I wouldnt enjoy the journey every bit as muchmaybe even more. Jim understood why I wanted to leave Red Lake, and he agreed to move his garage to Ash Fork, about thirty miles west, just over the Yavapai County line. Ash Fork was a bustling little town on Route 66 at the base of Williams Mountain. It was a stop on the Santa Fe Railroad, with a roundhouse, and some days the streets were filled with sheep being shipped to market. Ash Fork had a general store run by a descendant of George Washingtons brother, not one but two churches, and a Harvey House restaurant for the railroad passengers, where Harvey Girls in white aprons served you an entire quarter of a pie when you ordered a slice, and diners wiped their mouths with elegant linen napkins.

At the Ash Fork bank, Jim and I took out a loan and built a garage made of Coconino sandstone, laying the stones and spreading the mortar ourselves. We hung the GARAGE sign from Red Lake over the door. With money from the loan, we sent off for a tire pump, a ball-bearing handle jack, and a stack of ribbed tread tires from the same Sears catalog that wed used to order my ring.

We had also brought the gas pump with us from Red Lake. The big glass cylinder on top was filled with gasolinedyed red so you could tell it apart from keroseneand every time you filled a car, air bubbles gurgled up through it.

Business was brisk. Since we were partners, Jim taught me to pump gas. The pump was hand-operated. Id pump, pump, pump, and the gas would go glug, glug, glug. I also changed oil and fixed flat tires. By that winter, I was pregnant, but I was still pitching in every day, filling up gas tanks and making change while Jim worked on cars.

We built a little housealso made of Coconino sandstoneright on Route 66, which was still a dirt road, and in the dry season, dust kicked up by the wagon wheels and automobile tires sometimes drifted through the windows, coating the furniture. But I loved that house. We ordered the plumbing system from Sears and installed it ourselves. In the kitchen we had running water that gushed out of shiny nickel-plated faucets, and a chain flush toiletjust like the rich people I cleaned for in Chicagowith a porcelain enamel bowl and a lid of mahogany veneer.

When the house was finished, Rooster paid us a visit. Like my dad, he couldnt believe that anyone would ever want a crapper in the house. Aint it unsanitary? he asked.

Everything goes down the pipe, I said. If you want to freeze your behind off in an outhouse, thats fine by me.

Rooster was just one of those people who didnt like change regardless of how it might improve his lot. As for me, I was so danged proud of my indoor plumbing that if someone looking for directions knocked at the door, I couldnt resist the temptation to say, Would you like a glass of fresh tap water? or Do you, by chance, need to use the toilet?

BY THE TIME I was eight and a half months pregnant, I had swelled up pretty big. I was happy to continue working at the garage, but Jim thought that in my condition, it might be dangerous. I could slip on an oil spill, he said, or faint from gasoline fumes, or break my water trying to twist off a rusted radiator cap. So he insisted I stay at home, where Id be safe. For a lot of women, it didnt get any better than that, lounging around in a housecoat with nothing to do. But after a few days, I started getting cabin fever, cooped up by myself reading books and mending clothes, and maybe that was why I got so irritated with the Jehovahs Witness who stopped by.