The Sight of the Stars

  After crossing the bridge over the river, which then looped and meandered away, the Interurban train went no farther. The heat was scorching, so the first thing Adam did was to stop at a bar for a cold beer.

  The bartender had a predictable question. “Stranger in town?”

  “Just arrived. It looks like a nice place,” Adam replied, both because it was a friendly thing to say and because he meant it. Horses clip-clopped through the quiet street, and a small breeze rustled in the trees—cottonwoods, he thought, recalling a book he had once read.

  Deciding to waste no time, he got to the point. “Any jobs in this town?”

  “Offhand, I can’t say. If you come around here at night, there’s always a crowd, so you can ask and likely find something. Or take a walk around and maybe see a help-wanted sign.”

  So he walked and then walked on, turning corners and getting lost. He passed a dairy, cotton gins, blacksmiths, cattle dealers, a sawmill, a distillery, and a sign announcing that handmade furniture and coffins were available. But there were no jobs posted, and even if there were, he would not have the skills for them.

  I don’t know what I’m fit for, he thought, except to work in a store.

  Then, abruptly, everything changed. On a central square not far from the Interurban station, so that he must have walked in a circle, was another world. Here were the neat buildings where doctors, lawyers, and assorted brokers had their offices; here was a high school like the one at home, a handsome Gothic church, the post office, the Chattahoochee National Bank, and a variety of expensive shops, among them a jeweler with an extravagant display of silverware in the window.

  He stopped before an unexpectedly shabby store marked “Rothirsch’s.” “Red deer” it meant in German. Remembering that his two shirts had food stains, he decided to walk in and buy one or two more.

  At the far end of a long, narrow room, a noisy argument between a large old woman and a large angry man was taking place. A very young girl was trying to intervene.

  “Auntie! Auntie! Please don’t!” she cried, pulling at the woman’s sleeve. “You don’t understand.”

  “No, she doesn’t, Emma,” the man said. “She has no heart. When Mr. R was alive, this was a good job. He was a human being, but she—she’s—”

  “Don’t say it! Don’t say anything you’ll be sorry for, Reilly.” And the woman shook her finger in the man’s face. “The business is falling apart, and I’m tired of you.”

  The man roared back. “And you think I’m not tired of you? You’re never fair!”

  “I don’t like your tone of voice, Reilly.”

  “Auntie,” the girl said again, “don’t. Please stop. I hate it.”

  All this was certainly no business of Adam’s. Yet when people were wrought up as these were, there was no telling what might happen next. Alarmed and unsure, he stepped forward to make his presence known and to break the tension.

  “I’d like to see some shirts,” he said firmly.

  The woman reacted at once. “I’ll take care of this gentleman.”

  Her chubby face was flushed. He had an impression of silk and too much jewelry, as she rustled toward him and began to search on some shelves piled with a tumble of ruffled shirtwaists, corsets, and petticoats.

  “Where—where on earth—this place is unbelievable, Reilly!”

  “You’re looking on the wrong side, Mrs. Rothirsch. This man isn’t looking for a lace-trimmed shirtwaist.”

  “As if I don’t know that! A person can hardly see here with all this stuff lying around. It’s a mess.”

  “It’s a mess because you were trying to straighten things out, Mrs. Rothirsch,” Reilly said.

  “Mind your tongue, Reilly, do you hear?”

  “Yes, I’ll mind my tongue. I’m quitting, Mrs. R. Nobody can work for you.”

  “They can’t, can’t they? What of this jumble over here?”

  Here was indeed another jumble of unrelated objects: neckties, rugged boots, and Stetson hats. Somehow, from among all these, a white shirt was extracted. Adam handed over the dollar, and Reilly moved toward the door.

  “Where do you think you’re going, Reilly? Since when do we close at two o’clock?”

  “I told you I’m leaving, Mrs. Rothirsch. I’ve had enough.”

  “What? Twelve years you’ve been here, and now you’re walking away without any notice? It isn’t even decent.” The old lady’s voice trembled and wailed. “I just don’t know what I’m going to do. How am I going to find somebody at a moment’s notice? I’m tired. I’m too old . . .”

  “You’re really not,” the girl said. “You just get too excited, and it’s bad for you.”

  It was then that Adam couldn’t stop himself from speaking. The first words were hardly out of his mouth before he wanted to take them back.

  “Perhaps I can help out.”

  “Help out? Who are you? What are you talking about?”

  “I’ve worked in retail, and I could substitute for a couple of days.”

  From behind her glasses, Mrs. R.’s sharp eyes regarded him. “You’re not making any sense. I don’t even know your name.”

  Of course he was making no sense. That’s what could happen when you had a brainstorm.

  “My name is Adam Arnring. I’m new in town, so I have no reference. But if you accept me, and I should in any way misbehave, you can call the authorities.”

  Mrs. Rothirsch was so astonished that it was almost comical to witness. “Retail, you said? What kind?”

  “A clothing store back east.” So it was a white lie, not the worst thing in the world! “I could give you some good suggestions.”

  He had caught her attention, for now she challenged him. “Such as what?”

  “Well, first you have to make up your mind whether you want menswear or women’s. The place is too small to have both.”

  “Oh, really? Then how is it we used to be so successful if it’s so small? Tell me that?”

  “Auntie,” the girl said, “you’re forgetting that the whole back half of the place has burnt down and has not yet been rebuilt. He’s right.”

  “You see? You listen to Emma, Mrs. R. She knows a thing or two.”

  “No, no,” the girl protested. “I only meant to remind Auntie. She understands.”

  The girl was saving the old woman’s pride. He sensed the undercurrents here as clearly as those at the supper table back home when Leo was in a bad mood.

  Turning toward Emma, Adam was surprised to meet the direct gaze of her serious eyes. It seemed they were the only two people present who were in control of themselves—the only two people who understood each other.

  Pulling his thoughts together, Adam resumed, “If you’re going to stay in this space, you should decide which it’s to be, a men’s or a women’s shop. I suggest women’s.”

  “Oh, really?” The old lady was showing signs of scornful amusement. “Why so?”

  “Because women spend more money on clothes than men do. That’s simple.”

  An old wrinkled hand strayed to the triple pearl strands that lay among floral ruffles. She stared at Adam.

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-six.”

  “You don’t look it.”

  “So they tell me.”

  “You’re a college graduate, aren’t you? You talk like one.”

  “Not exactly a graduate, but I have been studying a variety of subjects.”

  “You have an upper-class accent.”

  Mrs. Rothirsch had a foreign accent, from somewhere in eastern Europe, Adam thought. He had a suspicion that she was a kind of foolish snob. Suddenly reminded of the catsup stains on his shirt, he pulled his jacket close enough to conceal them, and with some amusement of his own, decided to use a vocabulary that would impress her.

  “You have to get rid of all this superfluous merchandise. I am sufficiently experienced to say that some of the items on display here are definitely outmoded.”

  There was a long sil
ence, during which the old lady simply stared outside through the dirty windows. Reilly shifted from one leg to the other and sighed.

  Adam had always been an orderly person, certainly the most orderly even in a household that was always neat. His attic room had been the neatest, his bed without a wrinkle, his clothes hung properly in the makeshift closet, and his books arranged alphabetically on the shelves. And so, as he looked about him, he felt that it would almost be a pleasure to straighten out this place, while at the same time earning a few dollars to tide him over until he could find something better.

  “All right. I see you’re a very bright young man. Heaven knows, I can’t expect anything new from Reilly. Maybe I’m crazy, but what have I got to lose? I’ll pay you three dollars this time tomorrow if you clean it up. Is that all right?”

  “Do you want a really first-rate job?”

  “What do you think? Of course I do.”

  “Well, then, I’ll need two days. And will you give me a free hand?”

  In return for this question, Adam received a look of surprise. “What does that mean?”

  “It means that I use my best judgment. I have been employed in some very fine shops, Mrs. Rothirsch. I know how to fix up this place. You’ll see.”

  “Well, six dollars for two full days’ work. I’m probably out of my mind, but I’ll chance it. No funny business, though. I’m well known in this town, I am, from the courthouse to the police department.”

  “Believe me, I understand.”

  “So. It’s agreed. Here’s the key. We open at nine. And now I’m going home. Come, Emma. I’m exhausted.”

  At the curb was a small electric car in which ladies who could afford one traveled soundlessly, at ten miles an hour, about their errands. The sunlight, after the dimness indoors, burst upon its gleaming metal, on Mrs. R.’s necklaces, on Emma’s rosy dress, her straw hat, and lastly, as she climbed in, upon her face.

  “Green eyes,” Adam thought. “Amazing!” Surely he must have seen green eyes on other people. And yet these seemed like the first he had ever seen.

  “There’s a Stanley Steamer in their garage, too,” Reilly said, as the car rolled soundlessly away. “She uses it when Rudy drives. He and his wife Rea work in the house. The old man paid close to a thousand dollars for it, they say. You wouldn’t think he could be married to Sabine R. Like day and night. He had a heart. He’d give to anybody—charities, churches, you name it. When he had his stroke, there was no one to order new stuff for the store, and business went way down. He lived four years without talking or walking. Then they had the fire. I don’t know why she keeps me on because business is dead, but I’m glad she does, even when she gets mad. The wages are nothing much, but they keep the wolf from the door.”

  “So then you’re not quitting?”

  “Nah! We have these shouting matches every few months. Don’t mean a thing.” Reilly paused, and then, apparently feeling talkative, remarked about Emma, “That girl is a real peach, isn’t she? Smart, too.”

  “She’s a kid, isn’t she? How old?”

  Reilly shrugged. “Fifteen, maybe sixteen. You liked the red hair?”

  “I didn’t notice. I only noticed her eyes.”

  “Didn’t notice that hair?”

  “Can’t say I did. Only the eyes. The face.”

  “Well, don’t get any ideas if you stay here. She’s kept safe. Summer camp in the East, boarding school and trips all over, even Europe. She plays the piano, I hear. The old lady locks her away like gold in Fort Knox. So don’t bother.”

  “What would I want with a kid of fifteen?”

  “You’re a kid yourself, aren’t you? How the hell old are you? Honest.”

  “Almost twenty.”

  “God Almighty, you’ve got some nerve. You think you can make sense out of this business?”

  “Well, I’m going to try. Do me a favor. Tell me where I can get a place to sleep tonight.”

  “Go down Sixteenth and turn right at the corner where the highway is. The woman there keeps a boardinghouse for schoolteachers. She might have a room. Nice and clean, too. Well, I’ll be going along. I’ll probably see you in the morning. Then I’ll take the rest of the day off. You can have a nice time without me, cleaning up, though I don’t know how the hell you’re going to do it.”

  Dear Pa and Family,

  I am writing this in a town called Chattahoochee, at a decent boardinghouse full of middle-aged schoolteachers. So don’t worry about me. I’m going to stay here while I look for some kind of job.

  It’s an interesting town. You have to see it to believe it. I took a long walk when I arrived and saw some unusual things. One was a huge barn with a sign that said “Jacks and Mules in Car Lots.” It seems that they sell mules wholesale for work on the farms. The grain fields reach from the edge of town for as far as I could see. There’s a ranch, a couple of thousand acres’ worth, right at the end of the main boulevard. Another odd thing I saw was a very old, circular house. It was built that way for defense against Indian attacks. All this history!

  I’ll write again the minute I have something to write about. Love to you all,

  Adam

  Early the next morning, Adam stood on the street outside Rothirsch’s store and considered the scene. The old building had been well designed. Made of light-colored stone, probably limestone, it had fine proportions, with a classical pediment above the entrance and a narrow, carved frieze around the two large windows. It had the dignity of a bank and might well have been one in its time. But now, with the sun blazing on the drab display behind the dusty glass, it cried: Failure! Failure! Don’t bother to come in.

  But ideas had already begun to whirl through his head. First, turn the key and go inside. Next, sort out the menswear, the stuff that’s still salable, but don’t throw the rest away. Give it to anybody who needs or wants it. This will be great publicity. Then find the best-looking articles you can and arrange them in the windows with a notice: Sixty percent off.

  When he had done all this, he went outside to study the scene again. By the day after tomorrow, she would pay him. But what if it were not enough to do what needed to be done? Suppose he were to use some of his own few dollars? It would be a gamble, but was his departure from home not a gamble?

  There should be an awning, deep green. While he was at it, he’d have the windows painted to match; it would contrast to the pale stone. Flower boxes were important; at this time of year they should be filled with chrysanthemums, the bright yellow ones, not the dark ones.

  It surprised him, as he scurried up and down the streets, searching for awnings, a painter, and a florist, to feel how much he was enjoying himself. This wasn’t architecture, but he was shaping something all the same. Perhaps he had not hated the idea of a store, of commerce, as much as he had simply hated his father’s store.

  Late in the afternoon, while he was helping the florist fill the planters, a man stopped by with a question. “What’s going on? New ownership?”

  “No, not at all. Just cleaning up,” Adam said.

  “And the sign? Do you mean that? You’re really giving things away?”

  “Why, yes. Go on in and help yourself. You can take whatever you like from that pile over there on the right. It’s marked ‘Free.’ It’s all old stuff, but usable if you don’t care how old it is.”

  “Gee, just giving stuff away. I never saw that before.”

  “It’s a fact. Help yourself.”

  “Well, I could use a pair of overalls for my yardwork. I’m a reporter, Jeff Horace is the name, from the Chattahoochee Item. Listen. I’m going to put this into tomorrow’s paper. I’m always looking for interesting news. What’s your name?”

  It ought to be the old lady’s name, not his. Adam said hastily, “The store belongs to Mrs. Rothirsch.”

  “Everybody knows that. But I’d like your name for the article. I do sort of a human interest column.”

  “Adam Arnring. It’s spelled the way it sounds.”

&nb
sp; “Say, aren’t you new here? What happened to Reilly? He’s a good friend of mine.”

  “He’s here, only not today.”

  “This place was a landmark in the old man’s time. I wonder why she hasn’t kept it up, or even sold it.”

  “I’ve no idea.”

  “Well, it’s nice to see the place being spruced up.”

  Adam was setting the last of the golden chrysanthemums into the earth when the reporter emerged, bearing two pairs of overalls and a compliment.

  “You’ve really given it a cleaning. It’s almost empty.”

  “I know. But it’ll be filled again. All in good time.”

  At five o’clock, Reilly appeared. “What the hell is this?” he cried.

  “Don’t you like it?”

  “What is there not to like? Flowers, fresh paint—but where’d you get the money?”

  “I had a few dollars of my own. I figure I’ll get them back when she pays me.”

  “Pays you!” Reilly laughed. “You’ll be lucky she doesn’t charge you for damages. No, I’m kidding. She’ll pay you. That’s one thing about her. I told you, she’s honest. And look what you’ve done for her store—”

  A few minutes later another man appeared.

  “This is Ray Archer. He used to work here when we were busy. He couldn’t wait to see what’s going on.”

  “I heard about it at the barber’s,” Archer said. “Is it true that there’s going to be something in the paper?”

  Adam nodded. “Yes, and then there ought to be a big ad very soon, as soon as she buys more stuff to advertise. In the meantime, as you see, I put out the best things I could find. They don’t look like much without mannequins, though.”

  “She’ll never spend money like that.”

  “Well, it takes money to make more,” Adam said seriously.

  The men were giving him their own serious attention. Archer was half a head taller than Reilly, and weighed half as much. Standing there so earnestly, they reminded him of two men in a comic strip. He did not know why they also made him feel sad.