Ruth Erlene and Franklin D. Roosevelt:Sunday, March 12th, 1933
Ruth Erlene sat in a cane bottomed chair on the planked landing at the top of the stairs near the door of her two-room apartment, waiting. Her bare feet were spread wide. The navy blue maternity skirt was tucked between her legs, but its hem draped down outside her legs to touch the planks on either side of her chair as she leaned forward, pressing down hard on her knees to relieve the pain in the small of her back. Ruth's recently bobbed auburn hair gleamed with red highlights when she moved her head. The nape of her neck felt strange and prickly to her fingertips as she raked her hair behind her ears. She regretted letting her girlfriend Mary talk her into having it cut, even though it hadn't cost her a cent. She tugged the hem of her white smock down over her bulging belly.
From where she sat Ruth could see only the southeast section of the town, the new wide sidewalk at the foot of the stairs, and the railroad tracks on which two passenger cars stood coupled but idle, as if they too were waiting.
It was a warm, but overcast day with a cool breeze out of the north. Fruit trees in blossom stood out against the darkness of plowed fields; the distant rolling hills were pale green with sprouting grass. Spring had definitely improved her view, which had seemed so bleak all winter.
Spring also meant that Mack would be traveling more often with the post baseball team; if he didn't end up in the Post Stockade for being AWOL this weekend. As far as she was concerned, either would be a good thing.
During the two years since they married Mack's visits had been sporadic, brief and unpleasant. His education had ended with the third grade; he could read the sports news in the Marlow Review, but with difficulty. His handwriting was barely legible and his letters were briefer than post cards, merely notes telling her when he might be coming home. He had the foulest mouth she'd ever heard when he'd been drinking and his explosive fits of anger scared the daylights out of her. She'd seen him lose his temper once at the Independence Day Picnic over a silly softball game. Although he was only five feet six inches tall, he was as strong as the mules he drove for the Army. He was no stranger to the Fort Sill stockade; after nearly four years in Army he was still a buck private with no prospects. Ruth wondered what had possessed her when she agreed to his marriage proposal; had it been merely to get out on her own. Well, she thought, if that was my motive then I got what I asked for.
Earlier, just after she sent Mack to fetch the doctor, the locomotive that backed the cars up to the ramp at the station had belched a black cloud of sulfurous smoke and soot in her direction. Now, however, the same engine was shuttling a train of several cars onto the siding near Mister Shields' grain elevators and its plume of smoke spiraled down to envelope the tall white spire on the church near her foster parents' home. Her girlfriend Mary and her mom, Vivian Shields would be in church now. Ruth wished she were there with them. She hoped they would come to visit her before the baby was born. Neither Mary nor her mom had come by since Friday, when Vivian shampooed and cut her hair. They seldom came visiting when Mack was at home. "You two need your privacy," Vivian had said. But privacy was the last thing in the world the eighteen year old expectant mother wanted; she was lonesome.
"Agnes!" Ruth hollered. "Are you in there Agnes?"
"I'm right here, Ruthie," a mature woman answered from behind the screened window of the adjacent apartment. "Are you okay, honey?" Agnes Parker was not only Ruth's friend, but also the owner of the building in which she lived. Mack referred to Agnes as "The landlady," when Agnes wasn't around. The animosity between Agnes and Ruth's husband was due to Agnes' attitude towards soldiers in general and she didn't take pains to hide it. Agnes had known Ruth since she was a skinny ten year old selling Cloverine salve after school.
"Agnes, are you mad at me, or what?" Ruth asked, grunting audibly as she straightened up in her chair. Her elbow brushed against the book lying on the small wicker table beside her chair and it fell to the floor out of her reach. She had to leave it there.
"I ain't mad at you, Ruth." Agnes said angrily. "It's that husband of yours I'm mad at. It was after midnight when he came roaring in on that motorcycle, and then he made enough racket to wake the dead, clomping up the stairs like he did. He ought to have more consideration for you, if not for us. Mister Parker had a notion to give Mack a piece of his mind. He had to get up early this morning . . . a Sunday morning, for lands sake, and get down to that telegraph office of his."
"I'm truly sorry, Agnes. I'll ask Mack to tread lightly. I sent him to find Doctor Barnes, more than an hour ago. I wonder what's taking him so long . . . I might just decide to have this baby right here, if he doesn't come soon." Ruth's voice trailed off as she straightened her left leg and tried to reach the book with her foot. All she got for her trouble was a sharp cramp in her thigh.
"I'd like to come out and keep you company, Ruth. But I'm fixing Mister Parker's lunch. I'll have to take it down to the station. He can't leave his darned telegraph key today. I reckon every businessman in town has been sending telegrams trying to raise money to keep afloat since the banks were closed. If they're closed all over the country like the man on the radio said, I don't know where the Western Union's getting any money." There was a note of desperation in Agnes' voice. She had turned down the volume on her radio, so they no longer had to yell to make themselves heard.
"Well, Agnes, being poor has its good side. We don't have to worry about the banks going broke. I pinched ten dollars out of Mack's wallet when he got paid on the first of the month, so I'd have it to pay Doctor Barnes his fee. It's under my mattress, all ready for him."
"I'll be surprised if Mack can rouse Doc Barnes this early. He's probably hung over."
Continued
