  Pale and apathetic, Judy waited on the porch for the Little Percent to take them to Denver. It was cold. A mist hung over the valley. The elation of the previous night was gone. Through the open door she could hear her parents talking. What can she know of life ... hardship ... disappointments ... give her stability, direction—They mean me, she thought bitterly. Then her father’s comforting words about Grandfather— The car swung briskly before the house. Fran jumped out, picked up the suitcases from the porch, and hurriedly whispered to Judy as he passed, “Sit up front with me. You don’t want to sit with them,” indicating with a nod the other passengers in the car. While Fran stowed away the luggage, the Luries stood at the curb. John kissed his wife and helped her into the car. Judy still gazed at the mountains, overhung with low clouds. She sighed heavily. She felt her father’s hand. He started to say something about Karl. Instead he took her in his arms. “Clouds have a way of disappearing,” he said gently, “just as yours will.” He wanted to see her smile. “You’ll soon get a glimpse of the two characters on the back seat. They’re smothered in robes and scarves all set for a polar expedition.” He chuckled. “The ladies may be young and beautiful, but who can tell?” Judy returned his smile. Mrs. Lurie was already seated with the two characters—caricatures would more aptly describe them, Judy thought. Yet they looked vaguely familiar. “Would it be all right, Mother, if I sat up front with Fran? This little straight-back seat doesn’t look too—” “Of course, dear. You’ll be more comfortable.” The car rushed forward in a cloud of dust with Mr. Lurie’s voice trailing it, “Don’t forget to send me the wire when your plane reaches New York.” Aspen was soon left behind. From the back seat came a continuous stream of talk. Whenever her mother addressed her, Judy turned with a dull, indifferent glance. It was during one of these fleeting moments that Mrs. Lurie attempted an introduction to their fellow passengers. “This is Miss Simms and Miss Clark—” Judy, wrapped in her own thoughts, couldn’t care less. The sun broke through the heavy mist and the two ladies peeled off several layers of covering. For all Judy’s abstraction, she couldn’t help identifying them through their formal address of each other. “Miss Simms, that mountain is Granite.” “Look at the map, Miss Clark, it’s Mt. Massive.” The gray, fuzzy ringleted Miss Clark in her mouselike turban was still cheering for Granite. Miss Simms, her hair a shiny black, two spots of rouge giving her an odd, clownlike look, stoutly maintained otherwise. Suddenly Judy remembered: These were the two birdlike visitors whom she had tried to sketch at the Seminar Building. “I see you lost your job as guide,” Judy remarked to Fran. He nodded, “Teachers are smart but queer. Imagine, they came to the office yesterday just to find out the exact route so they could be prepared with maps and things.” “Not music teachers?” “No, High School. They were in Aspen three weeks and took in every lecture night and day and concerts in between.” Fran shook his head over such incredible industry. “In the fifteen minutes they were in the office they gave me advice as if I were their long lost brother.” “About what?” “About learning. ‘You don’t want to be a cab driver all your life? How about studying at night? Or taking correspondence courses. There are some good ones.’” Fran shrugged his shoulders. “I told them I like what I’m doing—making money, helping Mom out with the kids, skiing in winter, and I make money then too, enjoying life. They looked kind of disgusted or maybe just disappointed. ‘Where’s your ambition?’ they asked.” The car made a turn skirting a deep precipice. Accustomed to Fran’s sadistic pleasure in scaring his passengers, Judy repressed her own impulse to cry out. Besides, there had been enough terrified “Ohs” during the last two hours. “Will I be thankful when we get to Leadville,” Miss Clark said resignedly. “I understand we can get an excellent meal there—a restaurant famous in the old silver-mining days.” “I’m hungry too. How much longer will it be before we get there?” Fran turned around squarely, an old habit of his. “In about an hour or so.” “Don’t you dare turn around like that!” came the stern rebuke. “Look, another car’s approaching.” “Don’t worry, Miss Simms, that car’s not moving, waiting for us to pass, I guess.” They approached the waiting car. It rested precariously on the edge of the road, part of it in the deep gully. A young man stood beside it, an anxious smile on his unshaven face. “What’s the trouble?” Fran asked, sticking his head out of the window. “I hit one of those rocks.” Fran didn’t wait to hear any more. He got out, followed by all his passengers. “The rocks must have fallen during the night,” the man went on. “I was trying to steer clear of one boulder when I hit the other. The tire blew. I guess we were lucky at that.” A baby’s wail startled the group. “Is that a baby crying?” The man pointed to a piece of flat ground partially hidden by scrub and trees. “My wife’s over there. The little feller hasn’t stopped yelling for an hour.” Mrs. Lurie started toward the clearing, followed by the teachers and Judy. “Can we be of any help?” Mrs. Lurie timidly inquired. The young woman looked up, a radiant smile transfiguring her thin face. She was sitting on a rug untidily surrounded by cans, pots, and zippered bags. “Awfully nice of you folks to stop,” she said, talking over the head of the screaming child. “I was beginning to think ours was the only car on this terrible road. Your driver going to help my Jim?” “Of course,” Judy said quickly. “He’s getting the tools out of the trunk right now.” “What a beautiful baby!” cooed Miss Simms. “Beautiful,” echoed Miss Clark. “I was just thinking maybe I should warm some milk. He won’t touch the nice bologna sandwich we brought along.” Miss Simms shuddered visibly. “Maybe it’s just as well the little man refused it. Why don’t you and Mrs. Lurie see about the milk. Miss Clark and I will amuse the baby.” She firmly took hold of the protesting child. “High-diddle-diddle, the cat and the fiddle—” on and on went the strangely sweet tones, while Miss Clark bounced the baby up and down in what even Judy knew was thoroughly unorthodox fashion. The baby quieted ... smiled. “Judy,” Fran shouted. “Come over here and lend a hand. We’ve got to get the car squarely on the road before we can take off the tire. Lucky she’s light. You, Judy, grab the front with Jim. I’ll take the ditch side. One, two, three, heave—” The car was set on the road. In half an hour tube and tire were patched, air pumped in, and the spare examined. “Everything’s O.K. Where’d you say you were heading for, Jim?” “Los Angeles. I’ve a good job I’m to take over in two weeks. A lucky break. I was laid off back in Detroit for two months.” Mrs. Jim joined them and placed the sleeping baby into the car bed. Her bundles, neatly packed by the faithful, were beside her. “Our only worry,” Jim went on, “is where we’re going to live. The company couldn’t promise a thing.” He shrugged his shoulders. “We’ve got to take our chances.” “Not have a place to live—and with a baby—that’s awful!” Judy exclaimed involuntarily. Mrs. Jim turned. “No, it’s not awful. Jim’s got a job and we’ve got our health. The rest is in the Lord’s hands. Didn’t He send you good people along?” A few minutes later they were saying good-bye after having wished each other well. They drove off in opposite directions. For a while something intangible silenced the energetic teachers. Perhaps they and Mrs. Lurie were weighing the possible hazards that still awaited Jim and his family. Fran finally found his tongue. “I think it’s putting quite a strain on the Lord to expect Him to send a car along—or find sleeping quarters! Don’t you agree, Judy?” “Maybe.” She was thinking of her own problems now dwarfed by the recent encounter. “Faith is beautiful,” she said dreamily. “Beautiful, but not sensible,” Fran answered with a skeptical grin. An hour later they reached a town. Passing warehouses and unpretentious stores, Fran drove straight to a plain-looking restaurant with an enormous sign, “Welcome to Leadville and Walker’s Cafe and Bar.” “Here’s where we eat,” Fran told the crestfallen Judy, who had envisaged a gilded palace. Seated at a longish wooden table, each studied the oversized menu card. Next to such tempting items as sizzled hamburgers with Western trimmings, steak hunter style, and the like were pictures of once famous mines and in fine print, the history of Leadville. Judy, her appetite for the printed word unimpaired, read avidly while munching her food. “The population of Leadville, once sixty-five thousand, has dwindled to five. Look, here’s a picture of Matchless that Horace Tabor gave to Baby Doe!” “What, another baby?” Miss Simms innocently inquired. Judy shrugged her shoulders. “Why of all things!” Miss Clark eagerly turned to Fran. “Climax is only fifteen miles from here. Any chance of our passing it? It’s the biggest molybdenum mine in the world.” “No, I’m afraid not. What kind of a mine was that you mentioned?” Fran asked, stumped for once. “You mean molybdenum? It’s a metal used in steel. You see, being a chemistry teacher, I happen to know about it.” If there was anything left of the glamour of the old silver-mining days, the Little Percenters got no glimpse of it. On they traveled over the winding road, seven thousand feet high, the ravines dotted with mines worked today for uranium and other strategic metals. Barely leaving the towering peaks behind them, they drove into the shining city of Denver, as impressive in its setting of modern skyscrapers as Leadville was mean and dingy. “We’ll soon be getting to the airport, Judy—” “Yes, Fran.” “I just wanted to tell you that Karl promised to write to me. Could you—that is when you have time—would you—” “Of course, I will. It’ll sort of be a link between us and Karl.” “Thanks. I want to ask you something else. Do you think I should study the way those teachers said?” “It would be wonderful if you can manage. Why don’t you speak to them before they go on the train? They’re very nice and kind. They like to help people.” “I will. One thing more. Books, the kind you and Karl go for—” He paused, then smiling sheepishly, said, “Maybe I’m biting off more than I can chew.” “No. Books are wonderful. I can send them. We’ve shelves and shelves filled with them. And I’ll get the list from our librarian. You’d be surprised at the wonderful books there are, in the libraries just for the asking.” “You see, I don’t want Karl to be ashamed of me—when he comes back—maybe famous.” “When Karl comes back,” Judy’s voice shook a little, “we’ll have a grand reunion in Aspen!” At the airport, Mrs. Lurie shook hands warmly with the teachers, whom she had gotten to know and like. To Fran she said, “You’re a fine driver and a kind and capable young man.” Judy too made amends for her early indifference. “We’re like ships that pass in the night,” she told the astonished teachers, “friendly, helpful ships,” and she smiled enigmatically. The Little Percent with its remaining passengers drove off. |
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