The Mural. Michael Mallory
I just thought that, well, Howard is the one who told me to come down here, and I thought maybe that Howard spoke to you, too.”
“I’m sorry, but I haven’t spoken with anyone named Howard. Is he your son?”
“Howard? Oh, no, he and I were talking about getting married, but that was a long time ago.”
“You’ve kept up with him, though.”
“No, no, I can’t say as I have, but he contacted me a couple of days ago. I think it was a couple of days ago. I’m a little tired from the bus ride. It was in the middle of the night, so I don’t know which day to count it as.”
Howard must be her husband, then, Jack thought. In the poor woman’s addled mind, he must have been relegated to a suitor. “You know, if you have Howard’s number we can call him,” he suggested, taking out his cell phone and showing it to her.
“Oh, no,” Althea replied with a knowing smile. “Howard’s dead. That’s why I was so surprised to see him.”
“Yeeesss...I imagine that would be something of a surprise.”
There was an awkward silence, filled only by the sounds of cars driving slowly by on the street and the crunching of Robynn’s wafer cone. Then Althea said: “I know what you’re thinking, young man, that I’m some old biddy who’s not right in the head.”
Jack had to smile at her candor.
“I think you’re nice,” said Robynn.
“Thank you, honey. I think you’re nice, too. If you like, you can call me Noni. That’s what my own grandchildren call me.”
“Look, Mrs. Kinchloe, I just want to make sure you’re okay, because you seem far from home.”
“Yes, quite a ways. I took the bus because I don’t drive anymore. Maybe Howard didn’t know that. I just threw a few things for the trip in this bag”—she patted an old cloth tote—“and headed out. I had to change buses in Paso Robles. Anyway, this is where Howard told me to come, and since he had never tried to talk to me before, I figured it must have been important.”
“How did Howard contact you?”
“In a dream. Like I said, he’s dead, has been for more than sixty years.”
“So he told you to come here and meet someone.”
“Yes, a little girl, like this sweet thing here.” She smiled down at Robynn, who smiled back.
The conversation was starting to make Jack nervous. “Howard came to you in a dream and told you to come and meet my daughter?”
“A little girl is what he said. She’s the only little girl I’ve seen since I’ve been here.”
“How long have you been here?”
“The bus got in just after ten. What is it now?”
Jack looked at his watch. It was nearly two. The woman had been sitting here on this bench, in the heat of the day, for almost four hours waiting for a little girl at the request of an old dead boyfriend. Every instinct he had told him to pick up Robynn and run, run away as fast as possible, but he knew that was out of the question. He could not simply walk away and abandon a woman who was clearly confused, if not infirm, in the middle of an unfamiliar town. At the very least, he would have to find a policeman or some other city official and turn her over to them.
“Mrs. Kinchloe, do you know why Howard wanted to you come down here to meet someone you’ve never met?”
“Why he wanted me to come down here?” she asked, as though the question was puzzling.
“Yes, what is it he intends for you and this person you are to meet to do?”
“That’s the part that doesn’t make any sense. I’m supposed to fight the legion.”
“What’s the legion?”
“I don’t know. Gracious, it’s hot out here. Usually I like the heat, but today it’s too much.”
“Okay, maybe we should all go inside,” Jack suggested. The last thing he wanted was the old woman fainting, or worse, in front of him and Robynn. “I have an idea. Let’s all go into that restaurant over there and have a cup of coffee and a piece of pie, or something, and talk about this.”
“Pie and ice cream on one day?” Robynn said excitedly. “I don’t think Mommy would like that.”
“Mommy isn’t here,” Jack replied, a bit sharply. Then: “Don’t worry, punkin, lots of people eat pie and ice cream together, it’s called à la mode. It will be all right this once. Mrs. Kinchloe, will you come?”
“Sure, sure,” she said, lifting herself off the bench.
Jack picked up her small bag and the three of them made their way toward the restaurant, which was called O’Dowd’s Place. The interior was done in Early American Cowtown Fantasy, a combination of oaken tables, heavy wooden beams with decorative gingerbread, hanging lights with ornate red glass shades, a long bar complete with a brass foot rail and prop spittoons, a stuffed buffalo on the back wall, and a sawdust-covered floor. Jack and Althea each got coffee, while Robynn, with some help, decided on a slice of chocolate cream pie. Her eyes grew wide when she saw the size of it and even wider when she tasted it. “I like this!” she declared.
“Okay, punkin, you eat your pie and color the pictures on that menu while Mrs. Kinchloe and I talk, all right?”
“Hmm-hmmm.”
Althea Kinchloe stirred some cream into her coffee. “You know, when I think about what I’ve been saying to you, I wouldn’t blame you for thinking I must be out of my mind. It sounds pretty crazy.”
“It sounds like you must have been a very vivid dream.”
“Real. It was very real. Usually I don’t smell things in dreams, but in this one I could actually smell the wet paint around the studio.” Althea laughed softly. “I’m sure that won’t make a lick of sense to you, but my Howard was an artist. He worked for the WPA during the thirties on all their projects, things like those great big—”
“Murals?” Jack interrupted.
“Yes, you’ve seen them?”
“I’ve seen one just recently, or at least a small bit of one, up at the ruins of an old abandoned town in the woods.”
“Daddy, can I go out and get Mr. Booty from the car?” Robynn asked. “He’d like this pie, too.”
“Can he wait a little bit, punkin?”
“Okay.”
“You must mean that old lumber town,” Althea said.
“You know it?”
“I haven’t thought about it for ages. They were building it when Howard and I were up at San Simeon.”
“We’re headed for San Simeon.”
“That must be why Howard wanted me to come and meet you. He must have specified the little girl so I’d know who to look for.”
Jack did not know what to think. Things had seemed not quite normal for the past couple of days, but now here was a woman completely out of the blue who claimed to have been directed to meet him, or at least Robynn, by a ghost who happened to be a WPA mural artist. Could it be that he was dreaming?
“Daddy, now I’m thirsty,” Robynn said, and Jack flagged down the waitress and asked her to bring a glass of water.
“Oh, what a lovely picture you’re coloring, Robynn,” Althea said, looking across the table at the printed menu with the broad drawings of cows in cowboy hats and bonnets on them. Robynn smiled back at her as the waitress brought three waters. After a quick sip, Robynn went back to concentrating on her crayons.
“I