Lucky Strike. Nancy Zafris
She peeked around the corner of the truck. “Where’s Beth?” she asked.
He shrugged. “She likes the shade.”
“I was a farm girl, Harry. He got me off the farm. How many times have you heard that story?”
“It doesn’t have to be a permanent situation.”
“I don’t know about that, but it’s the situation I’m in. It’s not great. It’s not even good. But it got me off the farm. All we did was work. I barely knew my dad was my dad. We were just his hired hands.”
“You’re stronger than you look. I guess that explains it.”
“Not hired actually. He got us for free. I can tell you one thing: he was sorry to walk me down the aisle.”
The Geiger counters and scintillators were last to go in. He always kept a few at the ready, just in case he met some hope-addled dogstakers along the road. He still couldn’t believe himself back at the camp, how he had packed the fan belt way in the rear of the truck. He was always so careful—except whenever he had an opportunity to shoot himself in the foot. He couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t made half a fool of himself in front of Jimmy Splendid—and now in front of the ladies, too. Everyone thought he just sold compressor bits, but he sold the whole compressor, too, and all the parts for the Chicago Pneumatic and Jagger. How many times had he tried to make that clear to Jimmy and Jimmy didn’t listen? And now Jimmy had cut him off once again and Harry was reduced to selling him shovels—shovels!—all in front of the ladies. Maybe polygamy wasn’t a trait, but by God ridiculous shovel-selling must be.
“Lot of stuff in this truck,” Jo said.
“I have a new mining camp to go to tomorrow,” Harry said. “Guess I’ll try them out.”
“I wish I’d been a man ten years older so I could have gone off to war. England or France or Germany. I would have stayed. I never would have come home. Do you believe that?”
“I believe you,” Harry said.
“That’s what I wish.”
“I’m leaving this evening,” Harry said.
“You’re not staying the night?”
“Got to get a head start.”
“I hope it pays off.”
“I do, too.”
“When will you be back?”
“I have a tent.” Harry chanced a glance into her eyes. “You could go with me if you’d like.”
“What, and leave my husband?”
“I’m a gentleman,” Harry said. He’d always been quite sure of that whenever he’d said it before.
Jo fixed the pleats of her dress, removed a sandal, and shook out a stone. “Then I’d have to leave you, Harry. And then the next person and the next, all the way to England.” She kept her head down, concentrating on the pleats.
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