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Stories from the Verse
Multiverser: The Thirteenth Story
Chapter 15: Brown 369
Table of Contents
Previous chapter: Takano 161
The gravel road turned to concrete as they entered Welford. Walking across the town took fifteen minutes, and on the far side they saw a bridge near a ford, which was probably what the town was named for.
Derek looked at the river, and pointed out that they could float downstream, join the Ohio and the Mississippi all the way down to where their stuff was. Vashti nodded, but countered by pointing out that this would make the trip far longer. It would not be anything like a straight journey.
Derek was considering the train station, and a train ride south. Vashti pointed out the cars, and he noted some black painted cars without roofs. The problem was that with all of these plans, it would require money. Otherwise they would have to hoof it for hundreds of miles. He thought Brian Barrelmaster might not have minded that, but he preferred not to if he could avoid it.
“It’s time to sort out our money,” he said. “Let’s find a quiet corner, maybe a bench, where we can go through our pockets.” Scanning, he spotted such a bench, molded concrete so the seat was solid with a slight curve that would help keep the money from sliding off. He walked over and sat at one end, indicating to Vashti that she should take the other, and began emptying his pockets.
Most of his money was from the nineteen-fifties, the pay he received in Berkeley. He had a few coins older than that, and managed to count a dollar and thirty-seven cents. He wondered what that would be worth.
Vashti was counting out her money. She counted aloud the last few pennies, “seven, eight, nine. Twenty three dollars and eighty-nine cents.”
Derek stared at her. “How so much?”
“Well, you were always spending your pay, buying us meals and things we needed. I just stuffed mine in my pockets. Occasionally I got Henry to trade some of my small change for larger coins, so I’ve got, like fifteen of these--what did he call them? Silver dollars. And I’ve got some half dollars, and a bunch of quarters. Dimes, nickels, and pennies took up a lot of space in my pockets, so I tried to keep those minimal.”
He shook his head. “You’re wonderful--you know that, don’t you?”
She blushed.
“That means we have twenty-five dollars twenty-six cents.”
“Is that a lot?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Undoubtedly it’s a lot more than it would have been in Berkeley, probably less than it would have been in New Orleans. But it might buy us a couple tickets on something, if we can figure out where we’re going.”
“We really need a map like you described.”
Nodding, Derek led them over to the Standard Oil Co. gas station on the north side of the town. Perhaps he could buy one there. He could hope anyway. The gas station had just one pump in the front and the signage said 10¢ a gallon, and offered free crank case change whatever that was. As he walked up, he saw a man in a striped shirt and pants with Standard Oil patches on the shirt along with oil smudges.
As the man came up to them, he said.
“Hi, are you folks looking to buy a car?”
“Sorry, we don’t have the money. But we’d like to buy a road map if you have them.”
“We do have them, but--you can’t buy them.” Derek felt a surge of irritation, but the man’s grin was just too wide, so he just waited.
“They’re free, mister. All the gas stations, Texaco, and Sinclair, and of course Standard filling stations give them away for free. Trying to drum up business. Get everyone in America out to enjoy the fun of the open road. I tell you mister, if you have not tried one. It's better than the slow steamboat, or the stuffy train. You get the blast of cool wind in your face, and you can start and stop anytime you want to. Just have a picnic with your lady on the roadside. I take my wife and children out every Sunday afternoon after church in the summer. Lot cooler than the hot house.”
“I might take you up on that, but we’re short of money. I’ll be glad to take a road map though.”
“Okay. All right. Well, I tried. Boss bought himself a new car, and wants to sell his old Model T.” The gas station attendant walked inside, and came back out with a folded map. He made sure they knew how to fold and unfold it, assuming wrongly this was an innovation to Derek. Wishing them safe travels, he then leaned forward a bit, and spoke more softly.
“Now I’d advise you two to stay out of Perry’s Five and Dime. You’ll see why if you walk past.”
Derek nodded, and this time as he walked back through town for the third time, he paid attention to the busy but small shoppe with its assortment of oddments visible through the wide plate glass windows. Door paned windows were marred by a white and blue decal. In the center of the circular decal were three stylized K’s in dark blue, and in a circle about the center were the words ‘Proud Supporter of the Ku Klux Klan.’ A few other businesses had the same in their windows, but most did not.
“What bothers you, love?”
“People,” he grunted, and she sighed, and patted his arm as they kept on walking.
“The servant man at the Standard place was nice, even if he tried too hard to be funny.”
“Yes, he was,” Derek allowed, ungritting his teeth, and loosening his fists.
As to the old stories that have long been here:
