Jeremiah's Journey
By
Dirk Stimson
This story might have been submitted some time ago - I've re-written it. It is inspired by a man I knew in my youth who traveled the country during the depression - if you are too young to remember that time - ask your folks. Oh, one more thing one last time: My login is "Jimmela" I write as Dirk Stimson - got it??
*****
Jeremiah jumped out of the box car as it slowed coming into the rail yard. It was dusty. Jeremiah hated dust, but then, this is why this part of the country had been labeled "The Dust Bowl". "Somewhere in Oklahoma," Jeremiah mused. "Someday, maybe I'll get a map and figure out where the hell I am."
He had been on the road for six days and intended to be gone for two months. Jeremiah, his notebook and his camera. He was lean. At about six feet, he was muscular, not skinny. Years of physical labor had given him a rock hard stomach, large pectoral muscles, a strong jaw line and an understanding of what hard work really meant. He had angular features which were not unpleasant. Blue eyes set evenly on each side of a rather long nose. His mouth, however was soft, sensual. He had brown hair which he kept closely cropped.
It was 1934. Things were not going well in the U.S. of A. Mr. Franklin Delano Roosevelt had taken office the year before, telling everyone that we "have nothing to fear but fear itself", yet bread lines still formed and in the Midwest and south, the dust blew and the people were picking up and heading to California.
Jeremiah did not like being tied down. He had chosen to freelance his writingand photography skills. He left New York telling his editor at Life Magazine that he wanted to document what the depression was doing to the ordinary folk. Not just in the big cities, but in the small towns and specifically out here in the farm belt. So, he had taken a train west to Pittsburgh. There he had found a camp of hobos, people on the road, either out of choice or necessity.
The next day he had joined some young men who were headed west, going to find work in California. They made their way to the rail yard, waited until a westbound train
had slowed and then jumped aboard an open box car. Jeremiah had made the jump easily. He was well fed, very fit and until that night, had slept in his own bed every night, unlike his traveling companions.
They headed west, changing trains a couple of times, ducking the railroad cops who would beat your head in if they caught you. He had stayed in other Hobo Camps, slept one night in what could best be described as a flop house in Missouri. And now, here he was, dusty and stiff, watching the train from which he had jumped moving out, gaining speed.
Now, here in this dusty place, he hoped to find yet more stories and a few more pictures for a spread in Life Magazine. He swung his pack up on his shoulder and picked his way across the rails out of the yard. He found himself on a road that was a black ribbon stretching north from the rail yards. "Good as any," he muttered to himself and strode on to the asphalt.
It was hot. Dry, but hot. He took a swig from the army canteen that he carried and squinted at the sun and pulled his wide brimmed hat lower over his eyes . He kept walking. About a mile up the road he saw, off the road about three hundred yards, a farmhouse. The field between it and the road looked parched and the corn was stunted. He started across the field towards the house, figuring to get out of the sun as much as anything else.
As he approached the house he saw two children playing around an old truck tire, tied to a tree with rope. They were giggling and swinging back and forth. A boy and a
girl, about six and eight he figured. As he approached they stopped and stared. Jeremiah put on his most charming grin and waved.
"Hi ya!" He called. "Havin'fun?"
The two looked at each other and giggled then ran for the steps to the porch. As they reached the porch the screen door swung open. The woman who stood there had to be about forty, Jeremiah figured. She was a thin blonde going a bit to gray he thought. She wore a shapeless dress and an apron. She lifted a hand to her hair, pulling it away from her forehead. Jeramiah put on his grin again and moved to the bottom of the steps.
"Hello," he said gently. By moving closer he could see that she was not forty. More like in her thirties. But the times and the troubles had taken their toll. There were lines in her smooth skin and the blonde hair had probably been luminous at one time but now was trending towards dull.
"My name's Jeremiah Watson. Wondered if I could set a bit and talk to you and the kids" he said as he gestured to the two tykes now wrapped around their mother's waist.
"You sellin' somethin' Mister? Cause if you are, we got no money." He was startled by the voice. It was husky, pitched low and he felt it deep in his gut.
"No ma'm," said Jeremiah, taking off his hat. " I'm a photographer and writer from New York. Come west to tell the story of what's happening out here"
She looked at him, her mouth a slim line. Slim yes, noted Jeremiah, but her lips were anything but thin. They were a bit pouty and very sensuous. "What's happening out
here?" She said it with a note of disgust and frustration. "Dust and depression, that's what's happenin' out here."
He saw that while her eyes had circles under them, they were a startling blue. "Yes ma'am," he said. "That's exactly what I want to tell all those folks back east. They got it hard, but I do believe for all of you, it's a bit harder."
"A bit?" The blue eyes blazed for a moment and then went soft. "I don't know Mr. Jeremiah Watson. I never been back east. But this is as tough as it gets, I do believe. Well," she said, gesturing, "come on up and set a spell. We don't get company often, so you're welcome."
Jeremiah climbed the steps which squeaked under his weight. The two children peeked out from under their mother's dress. As they pulled back on it he got a glimpse of strong, long legs. Jeremiah smiled at the woman. She smiled back. When she did, little dimples appeared on her cheeks. He blue eyes took on a deep shine and the lips were indeed sensuous. He got the idea that she did not smile very often.
"Get you some water? She asked in that husky voice. "'Bout all we got, sorry to say."
"No ma'm, said Jeremiah, staring directly into those blue eyes, unable to tear his gaze away. "Got my canteen here and that'll do just fine, thank you."
She motioned to an old rocking chair. "Sit down, you must have been walking for quite a spell in this heat."
"Just from the rail yard. But it is indeed a hot day."
She leaned back against the rail of the porch across from him. She crossed her arms over her chest and Jeremiah saw the outline of her small breasts under the dress. While it looked like she wore a slip, she did not appear to have a bra on and her nipples were clearly outlined above her crossed arms. "Come from New York, did you?"
"Yes ma'm. Been riding rails since Pittsburgh. Not a pleasant way to travel."
"I bet it wasn't," she said and cocked her head to the left. "Why did you stop here?"
