Love Is Where You Find It

Part 6

It's strange to be able to pack up your entire life in a suitcase, but it's what Loretta is doing right now. She doesn't have much that she considers precious as far as material possessions go, just her guitar and photographs of the children. She doesn't even have a wedding ring, not that she would need it anymore now.

A single mother of four kids. Out of everything she thought she might be one day, that certainly didn't come to mind.

They deserve better than that, better than her. She can hear them in the other room as her daddy is helping them pack their toys and clothes. The boys and Cissie think that it's an adventure. They don't understand the permanence of it. That even though they won't be staying with her family forever, they won't ever come back to the place they call home either. Betty is more reluctant- probably because she knows better.

At first Loretta thought that maybe the man wouldn't come for the boat, but he did. Ernest cried bitterly when they drove away, Jack following along in his brother's hysterics after some time.

The kids took a liking to her daddy and it warms her heart. He is good with them just as he was always good with his own.

Her parents had eight children and Loretta was the second. Junior is three years older, Herman a year and a half younger and Jay Lee yet another year and a half younger. They all have their own lives already. Donald Ray (Loretta was nine when he was born) will be sixteen in the spring while Peggy Sue will be fourteen. Peggy Sue is the last one of her sibling she actually knew. Betty Ruth is going on eight and Brenda Gail just turned six.

With half their children still living with them, her mommy and daddy have their hands full. The last thing they need is five more mouths to feed.

But they won't stay long. She'll find work in Indiana and hopefully a home too, though she doesn't know who in their right mind will rent to a woman with four kids and no husband to speak of.

Loretta tries not to think too much. She is already overcome with an astronomical amount of dread. Having to spend more than a day on a train with four rambunctious children and subsequently facing her mother's judgment being the two things she dreads the most.

She stuffs more of her clothes, mostly consisting of jeans, cowboy shirts and worn out dresses, into the suitcase. When she accidentally grabs one of Doo's shirts, her heart nearly stops. She holds it to her nose without thinking but it doesn't smell like him but rather like the soap she washed it with. The last time he was there he threw his clothes on the bedroom floor when he changed.

Loretta feels as if she has been caught in that exasperating limbo between the present, the past and the future. She tosses the shirt away as if it has done her a personal offense.

The sound of Ernest singing 'I've been working on the railroad' drifts in her ears followed by her daddy lightly scolding, "Ernest, the whole neighborhood can hear you'.

Loretta finds herself laughing out loud, because he used to tell her something similar.

Loretta, everyone in the holler can hear you.

She was a fresh little kid and she'd say 'They're all my cousins anyway' in response. She never thought about it until she became a mother herself, but she gave her parents a lot of trouble and heartache.

"You done in there?" Ted calls.

"Almost."

She never thought that leaving would get her close to tears but given how sentimental she is, it should have been expected.

She practically grew from a child into a woman in this house. Ernest took his first steps in that living room. She cooked the first meal Doo ate willingly (albeit not happily) in that kitchen. Cissie called her 'Mama' for the first time on that front porch.

They would lose the house anyway, Loretta tells herself. Betty is rubbing at her eyes as well and when Loretta pulls her against her side she doesn't protest for once.

Once they reach the train station, it's getting late already. The darkness is merging with the milky orange of light pollution created by street lights, leaving a scant dash of visible stars.

Cissie latches on to her shirt, but Loretta keeps a tight hold on Ernest's hand. "Betty Sue, Jack Benny, stay real close," she warns the older two. Ted unloads their luggage from the bus.

They got a ticket for Betty. Kids under six go for free. Although Jack is seven, they're hoping to get away with not having to buy one for him.

"Look over there grandbabies," Ted says, pointing out a scale. "You can go weight yourselves. Come on, Ernest Ray."

Ernest eagerly grasps his grandfather's hand and follows him. "I weight 80 pounds."

"You don't weight no 80 pounds." Loretta watches Ted place Ernest on the scale, the other kids gathering around him.

She hopes that all four of them will fall asleep soon, because she is ready to collapse herself. Tiredness is shooting questions into her aching mind like a trace of bullets.

"Mommy, I'm 45 pounds," Jack tells her. He plops down beside her and grabs her by the arm. "You try it."

"Someone has to watch our stuff, honey."

"You go on," Ted says. "I'll watch it."

Once upon a time, she and her daddy used to weight the same amount. It's crazy to think about, because he's such a big man and she's a rather small woman, but he wasn't well and she was seven months pregnant then.

The first time she was on a train, she went with a baby under her heart and a note from her parents to please take care of her. It's a strange juxtaposition. Being two months from becoming a mom but unable to take care of herself.

It was nine years ago, give or take. But it might as well have been a lifetime.

***

It's a grueling journey to Indiana. Loretta doesn't find herself worrying too much, which is possibly the only upside to it. The kids are excited at first, but the novelty wears off rather fast when they realize that they would be here for a while but wouldn't be able to play the way they do at home on a moving train.

But once they get on another greyhound bus, all four of them are tired. Cissie falls asleep in her arms on the way to the house. Her daddy holds the rest of them and tells them stories.

"Let me go in first," Ted whispers over Jack's head.

Oh, her mommy will be so upset. Loretta just nods. She wouldn't have bothered waking Cissie if it didn't take both of them to carry their luggage but it does.

"Open your eyes, Cissie," Loretta tries gently. "It's time to walk for a bit."

"No-oh, Mommy," Cissie cries out.

"Mommy's gonna hold your hand. It won't be long."

It wasn't, but it feels as though it is. She stands back with the children and most everything they own. But Ted's plans are ruined when a dark haired girl runs out of the house and throws herself into his arms.

"Daddy!"

It's Brenda Gail. Or at least Loretta thinks it is.

"Mommy!" Brenda screams before Ted can shush her. "Mommy! Daddy's home! Daddy's home!"

Meanwhile, Loretta wishes that she was anywhere but here. This, she thinks, might have been a big mistake.