Chapter 23
morgan
It did stop snowing later that night, but it took a while for the plows to do their work.
Plowy McPlowface even did a turn through the parking lot of the feed and grain, with both Morgan and Jack cheering the driver on.
It wasn’t until Friday that the Montana road conditions app on Morgan’s phone told him the highway to Billings was clear enough to drive.
Jack needed new clothes, and Morgan had made up his mind that it was his responsibility to provide them. Mabel’s scolding might have had something to do with that, but he’d been thinking it, anyway.
“I need you to drive me to Billings so I can return that overdue library book,” he said after breakfast.
“You could mail it,” Jack said.
“Or I could drive myself,” Morgan replied. The truck was an automatic. “But with only one leg at the ready, it wouldn’t be safe.” He looked at Jack, playing his best card. “What if I get stuck? It’s barely one degree out there. I’d freeze to death.”
“You have a phone,” Jack said, actually crossing his arms over his chest.
“I’d freeze to death before help arrived.”
Of course, Jack’s two good legs weren’t going to be much help if they spun out and landed in a snowdrift in the middle of nowhere, but that wasn’t the point. Morgan had been trying to be tricky about this, but that wasn’t working, so he tried the truth.
“Look. Your boots are nearly worn through. You need your own coat and gloves and hat. Scarf. More socks. Underwear.” He made as though he were more irritated about that than he was.
“Also, I don’t want to hear any more about it from Mabel.
” He pursed his lips as Mabel tended to do and affected a high voice.
“You let that boy run around with holes in his boots? How could you?”
That made Jack laugh and relax. “I’m used to doing without.”
“You don’t have to, and you shouldn’t,” Morgan said. “Not on my watch.”
Somehow, Jack had managed long trips exposed to the weather on whatever train he’d managed to hitch a ride on.
But that didn’t matter. It wasn’t right that Jack should continue to live like he was hanging on to the rusty rung of a ladder whose stability had every right to be questioned, while the train rattled and bumped and tried to throw him off.
He deserved better.
“You’re working for me,” Morgan said firmly.
“So consider the clothes a uniform. When you leave, if you leave—” He paused to settle his thoughts about that not-too-far-off day.
“You can take whatever you want with you and leave the rest behind. But for now, you wear the uniform I’m going to provide you with. Understood?”
“Yes, boss,” Jack said with a mock salute.
While Jack dug out the truck—using the scraper with his bare hands, for Pete’s sake—Morgan made coffee and filled a thermos he’d found. He thought about packing some snacks, but Billings was only an hour away. They’d shop, have lunch there, and be back by mid-afternoon.
The sky was bright blue as they set out, the horizon a veil of crystal-flecked light. They stopped on the way out of town so Jack could top off the tank at the town’s only gas station, and then they headed down Highway 311 to the I-94 intersection.
A few cars were on the highway, with most of the traffic in the right lane. Though the whole of the highway had been plowed, only the right lane in each direction was mostly free of snow.
Jack drove a bit fast for Morgan’s taste, but he went steadily and was focused on the road, so after ten minutes of worrying, Morgan settled in. Even fell asleep for a bit, waking only when he sensed Jack moving his body, the truck slowing.
Jack was reaching for the thermos at Morgan’s feet, so, waving Jack off, Morgan unscrewed the lid, filled it with coffee, and handed it over.
As he drank, Jack’s eyes stayed on the road, which glistened in the sun. When Jack was finished, Morgan polished off what remained of the coffee.
He screwed the lid back on and asked, “So, did you know Blue and Star before you rode the trains with them?”
Sparing him a glance, Jack shook his head. “You tell me more about Bradley first. Then I’ll tell you about them.”
They had time, and Morgan didn’t want to argue, so he outlined the accident and Bradley’s reaction to it.
He explained how Bradley didn’t want to be around someone who couldn’t do for themselves.
How he’d treated Morgan like a child when Morgan had come home from the hospital, until one day, he simply stopped caring at all.
How he’d left Morgan with the rent due and two months left on the lease on their apartment.
He took a breath and was about to explain that maybe he and Bradley had been growing apart anyway, when Jack snorted.
“What an asshole.”
“Excuse me?”
“Not you, him.” Jack shook his head, slowing down for the exit they wanted, mile marker 452. “Only an asshole would cut and run when things got tough.”
He smiled to himself as he took the winding exit into the small city and followed the phone’s directions along low sandstone cliffs.
“Not that I’d know. I never really dated anyone. Just took some girls out for a bite to eat.” He glanced at Morgan. “Mostly to make my dad happy. Not that it helped.”
They arrived at the center of Billings, its wide streets and bare trees a contrast to the expansive sky above, blue with streaks of white. When Jack parked in the library’s near-empty parking lot, Morgan gathered up the book, but Jack took it from his hands.
“I’ll do it,” he said, then jumped out and trotted up the salt-coated marble steps. Morgan watched him go, lithe and, yes, nimble.
He didn’t have to wait long until Jack opened the door again, white clouds of frozen breath expanding around his head. He brought cold air with him as he got back into the truck.
“They were real sorry to hear about Oralee,” Jack said. “She was a regular. Twice a month, usually. And they waived the late fee.”
“That was nice of them,” Morgan said.
Waiving the fee was such a small-town thing to do, considerate and helpful. But he was more interested in hearing the rest of Jack’s story. Like where had he taken those Bryn Mawr girls.
Morgan wondered what they’d thought when they found out Jack had left town.
And what they’d think now, if they saw him taking a temporarily disabled man like Morgan on errands.
And what they’d say if they knew he didn’t like girls.
What they’d feel if they ever found out what they were missing.
Courageous, high-spirited, kind-hearted Jack, with his laughing eyes and wide mouth.
With a cough, Morgan waited until Jack was settled in the driver’s seat, seat belt securely fastened, and then had his phone start the directions to the army surplus store.
It was a quick drive from the library. The store was a single-level block, decorated with blue-and-red banners, and there was parking everywhere.
“I don’t need anything,” Jack groused as he parked up close so Morgan wouldn’t have to walk far. Both of which were typical of him.
Morgan smiled. “We’re here,” he said. “We might as well go in.”
Inside was rack upon rack upon shelf of clutter, from authentic army backpacks made of green canvas to boxes of blue canteens, camouflage jackets, and hats. Everything smelled like mothballs and dust.
Toward the front were new goods, tuques and scarves and mittens and gloves, as well as sage green parkas with synthetic fur around the hood. A little farther back were the socks and T-shirts and briefs that Jack needed so badly.
Morgan could tell just by looking at him that Jack, with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket, did not want Morgan to buy him anything. That, in his mind, this was charity of the worst, most insulting kind.
“Too bad,” Morgan said in response to Jack’s imaginary tirade of protest. “You need ’em, and we’re here. If you like, I can take the cost out of your salary.”
He planned to do no such thing, and he could tell by the way Jack tightened his mouth that it was nothing to him if Morgan only gave him five hundred dollars instead of the promised thousand. That Jack could go on digging for leftovers other people had thrown away.
That he could stand the cold just fine, and a little frostbite meant nothing to him. Neither did the threat of lockjaw from rusty ladders, or hearing damage from the noise of the train. He was young, after all, and was prepared to take whatever life threw at him. Little did he know.
A clerk approached them, taking in Morgan’s purple cane. “Thank you for your service,” he said. “Can I help you at all?”
“No,” Morgan said quickly. “I mean, I wasn’t in the military. This is from a car accident. But yes, we could use the help.”
Jack shook his head no, but Morgan nodded, and the clerk grabbed a shopping cart and walked with them up and down the aisles.
Morgan pointed at a pair of mink-brown Thorogood boots made of sturdy oiled leather.
At thick socks, packets of briefs, and packets of white T-shirts.
New flannel shirts of blue-and-black plaid, green-and-black plaid.
Pairs of new jeans so blue they rivaled the bluest skies of Montana.
Gloves and scarf and knit hat. And lastly, at one of the sage green parkas.
“I don’t need that,” Jack sputtered.
“It’s good to forty below,” the clerk said, ever helpful and on Morgan’s side as they pushed the overflowing cart to the checkout. “It was designed for Arctic conditions.”
“I don’t need those, either,” Jack said as the clerk held up a packet containing a set of gray silk thermal underwear.
“We’ll take it all,” Morgan said, pulling out his wallet. “Can you help us load it into the truck?”
The surplus store had giant black plastic shopping bags, and the clerk was only too happy to oblige them.
Morgan handed the scarf and the gloves to Jack and glared until Jack put them on. Jack scowled as he wrapped the scarf around his neck, though there was a smile in his eyes.
“The hat, too,” Morgan said.