JOE AND | by Josie Petersen his cheek. Then he smiled widely at Mom and Dad and the hole where his tooth was missin’ showed. Dad looked proud then, and blessed the food, the day, and the pleasure of havin’ Joe Grey eat with us for an evenin’. After dinner, Dad and Joe went into the livin’ room, and Mom and I cleaned up the kitchen and washed the dishes. Mom told me how sad it must be for Joe not to have a home to go to, or a job in one town to rely on, but I was thinkin’ to myself, “Joe’s life isn’t sad. It’s wonderful! He travels all over and gets to meet so many people. He has a place in the rodeo any time he wants it, and every other Tuesday he comes to Pahaska and tells us what he’s done, and what’s happenin’ up in Tawkee River, the county seat.” When Mom and I got done with the dishes, Mom served cider in the livin’ room and we all went and sat out on the wooden porch in the warm night air. The crickets were chirpin’, and we could hear the runnin’ water in the irrigation ditch on the other side of our wire fence. Up the street, Ronny Carson’s dog barked as a car drove through town on the way to Tawkee River, 10 miles away. Joe was tellin’ Dad how things were lookin’ pretty bad for the fruit peddlin’ business and he was lookin’ for a job up on the county seat. Though I wasn’t the least bit tired, Dad told me to start for bed. I said goodnight, and after makin’ a nice bed on the couch for Joe, I went upstairs to bed. The last time I saw Joe Grey was two years ago, the summer before I entered sixth grade. But I still remembered him, and Walter, Joe’s brown and white horse. Joe used to look at me with his sparkly blue eyes, and we'd laugh together and you could always see the little hole right in front where his one tooth was missin’. Every other Tuesday when he came into Pahaska, Nevada, he’d look the very same in his blue overalls and green plaid shirt. In his back pocket, Joe kept a red kerchief to shine the apples and pears he’d come to sell. He had a beard, too. He used to say, “If the hair on top falls out, the hair on the bottom will still be there.’”’ We’d laugh again, then Joe would say, ‘‘Walter missed ya since last Tuesday, Margie. Do ya suppose ya could take a ride on him, just to show him that ya missed him, too?” Joe knew I loved those rides on Walter, every other Tuesday, so he started unhitchin’ Walter from the fruit wagon even before he started askin’ about it. Almost always, I was the first one to ride on Walter because our house was the first one as you came into town, and it usually took about ten minutes for the rest of the fifty kids in Pahaska to know Joe and Walter were here. Joe would pick me up and set me on Walter and I’d ride him clear to the big steepled church on the other side of Pahaska, five blocks away. My ponytail used to bounce so hard, it flopped over the top of my head as I rode. | Meanwhile, Joe would set up shop and sell apples to half of the kids. The other half trailed along behind Walter and me, yellin’ for me to hurry so they could have their turns. After we were finished ridin’, Joe hitched up Walter and started through town sellin’ apples and pears to all our moms. I remember when Joe would sneak an extra apple into our sacks to give our moms when they were sick or couldn’t make it to buy from him when he was in town. One Tuesday in July, when Joe came, he spent so much time with us kids, givin’ us rides on Walter and tellin’ us stories about when he was in the rodeo and when he won the rodeo championship, that the sun was almost down before he realized he should’ve been headed for Tawkee River some hours before. Some of the kids had already gone home for dinner and mom came to get me. When she heard Joe’s predicament of headin’ out of town at night, she wouldn’t allow it and she made Joe come to our house for dinner and.a night’s sleep. That night, mom wore her pretty pink flowered dress and she fixed her hair back in a bun like she wore to church on Sundays, and Dad gave Joe his chair at the table. Mom had fixed a nice ham and mashed potatoes just oozin’ with fresh butter. She even used her nice dishes that she kept just for company. I remember Joe just sittin’ there like he was sayin’ grace with his eyes open. He was smilin’ and cryin’ all at the same time, and he looked at me, almost silently, said, “Margie . .. Thank-ya!” A tear rolled down next mornin’ and I dressed as fast as I could and ran downstairs to wake up Joe. But halfway down the stairs the excitement vanished. The couch was empty, except for the muddle of blankets Joe’d slept in that night! Stingin’ tears swelled in my eyes and I couldn’t swallow the hard lump in my throat. I ran out through the kitchen to the back yard to see if he and Walter were there. Both were gone and so was the fruit wagon. I plopped down on the damp grass and sat there, tears streamin’ down my face. “How could he just leave without sayn’ good-bye to me?” I couldn’t hold it back any longer and I cried for hours. The next two weeks went by so slowly and it came Joe’s Tuesday to come into Pahaska. I played by myself in the yard, listen’ for the familiar hoof-clompin’ of Walter or someone yellin’, “Joe and Walter are here!”’ But nothing happened. The morning drew on and on. After lunch, the afternoon seemed to stand still, and then the night. During the next month, I watched every day for any sign of them. I’d wait for the mail waysack every day, hoping to hear from Joe. But I knew he’d found another job and would never come to see us again. Now and again I’d just sit a whole afternoon remembering all the things Joe and I used to do when he came. I’d think about how wonderful Joe was, and his bright blue eyes, his funny toothless smile, his soft curly beard, and everything I loved about him. I missed riding on old Walter and having polished apples from the fruit wagon. In the fall I entered sixth grade and the following year, seventh. The spring came. On the day school got out, Ronny Carson, the boy up the street, walked me home from school. Ronny had been my special friend for almost a year: As we started to enter my front gate, one of the kids yelled, “Hey, is that Joe comin’ into town?’ We stood in won- 16 17 The sunshine comin’ through my blue ginham curtains woke me