Pilgrimage

Of course the whole town was flung into a tizzy. There were the children of millionaires out there and famous people's kids, too, but about the only glimpse we ever got of them was as they swept grandly through the town in the ranch station wagons. On such occasions we collectively blinked our eyes at the chromium glitter, and sighed-though perhaps for different reasons. I sighed for thin unhappy faces pressed to windows and sad eyes yearning back at houses where families lived who wanted their kids.
Anyway the consensus of opinion was that it would be worth suffering through a "music concert" to get to go to a dance with a real orchestra, because only those who attended the concert were eligible for the dance.
There was much discussion and much heartburning over what to wear to the two so divergent affairs. The boys were complacent after they found out that their one good outfit was right for both. The girls discussed endlessly, and embarked upon a wild lend-borrow spree when they found that fathers positively refused to spend largely even for this so special occasion.
I was very pleased for the Francher kid. Now he'd have a chance to hear live music-a considerable cut above what snarled in our staticky wave lengths from the available radio stations. Now maybe he'd hear a faint echo of his rappoor and in style, too, because Mrs. McVey had finally broken down and bought him a new suit, a really nice one by the local standards. I was as anxious as Twyla to see how the Francher kid would look in such splendor.
So it was with a distinct shock that I saw the kid at the concert, lounging, thumbs in pockets, against the door of the room where the crowd gathered. His face was shut and dark, and his patched faded Levi's
made a blotch in the dimness of the room.
"Look!" Twyla whispered. "He's in Levi's!"
"How come?" I breathed. "Where's his new suit?"
"I don't know. And those Levi's aren't even clean!" She hunched down in her seat, feeling the accusing eyes of the whole world searing her through the Francher kid.
The concert was splendid. Even our rockin'est rollers were caught up in the wonderful web of music. Even I lost myself for long lovely moments in the bright melodic trails that led me out of the gray lanes of familiarity. But I also felt the bite of tears behind my eyes. Music is made to be moved to, and my unresponsive feet wouldn't even tap a tempo. I let the brasses and drums smash my rebellion into bearable-sized pieces again and joined joyfully in the enthusiastic applause.
"Hey!" Rigo said behind me as the departing stir of the crowd began. "I didn't know anything could sound like that. Man! Did you hear that horn! I'd like to get me one of them things and blow it!"
"You'd sound like a sick cow," Janniset said. "Them's hard to play."
Their discussion moved on down the aisle.
"He's gone." Twyla's voice was a breath in my ear.
"Yes," I said. "But we'll probably see him out at the bus."
But we didn't. He wasn't at the bus. He hadn't come out on the bus. No one knew hove he got out to the ranch or where he had gone.
Anna and Twyla and I piled into Anna's car and headed back for Willow Creek, my heart thudding with apprehension, my thoughts busy. When we pulled up at Somansons' there was a car parked in front.
"The McVey!" Anna sizzled in my ear. "Ah ha! Methinks I smell trouble."
I didn't even have time to take my coat off in the smothery warmth of the front room before I was confronted by the monumental violence of Mrs. McVey's wrath.
"Dress him!" she hissed, her chin thrust out as she lunged forward in the chair. "'Dress him so's he'll feel equal to the others!" Her hands flashed out, and I dodged instinctively and blinked as a bunch of white rags fluttered to my feet. "His new shirt!" she half screamed. Another shower of tatters, dark ones this time. "His new suit! Not a piece in it as big as your hand!" There was a spatter like muffled hail. "His shoes!" Her voice caught on the edge of her violence, and she repeated raggedly, "His shoes!" Fear was battling with anger now. "Look at those pieces-as big as stamps-shoes!" Her voice broke. "Anybody who can tear up shoes!"
She sank back in her chair, spent and breathless, fishing for a crumpled Kleenex to wipe the spittle from her chin. I eased into a chair after Anna helped me shrug out of my coat. Twyla huddled, frightened, near the door, her eyes big with fascinated terror.
"Let him be like the others," McVey half whispered. "That limb of Satan ever be like anyone decent?"
"But why?" My voice sounded thin and high in the calm after the hurricane.
"For no reason at all," she gasped, pressing her hand to her panting ribs. "I gave all them brand-new clothes to him to try on, thinking he'd be pleased. Thinking-" her voice slipped to a whining tremulo, "thinking he'd see bow I had his best interest at heart." She paused and sniffed lugubriously. No ready sympathy for her poured into the hiatus so she went on, angrily aggrieved. "And he took them and went into his room and came out with them like that!" Her finger jabbed at the pile of rags. "He-he threw them at me! You and your big ideas about him wanting to be like other kids!" Her lips curled away from the venomous spate of words. "He don't want to be like nobody 'cepting hisself. And he's a devil!" Her voice sank to a whisper and her breath drew in on the last word, her eyes wide.
"'But why did he do it?" I asked. "He must have said something."
Mrs. McVey folded her hands across her ample middle and pinched her lips together. "There are some things a lady don't repeat," she said prissily, tossing her head. "Oh, cut it out!" I was suddenly dreadfully weary of trying to be polite to the McVeys of this world. "Stop tying on that kind of an act. You could teach a stevedore-" I bit my lips and swallowed hard. "I'm sorry, Mrs. McVey, but this is no time to hold back. What did he say? What excuse did he give?"
"He didn't give any excuse," she snapped. "He just-just-" Her heavy cheeks mottled with color. "He called names."
"Oh." Anna and I exchanged glances.
"But what on earth got into him?" I asked. "There must be some reason-"
"Well," Anna squirmed a little. "After all what can you expect-?"
"From a background like that?" I snapped. "Well, Anna, I certainly expected something different from a background like yours!"
Anna's face hardened and she gathered up her things. "I've known him longer than you have," she said quietly.
"Longer," I admitted, "but not better. Anna," I pleaded, leaning toward her, "don't condemn him unheard."
"Condemn?" She looked up brightly. "I didn't know he was on trial."
"Oh, Anna." I sank back in my chair. "The poor kid's been on trial, presumed guilty of anything and everything, ever since he arrived in town, and you know it."
"I don't want to quarrel with you," Anna said. "I'd better say good night."
The door clicked behind her. Mrs. McVey and I measured each other with our eyes. I had opened my mouth to say something when I felt a whisper of a motion at my elbow. Twyla stood under the naked flood of the overhead light, her hands clasped in front of her, her eyes shadowed by the droop of her lashes as she narrowed her glance against the glare.
"What did you buy his clothes with?" Her voice was very quiet.
"None of your business, young lady," Mrs. McVey snapped, reddening.
"This is almost the end of the month," Twyla said. "Your check doesn't come till the first. Where did you get the money?"
"Well!" Mrs. McVey began to hoist her bulk out of the chair.
"I don't have to stay here and have a sassy snip like this-" Twyla swept in closer-so close that Mrs. McVey shrank back, her hands gripping the dusty overstuffed arms of the chair.
"You never have any of the check left after the first week," Twyla said. "And you bought a purple nylon nightgown this month. It took a week's pay-"