A Work in Progress: The Gambler's Daughter Chapter 7 continued

another secret I'd keep

The Set Up

If you’re new, you can start the story from the beginning HERE or go ahead and jump in.

This is the working draft of a new Roosevelt County Novel about Maxine, a ten-year old girl growing up in Eastern New Mexico in the 1930s. Think Little House on the Prairie, but on the edge of the Dust Bowl and Pa is a gambler.

In these installments, I pull back the curtain on my revision process, posting drafts-in-progress, complete with the typos, question marks, and random “add more here!” notes to self. I’ll explain what has me “stuck” in the chapter or what problems I’m still working to resolve.

For aspiring writers, I hope it gives you permission to write terrible drafts, and learn to work with them to make mediocre drafts, and then keep working until you have something great.

For fans of Roosevelt County fiction, you’ll get early access to my next novel and see how the story develops along the way. You’ll also be invited (begged) to give feedback, so stick around for the Issues section and comment button.

Chapter 7 continued

I guess that racket served a second purpose, because people came out of the hardware store, post office, and bank to see if everything was all right at the store. As they got closer, they smelled the beans cooking and stuck around. He’d gathered quite a crowd by the end. Directly, he put on large mitts and took the pot off the heat and set it in a tub of water he’d brought out from under the table. The way it hissed sounded like a fire being put out. It was a relief for the noise to subside, but I worried he was going to burn himself.

“Just like your husbands after a day of work, it needed to let off a little steam before supper.” A few women laughed at his joke. Momma rolled her eyes.

He removed that topper, unlocked the lid, and then started spooning beans into little cups and handing them to the folks who’d given him the dry beans. Sure enough, they were cooked up soft and ready to eat, and it had only taken half an hour, compared to keeping a pot on the stove all day. The man went on explaining how he could have cooked those beans in jars in order to have ready-to-eat beans on hand. Then he made his final pitch, naming all the different things we could do if we only had a National Pressure Canner or Cooker. The gadget even comes with its own book of recipes. When he had everyone oohing and ahhing, he held up an unopened box with a sixteen-quart model and asked, “Who’s ready to bring modern cooking convenience to their kitchens?”

The crowd backed up, as they’d done when the rattling started. Seeing that the show was over, folks started picking up their orders from the counter and settling their accounts with Aunt Chloe. Seeing that he was losing his crowd, the salesman tried making his pitch again, holding up various sizes and offering a discount on a pressure cooker for anyone who bought a canner.

“Mr. Harris spoke up then. “Those are fine machines, young fellar,” he said, “but most of us ain’t got the ’lectricity to make ’em work.”

While the salesman scrambled to explain how it could be used on a wood stove, Mrs. Moss said, “We don’t have enough beans to fill such large pots these days. Do you have a quart size pressure cooker?” The crowd laughed.

The man in his fancy duds realized he wouldn’t make a sale in this crowd and started packing up his wares. I felt bad for him. We’d all enjoyed his presentation, and he’d worked hard all day but had nothing to show for it in the end. I doubted he made sales in any other towns either. I felt sorry for him, really.

The store was empty now except for Aunt Chloe, Momma, Minnie and little Billie Jeayne. “Maxine, keep an eye on Billie Jeayne while I settle up,” Momma said.

Billie Jeayne had just turned three and was into everything. She grabbed for cans on the lower shelves and made a game of running away, hiding around the corner, and shrieking when I came near. I worried she was going to get us both in trouble.

“Billie Jeayne,” I whispered. “Look out! We’re mice and we have to sneak by the barn cat!” I got down on my hands and knees. Surprised by my whisper, the little girl turned to look. She went to all fours.

“Shh,” I said. “We have to be sneaky.” At the end of the aisle, I saw the salesman folding his table cloth. My cheeks reddened and I stood up quickly. I’d forgotten he was still in the store. Not ready to end the game, Billie Jeayne continued crawling and hid under the man’s table.

“Mmm, food,” she said.

I smiled and reached down to pet her, trying to make it clear that I was playing along in a child’s game.

“Come on, Billie,” I said.

“Mmm, food,” she said again.

I bent down to encourage her to move and saw that what she was pretending to eat was a pile of dry beans spilling out of the salesman’s apron pocket. His final demonstration wasn’t only to make a sale but also to collect his next meal!

Instinctively, I looked up at the man. He looked at me, then at the beans, and knew he’d been caught. He cast his eyes down. He wasn’t defiant, like Claude when he’d been caught. I saw defeat in his eyes. He didn’t delight in his deception, in fact he looked ashamed of himself. But he also looked hungry. I decided right then that I wouldn’t tell anyone what I saw. Another secret I’d keep.

“C’mon,” I told Billie Jeayne. I bet our mothers are ready for us.

We stopped on our way home to deliver a pound of coffee to Grandmother Tollett. Grandfather came inside when he saw our pickup.

“I guess your husband will be in town all day?” he asked Momma.

“Not after yesterday’s duster.”

“He’s not at the pool hall then?” Grandfather asked.

“He might get to it yet,” Momma said. I felt the knot in my stomach tighten. Grandfather and Momma’s voices changed when they talked about Daddy.

“The Lord says there’s a price to pay—” Grandfather started.

I stared at my hands in my lap, listening. I’d heard him shift into his preaching voice before, and I knew Momma didn’t like it. Worse, it usually led to arguments at home. I knew I shouldn’t interrupt two adults talking, but I could feel the tension rising in the room. “Momma, tell them about the man selling pressure cookers,” I suggested, hoping to change the subject.

“Oh, you won’t even believe it!” Momma said, sounding relieved to have something else to talk about. She went into the story with even more excitement than usual. It worked—Grandfather went back out to his work, and Grandmother listened, enjoying news from town.

As we ate supper with Daddy and the boys, I listened to Momma tell the story for the second time that day. Even though I had been with Momma when the story unfolded, I didn’t tire of hearing how the tale improved with each telling. (Note for later: What might Momma have noticed or understood about the events that Maxine didn’t? What does Maxine discover in hearing her mom’s version of the story?) It also meant that we wouldn’t have to listen to Grandfather’s complaints about Daddy.

“I almost feel sorry for the fella,” Daddy said. “All that work and nothing to show for it.”

I thought of the man’s pile of beans and decided I’d been right not to tell what I’d seen. He’d done all that work after all. It seemed right that he should have something to show for it.

The Issues

I’m STILL struggling to find the narrator’s voice. I’ve been listening to and reading other books with an adult narrator telling a child’s story to hear how other authors have done it. I’m curious—are there books you would recommend?

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