“You really interested in a job?” Jasmine asked when Liz sat down beside her.
“I could be,” Liz answered.
Dewar reached out to steal Jasmine’s hot roll and she aimed a fork at his fingers.
“Touch it and you are dead,” she said.
“Don’t be her friend, Liz. She’s mean and hateful.” Dewar grinned.
Jasmine shot right back, “Don’t be his friend. He’s a thief.”
Liz picked up a chicken leg with her fingers and bit into the best fried chicken she had ever eaten. She didn’t moan with pleasure but she wanted to. After just one afternoon, she would never be able to keep all the names, attitudes, and information straight in her mind, but she was having a great time. There wasn’t all that much difference between a carnie family and a real one after all.
Jasmine talked between bites. “Lucy usually supplies me with waitresses, but she’s out of stock right now. You’d have to be there at six in the morning, but you’re done about two so your afternoons and evenings would be free.”
“Lucy?” Liz asked.
“It’s a long story. Pearl, who’s been my friend since we were toddlers, inherited a motel over in Henrietta, Texas. Short version is that she took in Lucy to help her out when Lucy’s abusive husband whipped on her the last time. When Pearl and Wil married, she turned the motel over to Lucy to manage. She helps other abused women find work when they decide to get out of their bad relationships. But she doesn’t have anyone to send to me right now, and Amber is leaving on Wednesday to live around her folks in northeast Arkansas.”
Dewar eyed her bottle of beer, and Jasmine air- slapped his shoulder. “You do not even want to think about touching my beer. I might stab you with my fork for messin’ with my bread, but darlin’, they won’t even find your bones if you steal my beer.”
“See?” Dewar said. “I told you she was mean.”
Liz shrugged. “I’d say she’s protectin’ her property. A woman can’t be lettin’ a man come along and steal her property, can she?”
“You got that right,” Jasmine said. “Me and you are going to get along just fine. So will you work for me?”
“Sure, I’ll fill in until Lucy finds someone who needs a job.” Liz wished she could reach up and snatch the words back into her mouth the minute they were out in the air. She should have at least slept on the idea before she took the job. She didn’t need the money. She had plenty in her bank account to live a year without lifting a finger. But on the other hand, she would meet the local people, get to know them, and carve out a place in Montague County, Texas. Or else by the time the carnival was ready for another season, she’d be ready to give up her roots, slap on her wings, and fly away.
“Could you come in Tuesday and work with Amber to get the feel of it?” Jasmine asked.
“Sure. Where is it?” Liz replied.
“Right up the road a couple of miles. Same side of the highway. Next to Gemma’s beauty shop,” Jasmine said.
“Just waitress work, I hope. I’m not much of a cook,” Liz said.
“I do the cookin’. That’s why I bought the café. Just need someone to serve it up and run a cash register. You ever done any waitressing?”
“Little bit,” Liz answered. Running a concession wagon was the same thing, wasn’t it? She took orders. She served them. She took money and made change. There couldn’t be a whole lot of difference.
“Tell me about your family. Was Haskell the only one from Texas?” Dewar asked. “He mentioned his sisters and having a niece, but he didn’t ever say where you lived.”
“Texas born and mostly raised in this state. Mama was born out near Amarillo, little town named Claude. I was born over in Jefferson, Texas. I guess I’m truly a third generation Texan. Just never thought about it like that until now,” Liz answered and started to tell them about the carnival, but she remembered what her mother had said about people judging the ones who lived and worked in carnivals or circuses.
“You didn’t visit Haskell much, did you?” Dewar asked. “Raylen said that he remembers you being over there only a couple of times when you were a kid.”
“We didn’t come this way very often,” Liz answered. “Uncle Haskell usually came to our winter place between Amarillo and Claude for Thanksgiving and Christmas every year, and we saw him in the fall of the year when we came through these parts. Grandma died when I was a little girl, but my grandfather is still alive and he’s out in west Texas. But y’all knew that because that’s where Uncle Haskell has relocated to help with Poppa. How long have the O’Donnells been in Ringgold?”
Raylen yelled over the din of voices all talking at once. “Daddy, how long has the family been in Ringgold?”
“Grandpa used to say we squatted in this area, and they built the town around us. I expect we’ve been somewhere up and down the Red River border for a hundred years or more,” Cash answered.
“And the O’Malleys have been here every bit that long,” Grandma said. “And if y’all don’t eat your dinner, we ain’t never goin’ to get out there and do some playin’. I been lookin’ forward to music all week, and all y’all want to do is jaw around. I guarantee you it’s goin’ to come up cold here pretty soon, what with Thanksgiving in a little more than a month, and we won’t be able to play outside. Remember that year back in about ninety-one or ninety-two when the whole area iced up on Thanksgiving? It could happen again. And spring is a long way off if we get an early winter.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Dewar grinned.
“Who are the musicians?” Liz asked.
With a wave of her hand, Jasmine took in the whole family. “They all play something or sing.”
“Really? You?” She looked at Dewar.
“Dulcimer is my specialty, but I can fill in on an acoustic guitar if Rye gets tired, and I can play a little bit of fiddle.” He finished off his sweet tea. “And Raylen plays any of the instruments, too.”
Gemma raised a hand. “Dobro and guitar.”
“Colleen?” Liz asked.
“I’d be the banjo picker,” she answered, but her voice wasn’t as warm as the other members of the family.
“Grandma plays the dulcimer and the Dobro, and sometimes she can talk Grandpa into singing for us,” Raylen said.
“Sounds like fun,” Liz said.
“It is, darlin’,” Grandma said, “especially if you like country music and good old Irish toe-stompin’ tunes.” She picked up her plate and headed for the kitchen with it. When she returned, she walked right on past the dining room table and toward the door. “I’ll just be warmin’ up the dulcimer while y’all finish up.”