Previously in the novel: West Texan Harley Sadler has lost his daughter, his tent show and his fortune but he remains oblivious to offers to bribe him in the Legislature.
The lights were off in the Sadlers’ apartment in Sweetwater. Billie slept on the living room couch, a bottle slowly slipping from one hand. Harley came in the front door with his suitcase. The water conservation meeting took longer than he thought. He turned on the light.
“Billie? Why are the lights off?”
When he saw her asleep on the couch, the air went out of him. “Oh.”
She sat up, startled. “Harley, I thought you weren’t coming home until—“
“You know I was coming in today,” he cut her off brusquely. “You were expecting me earlier not later.”
“Why, I thought it was tomorrow. Honest.” Billie tried to slip the bottle behind a pillow.
“There’s no need to hide the bottle,” he announced coldly. “I already saw it.”
“It’s the toothache I have.” Her hand went to her cheek. “The whiskey relieves the pain.”
Harley grabbed the bottle. “So that’s your new excuse. Toothache.”
“But it’s true,” she whined. “My mouth is killing me!”
“And your drinking is killing me.” Harley threw the bottle into the wastebasket.
“Be quiet,” she chided. “The neighbors will hear!
“You don’t think the neighbors already know that you drink?” His voice weakened almost to tears.
“You told them,” she accused him, wagging her finger.
“I told them? Harley laughed with exasperation. “I can’t take it anymore.”
Billie stood and grabbed his arm. “You can’t take it?” Her eyes narrowed, and her tone was ice cold. “What about me? I—I can’t go on supporting us!”
“I work!” Harley pulled away in indignation.
“The Legislature pays nothing!” Spittle sprayed from her mouth. “You lost all our money on oil! You give your talent away to any two-bit benefit that comes along!”
He looked down. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about wildcatting anymore,” he muttered.
“Well, if you can talk about my drinking I can talk about your oil.” She pulled back, retreating from her anger.
Harley sighed as though the last of his energy drained from his body. “I’m too tired for this.”
“I don’t care how tired you are.” Tears clouded her eyes. “You always tear me down for drinking but you never ask why.”
“I know why you drink.” His mind went to that day in the hospital when Gloria died.
Wrinkling her brow, Billie proceeded as though in confession. “I was doing real good, two whole weeks without a drink. Guess who came into the store? Louise Bright. That little girl who thought I was the queen of the theatre. Well now, she’s all grown up and feels sorry for this old—old washed up woman and tells me to keep the change. Can you imagine that? She told me to keep the change.”
“It isn’t Louise or any of the other excuses you’ve used over the years. The real reason is—“
“No!” she interrupted.
“Gloria.” His voice was incisive and final.
“No!” She paused to gather her courage. “It isn’t Gloria. “Taking a deep breath. Billie whispered, “It’s you.”
Harley shook his head. “You can’t blame me.”
“You—you never belonged to me,” she continued quickly before she lost her nerve. “It was the Legislature. It was the oil. It was the show. But it was never me.”
Harley’s back straightened. He turned to the book shelf to get his well-worn copy of the King James version of the Bible. “My Bible. Where’s my Bible?” He grabbed it from the shelf and thumbed through it. “There’s got to be something….” His voice trailed off.
“You always turn to the Bible. That book isn’t going to make your pain go away any more than bottle—“ Billie almost choked on her revelation—“will make my pain go away.”
Harley fidgeted with the Bible but then slammed it shut and threw it near Billie who fell in terror.
“Don’t hit me!” She dissolved into tears.
Harley knelt by her and gently put his arms around her quivering shoulders. “I wouldn’t hit you. I love you.”
“I’m sorry for what I said,” she admitted with remorse.
“No, you’re right. I haven’t helped you much. Your drinking scared me. I didn’t know what to do. You needed a stronger man.”
She melded into his arms. “Oh no, Harley. I couldn’t have lived, wouldn’t have lived without you. Just—just help me. I can’t fight it by myself.”
“I’ll help.” He held her tight.
“I never should have said the Bible was the same as the bottle. I hope God can forgive me for that.”
He smiled. “I’m sure He will.”
“Harley.” Billie paused to sniff. “What are we going to do?”
“The same thing Job did, honey. Just keep on loving and keep on living.”

Previously in the book: West Texas farm boy Harley Sadler brought entertainment to farmers on the High Plains during the 1920s and 30s, sharing his good fortune with those who needed a helping hand. He lost his show during the Depression, and his daughter Gloria died in the 1940s. He and his wife Billie settled into a frugal existence in their retirement years.
The years passed swiftly now for Harley and Billie. Their theatrical engagements became fewer and fewer apart. Being away from the spotlight did not bother Billie much. If she could not look her best at all times she did not want to be seen at all. Harley, on the other hand, drew energy from the laughter and the applause. His body required it as much as he needed food and water.
No one wanted to pay Harley to perform but he gladly put on a free show to benefit a hospital, school or orphanage. Most of the time he brought his Toby costumes and make up kit. A crick in his hip hampered a smooth exit from his car, and he limped up the stairs. When the lights came up, however he skipped lightly around the stage, sang a silly ditty in full voice, every lyric distinctly delivered. Harley bowed graciously to strong applause. He accepted a large cardboard check for one hundred dollars, in his name to whatever charity the show supported. Then he limped back to his car and went home.
Needless to say, his friends and neighbors continued to elect him to the Legislature which only convened for six months every two years. The salary barely paid for his living expenses when he was in Austin. He relished every time he took the floor to promote his newest cause. Walking down the pink granite steps of the Capitol would take an hour because tourists always wanted to have their photos taken with him.
Back home in Sweetwater, he enjoyed strolling the downtown streets on a busy Saturday afternoon with Billie, wearing her finest attire, on his arm. Of course, if a derelict in a nearby alley caught his eyes, Harley walked to him, pulling out his wallet. Billie skillfully guided him back to a waiting fan. They no longer had the money to be as generous as they used to be.
Their lovely home had been a refuge from the realities of living in a world that was slowly forgetting them. Then the Sweetwater city council passed a zoning variance which allowed a funeral home to be built down the street from the Sadlers. Rumor had it that the mayor’s brother-in-law was behind the deal, and he made a bunch of money from it. No matter. It was law now, and before Harley and Billie realized it, funeral processions were a regular occurrence. They stared out the front picture window and shook their heads.
“It’s as if God is mocking me,” Billie said through tears.
“It’s not God’s fault, dear.” He patted her shoulder.
She pulled away and wiped her nose. “I know.” Billie smiled ruefully. “I have to blame somebody.”
“I tried to stop it but I guess legislators don’t have much pull in matters like this.”
“I know you tried.” She sighed looking out at the cortege. “It’s the third one this week.”
Perhaps it was just as well they could not afford the maintenance on a big house. At least they did not have to see the hearses every day. Billie consoled Harley when they moved into their one-bedroom apartment. She did not have to spend so much time cleaning. Eventually, by 1954, finances degenerated to the point she had to take a job as a clerk at Woolworth’s. She used to buy knickknacks there all the time between big shopping sprees to Dallas.
As she stood behind the counter she considered herself in the large mirror on the wall. Older, yes, a little worn around the edges but she could see the remnants of her glory days as a theater beauty. And her posture was still good, a positive indication of internal dignity.
“Mrs. Sadler?”
The mature woman’s voice shook Billie from her self-revelry. When she turned back to the counter, she froze. Before her stood a grown-up Louise Bright. This was the child who looked up to her and wanted to be like her. Now Billie was just another old woman working as a clerk to pay the rent on a one-bedroom apartment. She forced a smile on her face.
“Why, Louise Bright, how nice to see you.”
“I’m married now.” She smiled. “Mrs. George Sorenson. I have—two children.”
“How wonderful for you.” Billie knew that she also could have been a grandmother of two if Gloria had only lived. She told herself not to think such thoughts. They always made her sad and made it easier to for her to drink again. Her eyes went down to the counter. “Will this be all?”
Louise handed her a tin of headache powders. “Yes. My husband and I are traveling and he came down with a headache so we just stopped by.”
“This is a good product,” she interrupted, rushing through the conversation, afraid she would break down in tears. “I’ve had the worst toothache lately and haven’t been had the time to go to a dentist so I’ve been using these powders.”
“Mom and Dad retired to Florida,” Louise said. “How is Mr. Sadler?”
“He’s a state senator.” Billie took the opportunity to brag some. “He’s active in the oil association even though he’s really not in the oil business anymore. Not since we—lost—quite a bit back in forty-eight.”
“Does he do any shows?” Louise asked.
“He does benefits all the time.”
She smiled. “How wonderful. He always loved to put on a show.”
“That will be fifty-nine centers.” Billie wanted the encounter to end.
Louise handed her a dollar and said as she always did to all clerks without thinking to whom she said it, “Keep the change.” She suddenly looked stricken, realizing what she had done.
Billie stiffened, quickly made change and handed it to Louise. “No. Please.” Her tone was soft, desperate.
Fumbling with the coins, Louise took a moment to put them in her purse and snap it shut. She grabbed the bag with the headache powder tin, keeping her eyes down. “Well, I hope to see you again. Sometime. Take care.”
“Yes.” Billie wore a tight smile. “Good seeing you again.”
Louise left quickly. Billie watched her disappear out the door and down the street. Turning back to look in the mirror, she saw pain etched across her face. Her posture slumped as she felt the last of her dignity seeping away.

West Texas farmboy Harley Sadler traveled the High Plains starring as comic sidekick in melodrama tent shows. He married Billie and made keep on his promise to her family that he would have his own show one day. He made farmers laugh and helped them out during the 1920s and 1930s. His daughter Gloria died, and he retired, only to make one more try with a traveling tent show.

Harley’s brow knitted, his dreams centered on his opening a large Bible and trying to find the Book of Job. No matter how hard he looked he could not find it. He had to find an answer somewhere about why good men had to suffer. He told himself he did not mind the suffering if he only knew why it had to happen. The Book of Job must have the answer somewhere only if he could find the right chapter and verse. Eventually his eyes began to blur, unable to read the words on the pages. He felt a hand on his shoulder, rousing him from the nightmare. He was back at the showgrounds. Harley eased himself from the pickup cab, walked around to shake Mitch’s hand.
“You know, Harley—Mr. Sadler—there’s no rush on paying. Everyone knows you’re good for it.”
Harley grinned. “Don’t worry about it, Mitch. I’ll get a check to you by the end of the week. The show is going great guns. Money’s coming in faster than we can count it.”
“Sure, sure, no problem at all.” Mitch started the engine of his truck and drove off.
Standing there watching the truck disappear on the horizon, Harley felt the last bit of energy drain from his body. He had invested the all of the money he and Billie had put aside for their retirement, and now it was gone. What they would live on for the rest of their lives, he wondered. Harley had no idea.
Joe came up and grabbed his elbow, leading him back to the tent. “Harley, it’s gone too far.”
Sighing, he asked, “Can this wait, Joe?”
“No, it can’t” Joe replied firmly.
Harley stopped. If one more thing went wrong he did not know if he would be able to handle it. “All right. What is it?”
“I looked in the books this morning and found out we’re in the red.”
“What?” He did not have the energy to become angry.
“That was my reaction,” Joe continued grimly. “We’ve been on the road a month and filling the house every night, and we’re losing money.”
“What does Billie say?”
Joe paused a moment. His eyes strayed to the ground. “Harley, Billie’s the problem. When I looked closer, I saw the figures were in all the wrong columns. It’s her drinking. She’s making too many mistakes.”
“I’ll talk to her.” Harley turned to leave.
“No,” Joe announced. “I’m bringing in my own man.”
“I’ll tell her.”
“Now I think Billie’s a fine lady,” he continued using a conciliatory tone, “when she’s sober. And—and I don’t care if she stays on with the show playing roles but—“
“I think you’ve made yourself quite clear,” Harley cut him off with an icy stare.
The tour dragged on two more months. Billie seemed relieved when Harley informed her she would not be keeping books any more. Harley was not subtle in his increased supervision of her purses and coat pockets, anywhere she could stash a pint of whiskey.
Little girls in the arms of their parents drew Harley to them. He smiled and waved at them. Mothers and fathers handed their children over to him so they could get a picture of the great Harley Sadler with their little ones. Billie, on the other hand, kept her distance from girls with golden curls. She found her moment of satisfaction when she was decked out in her fanciest dress and sparkling jewelry. Admiring older ladies circled her and giggled in admiration.
Finally the tent came down for the last time. Crew and actors briskly packed trucks and cars. Harley and Billie walked to their sedan carrying their suitcases of costumes and makeup kits. As Billie loaded her bags, Harley shook hands with Joe.
“Well, we had some rough times there,” Joe said, “but I think we made out pretty well. Made some money.”
“I’m glad,” Harley replied. “It’s been a pleasure working with you, Joe.”
“We worked out all the kinks this season. Next year will run much smoother.”
“Next?” he questioned as an eyebrow went up.
“Sure. Never stop when you’ve got a winning hand, and, buddy, we’re a winning hand.”
Harley shook his head. “Thanks, but this tour has taught me I’m too old for this.”
“Too old?” Joe questioned amiably. “Why, the people love you. Toby is ageless.”
“Toby may be ageless, but I’m not,” he chuckled.
Joe looked down and kicked at the dirt. “Harley, I hope you’re still not upset about, well, having to replace Billie on the books—“
“Oh no,” he interrupted magnanimously, “we did the right thing. I have no ill feelings toward you. In fact, you can use my name on the tour. I can’t go out for months at a time.” He glanced at Billie. “I can’t take her out for months at a time.”
“Oh.”
“I thought maybe going on tour again might take her mind off Gloria—but Gloria will never leave her—leave us.”
Joe shook his hand. “I enjoyed it.”
“I did too.” Harley looked over at the tents being folded away. “Yep, I enjoyed every minute of it.”

Previously in the novel: West Texas farmboy Harley Sadler toured the High Plains in a traveling melodrama show, married Billie, opened his own show and delighted in his daughter Gloria. The Great Depression stole his successful business, his daughter died in childbirth, his wife sank into alcoholism and he lost the last of his money on wildcat oil drilling.
Mitch Sawyer, the foreman on Harley’s latest foray into wildcat oil drilling, stood in the back of the tent auditorium watching the end of one of the time-worn melodramas. It had been years since he had seen Harley on stage. Mitch thought the actor was too old to be playing the youthful sidekick, but all he could do was shake his head. He had bad news to deliver, and as the curtain went down, he steeled himself as he headed backstage. Actors directed him to the dressing room where Harley sat slumped over his table removing this makeup.
“Harley?” he asked hesitantly.
He looked around and stood. “What’s the problem, Mitch?”
“What makes you think there’s a problem?” He was a terrible liar.
“Well, the oil rig is three hours away from here,” Harley explained. “So when my foreman shows up I figure there’s a problem.”
Mitch did not know how to begin. “We need you there tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“We’re about to hit something,” he began with a sigh. “If it’s oil, fine, but if it’s water, we’re bust. I think you ought to be there to call it quits.”
Harley nodded and finished changing his clothes. They walked through the backstage area when Billie stopped them.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Billie, honey, I’ve got to go out to the rig tonight.”
“But that’s a long way.” She wrinkled her brow.
He shrugged. “I have to go.”
Mitch followed Harley out but looked over his shoulder in time to see Billie pull a small whiskey bottle out for a swig. So the rumors were true, he thought. She really did like her liquor. The ride in his pickup truck down the long straight highway was mesmerizing. Mitch glanced over at Harley who was nodding off. He tried not to think about the situation too much.
In the business circles of wildcatters, Harley Sadler was well known as an easy paycheck. He was so nice to work for because he did not understand seismology. He was in it for the thrill of the risk. All a driller had to be careful about was drinking on the rig. Harley hated drunks, they said. By this time in the late forties most wildcatters made excuses not to work for Harley. It was like taking candy from a baby, they said.
So when Mitch got a phone call from Harley Sadler, he knew he must be the last oilman on the list. Times were hard. Mitch told himself. He had a family to feed. As he stared at the looming white line down the highway, Mitch fought back tears. When they finally arrived at the drill site on the high plains, he nudged Harley.
”We’re here,” he whispered.
Harley stirred, rubbed his eyes and sat up. “Okay, let’s do it.”
They walked to the brightly lit derrick. A worker trudged over to them.
“Any news, Ike?” Mitch asked.
“Struck mud.”
“How long ago?” Harley’s voice was flat and passive.
“About an hour,” Ike replied. “We kept on drillin’, hopin’ to hit somethin’ else but we ain’t.”
Mitch couldn’t think of anything else to say. He stared at Harley as the old man walked closer to the derrick, becoming a hunched-over silhouette against the glaring light. Harley turned and smiled a smile that Mitch found vaguely familiar. Then he remembered. It was the Toby smile.
“Well, boys,” Harley announced, “let’s turn it off before it completely drains me.”
Harley wanted to sit in the truck until the last light had been extinguished and the last crewman had left. Without a word Mitch knew it was time to start the engine. Soon he was making good time getting Harley back to his show. The old man began snoring softly. Mitch did not want to consider how much of his retirement funds would remain after all the drilling bills were paid. Hot tears rolled down his rough cheeks.
Hell of a way to make a living.

West Texas farm boy Harley Sadler had a great career in a traveling tent show, playing the comic sidekick Toby. Even though his lost his money during the Great Depression and suffered the loss of his daughter Gloria, Harley and his wife Billie decided to give going on the road with a show one last try.
Billie relented, and in a few weeks they were back on the road with a show. It was that not bad, actually. They did not have to be responsible for the bookings, billings and paychecks. All they had to do was show up for promotional appearances and the plays. Billie handled the books for the nightly ticket sales. Harley had time to try wildcatting again. He just couldn’t stay away from the gambling.
Not surprisingly, crowds gathered to see Harley Sadler as Toby again. It was the only happy memory from those difficult times. Even if Toby were years older than the villain. Some audience members were too young to appreciate what Harley represented. They found the situation on stage funny, but for the wrong reasons.
“Gosh, he sure is gettin’ old,” a young man whispered to his date.
“Yeah, he looks kinda silly dressed up like that and tryin’ to act young,” she agreed derisively.
The loyal farmer, who first came to Harley’s show when he was courting his wife, turned to glare at the young couple. Yes, Harley was old. The farmer was old. And one day that young couple would be old too. It was what happened if you did not die young.
Harley amazed at least most of the audience with his agility and exuberance on stage, but as soon as he cleared the curtain line he collapsed in a chair placed there for him. He gasped for air. Sam Bright walked up in work clothes with a clipboard under his arm. He was the director now. A little thick around the middle, he no longer played heroes or villains. He handed Harley a glass of water.
“Are you all right?” he whispered.
Harley drank the water and panted. “Fine.” He peered through the curtain at the actor playing the hero, David Bodie. “He’s not trouping.” Harley shook his head. “Let’s troupe! Let’s troupe!”
By the time Toby and Susie Belle were due on stage, Harley had sufficiently recovered to pretend to be an energetic young man courting his young lady. Billie looked over his shoulder.
“Here comes the Goodhearts’ little girl Mollie.”
A child with blonde curls ran up to them, fell to her knees and clasped her hands, pleading, “Please, Toby and Susie! You’ve to help my mama and papa!”
Billie froze, as though she had seen a ghost. Harley frowned at her before looking down at the little actress.
“Aww, Mollie, what can I do?”
The child started her line, “Oh Please, Toby and Susie…”
Harley realized what Billie saw. She did not see the child in front of them. She saw Gloria when she played that role many years ago. This girl had brown eyes, but Billie saw Gloria’s sky blue eyes. This girl wore an ill-fitting wig, but Gloria had her own, naturally curly flaxen-golden strands of hair. Soon Billie saw nothing at all. Her eyes filled with tears. She heard her own daughter say, “You’ve got to help my mama and papa.”
The little actress began to panic. “Um, please, Toby and Susie.”
His years of experience kicked in, and Harley knew he had to save the scene. He picked up Susie Belle’s line. “Don’t worry, Mollie. We’re going to help you.”
He put one arm firmly around Billie’s shoulders and with the other lifted the girl to her feet and guided them off stage. He hugged his wife, giving little baby kisses over her face to comfort her. Eventually she wiped away her tears and managed a smile.
Harley whispered sweetly into her ear, “Let’s troupe.”
With her husband close by her side, Billie made it through the rest of the play. She put on a brave smile for the curtain call and bowed in appreciation of solid applause. When the curtain dropped Billie lowered her head into Harley’s shoulder and bawled. They tried to move to the dressing room, but Joe McKinnon strode up, his had extended.
“Great opening night, Harley!” He shook the showman’s hand vigorously. “Sold out house and reservations are coming in like crazy!”
Harley dropped Joe’s hand and guided Billie away. “We’re not doing that play again.”
“Why not?” Joe tried to keep up with him. “The audience loved it.”
“I said we’re not doing that play again.” His voice had a bitter edge to it. “Tomorrow night we’ll open ‘Spit It Out, Sputters’.”
Before Joe could object, Harley huffed off holding his wife close to him. Joe grimaced as Sam walked up.”
“I hope I can make it through the tour with those two.”
“Gloria used to play Mollie,” Sam informed him.
“Oh.” Reality dawned on Joe. “So. Sputters it is.”

Previously in the novel: West Texas farmboy Harley Sadler had a long career on the tent show circuit through the High Plains, marrying the love of his life Billie, helping farmers during the Great Depression, losing his fortune and regaining much of it. His daughter Gloria died. He and his wife decided their hearts just weren’t in it any more and retire.
When the Sadlers returned to Sweetwater, the town threw a big banquet for them called “Flowers for the Living.” All their friends from the shows stood and testified how wonderful Harley and Billie had been to work with. Representatives of many of the small towns recounted how Harley had rescued farmers down on their luck. If their lives had been a play, that evening would have been the grand finale. But real people don’t go away at the curtain fall like fictional characters. They continue to live, struggling along as best they can.
Soon the highlight of Harley’s day—when the Legislature was not in session—was his morning walk through the neighborhood. Billie sat on the living room sofa looking out the window, waiting for him to appear along the sidewalk. She slipped out a pint of whiskey and took a nip. Suddenly she sat up and hid the bottle under a cushion.
Harley turned from the sidewalk into his yard. His girth was wide, and his thinning hair almost white, but his gait was still lively and his grin boyish. A group of boys, waiting at the corner school bus stop, saw him and ran his way. They were respectful and earnestly eager.
“Hi, Harry!” one said.
“Hi, boys!” Harley turned and smiled.
Another boy nudged the first one. “That’s Harley, not Harry!”
“I’ll answer to most anything.” He paused the proper amount of time before delivering the punchline. “Now President Truman, he might be insulted!”
The boys laughed.
“Like some gum?” He reached into his pocket.
“Yeah!” the boys shouted in unison.
He opened the pack and distributed the sticks.
A boy who previously remained silent, grabbed his stick and stuck it into his mouth. “Thanks!”
Walking up to his front door, Harley overheard them whispering to each other.
“Boy, he’s a nice old man.”
“I’m glad he lives in our neighborhood.”
“You know what he used to do?”
“My dad said he traveled in something.”
Harley turned and asked, “You boys ever hear of Toby?”
“No, who’s he?”
“Oh, an old friend of mine,” he replied.
Harley saw the bus pull up, so he went into the house and joined Billie on the couch. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply.
“Hi, honey,” Billie said. “What did those boys want?”
“Some gum.”
She stared into his face. “I noticed you turned back to say something to them. They weren’t being rude, were they?”
“Oh no. They’re nice boys.” He opened his eyes and wanted to smile but could not quite muster one. “I just asked them if they knew who Toby was.”
“Did they?”
“No.”
Billie patted his leg. “I guess they would have just been babies the last time you were Toby.”
“You know the man Burnie works for?” he asked tentatively.
“The one with the tent show?”
“Yeah, Joe McKinnon. “He gathered his thoughts. “He’s been after me to go back on the road.”
“Oh, Harley,” she moaned. “I don’t want to do without you all summer.”
He turned to face her. “I told him you could handle the books. You could play Susie again.”
“I thought you said your heart just wasn’t in it anymore,” Billie pressed her objections.
“People want comedy, Billie. They’ve got enough sorrow in their lives already.” He paused and pinched his lips together. “I’ve had enough sorrow in my life.” He reached down under the cushion and pulled out the bottle. “And you’ve had enough too.”

Previously in the novel: Farmboy Harley Sadler became a hit with his traveling melodrama tent show during the 1920s and 30s on the Texas plains. The Great Depression slowed the parade down for Harley and his wife Billie. It became a dirge when their daughter Gloria died.

The ensuing days passed in a blur. Harley was aware of standing there at the funeral home selecting the casket and flowers. He did not know how much anything cost. Everything looked very nice. Billie had good taste. Local neighbors filled the Sweetwater Baptist Church. He remembered smiling and nodding as hundreds of people offered their condolences. In the back of his mind Harley felt a vague guilt because he could not remember how John reacted or how he dressed or what he said during the funeral service. The only thing he remembered for certain was that Billie was devastated. He remembered her tears. He remembered he could not think of any words of comfort for her.
Once the flowers had faded away, and all the mourners had gone back to their normal lives, John announced he had to return to his job at the base. Harley helped him pack and drove him to the train station. As John mounted the steps, he turned to smile.
“Thank you for coming to the station.”
“Billie would have come but she still can’t seem to make it out of bed. She really is very fond of you….” His voice trailed off.
“I understand.”
“You’re my son,” Harley said urgently. “Don’t ever forget that.”
Then the train pulled out of the station, and Harley realized his life would never be the same. Not only not just the same, but he grimly accepted the reality that he would never be s happy again. Hope, that cornerstone giving the spark of reason to exist, began to erode.
Harley threw himself into his old activities trying to ignore the truth. He thought the adrenaline rush of wildcat oil drilling would be the answer. It might have helped if he had actually hit a gusher, but he still only struck water. He ran for re-election and won yet another term in the Texas Legislature. Pushing through legislation over the objections of the North Texas crowd gave him satisfaction but it did not last.
Harley Sadler’s Own Show began another season bringing entertainment across the plains to farmers. In the years following World War II the farm population declined because more families gave up the struggle against the hostile environment to move to the city where jobs were now plentiful. Still Harley and Billie continued the shows because they knew their most loyal fans needed them.
Gloria’s grave drew her parents for regular visits. Billie insisted on keeping the flowers fresh. She watered them faithfully with her tears.
“Billie, honey,” Harley whispered, trying to pull her away from the tombstone. “It’s time to go.”
“Oh, Harley. She was so young.”
“I know.” His voice pleaded with her. “We’ve got to go. We’ve got a show tonight in Spur.”
“I can’t—I just can’t put on that makeup and act like nothing’s happened–like Gloria never lived.”
“Because we continue to live doesn’t mean we’ve forgotten her.”
Billie looked up to shake her head. “I can’t. I just can’t.”
“I guess my heart isn’t in it, either.” Harley hugged her.
He agreed that as soon as their current schedule had ended, they would not commit to any other shows for now. Maybe never, but that decision was left to sometime in the future. Harley could sense the relief flowing through Billie’s weary body. Even he did not mind the prospect of a quiet time of reflection, to reconsider his lifetime belief that if you do good things to other people, good things will happen to you.
Holding hands tightly, Harley and Billie stared into the glaring spotlight, not seeing anything but nevertheless smiling as they bowed to thunderous applause. The banner over the proscenium said it all:
“Harley Sadler’s Last Performance.”

Previously in the novella: Farmboy Harley Sadler became the star of a traveling tent show in West Texas during the early decades of the 20th Century. After fighting back from the Great Depression, Harley ran for the Legislature and ventured into wildcat oil drilling.
The next few years passed so quickly it was as though Harley were riding a merry-go-round. He hardly noticed he was becoming an old man with wrinkles so deep that makeup failed to hide them. His waistline, though slender compared to other men his age, was thickening. Harley, riding a happy charger, reached for the gold ring of wildcat oil drilling and snatched it the first few times out. He whooped and hugged Billie as they were sprinkled by oil drops from a gusher in the middle of the barren plains.
Gloria, in the meantime, matured into a young lady, educated and becoming less and less inclined to ride the carousel of tent shows which her parents seemed enjoyed so much. The calls from Hollywood offering screen tests from the major studios continued to be rejected.
All a legislator needed to push a bill through to become law was the endorsement of Harley Sadler. He beamed the day the governor signed the redistricting bill. Farrell McConnell, on the other hand, stood in a corner puffing a cigar and wearing a barely disguised scowl.
Harley was too old to enlist at the outbreak of World War II but he fought bravely to sell as many war bonds as he could. His bookkeeper Charlie shook his head when Harley announced free tickets to the show with proof of purchase of a bond. And when he was not on the road with the show he appeared at every bond rally and county fair in Toby attire and makeup to sell even more.
One night the cast took its bows. Harley played the old Southern gentleman and Billie his wife.
“And don’t forget!” he called out. “Buy those war bonds!”
Harley’s big grin faded a bit when Billie squeezed his hand. When he looked at her, he saw she was staring into the audience with grievous apprehension. Harley tried to follow her gaze until he realized Gloria was seated in the middle of the front section. Next to her was a young airman, quite dashing in his uniform.
“Who’s that young man?” he whispered to Billie.
“I don’t know, but I think we’re about to find out.”
As the audience strolled out, Harley and Billie held hands as they approached Gloria and her gentleman. Both wore their best theatrical friendly smiles.
“Mama, Daddy,” Gloria began as enthusiastically as she would announce her plans for a sleepover with all her girlfriends. “I want you to meet Airman John Allen. He’s receiving his flight instruction at Stamford Army Air Corps Base. We’re moving there next week.”
“Nice to meet you, young man.” Harley shook his hand.
“It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”
“We?” Billie interjected, obviously picking up on the last sentence of Gloria’s announcement.
“We’re married, Mama,” she said brightly.
“What?!” Billie was on the verge of apoplexy.
“You must believe in love at first sight,” Harley intoned knowingly, eyeing his new son-in-law.
“Yes sir, I do,” he replied in relief.
“Call me Harley.” He looked at his wife as he put his arm around her. “Believe it or not, we did too. A long time ago.”
Billie took a few days to reconcile her past with the future, but eventually she joined in with assisting her daughter move into her new life as an airman’s wife.
John’s training had barely been completed when the war in Europe ended. When the Japanese surrendered, the newlyweds rejoiced that John would continue to be stationed in Stamford as he trained to be a flight instructor. Back in Sweetwater Harley and Billie hugged celebrating their good fortune.
Continued drilling did not bring the results Harley wanted. After initial success with a few gushers, costly water spouts began to drain his bank account. Like a committed poker player, Harley refused to fold, determined to ride out his spate of bad luck.
Relieving the stress of failing as a wildcatting speculator, Harley reveled in his influence in promoting legislation to help his constituents. He had no trouble finding his voice on the floor of the state house.
Gloria’s announcement she was pregnant seemed to signal a positive turn of luck for her parents. Billie’s insecurities bubbled to the surface often so she begged Gloria and John to move into the Sweetwater house. When the first pangs of labor began, they all moved as a well-rehearsed cast. John took the suitcase to the car. Harley with his arm around Gloria guided her out the front door.
“The pains, are they getting any closer?” he asked.
“How the same.” She grimaced then smiled. “What do you want? A boy or a girl?”
Harley was too worried to put on a good face. “I want you to be all right.”
She hugged him. “Do you worship and adore me?”
“I worship and adore you.” And he meant every word of it.
Billie bustled up behind them, waving her arms, the house keys in her hand. “I can’t find the house keys anywhere.”
“They’re in your hand, Mama.” Even though she was in labor and weary of her mother’s absent mindedness she spoke with love and patience.
John returned with the car, lovingly took Gloria in his arms to guide her down the front steps. Harley and Billie stared at each to her.
“Everything’s going to be fine,” he assured her.
“I didn’t ask if they weren’t.”
He smiled weakly. “Maybe I was telling myself.”
“But everything is going to be all right, isn’t it?”
“Of course,” he said.
“If anything were to happen to her, I don’t know if I could stand it.”
They hurried to the car which John drove to the hospital. A nurse waited at the curb with a wheelchair. Harley and Billie helped Gloria out of the car, and he grabbed the suitcase before John drove to the parking area. For the next half hour everything was hectic, checking Gloria in and getting her settled in the hospital. Then the nurses directed them to the waiting room, where all was silence and moving into an eternity of anticipation and anxiety. Eventually Harley and John could not sit any longer and they had to stand and pace.
“It’s been so long.” Billie broke the long hush as she shifted in her seat on the worn sofa. “It reminds me of two years ago when Mama Lou died. They left us in the waiting room forever.”
“The doctor said it was just hard labor, that’s all,” John offered weakly.
Before Harley or Billie could respond, the doctor walked through the door. Billie gasped. Harley and John froze in their places.
“Mr. Allan, may I speak to you?” the doctor asked softly.
Harley instinctively followed John to the doctor. Tears began to well in Billie’s eyes. As the doctor whispered to them, John slumped against the wall. Harley slowly walked to the couch, sat and put his arm around his wife.
“Her little heart just stopped,” he spoke with difficulty. Each word was painful.
Billie cried, turning to bury her head in his shoulder.
“It’s my punishment,” he confessed. “I put her before God. I worshipped her to the point of idolatry.”