Different Drummers Read Online Free PDF Page A

to be disappointed or relieved. At least it gave her a few minutes to view her surroundings. Across the street was an Eckerd’s drug store, right next door to a small Woolworth’s almost identical to the one in Chester. On the next block a supermarket had A&P emblazoned across the front. There was a dress shop called Laura’s and a few other stores further along.
    She sat on her larger suitcase and took off her brand new jacket, then eased her swollen feet out of her beautiful brand new shoes. She wiped her sweating face with a tissue and thought of the deliciously cool bath she’d have as soon as she settled in at Bob’s house. And maybe, just maybe, she’d take a dip in the swimming pool, which the Conroys could very well have. If American movies were anything to go by, half the houses in the country had one. And was it any wonder. In weather this hot, a pool was almost a necessity.
    She glanced at her watch. Already she’d been here ten minutes and still no sign of anyone who looked remotely like they were here to meet an English girl getting off a bus. She turned to look at the shop behind her, then forced her feet back into her shoes. She’d phone for a taxi. Why hadn’t she thought of this before. As she wobbled toward the door, carrying the larger of her two suitcases, three young men sauntered in front of her. With her free hand, she pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at the perspiration on her upper lip.
    â€œExcuse me, but do you know the way to Bennington Street?”
    She felt like the foreigner she was when their puzzled expressions told her they were having difficulty understanding her accent.
    Suddenly a broad grin split the face of the one in the middle. “Well, I’ll be… I reckon you must be Bobby Conroy’s new wife from England.”
    Kathleen flashed an answering smile and lowered the suitcase to the ground. “Yes, that’s me. I was hoping someone would be here to meet me but, well, it’s not a big problem. If you’ll tell me where I can get a taxi, I’ll just go on out to their home.”
    All three shuffled self-consciously.
    â€œMa’am, I’m as sorry as I can be,” said the spokesman for the trio, “but there just ain’t no place around here where you can get a taxi. We ain’t got no cabs in Eddisville.”
    He combed his hair with his hand then brushed at some dried mud on his pants. “If you don’t mind ridin’ in my old beat-up truck, I’ll be more than willin’ to run you out there. It’s not far.”
    Kathleen wanted to fling her arms around him. “I’d really appreciate it. Are you sure you don’t mind?”
    â€œNo ma’am. It’ll be my pleasure. My name’s Freddie Conroy. I’m second cousin to Bobby.”
    He pointed to the blue truck at the side of the building, then picked up her suitcases.
    Freddie wasn’t kidding about the state of his truck. The shabby upholstery reeked of stale cigarettes and sweat. She watched him place her suitcases carefully in the back before he climbed in beside her. He coaxed the old truck to life and they rattled away. Kathleen stared out the window as they sped past two or three avenues of gracious Gone-with-the-Wind style homes, until they came to the end of what was obviously the extent of Eddisville’s affluent area.
    â€œYes, ma’am,” Freddie said, “Half of Eddisville knows Bobby Conroy found himself an English girl. Word’ll be all over town come tomorrow.”
    He drove his truck down a street of run-down houses. “This here’s Bennington. Bobby’s house is the last one.”
    Kathleen’s stomach tightened into a knot as Freddie turned his truck into the rutted driveway of a dilapidated white frame house. She turned to look at Freddie then back at the house. Surely there was some mistake. This couldn’t possibly be Bob’s home.
    â€œThe place