Along the Back Roads of Yesterday Page 3

  Ma-aw-aw-Ma-aw-aw! Eddie issued his clarion call for help. Homer heard the screen door slam. Past experience had taught him he’d better git-gone-and-fast. He left for the safety of the machine shed. Mom opened the toilet door. Eddie, tears running down his ruddy cheeks said, “Homer wouldn’t let me out.”

  “I told Oris to keep that goat penned up and he’d better do it.”

  I smiled and finished weeding the garden. I caught Homer and put him in his pen, then rode over to Grandad Fletcher’s.

  Red never got in a hurry going away from home. A kick in the ribs to encourage him to move faster didn’t make a shake-of-salt difference. He switched his ratty-looking tail and maintained the same slow plod.

  Grandad saw us coming and opened the gate. “Hey there, you one-eyed red mule. Where ya goin’ with this here pip-squeak of a boy?”

  “I’m not a pip-squeak.”

  “Well. Ya don’t look like Roy Rogers, and that red mule don’t look ta me like Trigger. So that makes ya a pip-squeak.”

  Grandad closed the gate. I slid off Red and we walked up the lane to the barn.

  “Tie that fire-eatin’ mule to the fence and let’s go ta the house and see if yer grandmother has some cold lemonade left in the icebox.”

  “What are you two loafers doing coming into my kitchen this time of day?” Grandma smiled and pinched my left cheek. I loved my grandmother but didn’t like the way she pinched my cheek every time she got a chance.

  Grandad looked at me and smiled his crooked smile. “This boy arrived on his high-spirited, high-steppin’ red mule. I could tell that mule ‘bout got the best o’ him. I think a glass o’ cold lemonade is what he needs after that f-a-s-t ride.”

  “Now, Grandad,” Grandma said. “That red mule doesn’t move fast enough to shake the lice off if he was in a wind storm. I think it’s you who wants the lemonade.” She poured two glasses of cold lemonade.

  “Thanks, Grandma. This sure is good stuff.”

  Grandad scratched the left side of his nose. “What’s goin’ on over ta yer place taday?” He asked.

  “Nuthin’ much. Dad’s rakin’ hay. Mom’s cannin’ beans. Ralph is ridin’ his bike up and down the lane. Homer kept Eddie in the toilet for a little bit.” I laughed.

  Grandma attached a serious look to her face and said, “One of these days that goat is going to hurt Eddie. You should keep him penned up.”

  “Naw. He’s not gonna hurt Eddie.” I grinned. Grandad looked at me. I thought I saw a slight twitch at the left corner of his mouth. No doubt about it, his eyes were laughing. I had another glass of lemonade while I visited with Grandma and Grandad.

  “I guess I’d better go on home. I don’t want to be late doin’ chores. Thanks for the lemonade, Grandma.”

  I untied Red. Grandad walked with me to the gate. He gave me a leg-up on Red and closed the gate behind us. “See you later, Grandad.” I heeled Red. He started toward home at a fast walk. He was in a hurry to get there.

  I fed the calves and helped Dad milk the cows. We finished up the evening chores and went to the house.

  “Oris. Wash your hands and change into a clean shirt before we eat supper,” Mom said.

  For supper, Mom had fixed fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans fresh from her garden and rhubarb pie. The conversation around the table died down. Mom started in on me about Homer.

  “If you don’t keep that fool goat penned up, you’ll have to get rid of him. Do you understand me? I’ve got other things to do besides chase him away from the toilet door every time Eddie is in there.”

  I liked Homer and didn’t want to get rid of him.

  Ralphie looked at Mom and said, “I saw Oris let Homer out of his pen when Eddie went to the toilet. Homer made straight for the toilet door, and Oris was laughing. He looked at me with a ‘smirk’ on his face that made me want to punch him.”

  Mom laid her fork on the edge of her plate. She looked across the table at me and said, “Knowing Eddie was in the toilet, you turned that goat loose on purpose?” I looked down at my plate. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

  “Yes, Homer slipped out when I opened the gate. I’ll keep him penned up all the time. He won’t cause any more trouble. I’ll even tie him on a chain if I have to. PLEASE, Mom, don’t make me get rid of him. I’ll take good care of him so he won’t bother Eddie.”

  Before Mom could say anything, Dad said, “Son. That goat has turned out to be a real pest ‘round here. If you keep ‘im penned up and take care of ‘im you can keep ‘im. The first time he gits out and causes trouble, you’ll have ta git rid of ‘im. Is that understood?

  “Yes, sir.” I said.

  Mom wanted to say something, but changed her mind and started clearing the table.

  Dad pushed his empty plate to the center of the table and looked at me. “Son,” he said. “We’re not gonna have that goat causin’ problems. Like I said, you keep ‘im penned up and out o’ trouble and ya can keep ‘im.’ You understand me?”

  I looked down at my plate and said, “Yes, sir.”

  Mom exploded. “How many times do you have to be told not to look at your plate when someone is talking to you!” She put six dirty glasses on the counter.

  I slid off my chair and slunk out the kitchen door.

  Ralph followed me out to the woodpile. “You’re gonna hav’ta git rid of Homer, and I’m glad. Mother says Homer has been a problem from day one.” I almost hit him but thought better of it. Hitting him would get me in deeper trouble with Mom.

  Ralph went back into the house. I sat on the chopping block trying to figure out what to do. Biggs stood in front of me wagging his tail. He licked me square in the face. “Git outta here, you darn dog.” He licked me again.

  Somehow, I had to get on Mom’s good side. It came to me! She spent half her time complaining about the wood box by the kitchen stove being empty. She harped at me every day to keep wood in the box.

  I picked up an armload of firewood and went back into the kitchen to fill the wood box. The Home Comfort cookstove, a grey monster, was always hungry. I don’t know how many times a day Mom would say, “Oris. Fill the wood box.” After supper, she’d say, “Oris. Fill the wood box.” If I went in the house for a drink of water, she’d say, “Oris. Fill the wood box.” There was no doubt in my handsome mind that that grey monster ate more wood than any other two wood-burning cookstoves in the county.

  “It’s about time you got wood in here. Get ready for bed. There are clean socks and jeans folded and ready to take up to your room. Don’t pile them on the dresser. Put the socks in the sock drawer and hang the jeans on hangers. Dirty clothes are scattered all over up there. Pick them up and put them in the basket. What are you doing? Trying to live like a pig in that room?”

  With clean clothes crammed under my left arm, I trudged up the stairs and put them on the chest of drawers (instead of the dresser).

  It didn’t take long to pick up dirty clothes and pile them in the clothes basket. The basket overflowed. I stepped on them and mashed them down enough so they wouldn’t spill over on the floor.

  I got into my pajamas and lit the kerosene lamp at the head of my bed. Last Saturday, Henry and I traded comic books. I now had a new Captain Marvel I wanted to read. I was about ready to hop into bed when I heard Mom and Dad talking. I crawled across the floor to the heat grill in the floor at the far side of my room. In the winter, it let the heat from the kitchen warm my room. At anytime, I could listen to what was going on in the kitchen.

  Mom said something I couldn’t hear. She must have been on the other side of the kitchen, too far away for me to hear.

  Dad chuckled, “He sure sets store by that goat.”

  “Yes, he does. However, that makes no difference. He either cares for that goat and keeps him out of trouble or down the road that stinking thing goes. No ifs-ands-or-buts about it.”

  Dad chuckled again, “Homer has a better nose than most Bloodhounds. The other day Oris went up ta the well. That goat
started looking for ‘im. You’da laughed.” He paused. I heard him slap his knee. “Homer raced around the machine shed and over ta the orchard looking fer that kid. All at once, he headed straight up the path ta the well.”

  “I’m not the least bit interested in how smart that goat is.”

  “I know yer not. I feel the same way ’bout ’im most o’ the time. But there are times I kinda enjoy ’im,” Dad said. “Wednesday, I watched the four of ’em, Oris riding Red, Homer and the dog trailing along behind. The four o’ ’em didn’t have a care in the world. My heart kinda warmed watchin’ ‘em.”

  The screen door hinges squeaked. Dad went outside to smoke his last cigarette of the day.

  I crawled into bed, pulled the covers up to my waist, and read about Captain Marvel and his new adventure. The second step on the stairs groaned. Mom was on her way up. I shut my eyes and played like I was asleep. She tip-toed over to the bed and brushed a soft kiss on my forehead and said, “Sleep well, little man.” She blew out the lamp and went back down the stairs.

  All too soon, the cranky red rooster crowed, telling the world it was time to be up and about. Daylight hadn’t yet thought about creeping over the mountain to the east. Relaxing in bed before full daylight was my favorite activity of the day. The cook stove lid clattered as Mom lifted it and set it to the back of the stove The lid clattered again when she put it back in place. I could hear the snap of cedar wood catching fire. Soon the clamoring smell of fresh brewed coffee climbed up through the grate in the floor. (One of the most comforting sounds I remember as a kid at home was listening to Mom build a fire in the cook stove.)

  From the foot of the stairs, Mom called. “Oris. It’s time to get up.”

  “Okay, Mom.”

  I dragged out of bed, dressed, and went to the barn.

  Leaning over the fence, I dumped a full bucket of yellow corn in the trough for the squealing pigs. “Come on, pigs, “I said. “Quit squealing and shoving and get your front feet out of the trough.”

  Dad finished milking Daisy, his favorite yellow Jersey cow, while I fed the calves and put fresh water in the rabbits’ drinking bowls.

  On the way to the house for breakfast, Dad asked, “How you an’ ol’ Red gittin’ along.”

  “Okay. He sure makes me tired, the way he walks so slow and don’t want to go where I want him to half the time. He’s hard to catch and kinda sulky sometimes. When can I get a donkey?”

  “One of these fine days ya can git a donkey. Fer now, Red still has a lot ta teach ya.” Dad placed his calloused right hand on my left shoulder as we walked to the house.

  Mom, with a white dish towel thrown over her left shoulder, was standing at the stove frying ham and eggs.

  “Mother! Oris touched me,” Ralph said.

  “Mamma. Oris pushed me,” Eddie said. He started to whimper.

  “Charles. I’ve got my hands full trying to get breakfast on the table. Will you do something with these kids?”

  “Okay, boys. That’s enough. All three o’ ya wash yer hands an’ settle down,” he said. “Yer mother’s gone ta a lot a trouble ta fix breakfast. Any more fightin’ and all three o’ ya’ill find yerselves goin’ without breakfast.”

  “Mamma. Oris stuck his tongue out at me.” Ralph said. “I hope Homer dies today or gets shot in the head.”

  “Another word out o’ anyone o’ ya and ya’ all three’ill be in big trouble. Ya hear that?” Dad said. “Now stop yer fussin’ an’ eat.”

  Halfway through breakfast, Mom said, “I’m going to take the eggs and cream into town this morning. Ralph, you and Eddie change into clean shirts. I don’t want Aunt Maude seeing you looking like two war orphans.”

  “Mom, can I go, too?” I asked.

  “No. You need to stay home and help your father.”

  When Dad and I got to the shop, he handed me a small bucket of nails of various sizes and lengths. He said, “Son, sort these nails. Put the big ones in that red coffee can and the little ones in a small can. While ya do that, I’ll harness Pete and Patti. Yer granddad’s comin’ by to git ’em. He’s gonna haul some fence posts this mornin’.”

  I heard Grandad’s car stop in front of the shop and went out to meet him.

  “Hello there, Pip-squeak,” Grandad said. “What’s a little boy like you doin’ on a fine day like this?” He smiled and tousled my hair.

  “I’m not a pip-squeak!”

  “That bein’ the case then, how ’bout helpin’ me hitch them mules ta the green wagon?”

  On the way to the barn, we passed Homer. Locked inside his pen, he didn’t look very happy. “Good lookin’ billy goat ya got there,” Grandad said. “It appears Eddie will be safe in the toilet taday.”

  The day ended on a soft note. Supper was a pleasant memory, and Mom read to us a chapter from the book, Billy Whiskers.

  The next thing I knew, the know-it-all rooster announced to the world that lazy people should be out of bed. I dressed and went to the barn and had most of my chores done before Dad arrived to do his chores. “Well, boy, what ya doin’ up so early?”.

  “I want to ride Red over to Grandad’s this morning after breakfast, if that’s okay. Mom’s going to town again today. Grandad wants me to help string some fence wire.”

  For once in their ‘sheltered’ lives, Ralph and Eddie ate breakfast without chattering like two magpies on the woodpile.

  “Charles,” Mom said. “I’m going to hang a load of sheets on the line to dry before I go to town. If it looks like rain, will you bring them in so they won’t get wet?”

  “I can do that. That is if’n ya’ll bring me a carton of Lucky Strikes.”

  I enjoyed helping Granddad fix fence.

  Grandma had apple pie for dessert at dinner.

  It was chore time when I got home. Something wasn’t right. Mom’s car was parked under the cottonwood tree instead of by the back door.

  Ralph came running around the corner of the house. “Oris. Momma said she’s gonna shoot Homer and you and Daddy, too. You’re not so big and smart after all.”

  Mom came to the screen door. In a very soft, quiet voice she said, “Oris, you go to the barn, get your father, and bring him to the house, right now.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  In the same soft, quiet voice, she said, “Never you mind. Just bring him to the house like I asked.”

  I ran to the barn. Dad was fixing to start chores. “Dad. Mom wants you to come to the house right now.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know. She sounded awful quiet.”

  Dad walked so fast I had to run to keep up with him.

  When we got to the house, in the same soft and quiet voice, Mom said, “Charles. I don’t ask for much. I care for my family the best way I know how. All I ask is for all of you to meet me halfway in what I do around here.”

  Dad stood as still as a cedar fence post. For once, he wasn’t smiling.

  “I hung a load of sheets on the line before I went to town this morning. When I got home, what did I find? Somehow, that goat got out of his pen. I found three sheets ripped to shreds. That sweet billy goat, everyone likes so much, with his horns, had ripped those sheets to ribbons.”

  Dad started to say something. Mom cut him off.

  “Charles. That’s not all.” She looked at me, her voice still soft and quiet, she continued. “I parked the car under the cottonwood tree because I had the back seat full of groceries and didn’t want them to get hot.”

  Again, Dad started to say something. In that soft voice, she said, “Let me finish. I noticed the sheets in shreds and went to the clothesline to get them. I came around the corner of the house with an arm load of ripped sheets. What did I see? That sw-e-e-t and lovable goat dancing around on top of the car—his sharp hooves punching holes in the cloth top of my car.”

  Once again, Dad started to say something. Again, she cut him off.

  “Charles, Oris. One of you shoots that goat or I will.” She folded her arms acr
oss her chest and burst into tears.

  I had never seen my mother cry. I started to cry. Dad hugged her, and said, “Okay. That goat’s gone from here. Oris, you find him and chain him in his pen.”

  I found Homer in the orchard, standing under an apple tree chewing his cud. I led him back to his pen, snapped a chain to his collar, and tied it to a post. I shut the gate and went to do my chores. No way did I want to face Mom and Dad.

  When Dad finished his chores, he said, “Son. Apply the seat of your pants to that box and let me tell ya somethin’.”

  Before Dad could say a word, I said, “Dad, I’m sorry Homer got out and messed things up.”

  “ ‘Sorry’ don’t cut it, son.”

  “I know, Dad,” I said. “Does this mean I hafta sell Homer?”

  “Yes.” He said. “Now listen here ta me. When yer mother was fourteen years old, she started pluckin’ down from her mamma’s geese. She plucked them geese and saved money ‘til she had enough ta buy a new car. She paid $421 fer that new Whippet in 1927.”

  Dad didn’t say anything for a few minutes.

  “It’ll cost better ’n $50 ta fix that cloth roof on yer mother’s car. That’s $50 more ‘n we have.”

  I didn’t eat supper that night. I went to the barn and sat on a bale of hay in front of Pete’s stall. I put my elbows on my knees and my head between my hands and cried. Homer had got himself in a big mess. No doubt about it, Dad would sell him.

  The barn door opened, and Dad walked in. “Son,” he said. “Homer has outlived his usefulness ’round here. Your mother’n me ’ave decided it’s time you ’n him parted company. Come Saturday, I’m gonna sell him at the auction.” He patted me on the left shoulder and said, “Come on ta the house.” Then, he went back outside.

  I waited until the kitchen was dark and slipped upstairs to my room. I flopped across the foot of the bed and sobbed some more. After a bit, I lit the lamp and got ready for bed.

  I heard the second stair step squeak and knew Mom was coming upstairs. I pulled covers up to my waist. She stood at the foot of the bed and looked at me. Not saying a word, she just stood there and looked at me.

  I covered my eyes with my right hand.