Buckeye Dreams

by Jennifer A. Davids

  A few minutes later, a frightened-looking Ben stood before all three of them, twisting what might have been a hat in both hands. He looked so wretched that Anne couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. Her uncle must have, as well, for his voice held only a slight edge.

  “Would you care to explain why my horse is still suffering almost a day after his injury?”

  Ben refused to look at any of them. “I can’t really get near him, sir.”

  Her uncle looked at her then back at Ben. “But you’ve been caring for him for almost a month and a half now. You told me weeks ago he was behaving for you.”

  “I know, sir. I’m sorry; I really am. I just wanted this job so bad.”

  “You should have said something,” Anne said. Tears rose in her eyes as she thought about how neglected Scioto must have felt. If only she hadn’t avoided seeing him for so long.

  “If you can’t go near him, then how was it he looked so well yesterday?” Mr. Howard asked.

  “I got up real early. It took me ‘til first light to get him ready and saddled.”

  Her uncle drew in a long breath. “I’m afraid I’ll have to let you go, Ben.”

  The young man’s shoulders slumped and his hands fell to his sides. “Yes, sir, I’ll go clear my things.” He turned to go, but Uncle Daniel spoke again.

  “Your family isn’t from Columbus, are they?”

  “No, sir, we’re from Celina.”

  “If you decide you want to go back home instead of finding work here, please come see me. I’ll see that you get home.”

  The news appeared to lighten Ben’s load a little. “Thank you, sir.”

  “We need to apply the poultice immediately,” Patrick said after Ben left. “I wonder if you could help me.”

  “Of course,” Anne replied, rising from her seat.

  Patrick raised his eyebrows. “Thank you, Miss Kirby, but I was speaking to your uncle.” He turned to him. “Scioto wasn’t very happy with me either, sir. I know it might be difficult with your arm—”

  “He should be fine if I’m holding on to his halter.” Uncle Daniel gave Anne a sympathetic glance. “Ask Mrs. Werner to heat up some water.”

  “Not to boiling though,” Patrick said.

  “I’m familiar with the poultice Dr. Townshend recommended, Mr. Howard,” Anne said, frowning slightly. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go speak with her now.”

  A few hours later, she and her uncle stood outside Scioto’s stall as Anne tried not to fume over the slow, careful way Patrick had explained to her how to continue with the poultice. He’d left for his boardinghouse moments ago. Anne must have had a sour look on her face because her uncle chuckled.

  “You’re sure you got all that now?” he mimicked. Anne gave him such a withering look that he held his free hand up as if to forestall a blow. “I must admit he went a little overboard.”

  Scioto lowered his head toward Anne, and she laid her hand across his nose. “I should never have stopped visiting him.”

  “And I should have made more time to do so.” Uncle Daniel rubbed the horse’s neck. “We’ll let him rest for the time being.”

  Anne nodded. She needed to go in and heat more water to keep the poultice warm. “Who will take care of him now?” she asked as they walked to the house.

  “Mr. Howard said he’d make enquiries, but he wasn’t very hopeful,” her uncle replied. “He said he’d do it himself, but his studies won’t allow him the time.”

  “We can’t move him,” she said carefully. “With your arm and teaching schedule, you doing the job is out of the question, and Mrs. Werner is not particularly fond of horses.” She looked up hopefully at her uncle.

  A deep frown creased his face. “I don’t like it, Anne. I promised your pa.”

  “I know, but considering the circumstances, I don’t think he’d object.” Anne waited through a long pause. She was eventually rewarded for her patience.

  “I don’t see how we have much choice.” He looked over his glasses at her. “I know you’ll take good care of him, but it will only be until I can hire someone.” His gaze turned thoughtful. “In fact, I may not have to look far.”

  Anne didn’t let his last few words spoil her delight. She squeezed his good arm. “I understand. Thank you, Uncle Daniel.”

  Chapter 8

  Late November 1884

  This is all my fault.” Peter sat on his cot and watched his boss pack his things.

  “Don’t blame yourself, Pete,” Mike said as he worked. “I don’t.”

  “But you never would have lost your job if you hadn’t hired me. You said the board wasn’t happy about it.”

  Mike stopped packing and rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s not it, exactly.” He sat down on the cot next to Peter. “I kind of got myself in this mess.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Those bills Harvey gave me a few weeks ago were supposed to be paid by me. Then the board was to reimburse me.” He paused, looking more than a little embarrassed. “I sorta forgot about them. And this hasn’t been the first time. The bills went past due and got sent to the board. Again.”

  “Ah, Mike.” Peter said sadly. “I wish you had told me. I could have helped you remember.”

  “Well, that’s not all. Before you came, I told the board how much money I needed for this term, and they gave me enough for two assistants.” He looked at Peter. “When Dr. Kirby spoke to me about you, I felt real sorry for you. So I paid you salary for two men.”

  Peter ran a hand through his hair. He’d always wondered if his pay was too high, but since he’d never worked for someone before, he’d never questioned Mike about it. Now he wished he had. A knock sounded at the door and they looked at each other.

  “I still don’t believe they hired him,” Peter said.

  “I tried to tell them.” Mike rose wearily to answer the door.

  Harvey Pryce walked in with his friend Frank. Both men were loaded down with wooden crates. “Humph,” Harvey said as he took in the one-room cabin. “Not much, but it’ll do.”

  “It keeps the rain off your head.” Mike continued with his packing.

  “I guess.” Harvey set down his crate and looked at Peter. “What are you still doing here?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be gone by the morning,” Peter said.

  “I wanted to try and convince you to keep him on,” Mike said as he stuffed the last of his things in an old carpetbag. “He knows how things work around here.”

  “I’m pretty sure I can handle it,” Harvey said.

  Peter couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped his lips. Harvey glared at him.

  “I would’ve had this job sooner if me and the boys had given you a better lesson.”

  Peter stood, his fists clenched tight. “Maybe it’s time I give you a lesson.”

  “Pete,” Mike warned. “Don’t do it.”

  “Ah, come on, Pete,” Pryce taunted. “Let’s have at it.”

  Common sense quickly prevailing, he turned away from Harvey. “No. It’s not worth it.”

  Harvey sneered at him then nudged Frank, who had also set down his crate. “Let’s go get something to drink. We’ll bring the rest of my stuff over tomorrow.”

  “You start tomorrow,” Mike retorted. “How are you going to move in and do what needs done around here?”

  “That’s my business,” Harvey said as he and Frank walked out the door.

  Peter shook his head. “He really has no idea what he’s getting into.”

  Mike nodded in agreement and set the carpetbag near the door, along with the rest of his things. “I guess that’s it for me.” He held out his hand and Peter shook it. “I’m sorry they don’t need you over at the shop.”

  “That’s all right. I’ll find something.” As Peter spoke, a wagon pulled up outside.

  “That’d be the fellas for me,” Mike said.

  Peter followed him over to the door, picked up some of his things, and followed him outside. A couple of Mike’s
friends had driven over to help him move to a boardinghouse near Columbus Machine Company, where he’d found a job. They jumped down and Mike introduced them. “This is Geoff Evans and Steve Brock.”

  “Sorry to hear about your job.” Steve shook Peter’s hand. “I think there might be an opening where I work. I can check and come by and get you tomorrow if you like. It’d be around lunchtime. Think you’ll be here?”

  Mike smirked. “Harvey wants him gone by the time he comes back tomorrow. But he and Frank went out drinking. Pete will be here.”

  They laughed and soon had all of Mike’s things in the back of the wagon. “I’ll see if there’s a room at the boardinghouse,” Mike said as he climbed up. “I know the fella Steve works for. More than likely, you’ll have a job come tomorrow.”

  Peter shook his hand. “Thanks, Mike. For everything.”

  As the wagon rolled off, Peter stood outside, looking at the fading sky. A new job in the city would be an answer to prayer. He needed to leave the university. Dr. Kirby had been forced to fire his stable boy and had offered the job to Peter. As much as he wanted to accept it, he knew he shouldn’t. Then there was Anne Kirby. As much as he wanted to help her, there just didn’t seem to be a proper way to go about it. It also didn’t help that the few times he’d seen her in the last month she hadn’t seemed any better, at least in unguarded moments. She seemed normal enough when she was with her uncle, but on the few occasions he’d checked the pipes in the library, he’d caught glimpses of her dabbing her eyes. Lord, You know all things and You know this situation she’s in. Lead her to someone that can help her. Restore her soul.

  A brisk gust sent him back into the house, and he put more wood in the stove. The weather had been unpredictable. The days had been pleasant enough, but the nights had been getting quite cold, at least to Peter’s way of thinking. He’d never liked being cold. He put another piece in for good measure then set about packing up what few things he had and making sure the log house was more or less in order. Lately Peter had been reading a passage in Romans about enemies. If being nice to Harvey Pryce meant that “coals of fire” would be heaped on his head, so much the better. He only wished he could do a few nice things for Uncle Randall and his cousin Edward.

  He pushed the wood box closer to the stove. What about his grandfather? Did he desire the same thing for him? As much as he thought the answer should be yes, his heart didn’t agree. In the end, Granddad’s cutting him off had been a good thing. He was a better man now. The thought made him shake his head at himself. Was he really? He’d just wished the worst for three different people. When Dr. Kirby first pointed out that passage to him after Peter had been injured, he’d been quick to say it wasn’t about revenge. It was about forgiveness. That’s something You’ll have to help me with, Lord. Forgiving them just isn’t on my heart right yet. He set the last few things in order and fell into bed, not bothering to remove his clothes. The one blanket he had wasn’t exactly the warmest.

  It was the heat that woke Peter later. Heat and the light from the raging fire that flickered up the wall opposite his bed. It had begun to spread to a good portion of the roof as well. He ran out the door, yelling for help. Several figures were running toward him from the direction of the student boardinghouse, some carrying buckets.

  “Come on,” one of them shouted. “We’ll form a bucket brigade from the lake to here.”

  “What about the fire department?” Peter yelled as they started for it.

  “They’ll be here soon. We already sent someone to the signal box.” The student stopped and looked around in alarm. “Where’s Mike?”

  “He’s not here.” Peter pulled on his arm. “Come on!”

  But their buckets might as well have been thimbles. By the time they formed the line, flames engulfed the whole building. All they could do was make sure the fire didn’t spread. It was only after the fire department arrived with its steam-powered pumper that they finally took a break. Peter slumped on the ground, head in his hands, coughing from the smoke. How on earth had this happened?

  “Where is he? He’s got to be here somewhere.”

  Peter looked up. Harvey Pryce strode up to the scene, a police officer on his heels. He spotted Peter and immediately made his way over. “There he is. Arrest him!”

  Peter jumped to his feet. “What?”

  “Now Mr. Pryce, let’s just wait a minute,” the officer said. “We don’t even know if this was an accident or what.”

  “It’s no accident,” Harvey said. “This guy has a grudge against me because I got his boss’s job. He took a swing at me earlier tonight, gave me a sore jaw. Now he’s burned down my house out of spite.”

  “That’s not what happened!” Peter yelled.

  The students that had formed the bucket brigade wandered over to watch.

  “I have a witness,” Harvey declared. “My friend Frank Morris saw the whole thing.”

  “I—” Peter began. The policeman took hold of his arm. “Wait, I didn’t do anything.”

  “I’ve heard enough to know that this needs to go before the court.” The officer slapped handcuffs on him. “You’re going down to the city prison for the time being.”

  Peter soon found himself confined to a small cell with several other men. Since it was the middle of the night, most of them were asleep or, judging from the smell, passed out from too much liquor. One or two woke up when he was let in, but he quietly made his way to the back of the cell and ignored their insults and veiled threats. A low stone ledge ran beneath the window, and he climbed up on it. He couldn’t even contemplate the idea of sitting on the floor.

  He moved into the corner and, leaning back, drew his knees up. Scrunching his eyes shut, he tried to wake himself up from the nightmare he found himself in. But the stench of the cell and the smoke that hung heavily to his clothes and beard told him he was wide awake. Not to mention the cold breeze that blew in from the window. Bars were the only thing that covered the square slit near the top of the cell. When he rested his head against the wall, he could see a bare sliver of the night sky. He stared at it, not quite sure what to think or even what to pray.

  After about a quarter of an hour, he closed his eyes. I’m sorry I let Harvey provoke me, Lord. I shouldn’t have said anything. He wondered what the judge would say. According to the jailer who had led him to the cell, he’d go to court sometime tomorrow. How was he going to get out of this? The only person who knew that Harvey was lying was Mike, and he had no way of getting ahold of him. And what if they decided he started the fire? But I didn’t do it. I didn’t do anything to start that fire. He wondered if Harvey had started it on purpose. He couldn’t imagine why. He hadn’t even liked the place. Was he worried that he would still try to arrest him for having him beaten? Peter shook his head. Whatever the reason, it certainly didn’t matter now.

  A commotion drew his attention to the cell door, where a man was forced inside. He fell on top of a rough-looking fellow who’d been leaning against the bars, sleeping. He cursed and kicked him off. The man tumbled to the ground, and Peter jumped up to help him.

  “Hey, are you all right?” he whispered. He squinted at the man’s face in the dim light. “Uncle Billy?”

  “Petey!” the man exclaimed. A couple of men cursed and shushed them, and Peter immediately hauled his friend to his spot at the back of the cell.

  “Hey now, Lieutenant,” Uncle Billy said. “You watch yourself there. I’m your superior officer, remember?”

  Peter smiled inwardly. How could he have forgotten Billy’s … eccentricities? He stood up straight and gave him a quick salute. “Sorry, sir. What are you doing here?”

  “Them Rebs got me.” He shook his head. “They tried to take the general away from me.”

  “Is he all right, sir?”

  Uncle Billy grinned as he reached his hand into the pocket of his threadbare Union jacket. When he pulled it out, there in his hand was a small brown field mouse. “Them Rebs won’t get General Grant that easy.”


  Peter nodded and smiled. Uncle Billy had kept him company many times during his tramping days. Or rather, Peter had kept Uncle Billy company. He’d first met him in Circleville, a little town south of Columbus, and he wasn’t popular with the other transients. His ramblings about the War between the States and his unshakable belief that he was General William T. Sherman made them uncomfortable. Then there was the mouse he carried around in his pocket, which he insisted was General Ulysses S. Grant. Peter had felt sorry for him and befriended him. The war still rested heavily on his mind, but all in all, he was a kindhearted soul. The only time he became violent was when anyone tried to go after his mouse. “I’m glad their latest attempt to capture General Grant was unsuccessful,” he said, patting Billy on the back.

  The man raised the mouse up to his face. “He’s worried about the next campaign. See how he’s pacing?” He looked at Peter. “You know anything that’d soothe the general?”

  Peter smiled. “Yes, sir.” He knew just the thing. God had placed it on his heart to memorize over a month ago. He helped Uncle Billy up on the ledge and hopped up next to him.

  “ ‘ The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want,’” he quoted softly. “’He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul… .’”

  Chapter 9

  Thank you for letting me eat with you and Anne today, Dr. Kirby,” Emma said.

  Uncle Daniel smiled at her from behind his office desk as she and Anne laid cloths out on it and unpacked their lunch baskets. “We’re glad to have you join us, Miss Long. Although, I have to wonder who is taking care of the library right now. I thought you two took turns keeping an eye on things during lunch.”

  “Normally we do,” Anne replied with a smile. “But there are so few people who come into the library at this hour, we decided we could probably get away with leaving a note on the door explaining where we are.”