by Joy Redmond
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing? Get out of there. That’s my house and whatever is in the ashes belongs to me!”
“Calm down, boy. We’ve got to find remains and the county will give them a proper burial.”
“Remains? There’s no remains. Are you stupid?”
“Bones don’t burn up. That’s considered remains. We’re just doing our job. Don’t you want your loved ones properly buried?”
“Bones? I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry. I’m overcome with grief. I thought you were looters. Go on and do your job. I’ll stay out of your way.” Will ran into the outhouse. Red ran behind him.
Will came back out just in time to see one man pick up a skull and drop it into the bag. He ran back inside the outhouse and threw up. “Shit! I wasn’t expecting that.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Judging from the spot, I’m thinking that was Mr. Tom. I can’t bear this. He stepped back outside. “Red, come on. I’ve got some money. We’ll go get us some do-nuts. I just hope I can keep them down.”
Will knew he had to spend what little money he had very carefully. He bought himself one do-nut and three do-nut holes for Red. “We won’t get coffee today, boy. We’ll have to drink water from the well. We’ve got some tomatoes in the garden that didn’t get scorched and we can fill up on them the rest of the day.”
By the time Will returned to the shed, the men were gone. He pumped water for Red and himself. “Dang, Red. I was so upset I didn’t ask where their bones will be buried. Miss Marylee will know how to go about finding out the particulars. She’ll want to put flowers on their graves and pay her last respects.”
Will walked over to the old walnut tree and picked up a small branch that had fallen off. He pulled off the leaves. Then he went inside the shed and picked up a burlap sack. “Come on, boy. Let’s go poking through the ashes. We might find something.”
He poked and pushed in the area where he thought Miss Marylee’s bedroom would have fallen. He was delighted when he found one of her long hat pins. He put it into the sack. He found hinges that he figured were from the suitcase where his college money had been locked up. The suitcase was cardboard and there was nothing left of it, and his hopes of finding a few bills were dashed. He pushed a long piece of burnt timber and found a metal jewelry box. He quickly opened it and his heart leapt with joy as he saw Miss Marylee’s earbobs, hair combs and rings.
He continued his search using the branch and sometimes he used his hands. He left no ash unturned. Finally, he thought he was in the area where Mr. Tom’s bedroom was and his guess was confirmed when he found several coins. Mr. Tom had a big jar by his bed where he dropped his extra change. He picked up the coins, not bothering to count them and put them into his jeans pocket. Then he found what looked like a clock frame. He put it into his sack. I’ll have to spend the money, Mr. Tom, but I’ll keep the clock frame to remember you.
He moved the mattress springs. He almost squealed when he saw a pair of cuff links. He blew them off. A little scrubbing and they’ll be fine.
His excitement built as he continued his search. He was in the spot that he knew had to be the kitchen. His room was above it. He dropped on his hands and knees and wiped his hands over the ashes, pick up a few and let them filter through his fingers. He ran his hand over something hard. He picked it up and blew on it. “My fountain pen, Red!”
Red was sticking his nose under an old metal cabinet. Then he barked. “Yep, that’s where Berta kept a lot of food, but there isn’t anything under there that we can eat, it’s charred.” Red continued to bark and nudge the cabinet. “Fine. I’ll push it out of your way.” Will picked up the cabinet and stood it upright. Red barked louder.
Will gasped and almost choked. He bent and picked up his yellow picture book. He brushed it off and turned it over. The hard back was in perfect condition. He opened it and examined the pages. Not one singed page. It was as if the book hadn’t been close to heat. “You threw that book under that cabinet and saved it for me, didn’t you, Gram? I hope you saved the story tablet that Miss Marylee wrote for me.”
He continued to sweep ashes with his hands as if he were a mad man. There was no sign of a tablet or page. He sat down, wiped sweat from his brow and said, “Thank you, Red. How you knew what was under that cabinet is beyond me, but I sure am thankful. I think we need to take a break. We’re both covered in ashes and filth. Let’s get us a bucket of water and go sit under the elm. It’s a scorcher today. We’ll come back later and see what else we can find. If we can find some eating utensils they’ll come in handy.”
He took two steps, then he saw something that seemed to be sparkling under the ashes. He bent and picked it up. “A cross!” He wiped it off and studied it for a few minutes. He didn’t remember ever seeing it before. He had no idea who it belonged to and it didn’t matter. It belonged to a member of his family. He dropped it into the burlap sack.
Will ambled over to the well and pumped the bucket full of water. He carried it to the elm and dropped down. Tears welled as he remembered the mornings he sat in this very spot and had coffee with Jim Bob. He quickly turned up the water bucket and drank. He put it beside him and said, “Drink, Red. I know you’re thirsty, too.”
Red ran around the tree and started barking. “Red, if you can catch that squirrel, I’ll skin him, gut him, and we’ll eat him.” Will took another long drink. Red ran around and barked in Will’s face. Then he ran behind the tree and barked louder. “Don’t bark at me. I’m not fast enough to catch it.”
Three times, Red barked in Will’s face, then ran behind the tree. “What do you want?” He got up and followed Red. Will gasped and clutched his heart as he looked down and saw Jim Bob’s banjo. “What the hell?” He sank to the ground and picked it up. “Why did he leave this outside? He hung on to it tighter than Miss Marylee clung to her purse.”
Will leaned against the tree, his head feeling as if it would explode. “Red, lay down and be quiet. I’ve got a lot of serious thinking to do.”
Red lay down and closed his eyes. Will ran every detail of the previous day thought his mind: Jim Bob thanking him for making his last days the happiest of his life. Mr. Tom saying he was ready to die and go to wherever and whatever was waiting for him. Berta saying she didn’t want to die in the Poor House. All three told him they loved him.
“Red, I don’t think that fire was an accident. Miss Marylee is in California. I was out for the day. It was the perfect time. The three of them planned it.” He could actually see them huddled together, saying their goodbyes to each other. Then Berta blew out the pilot light on the gas stove, turned on the burners and oven—and struck a match.
“You selfish bastards! Did you stop to think about how your deaths would devastate me? Did it enter your stupid minds that I’d have to watch them bag your bones and carry them away? And you loved me? That’s not love. That’s selfish, mean, and evil. I hope God will forgive you. I’m not sure I ever will.”
Will had no idea how long he sat, running things through his mind. “But I can’t prove it, which leaves a shadow of doubt. So I can’t convict.” He blew a deep breath. “As long as there’s doubt, I can live with it.” He looked upward. “I’m sorry if I misjudged you. Maybe it was an accident. I love you, too. I always will. You were my family. My growing up with you in the boarding house was my roots. I thank you.”
Will looked down and raised his hand to pet Red’s head. Red was gone. I guess you went home to get something to eat. It’s just as well. I’m going down to the corner grocery store and buy me a baloney sandwich and hold the cheese. That’ll save me a nickel. I’ve got to spend carefully.
For the next week, Will searched through the ashes. He found a few things and put them in his sack. Each morning, Mr. Reed offered him a cup of coffee and told him he had a cot for him to sleep on. Will gladly accepted the coffee, but declined the cot, saying he was cool and comfortable in the shed. Truth was, the shed made him feel as if he was still at home. Most mornings, Mrs. O’N
an offered him a second cup of coffee. He was grateful. It saved him money and got his juices flowing so he could face another day.
He saw no point in trying to find a job. He had no clean clothes and he hadn’t gotten a haircut. He couldn’t afford one now. Nobody would hire a person who looked like a hobo. He’d bide his time until he heard from Miss Marylee.
Two more days passed. A few times he and Red went to the river but he didn’t have any luck catching fish. He figured it was too hot for them to bite. But being by the water brought peace to his soul, somewhat.
One morning he was going across the street to get his second cup of coffee from Mrs. O’Nan, when he heard a loud voice cut through the morning air. “Will Hennie. You’ve got a letter. It came all the way from California.” The mailman was waving a white envelope in the air.
Will ran across the street. “Give it to me!”
“I ain’t supposed to give a letter to nobody. I have to put it in a mailbox. It’s the law.”
“I don’t have a mailbox, you moron. You know me. Now give it here!”
“You better never tell if I give it to you. And I oughta smack you one for callin’ me a moron. But I understand. You’ve been through a lot. Here you go.”
Will snatched the letter. “Thank you. I won’t tell a soul. Sorry about the moron thing.” He took off running to the shed. He took a scaling knife out of his tackle box and carefully opened the letter. His hands were trembling as he pulled out the tablet paper. He began to read and his smile broadened with each word. Miss Marylee described in detail about her four days on the train, the beautiful country side she’d seen and the friends she’d made. Tears pooled as he read the last part. Please write me as soon as possible. I miss you terribly.
All my love,
Miss Marylee.
Will held the letter to his heart. Oh, Miss Marylee. It’s going to kill my heart when I have to tell you what happened. I know it’ll ruin your vacation. But I can’t pretend that all is well. I need you to rescue me.
Will put the letter into his burlap sack. He ran across the street and knocked on Mrs. O’Nan’s door. It seemed like she was taking forever. Finally she opened the door.
“Mrs. O’Nan, I hate to bother you but this is very important to me. I was wondering if you have a tablet and pencil. I need to write a letter to Miss Marylee. She’s in California and she doesn’t know about the fire. I’ve got to get word to her.” He was breathless by the time he had gotten it all out.
Mrs. O’Nan invited him inside and gave him a tablet and pencil. Will wrote as neatly as he could with his trembling hands. He explained things as delicately as possible. He signed it, Love, your son, Will Hennie.
“Thank you, Mrs. O’Nan. I’m going to run to the post office and buy a stamp and get it posted.”
“I have a stamp. I’ll put it in my mailbox. It’ll be on the way come tomorrow morning.”
Will didn’t want to wait another day, but he needed the eight cents it would cost to send it air mail. The one cent stamp would get it there in a week. He could hold on that long.
Four days later, Will was poking through the ashes one last time. “Will Hennie,” the mailman yelled. “You got another letter from California. This one is airmail.”
Will ran through the rubble. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate you giving me the letters. I won’t tell a soul.”
“Now it’s ‘sir’.” The mailman chuckled and went on his way.
Will ran to the shed and carefully opened it. He began to read.
Dear Will,
I pen this letter with great sorrow. It has fallen on me to inform you that Aunt Marylee Long has gone to Glory. She passed peacefully in her sleep, two days after she arrived. My brother Alfred and I are planning a nice funeral for her and she’ll be buried in a cemetery here in San Bernardino Valley.
If you ever want to come out West, you will be welcomed into my home.
Kind regards,
George Long
Will dropped the letter. He didn’t feel as if air was reaching his lungs. His head was spinning and he felt as if he had fallen into a deep, dark well. I can’t live without Miss Marylee. She’s all I had left. She was the only mother I ever knew. I won’t live without her. I won’t!
He picked up the scaling knife and held it to his throat. Before he made a slice, he yelled, “Mr. Cloud Man. God. Whatever and whoever you are. Kiss my ass!”
He felt hot blood run down his neck as he stuck the tip of the blade into his throat.
Chapter Sixteen
Will’s hand was trembling. Just as he was about to swipe the blade across his throat, he felt a strong hand grab the top of his head. It felt as if his hair was being ripped out by the roots.
He lost his grip on the knife handle and yelled, “Get your damn hands off me! Leave me—”
He turned his head, ready to jump up and punch. There was nobody in sight. The top of his head was stinging. He ran his fingers through his hair. Red if that was you, you better be glad you took off, fast! He shook his head. It wasn’t Red. Who? What?
He walked over to the well and pumped fresh water into the bucket. He splashed his face and poured water over his head. He had the urge to go sit under the elm, but the memoires of his mornings with Jim Bob were too painful.
He walked back to the shed, sat on the floor and looked upward. “I get the message. I know I was about to do something stupid. I really don’t know how to heal my broken heart. Can you show me a way? I’m sorry I told You to kiss my ass. Amen.”
Will walked across the yard, “Red, where are you? Come on, boy. Let’s go take a bath in the river.” Red didn’t come. I’ll get my fishing gear and go on. He’ll find me. He always does. He’s out bitch chasing again. He picked up the scaling knife, wiped the bloody tip on his jeans and put it in the tackle box. He reached up and took a box of matches off the shelf. He smiled as he remembered the day Jim Bob hid them in the shed so he could slip off and smoke his pipe.
He put the matches in the burlap sack. The pipe. Where is it? He moved a tin of tobacco and there it was. He put the pipe and the tin into the sack. He threw the sack over his shoulder, wishing he had a bar of lye soap. He picked up his fishing gear, put his baseball cap on and headed out.
The two mile walk to the river, which had always seemed to be a short walk before now, seemed to be twenty miles on this sad day. When he reached the river bank, he dropped his belongings, slid down the steep bank and jumped into the water. Mr. Tom taught him how to swim, but he’d always warned him to never swim out too far because the river was dangerous and one never knew when they’d fall into an eddy. Will waded into the water up to his waist. The drought had caused the river to recede and he felt safe.
He splashed around in the water and recalled the many times he and Mr. Tom had enjoyed Sunday afternoons, fishing, talking and waving at boats. He dunked his head several times and massaged his scalp. He stood, slung his head around and watched the water fly through the air. “That’s the best I can do today, Miss Marylee. I took a bath and washed my clothes at the same time.”
He climbed back to the top of the bank. He really wasn’t in the mood to fish. He walked to the old oak tree, where he and Mr. Tom had taken many naps. He lay down under it, letting the breeze blow over his wet body. He felt cleaner. At least he had gotten all the ashes off. His clothes still had ground-in grime but he wasn’t going to worry about that.
As he lay under the tree, he relived the years he’d spent in the boarding house and all the things he’d done with each person of his big family. And he recalled losing them, one by one. And now there’s just me, Will Hennie.
By late afternoon, he decided he’d try his luck at fishing. By dark, he’d caught two cat fish. His stomach was growling, so he slit the skin around the middle of the fish, took a pair of pliers out of the tackle box and pulled the skin off. He gutted them and took them to the river and washed them. He climbed the bank and put them on the grass. He gathered small twigs and put them in a pile.
He took the matches from his sack, and soon he had a fire going. He whittled a stick to a point, stuck it through the fish, then held them over the fire. He wasn’t sure how long he was supposed to cook them, he just kept turning them and when he thought they were done, he pulled them off, dropped them on the burlap sack, let them cool, then ate them.
They aren’t close to Berta’s good ol’ fried fish, but they’ll fill my stomach. I’ll never again have a meal as good as Berta fixed me. She was a pill, but she was a good cook, and I loved her, flaws and all. How I wish I could hear her laugh, and watch her stomach jiggle. After he had eaten, he took out Jim Bob’s pipe and the tobacco tin. He’d watched Jim Bob fill the pipe, pack the tobacco and light it many times. I think I can do it right.
He leaned against the tree and smoked. The tobacco burned his tongue and he hated the taste, but mocking his old friend made his soul feel better. He continued to smoke and soon his tongue stopped burning. Then he felt sick to his stomach. He tamped the pipe and spit.
The mosquitoes were having a feast on him, so he decided to pack up and go back to the shed. He knew Red would be waiting for him. He was sorry he had nothing to feed his best friend. Red always seemed to be hungry, especially after he’d humped his brains out all day. The walk back seemed to be shorter. He went into the shed and put the sack and his fishing gear in a corner. Then he went outside and started calling Red. Red didn’t come running.
Will walked down the sidewalk, calling Red’s name over and over. When he reach the Brown’s house, he saw Ben in the front yard, whittling. “Where’s Red? I haven’t seen him all day.”
“Ya ain’t ever gonna see that good-fer-nothin’ dog again.” He laughed. “Pa took him down to Arkansas. He said he was gonna trade his worthless hide fer a bulldog. Then we’s gonna put the bulldog in fights and make us some big money.”
Will wanted to punch Ben’s lights out, but he felt paralyzed. “No! No!” he cried, which made Ben laugh harder. Will clinched his fist. “One more laugh out of you and I’ll knock your stupid ass all the way to Arkansas.”