All Men Fear Me

by Donis Casey

  Sally’s sharp black eyes were gazing at Alafair’s image in the mirror. Her expression was amused and not a little ironic. “Close your mouth before you eat a fly, Alafair.”

  “You mean those harlots in the house at the end of Kenetick Street?”

  Sally turned to face her and broke into a grin. “I’m surprised you even know such a place exists, honey.”

  “But, Ma, what if somebody finds out you’ve been talking to those fallen women?”

  “I’m careful about when I go by there. Besides, I ain’t planning to tell any of our upstanding neighbors about it. Are you?”

  Alafair’s eyes were so wide that it almost hurt. “Gracious, no! Does Grandpapa know what you’re up to?” She cast a glance toward the door to make sure none of her children were close enough to hear this shocking conversation.

  Sally raised a warning finger. “Now, Peter don’t have to know everything I do and I don’t expect you to tell him. Or Shaw neither. Don’t make me sorry I told you, now.”

  “Oh, of course not, Ma. But why on earth would you associate with those women? Is this your way of bringing them the Lord’s word in hopes they’ll change their ways?”

  Sally hung the basket of loaves for the food drive over one arm and threaded the other through Alafair’s. “I’ve always thought that women are too hard on each other, shug. We have enough trouble with men and their foolish notions about how things ought to be. We don’t need to be so mean to one another. Now, let’s go before the fellows wonder what we’re up to.”

  Alafair dug in her heels, unwilling to drop this sensational bit of information. “Wait a minute, Ma…”

  Sally cut her off. “I’ll tell you later how this all came about. But don’t be so quick to judge, darlin’. If you heard some of those poor girls’ stories you’d have more compassion for them. Just think about how folks judge your brother and they don’t even know him or why he is like he is.” An impish smile lit her face. “Maybe you should come with me to Rose’s next time I visit.”

  Alafair’s stomach flipped at the thought. “Oh, my,” she managed, before Sally dragged her out the door.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  “No Conscription! No Involuntary Service!”

  —Army veteran Bruce Rogers,

  anti-draft pamphlet, 1917

  Rob couldn’t remember the last time he went to church. Most likely the last time he had visited a relative and couldn’t get out of it. Rather like today. Since he had converted to the socialist philosophy, he found it hard to accept the doctrine that poverty and class differences were God’s will.

  The congregation was abuzz with the news that Win Avey had been found murdered that very morning. Scott was not at church since he was transporting his prisoner to Muskogee. Deputy Trent Calder was there, though, and was the center of attention. The circumstances of Avey’s death were whispered around—a brawl with a draft-dodger. Still, the fact that the brawl had occurred at a brothel was of more interest than the victim’s politics.

  Rob enjoyed himself more than he had expected. He met Martha’s husband, Streeter McCoy, and Alice’s, Walter Kelley, and liked both of them very much. He also met Ruth’s beloved, Trenton Calder, tall, thin, and sincere, and so redheaded that it was startling. Rob could tell by their attitudes as they shook his hand which of his nieces’ menfolk knew his background and which did not. Walter Kelly was so hail-fellow-well-met that he either knew nothing or didn’t care. Streeter McCoy greeted him warmly but gave him a speculative once-over, reserving judgment for the moment. Trenton Calder looked at him like he was itching to clap him in irons, but gave him a firm handshake and a nod, determined to be civil for Ruth’s sake.

  Rob loved singing the hymns from his childhood, and he enjoyed the sense of community that bound a group of like believers. When the preacher gave his fiery, guilt-inducing sermon, Robin took the opportunity to catch a quick nap. At the last ‘amen,’ he awoke refreshed and still in a good mood. He allowed Alafair to introduce him to some of her neighbors as the parishioners filed out of the sanctuary, but managed to escape before the preacher made his way down the aisle.

  Afterward, he leaned against the wall of the First Christian Church, in the back of the building where the autos and buggies were parked and waited for Alafair and Shaw to round up their children for the trip home. He intended to smoke his gasper in peace, but before he could finish, two men he didn’t know came striding toward him with a will.

  His half-smoked cigarette was pinched between his finger and thumb, and he watched the men’s purposeful approach with trepidation, fearing either a lecture on the duties of a patriot, or Christian witness for the benefit of his soul.

  One of them was a little guy, mostly Indian. He was young and good-looking, in clothes that had seen better days and were none too clean, rather like their occupant. He had a stiff brush of black hair and black eyes that shone with zeal. The other one was tall and lanky, middle-aged, with stringy blond hair and a permanent scowl.

  The duo came to a firm halt in front of Rob. “You Rob Gunn?” The older man spoke first.

  “I am, neighbor. What can I do for you?”

  “We’ve been looking for you. I’ve heard your name before. Is it true that you’re a union man and a socialist?”

  Rob’s heart sank. So much for remaining incognito. He felt for the cosh in the front pocket of his trousers, just in case. “I am, friend. But I’m not here on union business. I’m just passing through long enough to visit some of my folks.” He kept his tone mild and non-confrontational.

  His accoster nodded and glanced around to check for eavesdroppers. His young companion spoke up. “My name is Dick Miller, from down around Pottawatomie County, and this here is Dutch Leonard. He lives just east of town, here. I’m with the Working Class Union.”

  “And I belong to the I.W.W., same as you,” Leonard said. “I work over to the brick plant. Friend of mine with the I.W.W. office in Tulsa told us that there was a national rep here in Boynton. Dick and another fellow and I come here yesterday to try and find you.”

  Miller leaned in and slipped Rob a handbill. “All the folks around here from the W.C.U. and the Oklahoma Socialist Party will be having a secret meeting next week to plan a way to stop this country from hauling honest men off to fight in this damn war against their will. I’m hoping you’ll go down to our encampment with me, and confab with us on behalf of the I.W.W.”

  Rob blinked at him. This was not what he had been expecting at all, though it occurred to him that he shouldn’t be surprised. Oklahoma was full of unionists and socialists. Not all of them would have abandoned the cause the minute the war began. He slipped the handbill into his vest pocket. “What do you expect I can do, Brother Miller?”

  “Talk to us,” Miller said. “We want to know what plans the Wobblies have to stop this draft madness in its tracks. We want the I.W.W. behind us when we rise up. Lend the strength of the I.W.W. to our cause, Brother.”

  Rob flipped his cigarette into the dirt. “Come on, Brothers. Let’s take a stroll.”

  The three men wandered away from the hall. They were well down the road before Rob spoke again. “So a few fellows from the W.C.U. have a plan to get us out of the war.”

  Miller was alight with enthusiasm. “More than a few fellows, Mr. Gunn. They’s hundreds of us. And not just Working Class Union members, neither. All the tenant farmers of every color, and Holy Rollers and us Injuns and ever man that ever had to work for a living. Why, near to the entire state of Oklahoma is a’gin the war, and I reckon most of the rest of the country is, too.”

  Rob gave Miller a sidelong glance. “You think so? What newspapers have you been reading, Brother?”

  “I don’t need to read no papers, Brother Gunn. I got ears and eyes, don’t I? I hear what my neighbors are a’saying. And I’m here to tell you that we aim to stop this damned war that them criminals out East has th
rust upon us.”

  Rob clasped his hands behind his back and kept his eyes on the road. He expected that Miller didn’t “read no papers” because he couldn’t read at all. “And just how are you aiming to do that, Brother Miller?”

  “We’re aiming to rise up and take over the government. We’re a’going to start by blowing up the railroads and the bridges and taking over the banks and the newspapers. Then, we’re going to march east, all the way to Washington, and all the working men betwixt here and there will join up with us until we’re stronger than any Army. And when we get to Washington, we’ll hang all them rich brigands that call themselves the government and take it over ourselves.”

  Rob addressed the older man. “What do you have to do with this?”

  “I told Dick I’d help get the I.W.W. behind them, if I could.”

  “And when is this uprising supposed to happen?”

  “Upon our signal,” Miller said. “We’re almost ready to go. Maybe next week.”

  Rob stopped walking and turned to face the men. “Have y’all thought this through? Are you prepared for what will happen if you take up arms against the United States government?”

  “We’ll do what we have to do to take back the United States government for the people.” Miller was straining forward eagerly, thrumming with passion. “And besides, we won’t fail!”

  Rob stood still and gazed at the eager face and the face set with grim determination for a long minute before they turned around and started walking back toward the church. “You say this meeting is secret?”

  “It is,” Leonard replied.

  “How do you know that I’m not Secret Service?”

  Leonard snorted in derision, but Miller looked stunned. “I heard you was a Wobblie organizer and a right well-known one.”

  “Well, I don’t know about well-known, but I’m a Wobblie, all right. If you intend to keep this plan secret, then I suggest you be more careful about who you go to blabbing to about it. Next time, ask to see a union card.”

  Miller emitted a nervous laugh. “Shoot fire, don’t go to scaring me like that, Brother. So are you telling me that you won’t join our cause?”

  Rob’s gaze slid off into the distance and they walked in silence for a while. Finally he shot Miller a narrow glance. “When is y’all’s next meeting?”

  “We put out a call for all right-thinking folks to come out and join us at our meeting place next Saturday,” Miller said.

  “Will you send somebody to carry me in?”

  Miller grinned. “You bet!”

  “Will you let me talk to y’all before you commence this march to Washington?”

  Leonard nodded. “That’s what we’re hoping for.”

  “Then I’ll wire the I.W.W. regional headquarters for instructions. Give me a day or two. I’d rather not send the wire from Boynton. If they give me the go-ahead, I’ll come. How can I get in touch with you?”

  “Send the wire from over at Morris,” Miller said. “When you get the answer, leave a message for ‘Mr. Jones’ at the post office there. Just say yes or no. If it’s yes, I will meet up with you after the Liberty Sing on Friday and we’ll make arrangements.”

  Dutch Leonard lowered his voice. “Try to keep yourself on the down-low until then, Brother Gunn. There was a spot of trouble last night at the local bawdy house and one of our number got hisself arrested. Our boy’s a good fellow, but if Sheriff Tucker has got him to spill that the W.C.U. is in town, he’ll be on the lookout to arrest as many unionists as he can find before Friday.”

  Rob frowned. “Brother Leonard, I’ve been watching out for myself longer than I care to say. I warn y’all to do the same.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  “Eat More Fish. They Feed Themselves”

  —U.S. Food Administration poster, 1917

  After church, Shaw gave his permission for Charlie to spend Sunday afternoon on the banks of Cane Creek with Rob and Gee Dub, but the price Charlie had to pay was to include Sophronia. Sophronia was delighted, Rob was cheerful, Gee Dub was amused, and Charlie accepted the stipulation with as much good grace as he could muster.

  It had rained a bit, but stopped shortly after dinner. By the time the four of them stretched out on an old blanket next to the bank and arranged their poles in the water, puffy, rain-laden clouds were scudding across a bright blue sky, driven by a fresh breeze. Branches of spindly sassafras, pin oak, and locust, still wet from morning showers, overhung the bank, and with every breezy burst, fat droplets of water rained down. To protect them from the intermittent spray, Rob rigged a lean-to out of a horse blanket propped over two long sticks with rocks on one edge. Bacon complicated matters by sniffing around in the wet undergrowth, then vigorously shaking off his wet coat in their direction before flopping himself down between the bodies on the blanket.

  Sophronia, who had ditched her Sunday frock for a pair of Charlie’s outgrown overalls, baited all four hooks with night crawlers and staked the poles in the muddy bank. The males were content to let her take over the fishing enterprise with just an occasional teasing word of advice. Eventually they fell into a desultory conversation.

  “How much longer are you going to be here, Uncle Robin?” Charlie asked.

  “Not much longer, cowboy. A few more days yet.”

  Gee Dub was reclining on the blanket with his hands behind his head and one ankle crossed over his knee. He appeared to be asleep, his hat covering his eyes, but he wasn’t missing any of the conversation. “How come you’re not up on the stump while you’re here?” he asked. “You could do some satisfying recruitment for the I.W.W. around these parts.”

  Rob adjusted his position and didn’t answer for a moment. “Well, Gee, don’t think I haven’t ruminated on it. Y’all have some good organizations around here, active too.”

  “So why…?” Charlie began, but Rob anticipated his question.

  “I don’t want to take advantage of your folks’ good nature, sport. What I do ain’t exactly popular with the powers that be, you know, especially right now. I admire your daddy and mama. I don’t mind bringing the house down on my own head, but I’d just as soon not worry your folks with it.”

  “Everybody around here knows our folks and what they believe in, Unc. The neighbors aren’t going to think that your Red thinking has rubbed off on Daddy.” Gee Dub’s delivery was deadpan, but Rob could hear the hint of teasing in his voice.

  Rob didn’t laugh. “You’d be surprised what the neighbors might do, Gee. I’ve seen men turn on each other like rats for more unlikely reasons than having a Wobblie in the family.”

  “That don’t seem right,” Charlie said.

  Rob’s eyes crinkled. “You know what they say, pal. Lie down with dogs, get up with fleas.”

  “You being the dog we’re lying down with.”

  “That’s right. Your neighbors are entirely like to think that the old nasty flea of unionism will jump on anybody who gets near me.”

  They were interrupted by Sophronia, who had grown tired of staring at the corks bobbing in the wind-ruffled water and rushed back up the bank. She threw herself down on the blanket between Rob and Gee Dub. “What are y’all talking about?”

  The two men eased themselves over enough to give her some room. “Mr. Woodrow Wilson,” Rob answered, “president of these here United States of America.”

  “We studied the presidents in school.”

  Charlie was annoyed at the change of topic. “Fronie, nobody cares about that. We’re talking about important stuff….”

  Rob held up a hand.“Well, now, wait a minute, slick. Presidents are important stuff. What did you learn about presidents, sugar plum?”

  Sophronia made a face at Charlie before she replied. “I learned that Teddy Roosevelt was president when I was born.”

  Gee Dub lifted his hat off his eyes and winked at her. “Why, tha
t’s right! Fancy you remembering that.”

  She elbowed Gee Dub in the ribs. “Who was president when you were born, Uncle Robin?”

  “I had so much on my mind on the day I was born that I didn’t think to ask, Fronie. But later it came to my attention that Rutherford Birchard Hayes was in the White House at the time.”

  “How about you, Gee?’

  “George Washington.”

  Sophronia sat up straight, indignant. “You’d have to be more’n a hundred years old!”

  “Why else do you think Mama and Daddy named me after him, then?”

  “You’re not named after him!”

  Charlie forgot his impatience for a moment and sputtered a laugh. “What did you think Gee Dubya stands for, then?”

  Sophronia gasped. “Gee Dubya!”

  “The light dawns!” Gee Dub exclaimed.

  “Oh, Gee!” Sophronia jumped on her brother and tried to pummel him, but he held her off with one hand as she flailed the air in front of his face. “No kidding, now! Who was president when you were born?”

  He was enjoying her ineffectual attempt to get at him. “I don’t remember. I was just a baby at the time. You figure it out. You’re the president expert.”

  She quit struggling and rolled back onto the blanket. “Let’s see, now. Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Madison … oh, never mind! This is boring.”

  “At last!” Charlie threw up his hands. “Go check the lines again and quit bothering us.”

  Sophronia stood and flounced off, her long, reddish, damp-frizzed hair streaming behind her and the wet hound close on her heels.

  Charlie turned back toward Rob. “Are you a traitor?”

  Rob blinked at him, taken aback by the sudden mood shift. “Well, now, Charlie, just because I disapprove of this war don’t mean I’m a traitor. I think of myself as a patriot, and a patriot of the real kind. This is my big, messy country. I love it. I want for it to be the best country there is. If it suffers ills, I want to cure them. I want for every citizen to enjoy all its rights and privileges, and I believe it is my duty to try and help that happen.”