All Men Fear Me

by Donis Casey

  “But who are you to decide what’s right, Uncle? If the president says it’s so, don’t he know best? We can’t all be running off in all different directions. We’ll never get anywhere that way!”

  Rob sighed. “Charlie Boy, that’s for every man to decide for himself, and woman too. In this country we’re free to think whatever we determine is the best thing to think. At least I hope that’s still the case.”

  “I’m volunteering as soon as I turn eighteen. I just hope this war don’t end before I can get into it and kill me some Huns.”

  “That so? You’ll have to have your mama and daddy’s permission to enlist before you’re twenty-one. You think your ma is eager to see you go get your yourself killed?”

  “My parents won’t stand in my way, nor Gee Dub’s way either. Tell him, Gee. Tell him how you’re going to show ’em a thing or two.”

  Gee Dub sat up and wrapped his arms around his knees. He gazed at Rob for half a minute before nodding toward the knife hanging in its sheath from Rob’s belt.

  “I been meaning to ask you, Unc. Where did you come across that Arkansas toothpick, there?”

  Rob was more than willing to change the subject. “What, this little old pig sticker?” He pulled it out of the sheath to reveal a slightly curved, single-edged, six-inch blade.

  Charlie sat up straight, instantly diverted. “Whoa!”

  “I got this from a young fellow name of Buck, up in Washington state. He makes them out of old rasps. I never had a knife that held an edge better than this one. I use it for everything from dressing game to peeling peaches to shaving my fair and tender cheeks as smooth as a baby’s bottom, when shave I did. Not only that, this here buck knife has got me out of more than one skinny situation, and I’ve amused myself on many a lonely night on the road by playing a game of mumbledepeg with it, or carving works of art or flutes from a handy stick.”

  The boys were laughing when Sophronia made her way back up the bank toward them. She stood and looked at them quizzically for a moment, aware that something was up. Rob looked up at her and smiled.

  “You get a fish, popover?”

  She shrugged. “Fish ain’t biting, boys. They’ve all gone to the bottom.”

  “Honey bun, why don’t you go ahead on and pull in the lines?” Rob said. “It’s time we got home, anyway.”

  The males stood to gather up their gear while Sophronia returned to the fishing poles. They had just taken down the lean-to when a light rain began to fall. They exclaimed and pulled their hats down, and Charlie hurried down the bank to throw a half-dry blanket over Sophronia’s head and relieve her of the poles. She came at a run, enshrouded in the blanket head to toe, and punched Gee Dub in the arm. “Grover Cleveland!” she yelled.

  Chapter Thirty

  “Is there aught we hold in common with the greedy

  parasite

  Who would lash us into serfdom and would crush us

  with his might?

  Is there anything left to us but to organize and fight?

  For the union makes us strong”

  —“Solidarity Forever,” I.W.W. anthem

  by Ralph Chaplin, 1914

  Supper was over and the children were scampering around the yard trying without much success to capture lightning bugs in a jar. Charlie, Blanche, and Sophronia joined the little ones and soon they were gathered around in a circle listening to Charlie tell scary stories by the illumination of half a dozen lightning bug lanterns.

  “Charlie, if them young’uns can’t sleep tonight, you’re going to have to let them crawl into bed with you,” Alafair called from her seat on the front porch. The night was warm and sticky, punctuated by the loud whirr of cicadas. Alafair, Shaw, and Rob were arrayed across the porch in kitchen chairs, watching the children play.

  No one said anything for a while, content to watch the youngsters. Alafair fanned herself with a dishtowel. Eventually Rob rolled a cigarette and lit it up. The flash from the match roused Alafair enough to turn her head and regard her brother’s shadowy figure on the chair next to her.

  “You heard from Mama and Daddy lately?’ she asked.

  Rob took a drag and gently exhaled the smoke into the air before he answered. “Not for a while.”

  “So you aim to see the folks any time soon?” Alafair could tell Rob didn’t want to talk about their parents, but she wasn’t going to let him off the hook.

  “Sure would like to. I’d like to visit with Mama, at least.”

  “You haven’t been home in close to a dozen years, Robin. I’m sure Daddy would like to see you, as well.”

  She heard him chuckle. “I doubt it, Sis. Neither one of us has changed our opinion on how the world ought to be run.”

  Shaw finally offered an observation. “Y’all are too alike. That is the difficulty. Neither one of you will bend an inch.”

  “Why, I take exception to that remark, Shaw. I never did try to foist my beliefs off on Daddy. Always did my best to keep my thoughts to myself when I was in his presence. But he won’t be content unless I bow to his superior wisdom in all things and agree to each and every point of his philosophy.”

  Alafair smiled. Rob’s assessment of their father’s attitude was right on the mark. “Daddy is just old-fashioned, Robin. He was taught that it is his duty as a father to guide all us children down the path of righteousness. Wag your head up and down and say, ‘yes, Daddy,’ a couple of times and peace will be restored.”

  “I ain’t a liar. I won’t pretend to ascribe to a doctrine I don’t believe.” Rob’s tone was sulky.

  Alafair and Shaw exchanged a glance. Too alike indeed.

  Several tykes pounded up the steps and clamored across the porch in a noisy game of chase. Zeltha, currently “it,” took shelter under her grandfather’s chair and was promptly set upon by her pursuers. Shaw joined in the game by shifting his arms and legs to keep the children from tagging their prize, much to the merriment of the participants. Zeltha’s brother Tuck, just beginning to walk, was stuck at the bottom of the steps and loudly voicing his displeasure at being left behind.

  Alafair stood and beckoned to Rob. “Mercy! Come on, Brother, let’s take some air and leave these ruffians to their brawling.”

  They strolled away from the house and into the woods with the old shepherd, Charlie Dog, wagging along at Rob’s side.

  “That old dog likes you,” Alafair observed. “That bespeaks well of you. He has a sense of how folks are.”

  Rob rubbed the silky ears and was rewarded with a wet nose to his palm. “I liked your sons-in-law, Sis. Seems like the girls all picked well.”

  “Mostly they did.”

  Her tone caused him to slide her a glance. “Oh? I get the feeling that at least one of them don’t meet with your approval.”

  She shrugged. “Well, Alice could have done better, I think. But then not everyone has the same requirements for husband as I do. He seems to suit Alice. Now, tell me the truth, Robin. What have you been up to, and what really brings you here after all this time?”

  “Well, Sister, I’m wounded that you would think I have a purpose other than a long-held desire to reconnect with my kinfolks.”

  “Oh, I’m sure that figures in to your calculations.” Her tone was more than a little ironic. “But after church I saw you talking to Dutch Leonard, who makes no secret of his anti-government views. So unless you’ve changed right down to your heels since last I saw you, there must be some wrong that needs righting around here and you think you’re just the man for it.”

  Rob had fallen behind as they wound through the pin oaks, Alafair doing the talking as they strolled. When he didn’t respond to her jibe, she glanced back over her shoulder.

  He had stopped and was studying his boots, hands in his pockets, a thoughtful look on his face.

  “Robin?”

  He looked up. “Alafair, I�
�ve spent most of my life fighting for the working man, and in spite of the awful abuse I’ve endured and seen other men endure, I’ve seen a lot of progress, too, when it comes to the rights of the downtrodden. But this war has changed everything, and I’m afraid we’re going to lose everything we’ve fought so hard to gain.”

  His sudden declaration of despair almost brought tears to her eyes. Robin had always been full of fire and fight when it came to his principles, and so sure that what he considered right would prevail in the end. She shook her head. So many start out with a burning yen to make the world a better place, and it is always a bitter disappointment to realize that it can’t be done. “Brother, you can’t change the world. You can only change what’s right in front of you, and sometimes not even that. But I’m sure you’ve helped many a man find dignity in his work.”

  Rob’s laugh was bitter. “I’d just like to help more than a few men find wages enough that their families don’t have to live like dogs.”

  “Well, why would anybody work at a job where they don’t make enough to live on? They ought to quit and find a better-paying position.”

  Rob blinked at her naiveté. “Sorry to say it don’t work like that, Sis.”

  “Oh, honey, I wish I knew something to say to make you feel better.”

  “I know you do. That’s why I’m here. Even if you don’t agree with my beliefs you never have desired to shoot me for them. It does me good to spend a little time in the company of decent, good-hearted folks for a change.”

  “I wish you’d give up this dangerous life. It’d break my heart if you got yourself killed. It’d break Mama’s heart, too, and Daddy’s, make no mistake. No matter how much y’all have butted heads over the years. Don’t go back to the union. Stay here. Let me fatten you up a while. We’ll find you a good wife. You must be lonesome all the time, flitting hither and yon without a place to lay your head.”

  “You tempt me, Alafair. But I can’t quit. Like Dad always says, keep fighting the good fight. Somebody’s got to do it and I reckon it’s me.” He sounded sad about that. Yet he perked up when he said, “But I’m right happy to let you fatten me up a mite.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  “Remember the Maine

  To Hell with Spain!”

  —Spanish-American War slogan, 1898

  While Robin and Gee Dub were making their way to the shed for the night, Alafair was raking out the stove and preparing it for breakfast in the morning. She had just wiped the ashes off her hands when she noticed Charlie leaning on the doorframe, clad in his nightshirt and ready for bed. His arms were crossed over his chest and his head cocked to one side as he gazed at her with a speculative expression.

  She started. “Gracious! You gave me a start. You could have offered to tote in the kindling for me rather than stand there like a post, you know.”

  His lips twitched. “I might have, if you hadn’t already done it, Ma.”

  Alafair dashed the ashes off of her hands. “Something on your mind?”

  “Uncle Robin is younger than you, ain’t he, Mama? How old is he, anyway?”

  She carried the ash bucket to the back door and set it on the floor before she answered. “Oh, let’s see, he must be close to forty now! Can that be?”

  “Why is it that him and Grandpa Gunn don’t get along?”

  She sat down at the table, prepared to tell her brother’s story to her son, and perhaps to remind herself of why Robin was the way he was. ““Well, honey, he’s the oldest boy in my family, and Grandpa kind of hoped that he’d go into the ministry. But from his first breath, Robin has gone his own way. He has sunny ways but he’s just marched to his own music from the moment he was able to hoist himself up onto his own two feet. Robin has high principles, but he has never taken to religion in any way that suits our daddy. It’s all very well to help the poor, but Robin does carry things to the extreme. Every man’s trouble is his own, and every man don’t have to be white, or Protestant, or respectable. Or a man.”

  “That’s a good thing, ain’t it?”

  Alafair’s expression didn’t change, but there was a glint in her eye. “I reckon Jesus would think so, but your Grandpa Gunn has his own ideas on how things should be gone about.”

  “I remember that he was in the Army, first time I ever knew anything about him.”

  “Oh, mercy, that was a right old set-to when he enlisted. He just up and joined when he was about twenty without so much as a by-your-leave. I thought the folks would both have an apoplexy. But he was off to help the poor set-upon Cubans gain their freedom from Spain, and he never came back to live in Arkansas again.”

  “How long was he in?”

  “Five or six years, I reckon. Never did get to go to Cuba, either.”

  “And he never married?”

  “Married only to his causes.”

  Charlie’s questions depressed her a bit, and she didn’t really know why. Probably just bringing up all kinds of childhood feelings. How she had always loved Robin. He had been a stubborn and inflexible child, but quite good-natured about it. Like Charlie, she realized with a pang. She had spent much of her youth trying to act as a buffer between Robin and their father, though Robin didn’t seem to care whether his father approved of him or not.

  After all this time, she expected that Robin and Elder Robert Gunn would never see eye to eye. That fact grieved her, because even though Robin was unconventional in the extreme, he lived his principles in a way most people could not.

  Alafair realized that Charlie was speaking to her, and put her reverie aside. “What’s that, honey?”

  “I said, I like Uncle Robin, but he’s dead wrong to talk against this war, and I wish he wouldn’t do it. It’s unpatriotic, not to mention that he’s like to get arrested. He gave her a sidelong glance, worried that she might not take kindly to such harsh criticism of her brother, but her mild expression of interest encouraged him. “I hate to say it, Ma, but I’d just as soon not get tarred with the same brush that he’s going to.”

  “Charlie Boy, I don’t think anybody in all of Oklahoma is going to take you for a pacifist. Now quit standing there in the door in your nightshirt and go to bed.” She turned back to her chores, troubled. She was wishing that she hadn’t told him the story of Robin running away to join the Army. Charlie had a disturbing tendency to act first and think later.

  Dear Charlie, full of life. Energetic, impish, funny, and desperate to keep up with his adored older brother. Always on the lookout for action. But in spite of his tendency to trouble his mother with his headstrong ways, Charlie had a great heart and Alafair loved him to distraction. In fact, if someone had threatened to drown all her grandchildren if she didn’t choose, she might say that as much as she adored every one of her offspring, Charlie was her favorite. Whether he liked it or not, there was nothing she wouldn’t do to save him from rushing headlong into trouble.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  “The brick industry has made rapid strides in Oklahoma…and the opportunity it offers for profitable investment of capital can hardly be equaled…”

  —Oklahoma Almanac and Industrial Record, 1907

  The Francis Vitric Brick Company, located less than a mile northeast of Boynton, backed up to a range of small hills that were rich with an excellent quality of clay, perfect for making a sturdy, durable brick for paving and building. A spur of the St. Louis-San Francisco railroad line that ran through town reached up to the plant like a finger. Several times a week an engine hauled boxcars full of finished brick destined for the Army training camps that were springing up all over the country. Some Francis bricks would even travel to Europe for the use of the French Army,

  Charlie had been curious about the plant since he was a tad, and had always wanted to go onto the grounds and have a look. But he’d never been able to convince his father that it was a good idea to ask for a tour. Charlie knew that the two
enormous, solid brick towers that could be seen from the road were used for an overhead crane. He could hear the roar and grinding of machinery when he passed. He was acquainted with the steam shovel operator, Mr. Frasier, a friend of one of his uncles. Maybe he’d try to have a word with him if they crossed paths. Charlie would love to have a go at operating the giant steam shovel that excavated the clay from the hill behind the plant.

  Charlie’s first day at work was a full shift, so his introduction to wage earning was something of a baptism by fire. Literally, since Charlie was put to stacking bricks fresh out of the kiln, alongside a young man from Texas by the name of Henry Blackwood, who had only been at the plant a few days himself. The newcomers were under the supervision of Jack Cooper, a hefty, dark-visaged man with more muscles than Charlie had ever seen on a single individual. In spite of his intimidating appearance, Cooper was a mild-mannered and indulgent overseer who spent quite a bit of time giving his young worker advice on the proper way to lift and transfer pallets of brick. Back and legs, back and legs, as much as you can, and save your arms.

  When the whistle blew for lunch, Charlie and Henry moved away from the long kiln in hopes of picking up a breeze, and flopped onto the ground beside the rail spur. In spite of Jack Cooper’s good advice, Charlie felt like the bones in his arms had liquefied, leaving nothing on which to hang his trembling muscles. He could barely lift his lunch bucket to examine the contents. He glanced at his companion, hoping that Henry’s condition was as alarming as his own.

  If it was, Henry didn’t show it. “I packed me up some of the squirrel stew with dumplings that my uncle made last night. I miss my ma’s cooking. Eric isn’t a very good cook, but this is tasty!” He looked up at Charlie with a grin. “I swear I could eat a rhinoceros!”