Gilbert was quick to seize the moment to keep his friend coming back, “Mr. Greavy’s mare, Pickles, likes girls more than boys. She would probably like it better if you groomed her.”
“Certainly,” Clara picked up a brush.
From that day forward Clara and Gilbert would work with the horses at Fenny’s stable together. It was hard for Gilbert to get away to play because of the responsibility he took upon himself to keep the livery stable running. When they would finish, they would walk to the wishing tree to relax and talk.
Clara kept what she was doing a secret from her parents to avoid the expected confrontation. Eva was well aware of it and assisted Clara in keeping it a low profile. Clara would return home with dirty stinking clothes, Eva would have a bath and clean clothes ready for her. Her parents knew what was going on. Mr. Groober would often talk bad about him in the presence of Clara. He purposely did this to make his feelings known. Her mother didn’t take the relationship too seriously since they were only children. Besides, she thought Gilbert was a fine young man.
Clara’s new found friendship with Gilbert, caused Clara’s friends to alienate her from their group. This was most evident when school started that fall. Clara did not care, she had found a real friend. A friend she could trust. That was better than having all kinds of fake friends.
When Gilbert told her she didn’t have to be nice to him, She would tell him to mind his own business. She could choose her own friends. It was he, that she chose to have as a friend, even if he would be her only friend.
A few years later, a well-dressed man dismounted a finely trimmed buggy just outside Fenny’s Livery Stables’ doors. This gentleman looked familiar to Gilbert, but couldn’t remember who he was.
“Hello, sir,” Gilbert greeted him.
“Master Fenny,” the man said, “is your father here?”
“No sir,” Gilbert suddenly recognized him. “Mr. Williams, I thought you were living in Ossian.”
“I still do,” he responded, “I am just here for a few days.”
“Well, what can I do for you sir.”
“I wonder if you could take special care of my horse and buggy.”
“Yes, sir,” Gilbert said enthusiastically. “Shall I bathe and give him a rub down sir? Looks like he has had a long travel day.”
“Do you feel that I have abused, Rush, Master Fenny?”
“No sir,” Gilbert said apologetically, “I can tell he has been well-kept sir.” Gilbert began to rub Rush’s head and neck.
“Mr. Williams, sir,” Gilbert said. “Didn’t you marry our school teacher Nellie Getchel?”
“Yes,” he replied. “Were you one of her students?”
“No,” he replied, “but I have done some horse care at the Hayes Farm near Hazleton where she lived.”
“She does miss the children,” he said with true remorse. “She is doing the books for my creamery business in Ossian and Postville.”
“You didn’t marry her to get a bookkeeper did you?” Gilbert asked foolishly.
“No, Gilbert,” he replied with great empathy, “I really do love her.”
“She is a very kind person,” Gilbert said. “You don’t see that in a teacher. Sometimes I think teachers think they have to be mean.”
“Thank you,” he said, “I will let her know you think so highly of her.”
“It’s not just me sir,” Gilbert said, “it is everyone.”
Mr. Williams smiled and nodded, “I will be back soon.”
Later that day Clara showed up to help Gilbert with the horses or to just goof around. “How about some ice cream?”
“You know I don’t have any money.”
“I have money.”
“You know I don’t like you paying.”
“I owe you for helping Ginger.”
Gilbert shook his head, “That was a long time ago.”
“So,” she said.
“Speaking of Ginger,” Gilbert attempted to change the subject, “Mr. Williams was here earlier.”
“He’s in town? He is someone good to know.”
“Why?”
“Well,” Clara seemed to be building up to give a long statement, “He moved away from home and started working at a general store in Jesup, when he was fourteen.” She took another breath, “He became a telegrapher in Jesup. He soon was a telegrapher in Independence, where he was able to secure deliveries, sells of Egg’s, and butter to several New York commission houses.”
“Clara,” Gilbert interrupted, “How do you know all this?”
“Eva told me,” she responded. “Then he made money so he moved to Chicago, but soon moved back and purchased the creamery here with Mr. Barnhart. Then he sold his share of the creamery to Mr. Barnhart and bought a creamery in Ossian then Postville.”
“You sound like a text book.” He told her.
“This is just a bit of what Eva was ranting and raving about after she met him.”
Gilbert sighed, “Why are you telling me this.”
“No reason, just that he is a good businessman, according to Eva and my father.” Clara raised her eyebrows, “Maybe you should work for him someday.”
The next day Mr. Williams stopped to collect his horse and buggy, paid Gilbert’s father and moved on. Gilbert was disappointed he was in school at the time.
For the next two years the two young friends remained close friends. Mr. Groober had hoped the relationship would fade away in time, but just the opposite. He would use every opportunity to refuse Clara permission to leave the house.
One evening in mid August, Albert Fenny was drinking heavily at a local saloon and got into a fight causing costly damage to the saloon.
Clara and Gilbert were tending a mare in the stable, who had shown colic symptoms, when Albert, burst through the stable door. He held a nearly empty bottle of whiskey. He wobbled unsteadily towards them, the bottle dropped to the dirt floor of the stable. Anticipating what was about to happen, Gilbert stepped in front of Clara and braced himself. The blow came hard and fast, knocking him to the ground. Clara stepped back, petrified by the unprovoked attack. Gilbert’s mouth bled as he got up and turned to face his father. He struck his son hard with his fist, again sending him to the ground. While Gilbert moaned and struggled to his feet, much slower this time, Albert grabbed a leather horse whip hanging on the wall. Once Gilbert was on his feet, he pulled Clara toward the door. “Get out of here,” he told her sternly.
Mr. Fenny slurred out the words, “You stupid, good for nothin’. You’ve got the whole town laughin’ at me. This is a whippin’ you will never forget.” Another blow from his fist made Gilbert fall against the railing into one of the stalls. This blow nearly knocked him unconscious.
As Albert raised the whip to strike Gilbert, Clara screamed, “Mr. Fenny you can’t!” Clara ran behind him and grabbed at the arm rising up to lash Gilbert.
“Get away from me, you wench.” He backhanded her to the face, with a clenched fist. Clara was knocked down, but the fall was softened by the mound of fresh hay. She was dazed, but got up quickly with the first crack of the whip. The first crack cut through Gilbert’s shirt on the shoulder. Gilbert turned his back to his father. Several of the horses began to get restless in their stalls stomping on the hay.
“Run Clara!” Gilbert called out as the second crack chilled the air, landing a scaring streak on the square of his back.
Clara was determined not to abandon her friend. She jumped on Mr. Fenny’s back and began to hit him as hard as she could. He was unable to crack the whip again, so he wheeled around throwing her off of him. He again struck her twice on the face with his fist. There was an eerie crack as her nose broke and began to bleed profusely. She fell dazed to the ground.
She tried with all her strength to get up, but slumped back down as the whip cracked again with a strike on Gilbert’s back.
With her brain cloudy and her legs unsteady, she tried to get up again as Mr. Fenny pursued whipping his son. Several more cracks of the whip had exposed bare skin through the now tattered blood stained shirt Gilbert wore. Clara’s eyes filled with tears, her face dripping with blood, she forced herself to get up. She felt fury and rage so terrific that she felt no pain.
When Mr. Fenny raised the whip to slash Gilbert again, a loud hollow clang filled the air. Mr. Fenny’s eyes popped wide open while the whip fell out of his hand. He staggered and fell to the ground in a heap. Clara was standing over him, a shovel in her hands raised to strike him again if he showed any movement. Blood from her lip and nose had soaked the front of her pail blue dress.
Clara was breathing shallowly as she looked at Mr. Fenny laying motionless on the ground. She went to Gilbert, whose shirt was soaked in blood and he showed no signs of moving. Clara’s eyes filled with tears of fear and sadness. She knelt down to him and turned him over as best she could. Blood dripping from her nose onto Gilbert’s head on her lap.
“Gilbert.”
Gilbert weakly opened his eyes, “Hi, Goober,” he said weakly. “You look awful.”
“You should talk,” She said nasally. Then they shared frightened glances at the unconscious man on the ground. She was shaking, barely squeezing out the words, “I think I may have killed him.”
“You had better get out of here,” he said. “I’ll tell them I did it.” Clara was confused about what to do. “Go on, get out of here,” he said as he pushed her to leave. It wouldn’t be a wise thing to do since Clara looked like she had lost a pint of blood on her dress. Her nose had swollen up.
Clara wasn’t sure of what to do about Mr. Fenny. Then he started to move and moaned as his arm raised up to his head. “Come on,” she said while lifting Gilbert to his feet. She put his arm over her shoulder and began to lead him out the open stable doors. It was nearly dark outside and streets were quiet.
Together, with their hearts beating madly, they limped for the sanctuary of the wishing tree. They quietly and secretively took the least traveled streets. Clara had to support Gilbert, who was having trouble walking. They were unable to avoid being seen by a young couple, who didn’t pay much attention to them.
Clara swept the stringy curtain of branches away of the wishing tree as they both found comfort at the base of the tree. They sprawled out in exhaustion relieved to be somewhere they felt safe.
They looked at each other, too frightened to speak, but thinking about what happened and will now happen. Gilbert whispered, “Thank you, here’s a handkerchief for your nose.” He struggled to extract a handkerchief from his pants pocket.
“Thank you,” she took it from him. She dabbed gently at her nose and tried to smile. She got up slowly. “I’m sorry I didn’t wack him sooner. Now turn your head.” She motioned for him not to look toward her. He did as she requested and turned his head. She lifted her skirt up and removed her petticoat. She struggled some as she ripped strips of cloth from it. She knew her parents would be wondering about her. She also knew she could not leave Gilbert. His wounds were deep and he certainly could not dress them himself. She also knew he could not go home.
She quietly went out from under the cover of the tree to the nearby bank of the Wapsipinicon River. She soaked the ripped strips of her petticoat in the water and took them back to place on Gilbert’s wounds. She helped him remove what was left of his shirt and she softly dabbed his bloody slashes. “Why does he hate you so much?”
He shrugged, then winced because it hurt, “I think it’s because he blames me for my mother leaving. He’d always say she didn’t want to be tied down with a child.”
Clara sighed in sorrow and took his trembling hand in hers. “I’m sorry.”
He shook his head, “Don’t be sorry. I remember her, She would never leave me.” He starred as if he were looking at something in the distance and thought, if that were true, where did she go?
She smiled weakly and brushed his hair back with her fingers. “What are we going to do now? You can’t go back to your father.”
“You need to go home, Clara.”
“I can try to sneak in, but tomorrow my nose is going to be black and as big as,” she had to think of something to say, “something really big and ugly.”
“You need to go home to get taken care of.” Gilbert was very tired and weak. “I will be fine. My father will never remember what happened.”
“I can’t leave you.” Gilbert was too tired to fight about it and the two of them leaned on each other and fell asleep. It wasn’t a cold night, but the two were chilled. Clara wrapped her shawl around Gilbert’s exposed upper body. When Clara woke up she found herself alone under the tree. Gilbert was no where to be seen. She gave a short cry of alarm as a twig fell next to her. She looked up to see him sitting in the interlocking tree branches. She sighed with relief as he dropped to the ground and grunted with pain.
“I’m sorry, did I frighten you?”
She playfully slapped him on the arm and he winced with pain. “Sorry.”
Gilbert chuckled, “You look like a clown with that nose.” Realizing the insult, “A very cute clown.”
She gently touched her nose. “Owe,” tears filled her eyes. “I don’t want anyone to see me like this.” She gently touched her nose again. “Owe.”
“Quit touching it.”
“I can do that,” she sighed, “what are we going to do?”
“We’ll have to explain to your father what happened.”
Clara cringed, “Are you kidding. He’ll kill you. He’ll kill me.”
“Come on, he’ll understand.” Gilbert had no shirt, and the ripped strips of Clara’s petticoat was wrapped around his arms and shoulder. Clara was nearly as bad. Her dress was ripped and bloody, her face bruised, her nose swollen. Their appearance would lead people to speculate all kinds of things may have happened.
The two of them walked out of the sanctuary of the tree and were immediately spotted by Mr. Groober, Mr. Fenny, and the sheriff. Mr. Groober, seeing the two inappropriately dressed, marched over to Gilbert, “You bastard!” He struck Gilbert in the face with his fist. The blow was swift, sending Gilbert unconsciously to the ground.
“Father no!” Clara screamed as she started to kneel down to Gilbert’s side, “You don’t understand!”
“Quiet girl,” he said as he grabbed her by the arm, pulling her back to her feet. He whisked her off for home. Mr. Groober felt he had been shamed by his daughters immoral behavior. By the looks of her dress, the story Mr. Fenny had told him certainly was true. He had informed Mr. Groober he had caught the two of them carrying on in the stable. He told him he proceeded to beat Gilbert for his actions, when the girl interfered.
Gilbert was treated very badly by his father and the citizens of Independence. He wanted to tell what really happened, but no one payed any attention. The next day he stood outside the Groober’s house, not knowing what to do. He wanted to talk to Mr. Groober, but he was afraid.
A few days the sheriff was going to Albert Fenny home to get the money owed to the saloon he had busted up. He overheard Mr Fenny and Gilbert talking.
Albert said, “You tell everyone what really happened, no one will believe you.”
Gilbert spoke out, “It doesn’t matter what you say, how you say it, and how many times you say it, it doesn’t change what really happened.”
“You just keep your mouth shut.”
“No, I won’t,” Gilbert said firmly.
“I’m warnin’ you boy,”
“What are you gonna do, beat me again? You beat up on little girls too.”
“Shut up, boy.”
“Pa, I ain’t gonna take what you give anymore. You’re a joke, drunk and stable keeper, but you’re my pa and I’m stuck with you. I am glad ma is gone and not here to have to live with this.”
“You
little bastard, your mother was no good, just like you.” Albert swung and connected his fist to Gilbert’s face.
Gilbert staggered but he did not fall. He came back swinging at his father. His father dodged the punch, back handing Gilbert in one motion. The Sheriff suspected he had better get in there to stop the confrontation.
Mr. Fenny saw the sheriff as he drew his arm back to punch Gilbert once again. “The boy is out of control again Sheriff, mouthin’ off.”
“Stop it right there, Albert!” the sheriff instructed. Gilbert was staggering as the sheriff got him to sit down on a turned over water-bucket. “Son, tell me what really happened the other night.”
“I told you what happened the other night,” Albert blurted out.
“I got your story Mr. Fenny, now I want Gilbert’s side.” The Sheriff explained. “Be happy you weren’t jailed the other night for busting up the saloon.” Albert interrupted Gilbert as he told the sheriff. “I believe you son. It all makes good sense.”
Mr Fenny shook his head, “You’re not going to believe that story are you? You know he will make anything up to defend his deplorable action.”
“I believe him,” The sheriff knew when he leaves, Albert would probably beat Gilbert. “Albert, I need you to come with me.”
“Get out of here,” Albert demanded as he pushed at the sheriff.
“Mr. Fenny, you need to come with me.”
“You’re not takin’ me to jail.” Albert grabbed a hammer hanging on the wall. He swung it at the unsuspecting sheriff. The hammer struck hard on the shoulder and grazed the sheriff’s head. The sheriff threw himself at Albert tackling him to the ground. Albert was unable to swing the hammer as the sheriff tried to get it out of his hand. Albert’s arm, hammer in hand lay on the ground. Gilbert stepped on his arm and grabbed the hammer out of his arm. The sheriff twisted his arm behind him and took control. A few seconds later they were gone, leaving Gilbert in the stable alone.
Mr. Groober decided to move from Independence to Dubuque to get away from the whole mess and disgrace. When he heard the true story, it was even more urgent to get Clara away from Gilbert.
Allerton and Axtell Page 6