Billy Creekmore

by Tracey Porter

“I’m awful envious, Clyde,” I confessed. “It’s an important job.”

  On the morning of Clyde’s first day, Uncle Jim walked him to the mine. His ma and Belton, Aunt Agnes, and I walked with them. Belton got all worked up seeing his brother go someplace other than school. He threw himself about, flapping his hands, then ran off trying to follow. Clyde shooed him away, but Belton kept running after him, throwing his arms around Clyde’s waist and trying to drag him back toward the school. I called after Belton, saying he could walk with me to school. Finally his ma had to pick him up kicking and screaming, since the opening to the mine warn’t a safe place for Belton to wander about.

  Later on when Miss Clark dismissed us, I saw Belton, pale and distraught, weaving between trees, waiting for Clyde to come out of the schoolhouse.

  “Come on, Belton,” I said. “I’ll take you to your brother. He’s up at the mine. I’m goin’ there now, so come on …” But he wouldn’t have it. He ran away from me, going back to his wandering, till he met up with Clyde on his own, I guess.

  In general, school was awful lonely without Clyde. Whatever interest I had in my studies was gone. My mind wandered between lessons, and sometimes I felt I’d die if I had to go on listening to kids recite and the teacher lecture hour after hour. My only joy came at recess when the younger kids surrounded me, begging for stories about Walter Barnes and his pack of thieves.

  “My old pal Rufus Twilly just wrote me sayin’ how Walter and his gangs have built a whole set of tree-houses joined by footbridges that’s suspended in midair. They’re fixed from one set of branches to another by ropes and special knots that only pirates and other types of rapscallions know to make. This is where they hold folks for ransom, folks they’ve kidnapped at night by stealin’ into open windows and snatchin’ ‘em from their beds. Oh, my pal Rufus is in terrible danger, for if he tells a livin’ soul Walter Barnes is sure to cut his throat. But then again, if the gang’s found out, he’s off to the chaingang with the lot of ‘em, maybe even the firin’ squad, for kidnappin’s a capital offense.”

  Seeing their eyes widen with terror was a thousand times more fun than any geography or history lesson ever could be. All day my mind drifted in and out of the lessons. I nodded at Miss Clark like I was paying attention, but all the while I was thinking about my next story, daring myself to spin an even more fantastic yarn about Walter Barnes.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  A Figure from

  My Past

  Pays a Visit

  and

  I LEARN MORE ABOUT

  My Mysterious Beginnings

  “Take it easy, Billy! You’re rocking too much in your seat and unsettling Coppers. You can’t be doing that in the mines, lad.” I tried to settle myself on the edge of the wagon, but it was awful uncomfortable. The road was rutted and muddy, and my seat bones bounced up and down on the wood. Uncle Jim wouldn’t put the seat on for me, because a mule driver sits on the edge of the car. “You’ve got to get used to it, rough as it is.”

  We was finally going to repair Copper’s stall and the henhouse. We picked up a load of lumber and feed from the store and was riding through town. Now that I was eleven, I had to spend more time working with Coppers so I could get a job as a mule skinner in the mine. Uncle Jim had me fit in a drive with Coppers whenever we had the time. He sat in the back, wedged between two flour sacks to keep himself steady.

  It was payday in Holly Glen, and even though it warn’t dark, there was already a few men drunk and staggering through town. The door to the saloon was wide open with miners going in and out. All of ‘em was still black with dust. One called to my uncle, beckoning him to join him at the bar.

  “Well, if it isn’t the bloody Prince of Wales in his royal carriage! Get in here, James Berry, and have us a pint.”

  Uncle Jim tipped his hat to him. “Carry on without me, Roland. I’m with my nephew. Can’t stop.”

  “Leave the boy! Let him wait outside for the two of us while we have us a few drinks.”

  “Sorry, Roland, got to get him ready for the mine.”

  This time the man grumbled back in Welsh, but Uncle Jim just waved back without saying another word. After we got past the saloon, he thanked me.

  “What for?” I asked.

  “For the excuse, lad, for the excuse. Soon enough he’d be wanting to fight, for Roland’s a dreadful drunk. Always looking for a reason to raise his fists after he’s had a few.”

  A mile out of town the woods was thick. We followed the road along the tracks a bit more, then turned back toward home. There warn’t a shack or cabin or soul to be seen, so it surprised us when a voice called out.

  “You folks going to Holly Glen? C’mon now! Give an old woman a ride.”

  Uncle Jim and I looked in the voice’s direction, scanning the trees until we saw a little old woman walking along the tracks. She was hunched over a cane with a bindle on her back. Her hair was long and white, and I thought for sure she was some kind of witch, but Uncle Jim said no. It was Neva Shyrock, a healer like Aunt Agnes.

  “She’s the woman who told us about you,” said Uncle Jim. “She’s coming from Coalgrove. Birthing a baby or nursing a family with fever, no doubt.”

  “Whoa!” I yelled to Coppers. Uncle Jim jumped out to greet her. He took his hat off and walked up the road. They was happy to see each other, though I couldn’t hear the particulars of what they said. Uncle Jim took her bag, and she waddled over to me.

  “Billy Creekmore!” she said, staring me straight in the face. “Billy Creekmore! Do you remember me?”

  “No, ma’am,” I said.

  The wind blew her white hair off her face, and I could see she had hardly any teeth left. Her smile was mostly gum. I wasn’t sure I liked her knowing who I was.

  “I’m the midwife that brought you into this world!”

  “I’m awful sorry,” I said, “but I don’t remember any grown-ups before Peggy and the Beadles.”

  “That’s no matter, no matter at all. But just the same, I’m who borned and raised you your first three years of life. Then I brought you to my cousin, Mrs. Beadle, so she could take you in at the Guardian Angels Home for Boys. Oh, it’s good to see you, Billy Creekmore.”

  Uncle Jim put her bindle in the back of the wagon, then helped her up, all the while saying how glad Aunt Agnes would be to see her. The two of ‘em chattered away, and I heard her say she had another day’s walk before she was home. Uncle Jim invited her to spend the night with us so she could get a proper rest, and she thanked him, saying she didn’t mind if she did. Her old bones needed it.

  Well, I didn’t like this at all. It was like having a person who knew all my secrets coming into my new life. I hoped they wouldn’t stay up late talking about the strange talent I showed at my birth and how it killed my ma and made my pa run off. I figured I’d have to give up my bed to her and sleep in the corner. Besides that, Neva Shyrock seemed near crazy, and I couldn’t tell what type of person she was. Maybe she’d get it in her mind to take me back to her cousin so they could send me to the glassworks and collect a fee from Mr. Colder. Their laughs and chatter made me awful irritable, and I fretted all the way to Holly Glen.

  By the time we got home, a full moon was rising. Uncle Jim and I each gave Neva Shyrock an arm to lean on as she stepped out of the wagon. She stopped midway, just before climbing the steps to our cabin, and looked up at the sky.

  “Do you hear that, Billy? It’s one of the miners floating by, feeling lonesome for his family. Oh, some spirits are awful sad.”

  She shook her head with sadness, and my blood ran cold watching her. I figured she was sensing the ghost of Clyde’s daddy, the same spirit I felt at his gravesite.

  “That’s right, Billy. I have the gift, same as you, only I had to cultivate mine. Wasn’t born to it like you. Oh, I remember it clear, I do—how you’d wave your hands about and talk to the air. Spirits came to you regular from the time you was born.”

  “I don’t remember any of that,” I s
aid.

  “You don’t remember lots of things.” She laughed back. “But then, you’re too young. You don’t realize your memories yet.”

  I glanced over at Uncle Jim, for I was right uneasy and didn’t know what else to say. He seemed ill at ease himself. He cleared his throat a few times, then he called to Aunt Agnes, telling her to come see the surprise waiting for her outside.

  The three of ‘em sat at the dinner table long into the night. They talked about folks they used to know, which ones had new babies and which ones had died. I was curled up in the corner, trying to cushion myself with blankets, trying my best to fall asleep. Finally they turned in for the night, and Neva Shyrock tucked herself in on my straw mattress by the stove. She coughed and yawned for a while, then started snoring.

  Sometime near dawn, I woke with a start, the way you do when you’re sleeping someplace new. I guess the same thing had happened to Neva Shyrock, for she was up herself, watching the last of the fire with the covers pulled to her chin.

  “Why’s your gift so weak? Don’t you practice it?” she asked.

  I was silent at first, ‘cause I warn’t sure how much to admit to her. But then I figured she knew the worst about me, so I said, “I just started to. I was afraid to before. Folks said it’s what killed my ma and made my father run off and leave me.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Mrs. Beadle.”

  Neva Shyrock grumbled. “My cousin’s right hysterical. Gets things twisted in her mind ‘cause she’s so fearful of life. No, Billy, your mother died of fever. She was sick with it before she went into labor. That’s what killed her, not you.”

  “So why’d my pa run off after I was born?”

  “He didn’t,” she said. “He paid me to take care of you and do his laundry while he worked at the ironworks. He came every Sunday to pick up his clothes and give you a bottle. Even took you into Hanging Rock to get you baptized. He got tired of the ironworks, though, so he took off looking for other work.”

  I was wide awake now, listening to every word. “Did you ever see him again?”

  “He came back two years later to see you and give me a couple dollars. He took you down by the creek to throw some stones in the water and said you was a fine-looking boy, full of energy and health. He thanked me for looking after you so good, then he ‘pologized for not giving me more money than he did. He was heading out the door, but I told him I couldn’t sit still no more waiting for his money to arrive. I had to get back to traveling about and healing folks, so I could make a living myself. That’s when I told him ‘bout my cousin’s orphanage. Fair enough, he said, just give him the address, for one day he’d come get you.”

  “He said he’d come for me?” I asked.

  “Yes, he did.”

  It made me tremulous to hear it, though I couldn’t quite say if I was happy or sad. Why, my father never really abandoned me. He done his best to care for me, and one day he’d be coming to get me!

  “Did he say when he’d come get me?”

  “No, he didn’t. Your pa warn’t one for details.” Then she started yawning and talking slower and slower till finally she fell back asleep.

  I listened to her snoring and sputtering, all the while figuring how my father would come get me. I reckoned he’d show up at the orphanage first. Maybe Mr. Beadle would tell him where I was or maybe he wouldn’t. In any case, I felt sure Peggy or Rufus would take him aside and tell him I was here in Holly Glen. And then, when he showed up here, what would I say to Uncle Jim and Aunt Agnes? I felt a pang of guilt, knowing how sad they’d be when I left. I hoped they wouldn’t think I was ungrateful for all they had done for me. In the end, I figured, they’d understand. After all, a boy should be with his father.

  When I woke for school the next day, Neva Shyrock was still sleeping, and when I got home that afternoon, she was long gone. My heart sank. Listening to Neva’s memories made my parents a little less shadowy, and a little more real. I was hoping to hear more stories, to get a better picture of them in my mind, but it warn’t to be. My tin box of cards and a necklace was still the closest thing to them I had. Aunt Agnes said she tried to give Neva some money to take the train, but she insisted on walking. The spring air would do her good, she said. She took the money, though, saying she’d use it to buy some new bottles for her remedies.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I’M WARNED

  TO KEEP QUIET

  ABOUT CERTAIN THINGS

  and

  RECEIVE TROUBLING NEWS

  FROM RUFUS

  Before long, school was out and days was long and almost lazy. After chores, I went fishing or for a swim. I always took my slingshot for a little target practice. Mostly I’d shoot at a dead branch or an old beehive if I saw one. Boys in Holly Glen were good shots, and lots of families ate squirrel and pigeon regular, but I didn’t care for hunting of any kind. Some boys was told to go out and hunt for dinner, but Aunt Agnes and Uncle Jim warn’t that way. After I had pumped the day’s water, fed the chickens, and milked Trotwood, they let me wander the woods or swim as I pleased. I was getting good with my whip, and could knock over cans galore and just about put out the flame of a candle, though I was still knocking it over more times than I left it standing.

  Days passed by pleasant enough, but in general, I was bored and stifled since Clyde was down in the mine and I didn’t have a friend my age to play with. Just like at school, I was stuck with the little kids tagging about. They followed me to the swimming hole and through the woods and hung about my yard, asking for stories about Walter Barnes.

  “Oh, he was a mean one,” I said as I cracked my whip. “He sold a little chap by the name of Milas Kincaid to the gypsies for a twenty-dollar gold piece and all the wine he could drink. He’d sneak out at night and go visit them at their camp, which was just downriver from the orphanage. He’d dance to their violins and drink up a storm. He promised to steal more boys, which they roasted and ate …”

  “He sounds like the Devil himself! What else did he do?” said little Frank Moon. He was near eight and awful impressionable. He’d sit on the fence watching me practice tricks with my whip and beg for another chapter. Each time my whip cracked he jumped, but no matter how scared he got, he wouldn’t let me alone and always came back to hear more about Walter Barnes. His daddy, John Moon, was Welsh, and he came over regular for visits with Uncle Jim. Sooner or later, the two of ‘em would lapse into Welsh, which is an altogether different language, and Aunt Agnes and I couldn’t understand a thing they said.

  “You … Billy Creekmore. Come out here …,” John Moon said to me one summer evening. He and Uncle Jim was on the porch in our two rocking chairs, smoking their pipes and taking in the cool air. “What are these stories you’re telling my boy? And will you stop it now, for the lad can’t sleep for fear of Walter Barnes, whoever he is, stealing him from his bed at night….”

  “Telling stories, is he? What’s all this about, Billy?” Aunt Agnes had come out on the porch to hear my response. She tossed her dishcloth over her shoulder and put her hands on her hips.

  “Well, uh, Mr. Moon … sometimes … when they ask me, that is … I tell the younger ones stories about the orphanage I was at.”

  “What kind of stories?” asked Aunt Agnes. She wasn’t at all happy to hear this, and she looked at me with a cold face.

  “Oh, you know … stories about the boys I knew … funny stories …”

  “I haven’t heard about any funny stories, only scary ones, mostly about an evil boy named Walter Barnes who robs and steals and sells children to the gypsies. Frank’s just a wee lad, Billy. Will you stop it, please? I can’t sleep at night for his crying.”

  “No more stories, Billy,” said Uncle Jim. “A miner’s work is too dangerous to go about it half dead with fatigue.”

  Aunt Agnes shook her head in disgust. “Don’t worry none, John. He’ll stop his tales about Walter Barnes, won’t you, Billy? There’ll be trouble if you don’t.” She gave me a stern l
ook, then stomped off to the kitchen.

  “Don’t be harsh on him, Agnes,” Mr. Moon called after her. “He didn’t mean any harm by it. I’d wager he’s bored, wishing to be with his friend Clyde and the older boys in the mine. How old is he now, Jim? He’ll be down with us soon enough, won’t he?”

  “He’ll be there before long. Has his mind set on being a mule driver, he does.”

  “You could start him now if you want,” said Mr. Moon. “I’ve seen him with Coppers and the wagon. He did a fine job keeping him steady when you picked up that load of lumber. He’s good enough to learn the trade.”

  “Oh yes, Uncle Jim, please let me … I’m the oldest boy in school and I don’t want to go back come September.”

  “We’ll see, lad, we’ll see … I’ll talk to the foreman soon enough to see if there’s an opening for you. You’ll be there before you know it. Don’t be rushing to go into the mines, lad.”

  “That’s right, Billy.” Mr. Moon nodded. “Listen to your uncle now. It’s a hard life, isn’t it, Jim?”

  “Yes, it is, John, but it pays better here than in Wales.”

  “That it does, but I’m awful tired of the company’s cheating ways. It’s the cribbing I hate most of all. That and the prices at the company store. Did you know they raised the price of blasting powder again? And picks as well. And if we buy our equipment in Charleston where it’s cheaper, we get fired!”

  “What’s cribbin’?” I asked the men. I knew all about the company store, and was bitter over its high prices like everyone else in town. But I hadn’t heard the word “cribbing” before.

  “Cribbing is how Mr. Newgate squeezes a bit more blood and money out of us miners, lad,” said Mr. Moon. “Last year he added a frame round the top of his coal cars so they hold four tons now instead of three. But does he pay us any more per car? No, lad, he pays us the same, as if we were only loading three tons a car instead of four.”