by Jacob Stone
“That’s ridiculous,” Ella retorted angrily. “Duncan wouldn’t know any family they might dig up. He knows us! Sue and Tom would want us to take care of him!”
“That might be so, but they didn’t arrange for us to be guardians, and so the law has to be followed.”
“Blast the law!”
“Now Ella, don’t get yourself overheated. They most likely won’t find anyone.” Mr. Hubble hemmed and hawed then, as if he were trying to find the right words to use so he wouldn’t offend her. “But they might also think we’re too old to adopt the boy.”
Ella made a loud harrumphing noise that would’ve woken Duncan up if he were still asleep.
“Too old! We still got good years left!”
Mr. Hubble had the good sense not to argue the point any further. Duncan went back to bed without getting his water. He had a lot on his mind all of a sudden. He had been too busy mourning his mom and dad to think about the consequences of what had happened, or even to realize the simple fact that he was now an orphan. As he mulled over the thought of being raised by Ella and Mr. Hubble, he realized that was the best possible situation. They were good people—they had to be, since his parents liked and trusted them. He had also met their grown children and grandchildren, and got along fine with them. If he lived with them he’d also be able to keep his friends and stay in the same school. What happened to his parents was terrible and it would leave a hole in his heart, but he knew his parents would be happy knowing Ella and Mr. Hubble were looking out for him.
For the next three weeks Duncan’s life seemed to settle into a new kind of normalcy. He returned back to school and even got permission to bring Buster with him. There were afternoons when he’d need to be alone with Buster, but there would be other times when he would play with friends as if everything was okay. None of his friends mentioned his parents or the accident, and that was fine with him. In the evening Ella would fuss over him and make him his favorite dinners, and Mr. Hubble taught him how to play gin rummy and gave him a sip of beer once, although he had to promise he wouldn’t tell Ella about it. One night Ella and Mr. Hubble even asked him how he’d feel about living with them permanently, and he told them he’d like that.
It was after those three weeks that things changed. Ella began to act as if she were distracted all the time, and Duncan would catch her muttering angrily to herself when she didn’t realize he was in the room. Five days later he came home from school and heard Ella and Mr. Hubble arguing heatedly in the kitchen. Ella was saying it wasn’t fair, that something had to be wrong with this man having a different last name than Tom, and that she’d use a shotgun on him if he showed up at their house. Mr. Hubble soon got just as upset and insisted that she couldn’t act crazy like that, and that they’d see a lawyer and do whatever was lawful. When Duncan walked into the kitchen and they realized he was there, they stopped talking and they both looked sick to their stomachs. Mr. Hubble cleared his throat and asked him if he remembered Ms. Frost from Children’s Services. Duncan was in a haze when he met the woman with the red hair and thin, pointy chin, but he told Mr. Hubble that he remembered her.
“She’ll be coming by tomorrow afternoon,” he said. “Best that you don’t go to school tomorrow so you’re here when she shows up.”
Duncan knew what it had to be about. The authorities must’ve tracked down one of his relatives. He found himself scared and excited at the same time. This relative might be like his mom or dad, and the truth was, he’d give anything to have either of them back, even if it was only a small piece of them. But he was also beginning to feel at home with Ella and Mr. Hubble, and the thought of possibly leaving them made him anxious. He knew if he asked any questions right then he’d make Ella upset, so he simply nodded okay and left the kitchen with Buster tagging along beside him.
The next day Ms. Frost showed up as promised, bringing along with her a man who Duncan knew had to be his grandpa on his dad’s side. The man was taller, lankier, and more sinewy than Duncan’s dad, and his face was longer and craggier, making Duncan think of a bloodhound. But he had his dad’s large ears and a similar look around the eyes and nose and the same hairline. He also had large, knuckled hands that were heavily veined like his dad. He held out his right hand to Duncan.
“Frank Wainwright,” he said, his voice sounding like loose gravel.
“Duncan Moss,” Duncan said somewhat shyly. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”
Wainwright seemed amused by that. “You don’t got to call me sir,” he said. “We ain’t in the military and I ain’t no officer. Frank is fine.” His brow wrinkled as he more carefully studied Duncan. “You don’t look at all like Tom. You must take after your mom.”
Duncan wasn’t sure that was true. He might’ve been thin and short, but that was only because he was nine. He was sure he’d grow to look like his dad. Before he could argue that point, Ella began talking even faster than usual, suggesting they get this meeting over with so they could all get back to what they were doing. She must’ve been taken aback by seeing Wainwright, because she didn’t offer coffee or her freshly baked molasses chew cookies to anyone after they took seats around the kitchen table.
“I thought you were coming by yourself,” she asked Ms. Frost with a forced cheerfulness. “I thought today was to talk about what’s best for Duncan. After what just happened, he shouldn’t be uprooted. It’s important that he stay in the same neighborhood and be in a supportive environment.”
“What’s important is the boy be with his kin,” Wainwright said.
Up until then it seemed as if Ella had purposely refused to look Wainwright’s way, but after that she did, and as she stared at him the color bled out of her cheeks and she began trembling.
“Are you going to keep Duncan in his parents’ house?” she asked.
“What I do with him is no concern of yours.”
Her trembling stopped and her eyes grew small and hard. Duncan didn’t think right then that she looked anything like Mrs. Santa Claus.
“In all the years I knew Tom, he never once mentioned you,” she said, her voice so deep and harsh that Duncan thought for a moment someone else must’ve been talking. “How come that is? And how come he changed his name from yours?”
Wainwright didn’t answer her. He sat as still as a chunk of granite, his eyes darker and duller than dirt.
Ella turned to Ms. Frost. “Something’s wrong with this man,” she insisted. “It’s obvious just to look at him.”
Ms. Frost didn’t exactly roll her eyes, but she might as well have. “Mrs. Hubble, I understand your concerns, I truly do. But the law requires us to unite Duncan with a family member, if possible—”
“For Heaven’s sake, he’s not a family member! For the last nine years he could’ve been dead, for all Duncan knew. He never once visited or showed any interest in him!”
Ms. Frost appeared unmoved. “Mr. Wainwright is showing interest now,” she said. “There’s really nothing to discuss here. We appreciate you looking after Duncan like you have, but the adoption rules are straightforward in these matters.”
Wainwright didn’t exactly sneer at Ella, but his upper lip curled, revealing large, yellowed canines.
The color went clean out of Ella’s face. “I see,” she murmured. She stood up and without another word left the room.
“This really is for the best,” Ms. Frost said to Mr. Hubble, keeping her voice low so Ella wouldn’t hear her. “Given your and Mrs. Hubble’s ages, it’s doubtful an adoption would’ve been approved, and most likely Duncan would’ve ended up in foster care—”
Ms. Frost was interrupted by Ella returning to the room carrying a shotgun. She loaded a shell, pumped the shotgun to chamber the shell, and was lifting the barrel toward Wainwright when Mr. Hubble knocked her to the floor and attempted to wrestle the gun away from her.
“Ella, what are you doing! What are you doing!” Mr. Hubbl
e shouted as the two of them thrashed about on the floor. He got the upper hand and was able to yank the shotgun away from her. Ella began weeping.
Ms. Frost goggled at them, too frozen in fear to move.
Wainwright had left his chair so he could dive for cover if necessary. “The old bat’s as crazy as a loon,” he exclaimed heatedly to Ms. Frost. “You saw what she just did. Threatened me with a shotgun. I ain’t letting the boy stay in this loony bin another second.”
Wainwright grabbed Duncan by the upper arm and half-dragged him out of the house. Buster followed along after them.
Chapter 30
Jasper, Missouri. April 2000
Years later, Duncan would marvel when he thought about how Wainwright had picked clean his family’s old home. At the time he was too swept up in the upheaval swirling around him and kept too busy by Wainwright to notice, but whenever he thought back about it, he had to admit it was quite something.
Those first few days Wainwright didn’t talk to him much, nor did he invite conversation, but he did concede to answer Duncan when the boy asked about whether they were going to stay in Jasper by telling him that living in some hick town wasn’t his idea of paradise. Right away Wainwright had Duncan inventorying the family’s possessions and packing it away in boxes. He kept Duncan working late into the night and told him there was no point in him going to school, since he wouldn’t be there long. Wainwright would disappear for hours at a stretch, at times bringing back men in trucks who’d cart away furniture or the packed-away boxes (after first inspecting them). Wainwright came back one day furious that the house was mortgaged for more money than it was worth. After that, he sold off the appliances and fixtures, and later that night he began tearing up the walls so he could pull out the copper plumbing. With the plumbing being torn apart and the toilets already carted away, Duncan asked him how he was supposed to go to the bathroom. Wainwright, who was straining to yank out a length of pipe, told him to just pick a room he didn’t plan to go back into and that if he asked him another fool question he’d knock out a mouthful of his teeth.
Wainwright seemed in a better mood once he got the last of the copper pipes out of the wall. He chuckled to himself about what the bank was going to find when they foreclosed on the house. That evening a pickup truck came by, and Wainwright and Duncan helped the driver load the pipes into the back of it. Money was exchanged and after the man drove off, Wainwright told Duncan to get his suitcase, that they were heading off to greener pastures. Earlier, Wainwright had Duncan pack whatever he wanted to keep into a suitcase, telling him that it was important for a man not to be encumbered by possessions. “Anything more than you can pack in a single suitcase just slows you down,” he claimed.
Duncan went back into the house to get his suitcase, and he realized that Buster wasn’t anywhere to be seen. As he thought about it, he realized he hadn’t seen his dog since last night—that Wainwright had been running him too ragged to notice until now. When he came back outside, he told Wainwright that Buster was missing.
Wainwright had the car’s hood popped open and was checking the dipstick to make sure the car’s oil level was sufficient. Without looking up, he grunted out, “The dog was scratching at the door last night to get out. Damn thing must’ve decided to run away. Good riddance, if you ask me.”
Duncan realized what happened. Buster must’ve gone to Ella’s to get a good meal, since Wainwright was barely giving the dog any scraps at all, and he warned Duncan what would happen if he gave the dog any of his food—not that Duncan was being given all that much himself.
“He must be at Ella’s!” Duncan exclaimed. “We have to go there and get him!”
Wainwright pulled his head out from under the hood and wiped his hands clean with a hand towel. “Uh-uh, boy. We’re not wasting time looking for some mangy mongrel.”
“We have to—”
Wainwright rapped Duncan across the mouth with one of his large-knuckled hands. The slap was hard enough that it sent Duncan on his butt and had him seeing a burst of fireworks in his head.
“You don’t ever back-talk me again. You understand that, boy? Now get in the car now.”
Duncan sat stunned. He had never been struck by an adult before. His dad didn’t believe in it; neither did his mom. He was never even spanked when he was a little kid, not even a single slap on the rear. He picked himself off the ground, spat out some blood, and meekly did as Wainwright had ordered.
Neither of them spoke during the five and a half hours while Wainwright drove. At times Duncan would doze off, too exhausted to keep his eyes open, but then he’d wake up after only ten or so minutes with an overwhelming sense of dread, and he’d remember about Wainwright. He’d wince from the throbbing in his swollen jaw, and he’d remember the glazed look in Wainwright’s eye when the man struck him, and how Wainwright had sold off everything of value his family owned. Worse than just that, he tore apart their home and left gaping holes in the walls. Duncan considered what Wainwright did a desecration, something that would’ve made his mom cry if she had been alive to see it. Worse than even all that, he made Duncan leave Buster behind! He was only nine, but he’d be damned if he was going to willingly say a word to this man.
He was awake when he saw the sign on the side of the highway welcoming them to Nebraska, and later also the sign letting them know that they were entering the city of Lincoln.
Wainwright pulled into a motel parking lot. After he put the car in park, his gaze slid over to Duncan and he broke into a wheezing laugh over what he saw.
“Boy, I thought you were sleeping all this time. You going to give me the silent treatment, is that it?” he said as he wiped away a tear. “That’s just fine with me. I’d rather have silence out of you than hear you yapping about anything. Grab your suitcase or don’t. I truly don’t care. But this is where we’re staying tonight.”
Chapter 31
Hutchinson, Kansas. July 2001
Duncan had never seen so many people gathered in one place before. Easily thousands were milling about the fairgrounds as they looked at prized cows, draft horses, hogs, roosters, and other farm animals. There were quite a few other attractions, contests, and demonstrations, as well as carnival rides and games for suckers who thought they were going to win a stuffed animal, but were really just throwing away their money. What amazed Duncan the most was how everybody seemed to be eating something as they walked around. Fried dough. Corn dogs. Deep-fried turkey legs. Cotton candy. Pizza slices. Ice cream treats. Or if they weren’t eating something, they were waiting in line to buy something to eat. Or in some cases, they were already stuffing their faces as they waited to buy something else.
If he were here with his parents, Duncan would’ve liked it. His parents, also. He would’ve wanted to go on the bumper cars and Tilt-A-Whirl, and he’d be eating a chili dog and soft-serve vanilla ice cream on a waffle cone. But he was already a different person. He’d only been with Wainwright for a year and three months, but that was more than enough to change anyone.
He shielded his eyes as he peered up toward the sun. It had to be at least ninety degrees already. The hot weather wasn’t stopping people from coming to the state fair, but it kept them from wearing jackets, which made picking pockets all that much easier. The heat mixed with the humidity also helped distract them. It made them uncomfortable and sweaty, and less likely to notice when an eleven-year-old boy (Duncan’s birthday was in June) with small, slender hands lifted their wallets from their back pockets. Wainwright insisted that even if they lollygagged they should be able to hit fifty marks that day, and if they applied themselves, they could take as many as a hundred wallets. If you figured each wallet had at least fifty dollars in it, they should walk away today with between 2500 and 5000 dollars—at least, that was what Wainwright claimed. He called these state fairs gold mines, and promised that if they did well enough over the next three days, they could take the next month off, m
aybe even rent a cabin by the Lake of the Ozarks. Duncan had never heard of the Lake of the Ozarks before, but he liked the sound of it.
Wainwright was right then engaging one of the “rubes,” as he called them: A heavyset man wearing cargo shorts, the outline of his wallet visible in his back pocket. Standing next to the rube was an equally heavy woman, who must’ve been his wife, and two heavy kids, who must’ve been his children. Since Wainwright had trained him, Duncan had already lifted hundreds of wallets. He wasn’t ready last year for the county fairs, so those thefts were entirely on city sidewalks where the marks were alert and often already had their hackles up, as if they expected every stranger was out to rob them, and because of that it was trickier and Duncan and Wainwright had to be more careful and sometimes they spent an entire afternoon looking for the right pocket to pick.
According to Wainwright, picking pockets here would be like shooting fish in a barrel. That these rubes were all in good spirits and they’d be the trusting types who would naturally think the best of their fellow state fairgoer. When Wainwright and Duncan operated in the city, they’d use the bump-and-run technique where Wainwright would accidentally bump into a mark hard enough where he’d almost knock them over—in fact, he’d grab onto them to make sure they wouldn’t fall and give them enough of a jostle at the same time, so they wouldn’t feel Duncan slipping their wallet out of their back pocket. It didn’t always work. Sometimes the mark would react violently enough to being bumped that Duncan wouldn’t have an opportunity to take his wallet, and sometimes Wainwright would give him a last-second signal that someone was watching and he needed to veer off. No one yet had caught him in the act of stealing a wallet. The many hours of practice Wainwright put him through were seemingly paying off.
