by Sharon Sala
“Stupid bird! Whatever you’re looking for sure as hell ain’t here.”
I Baptize Thee…
Gravestones littered the hillside above Isaac Jessup’s farm. It was a poor testament to the Jessup name that Minna Jessup gave birth and then gave up more babies than Isaac could name. It was for that reason that their last, and only surviving child, had never been named.
Before, they’d lovingly named each baby that had come from their union. But nine years ago when their next to the last child had died, Isaac had put his foot down, refusing to put a name on another baby he was certain he’d have to give up to the Lord. When the next baby was born, he stayed true to his word.
So delighted was Minna that her child was surviving, that she was indifferent to her husband’s decision. Even if she had deigned to disagree, in the times in which they were living, a husband’s word was as strong as God’s law.
To their joy, the child not only continued to survive, he thrived. Soon Minna was too busy chasing him about to prompt Isaac into rescinding his vow. The years passed and as they did, Baby Boy Jessup began to outgrow his name. But it wasn’t until a school teacher came to Crawler’s Mill that Isaac’s omission created a new set of problems for their little family.
It was the first day of school and Minna Jessup’s joy knew no bounds. Her child was going to get the education neither she, or Isaac had ever had. Her son would amount to something better than the dirt farmers they were, or she’d know the reason why. Even Isaac was perfectly willing to sacrifice his son’s help on the farm so that he could get an education.
Everyone was happy with the situation except Baby Boy. At the tender age of seven and one half years, he stood a head taller than most of the children his age, and yet regardless of his size, it was his name he couldn’t live down.
Poor Baby Boy. In the first week alone, he came home with a busted lip, a black eye, and had irreparably torn the only pair of good pants he owned. When Monday of the second week of school rolled around, Baby Boy bowed up like a pissed-off skunk and ran away from home. It was only after Isaac found him on their farm and hiding in the cave above the spring, that matters finally came to a head.
Minna was in hysterics as she ran about the prairie, calling out Baby Boy’s name. And every time she stopped to listen, hoping for an echo of his little voice answering her call, she got nothing for her trouble but the wind whistling down her back. Fear settled deep in her bones as she searched the vast prairie, refusing to glance upon the hillside where the small brown crosses stood, believing if she did it would jinx their luck of finding Baby Boy alive.
Just as she feared all would be lost, she heard shouting and turned toward the crosses on the hill. Isaac was running between them, waving his arms, and shouting something that she still couldn’t hear. But the longer she stood, the more convinced she became that Isaac had found Baby Boy. She gathered up her skirts and started toward him, praying with every step that she took.
Baby stood knee deep in the creek with grass roots stuck in his hair from hiding in the cave and cockle burrs caught in the frayed edges of his britches. His little hands were fisted, his face tear-streaked, and filled with dismay at having been found.
His mother was on the creek bank crying, begging him to come out. As badly as he wanted to hide underneath her apron, he’d taken a stand from which he couldn’t back down. His father stood nearby with a switch in his hand that would have felled an ox. In spite of his mother’s comforting presence, the size of that stick gave him great pause for thought.
He shuddered on a sob and swiped at the snot running down his nose with the back of his hand. They just didn’t understand. Here he was, nearly a man, and didn’t yet have a man’s name. He was sick of school and sick of fighting. He’d decided last night that learning to read wasn’t worth the trouble it was going to take.
“I ain’t a goin’ back to that there school and you can’t make me,” he cried, then covered his backside with both hands, certain that his ultimatum would warrant a whipping of severe extent.
Isaac was in a quandary. On one hand, Minna was weeping with joy over the fact that they’d found Baby Boy alive and well. On the other, Isaac considered a direct refusal to obey a father’s orders should merit some sort of punishment. However, it was the condition of his son’s face and Minna’s joy that slowed his intent.
He waved the switch above his head. “See here, Baby, you just cain’t go and—”
“That’s just it, Pa. I ain’t a baby no more. I’m plumb close to growed. I hunted winter meat with you last snow, and you said I could go on my own this year and see if I could fetch down the first deer. I plow, I cut wood, and I know how to do near everythin’ you do.”
The truth of his son’s words hit Isaac hard. He slumped against a willow overhanging the creek bank while Minna stood beside him, making promises to Baby Boy that Isaac knew he could never deliver. Finally, he’d had enough. His voice echoed from one side of the creek to the other as he waded into the water after his boy.
“Son! You get out of that water and get on back to the house, and you do it now! I won’t have no young’en of mine back-talkin’, you hear me?”
Isaac waved the switch for effect, but both he and Minna knew he wouldn’t use it. Not now.
Baby Boy quelled at the tone in his father’s voice. His small shoulders slumped. “I’ll come,” he muttered. “But I ain’t goin’ back to that school.” With a defeated air, he began climbing up the creek bank and out of the water.
Minna Jessup was barely five feet tall to her husband’s six foot height, but when their child was in her arms, she lit into Isaac with all of her might.
“You’ve got to do somethin’ and I mean now, Isaac Jessup! He’s my only livin’ child, and I cain’t be havin’ him runnin’ off like this again out of fear. You’re the one who wouldn’t put a name to him when I gave him birth, so you’re the one who’s gonna have to find a way to make this right.”
“Well, hell, Minna,” Isaac grumbled. “I want him happy as much as you do. You ain’t the only one who lost all them babies. I had to dig the holes for each and every one. It takes a lot out of a man when he has to dig graves for seven of his own.”
Just thinking of all her precious babies set Minna to crying even harder.
Isaac groaned and then pulled his son out of Minna’s arms. “Run on to the house now,” he said gently. “And wash your face good, too.”
“Yes sir,” Baby Boy mumbled, and took off running across the prairie.
Minna fell into Isaac’s arms with a sob. “I know you suffered, too, Isaac. And I ain’t puttin’ any blame on you. What happened was God’s will. I’ve accepted that. But what about Baby Boy? What are we gonna do?”
Isaac held her close, marveling at how so tiny a woman could bring him so fast to his knees.
“I’ll figure out somethin’ Minna, honey. Don’t you fret none, you hear? I’ll make it right and that’s a promise.”
She sniffed twice and then wiped her face with the hem of her apron, much in the same way she’d survived her losses.
“Well now, that’s that, I suppose. Let’s get on back to the house. Most likely Baby will be starvin’. He missed his breakfast and his dinner, too.”
Minna hurried on ahead, anxious to get to her single, precious chick, leaving Isaac alone to come at his own speed. And left alone, Isaac had to admit that his sin of omission had done much toward the suffering that Baby Boy was now enduring.
“Lordy be,” he muttered, as he followed his family home across the prairie. “Who would’a thought there’d be so much fuss over a name?”
Long after supper was over, Isaac pondered the dilemma his family was in, but it was near morning when the answer came; right out of a dream, and as if God himself had spoken.
Isaac sat straight up in bed and reached for his gun, still not certain the voice that he’d heard had been in his head and not inside the cabin with him and his family.
Minna rolled ove
r in bed and clutched the covers beneath her chin. “What’s wrong, Isaac? Is there a varmint prowlin’ outside?”
Isaac’s heart was still pounding as reality sank in. He set the rifle beside his bed and then laid back down. Slipping an arm beneath Minna, he cuddled her close.
“No, Minna honey, there’s no varmint. I reckon I was just dreamin’.”
She snuggled her face against his chest, relishing the safety of his presence, and soon fell back to sleep. But Isaac couldn’t have shut his eyes to save his soul. He was too busy planning the best way to confront the enemy and bring him to heel.
And so the week passed while Baby Boy followed his father about their farm and pretended his life wasn’t hanging in the balance. Each day that a sun came and went without being forced back to school was, for him, a day of joy. But with each new sunrise came an unsettling fear that his mother would put the coveted education over his personal feelings and force him back into an impossible situation.
“Pa, where are you goin’?”
Isaac paused in the act of harnessing the mules to wipe sweat from his brow.
“Into town to get some things for your momma. Want to come?”
Baby Boy ducked his head. The offer of a wagon ride and the possibility of a sweet treat at the general store were hard to pass up, but if he went, it would be near to impossible to bypass the blacksmith’s son. He was the one who’d started the teasing Baby had endured, although Baby Boy privately thought that Arnold Detter’s son didn’t have a name that was all that much to brag about, either. Going through life with the name of Pearl had to be hell for a fellow to live down. If Baby had been a little older, he might have understood Pearl Detter’s need to ridicule someone besides himself, but he wasn’t. Wisdom doesn’t normally come to a man until some time after he’s bedded his first woman and survived a fight for his life. Baby Boy had yet to do either. He was just hoping to get past his eighth birthday with all of his permanent teeth intact, and he feared if his momma made him go back to that school, it wasn’t going to happen.
Isaac suspected the reason why Baby didn’t want to go with him. But he also knew that to run from a fear was the single worst thing a man could do, no matter what his age. Once in the habit of ducking a problem, the habit seemed to stick throughout life. It made a weakling out of a good man every time.
“I’ll let you drive,” Isaac offered.
Baby Boy vaulted into the seat. He’d suffer a bloody nose any day for the opportunity to drive his pa’s fine team of mules.
“I’m ready when you are, Pa,” he said, his palms fairly itching to take the reins in hand.
Isaac hid a grin. “Just let me get yore momma’s list and we’ll be off.”
Minna had overheard their conversation and met Isaac at the door with the list and a warning he knew meant business.
“You bring him back in one piece, Isaac Jessup, or so help me God, I’ll take a stick to you, myself.”
Isaac grinned, then lifted Minna off of her feet and danced her around the kitchen.
“You’re awful pretty when you’re mad.” Then he stole a kiss she didn’t much bother to dodge.
“And you are a scoundrel, Isaac Jessup. Now get! I’ve got things to do.”
“We’ll be back before chore time,” he promised.
She stuffed the list in his shirt pocket. “Tell Baby I’m making apple pies, but I don’t want to milk that darned cow by myself. She kicks worse than a mule.”
Isaac grinned. He heard more than complaint behind her words. She was telling him she loved him and needed him as best she knew how.
“You won’t have to, honey,” he said. “I’ll be back in plenty of time to do chores.”
“Pa! Let’s go!”
Isaac grinned. “Sounds like our son’s impatient to get his lights punched.”
Minna frowned. “All I know is, Baby better not be the only one who comes back with a bloody nose.”
“Dang, honey, Arnold Detter is twice my size.”
“And Pearl is near twice Baby’s size.”
The smile slid off of Isaac’s face. “I get the message.”
Minna stood in the doorway and waved until she could no longer see so much as a dust trail. After that, she went inside, cried until she gave herself a headache, then walked up the hillside toward seven small tombstones and sat down among the wildflowers that blanketed her babies in a way she could not.
Crawler’s Mill was no different from any other territory town except that it had no mill to explain the significance of the name. Main Street was the only street, and it was head high in dust when it was dry and knee high in mud when it rained.
The general store was the only establishment that welcomed women as customers. The other businesses, few though they were, catered solely to men, which was the way of the west at this time.
Dump’s Saloon was a dump, but it was Dump Smith’s pride and joy. Where else could a man with his sparse abilities and education make a living such as this? In a land where shade and drink were at a premium, he boasted the only place this side of Lizard Flats where both were available and only one for sale.
Each year, he promised himself that he was going to retire and go back East where civilized amenities abounded. He had a hankering for houses with fine floors and indoor baths. Where everyone he met didn’t smell like sweat, horses and manure, or a combination of all three. And this year, like all the rest, he found another reason to stay on. The reasons never amounted to much, but in spite of his grandiose plans, it didn’t take much to satisfy Dump Smith.
Detter’s Blacksmith and Livery did a good business as well. Arnold Detter could shoe a horse in the blink of an eye and was training his young son to follow in his footsteps. It gave the residents of Crawler’s Mill and the surrounding area a sense of stability to know that there were two generations of blacksmiths at their disposal.
Arnold’s son, Pearl, was still young, but for a boy of ten, quite strong and as brawny as some men. Unfortunately for Pearl, his opinion of himself was larger than he was. More than once, he’d gone to bed with a fat lip and skinned knuckles, compliments of the fights he’d had with bigger boys who’d laughed at his name.
When the new teacher started a school, Pearl had been delighted to learn there was one youth in the territory that had a name worse than his own. Pearl Detter decided that making Baby Boy Jessup’s life a living hell might alleviate some of his own.
The plan worked clear through the first week of school. After that, Baby Boy Jessup didn’t come back and Pearl was again on the defense, daily pounding the jeers from other boy’s lips. That was why when Pearl heard the squeak of a wagon wheel in need of grease and turned to look, he began grinning from ear to ear. It was the Jessup wagon that was coming toward their livery.
While Pearl was gloating at his good fortune, Baby Boy flinched in fear as his father turned toward the stables.
“Pa! What are we going to the livery for?”
Isaac heard the terror in his son’s voice, but could find no words to explain that his son must face his nemesis. With every day that passed, Pearl Detter became bigger in Baby’s mind than he actually was.
“Wheel squeaks.”
Baby knew that. It had been squeaking all the way to town. Had he realized the significance of it, he might have bolted from the seat and run back home. It was too late now. Pearl Detter was coming out of the livery with a smile on his face.
“Mr. Jessup. Baby Boy. What can I do for you?” Pearl relished the silly sound of the boy’s name on his tongue.
Isaac heard the taunt in Pearl Detter’s voice and, for the first time, began to understand the hell his son had been enduring at his expense.
“My wheel’s a squeakin’, Ruby. I wondered if you had any wheel grease.”
Baby gawked. Pa knew the Detter boy’s name was Pearl. He fidgeted on the seat, certain now that when Pearl got the chance he’d whomp him twice for his pa’s insult.
Pearl frowned. “My name is Pearl, M
r. Jessup. Not Ruby.”
Isaac pretended not to notice the indignation in the big boy’s voice.
“Oh, sorry.” He crawled down from the wagon to kneel near his wheel, pretending to inspect it as he gave Baby Boy the list Minna had put in his pocket. “Son, you run on over to the general store and start gatherin’ up your momma’s necessities while Pearly and I fix the wheel.”
Pearl Detter turned red in the face and wished he was a man grown. He’d bust Isaac Jessup in the nose for sure.
“It’s Pearl, not Pearly,” he muttered.
Isaac shrugged. “Sorry. I ain’t much good with names.”
When he was certain Baby Boy was too far away to hear, he gave the smithy’s son a steely glance. “I ain’t too good with names,” he repeated, “’cause I don’t think they matter all that much. My daddy always said it was what’s inside a fellow that makes him a man. It don’t matter how big he is, or how good he is with his fists, if he’s a coward, it’ll show. Somehow… someway.”
Pearl flushed. He recognized the rebuke. He would have liked to be angry, but was too shamed before this big, gentle man to make the effort. Pearl Detter knew the misery of being made fun of and he’d spent every day Baby was in school making sure his life had been hell.
Pearl ducked his head. “I s’pect you’d be right about that, Mr. Jessup. I’ll be gettin’ that wheel grease if you don’t mind waitin’.”
He ran back into the livery just as his father was coming out.
“Jessup.” Arnold offered his hand. “What can I do for you?”
Isaac shook the man’s hand. “I’m fine, Arnold, just fine. Your son is takin’ real good care of me and mine. He’s a boy to be proud of, I reckon.”
Arnold beamed. When Pearl came back with the bucket of grease, Arnold gave him a sharp thump on the shoulders and knelt to help remove the wheel.
