“I wouldn’t do nothing like that, Annie. I ain’t that much of a fool.”
I tried to look him in the eye. “You’re sure?”
“Annie, I ain’t that much of a fool.”
I was good and worried, now. Had Mr. Hoggart figured out anything? There were a lot of questions I couldn’t answer. But my letter to Colonel Humphreys hadn’t done any good. “Tom, I think we’d better be ready to run away. There’s no telling what’s likely to happen. We’d better be ready to go like a shot. But I’ll need some boys’ clothes as quick as you can get them. Try to do it right away. Then we’ll be ready, no matter what happens.”
The next day, just before the five o’clock bell, Tom Thrush came along with his broom and gave me a wink and a nod. Hetty couldn’t miss it as she stood right next to me. “He’s real uppity, now, isn’t he?” she said. But I knew that he was telling me to wait till after all the girls had gone.
The five o’clock bell rang, and the noise of the machinery stopping rumbled through the mill as the boys down below disengaged the gears from the wheel. The girls put on their coats and scarves and filed out. I put on my coat and started down the stairs. Halfway down I said, “Oh, Hetty, I left my scarf behind. Go along. I’m going back for it.” She clumped on down, and I heard her footsteps go on outside. I went back into the slubbing room to wait for Tom.
Pretty soon he came in, carrying a lamp and wearing a hat with a wide brim, and walking in a funny, stiff way, like he was having trouble bending his knees.
“I got ‘em for you, Miss Annie,” he said in a low voice.
I didn’t see any package. “Where?”
He took the hat off. “Here,” he said.
I swept my hair up over my head and jammed the hat on top to keep my hair hid. It felt mighty peculiar. I’d worn bonnets all my life, and wasn’t used to a hat like that. “How do I look?” I said.
He squinted at me. “Well, you don’t look no different to me. But I knows you. I don’t doubt you’d look like a boy to somebody else.”
I went over to the windows and tried to see my reflection in them, but there was still some light outside and the glass wouldn’t reflect except a little. Then I saw Mr. Hoggart down below. I jumped back from the window. I didn’t think he’d seen me; I hoped he hadn’t, anyway. But I decided we’d better not waste any time getting out of there. “Tom, where are the trousers?”
He pointed to his legs. “I got ‘em on underneath. I got on two pair.”
“Let me have them, quick,” I said. “I saw Mr. Hoggart going by. We must get out of here.”
“I got to strip down,” he said.
“I’ll turn my back. Do it quick.” So I turned around, faced the other way, and stood there listening to the sounds of cloth sliding over cloth, and Tom grunting. “Are you almost finished?”
“Most nearly.”
Then there was a loud bang of a door, as loud as a gunshot. I jumped around. Mr. Hoggart was standing at the door. He was crouched a little, his arms out, like he was ready to leap. “What’s this?” he shouted. “What’s going on with you two?”
Tom ducked back, his eyes wide, his mouth open, licking his lips. He was holding the second pair of trousers in his hand. “It wasn’t nothin’, sir. We was just a-talkin’.”
Mr. Hoggart took two steps into the room, and swung his arm, palm open. He caught Tom on the side of his face, and Tom tumbled backward onto the floor. He twisted over onto his hands and knees, and looked upward at Mr. Hoggart, like a dog. “We wasn’t doin’ nothin’, sir.”
Mr. Hoggart gave him a quick look. Then he kicked him under the ribs, flipping Tom over on his back. Tom screamed.
“Get out of here, you dirty little pig,” Mr. Hoggart shouted. “Get, before I beat the living guts out of you.”
I looked around for something to fight him off with. Leaning up against a wall was a heavy iron rod they used for levering up the machinery when they had to make repairs. I wondered if I could get to it before he grabbed me. “Please,” I said. “We weren’t doing anything.”
Mr. Hoggart turned back to me, and stood in the middle of the room, looking at me. Tom was crouched on the floor behind him, holding his chest, and staring upward at Mr. Hoggart, his face all twisted up. Mr. Hoggart reached into the pocket of his coat, and took out a piece of paper, a pen, and a little flask of ink with a stopper in the top. “Now, miss,” he said. “You’re going to write a little note just the way I tell you to. And if you don’t, I’m going to fix you and your little friend here in a way you’ll never forget.”
I didn’t understand what that was all about. “Please. We weren’t doing anything.”
“Oh, no,” he snarled. “Oh, no, not doing anything. Just creeping around places you don’t belong in, and meddling in matters that aren’t any of your business. You think I don’t know who sent Colonel Humphreys that letter?”
I went cold. How had he found out? “What letter, sir? I don’t know anything about any letter.”
“Don’t give me that story. My good friend the footman told me it was you who brought the letter.”
I didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything to say.
“You’re mighty quiet, aren’t you? Well, I tell you, you’ve got good reason to be quiet. Colonel Humphreys was all set to go have a look in that shack where you were nosing around. But I got to him first, miss. Yes, I did. I told him a few things about the trouble you’ve made around here. He’ll never believe another word you say.”
I felt sick. So that was what happened. But still, there was nothing to say.
“Now,” he said. “You’re going to write a nice note saying it was all a lie.” He held out the pen.
I didn’t move.
“Take it,” he said harshly. “Take it and start writing what I tell you.”
I couldn’t move. I stood there frozen.
“Quickly.”
Finally I reached out and took the pen.
“Here,” he said furiously, rattling the paper. “Write what I tell you.” He laid the piece of paper on the top of the slubbing billy. “Quickly.” He held out the flask of ink. I took another quick look at the iron rod. He stepped toward me until his face was right in mine. “Take it,” he shouted. He pushed the flask of ink into my hand. “Now, write. Say, ‘It was all a lie about there being wool in the cabin.’ ”
I took the pen, and dipped it into the ink. But I couldn’t start writing. My hand just wouldn’t move.
“Write it,” he shouted. “ ‘It was all a lie about there being wool in the cabin. I made it up to get revenge for Robert’s death.’ Write that.”
The picture of Robert’s limp body, with his bones all broken, his foot twisted around backward, and the water freezing on his face came into my mind. “I can’t,” I whispered. “Not after what you did to Robert.” The pen dropped out of my fingers.
He grabbed me by the front of my gown, jerked me toward him, and slammed me on the side of my head. I went dizzy and started to lose track of things. “Write it,” he shouted. He bent down, scooped up the pen, and shoved it into my hand, and closed my fingers around it.
I was still feeling dizzy, but I shook my head. He began to shake me back and forth, and then he raised his hand to smack me again. I didn’t know where I was anymore. I heard myself shouting, “Help, help!” He hit me on the mouth and I tasted blood. Still holding the front of my gown, he pulled his arm back and I tried to cry out, but no sound came.
And just then there came a thump, like a rock dropping on another rock. Mr. Hoggart’s hand came off my gown, and he fell backward onto the floor. Standing behind him, his breath coming and going fast as a machine, was Tom. He had the iron rod raised up over Mr. Hoggart.
Mr. Hoggart was lying on his back, his arms flung out to the sides. There was a bloody patch on the side of his head. He was breathing loud, his eyes closed.
“Don’t hit him again, Tom,” I shouted. “You’ll kill him.”
“I aim to, Miss Annie.”
“You looking for his money?” Tom said.
“No. The key. I wouldn’t touch his money.” I slid my hand in his other pocket. There was stuff in it.
“Well, if you ain’t going to touch it, I don’t suppose you’d mind if I done it, then. It ain’t often I get the chance to touch any.”
I closed my fingers, pulled the stuff out, and dumped it on the ground. There was a small folding knife, a handful of coins, and a key. My heart jumped. “This has to be it, Tom. Come on, let’s go.” I leapt up, and as I did so Tom dove down, and snatched up the coins and the knife.
“Tom, we shouldn’t steal.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t think of it. But somebody else mightn’t be so reliable, and would make off with them coins. So it would be for the best if I hung onto them for safekeeping.” And he jammed the coins into his pocket.
Then we raced on out of there and down the long flight of stairs. When we reached the bottom I started off for the snowy field, heading for the woods. And I hadn’t got more than three steps when I realized Tom wasn’t following me. I stopped and looked back. Tom was standing at the bottom of the steps, looking after me. “Come on, Tom,” I shouted.
He stood there for a moment, and then he shook his head. “No, Miss Annie,” he said. “I had about enough of that old shack. I had about enough of this here mill too. I think I’m just going to go on down the road as quick as I can, before Mr. Hoggart wakes up. For he’s bound to kill me if he catches me. I’ve got a few shillings in my pocket now, and that’ll get me on a boat back down to New York. So, if you don’t mind, I’ll just say good-bye.”
Well, he was right. No matter what the outcome, Mr. Hoggart was bound to beat the whey out of Tom when he came around, and kill him like as not. I jumped back over to him, and gave him a little hug. Then I said, “You’d better get going, Tom, before he wakes up.”
“If you ever get to New York, look me up. I’ll be on the dock somewhere, like as not.” Then he turned, and hobbled off as fast as he could, with his sore ribs.
I didn’t wait to see him go, but turned and ran across the snowy field, now all chopped up with tracks, and into the woods. I charged through the woods as fast as I could go, until I came to the cabin. Quickly I slipped the key in the lock and unsnapped it. I took the lock off the door, and shoved it in my pocket. Then I opened the door, and looked in. It was pretty dark inside, but I didn’t have any trouble making out the bags of wool, a couple of dozen of them. I shut the door, and then I began to run through the woods, across the snowy field, past the mill, and down the mill road.
When I came to the village road I turned to look around. There was still no sign of Mr. Hoggart. But he’d be on his feet again pretty soon. All I could do was hope he didn’t head for the cabin right away. He’d go back to his house and fix himself up first. Or maybe head for a doctor, to sew him up. Even if he did go out to the cabin, it would take him a while to get the wool out of there. He’d have to harness a horse to a wagon, drag the wool from the cabin to the edge of the woods, and load the wagon.
And he wouldn’t want to do that in broad daylight, either. He’d wait until nightfall. So I had some time.
I turned onto the village road, and trotted along it until I came to our farm lane. I turned down it; but instead of heading on home, I jumped over the stone wall into the field where the merino ram was grazing, and headed out for the woodlot. In about five minutes I began to hear the sound of George’s bucksaw, going zizz, zizz, zizz, as steady as anything. I reached the woodlot; there, a little way in, was George, in the middle of a clearing with stumps all around him, and a big pile of firewood in a heap behind him. He was bent over a log, pulling the saw, and didn’t hear me come up until I was right next to him. Then he stopped sawing and straightened up. “Annie? What are you doing here?” Then he looked at my face. “What on earth happened to you?”
“He hit me. I wrote a letter to Colonel Humphreys that he was stealing wool. Mr. Hoggart found out, and he hit me.” Suddenly I began to cry, for it was all too much for me. And sobbing away like that, I told him the whole story—how we’d slipped into the cabin and found the wool, writing the letter to Colonel Humphreys, and everything else. Finally I got finished and wiped the tears off my face with my shirt. Then I said, “I can’t go back to the mill, George. I just can’t, I can’t. I’ll have to run away instead.”
George stood there, still holding the bucksaw, looking grim. Then he said, “Come on, let’s go see that cabin.”
“What are you going to do, George?”
“Don’t you worry, Annie. I’m going to fix that man Hoggart so he’ll wish he never heard of Humphreysville.” He began to walk off as fast as he could go, so I had to jog to keep up with him. We cut across the field, past that blame merino ram that had caused so much trouble, onto the farm lane, out to the village road and then along to the mill road. George never stopped walking with those long strides, never looked around, never said anything. He just kept on going.
We turned into the mill road, went out past the mill, and across the snowy field all chewed up with muddy footprints. When we came to the edge of the woods George stopped. “It’s in there?”
“About fifty yards, maybe.”
“Go on. You know where it is. Lead the way.”
So I set off through the woods, my heart beating fast, for I was scared that Mr. Hoggart might be there. But I knew that with George behind me, there wasn’t anything he could do to me anymore. I pushed on through the woods, and in a minute I began to see the shape of the cabin dimly through the trees. I stopped. “That’s it,” I said.
George pushed past me, and began to stride forward. I followed him, and in about five seconds I noticed that the door wasn’t open anymore. It was closed. Then I heard a low curse, and I saw through the branches that Mr. Hoggart was standing in front of the door, bent over doing something. George began to sprint, ducking and dodging through the trees, and I began to run after him.
Now Mr. Hoggart heard us. He straightened up and looked around. George went plunging toward him. “You,” he shouted.
Mr. Hoggart had tied a handkerchief around his head where Tom Thrush had whacked him, but I could still see a patch of dried blood on his cheek. “What are you doing here? Who are you?” Then he noticed me. “Not you again. Oh, are you in for—”
Then George grabbed him by his shirtfront. He raised his head. “Hoggart, if you ever touch that girl again I’m going to split your head open for good and all.”
“Listen, you—” But George was bigger and stronger, for he’d spent his life cutting wood.
George swung his hand around. It made a great slapping noise when it hit. Mr. Hoggart’s head jerked back. “Don’t,” he gasped out.
“George,” I shouted. “He’s put a new lock on the door.”
George gave Mr. Hoggart a shake, and then he looked at the door. “See if it’s closed, Annie.”
I jumped over to the door and pulled on the lock. “It’s closed,” I said.
George gave Mr. Hoggart another shake. “I want the key.”
“Let go of me,” Mr. Hoggart gasped again.
George began to twist the other man’s collar. “No. No,” said Mr. Hoggart.
“The key.”
“No. Don’t.” He began to choke.
“The key.”
Suddenly, Mr. Hqggart reached into his pocket and drew out a key. George snatched it from his hand. Then he flung Mr. Hoggart away like an old sack of corn husks. Mr. Hoggart fell to the ground and lay there, his hands aro
und his neck, groaning. George leapt to the cabin door, turned the key in the lock, pulled off the lock, and swung the door open. He whistled. “Wool, all right. Plenty of it too.”
Then I noticed that Mr. Hoggart was up on his knees and crawling off through the woods. “George, he’s getting away.”
“Let him go,” George said. “It doesn’t matter what he does anymore. He’s finished around here. We’ll go see Colonel Humphreys. Once he sees this wool he’ll come to realize that you were the one telling the truth, and Hoggart was the liar. I think he’ll believe your story now.”
I looked at him. “George, what’s going to happen to me?”
He stood there, holding the lock in his hand, and thinking. “Well, there’s Pa’s debts to consider. I think what we’d best do is tell him straight out that unless he works out something, we’ll leave—you and me. Pa isn’t a bad man, but he’s got the weakness for things. He’ll come around.”
“And he’ll take back the things he bought? The clock and the saddle and such?”
“The saddle, anyway. He hasn’t got any use for it until he gets a horse. But maybe we ought to let him keep the clock. Times are changing, Annie. There’s going to be more mills, and more people coming in from the farms to work on them. You can’t stop progress, if that’s what you want to call it.”
“And I won’t have to work in the mill anymore, George?”
“I’m not sure, Annie. I think maybe you might have to, for a little while. And I’ll have to go on cutting firewood. For a while, until we can whittle down Pa’s debt some. Just a few months more, I think. Then I guess you can start back to school.”
“That’s all I ever wanted,” I said.
“I think it’ll come, Annie. Now, let’s go see Colonel Humphreys.”
We started off through the woods. “George,” I said. “Why did everything have to change? Why couldn’t they go on the way they always did?”
“Things change, Annie.”
“Is it better?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know, Annie. I guess you’ll have to decide that for yourself.”
The Clock Page 11
