Until Tomorrow, Mr. Marsworth

by Sheila O'Connor

  Monday, June 24, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  Turns out Gram was right! Trouble came for you this morning before I even saw the sun.

  Two boys riding Sting-Rays hurled eggs at your brick house. I was dropping papers down on Hillcrest when I saw them at your gate. They took off in the darkness, but I saw those two bikes plain and clear. Do you know two evil boys on souped-up Sting-Rays?

  I’m afraid you’ve really got a mess there, Mr. Marsworth. I could come back this morning to hose those eggs off of your house. Or clean up all those broken shells on your front lawn. You don’t have to pay me, I’m glad to lend a hand.

  Maybe an old man that just wants peace shouldn’t have written to the paper to say this war is wrong. Too many people read those letters, Mr. Marsworth. If you want to write against the war, you can write to me instead. I’m always here to listen to your letters. Mom didn’t like the war, but she kept that in our house. If she’d written to the paper, we’d have gotten egged, or worse. Lots of kids in Denton had brothers, uncles, cousins, neighbors, fighting in this war.

  Still, do you want Dare and me to find your eggers, Mr. Marsworth? We both love our country, but we don’t want some town boys egging an old man. I know Billy would agree, but he’s not going to want to scrap with kids. You want a couple scrappers, Dare and I will do that job. As Dad would say, you’ve got a right to your opinion, good or bad.

  You got a hunch who they might be? One name will get us started, we’ll hunt them down from there. When we played war down at the river, Dare was always drafted first. Dare Kelly has an even better nose for enemies than Float.

  Your Avenger,

  Reenie Kelly

  P.S. Don’t you have time to answer letters? I’ve already left a few. I know you’re “napping at odd hours,” but how long does a nap last? Ha-ha-ha!

  Monday, June 24, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  I already found your eggers, and I didn’t even have to look.

  Two foulmouthed, filthy boys on souped-up Sting-Rays followed me down Hillcrest just after I’d left that last letter in your box. They cut me off when I was walking, so I couldn’t step left or right.

  “You got a paper route?” one said. He was a scrawny white-haired kid that the other kid called Rat. Pale skin. Beady little eyes. He looks just like a Rat, he really does. “We saw you out this morning.”

  “So what?” I was scared to be outnumbered, but the Kellys stand their ground.

  “You took that route from Cutler,” the pale Rat boy said.

  Do you know these two? Pale Rat and scarred-up Cutler? Cutler in the camo pants and dog tags. Big white scar across his cheek. Another pink line along his head where he’s had stitches. Gray bruises on his arms and face like all he does is fight.

  I’m sure Cutler is a last name, because no mom would name her newborn baby Cutler.

  “I’ve been in line to get a second route since May. Glen Taylor’s should have gone to me.” The kid named Cutler spit a loogie on my Keds. “Instead they gave it to a girl. Some hick girl from Misery. What are you, a women’s libber? A girl can’t work a route.”

  “It’s Missouri,” I said, tough. I don’t know how they knew about Missouri, I guess the same small-town way Billy knew your name. That’s how SMALL this stupid small town is.

  “It’s Misery to us.” Rat sneered, and they both laughed.

  “You guys egg that house this morning?” I asked Rat. I’m not a great big hulk like Dad or Dare, but I could beat that scrawny Rat kid if I fought him one-to-one.

  “What are you, a cop?” Rat said, and I saw right then he did it. He didn’t even bother saying no.

  “Your hippie brother stole my brother’s job at Casey’s,” Cutler said. “A Cutler works there every summer, but your brother stole the job.”

  “He’s not a hippie.” Billy’s hair touches his ears and he likes to wear it shaggy, but he’s never been a hippie. The only hippies back in Denton were longhairs on TV. “He’s saving up for college. Is your brother doing that?”

  “My brothers serve their country.” Cutler scratched his bristled scalp then spit another loogie. “They ain’t spineless draft dodgers too chicken for a war.”

  “Yeah,” Rat said.

  “What are you, the Yeah Man?” I asked Rat.

  “Yeah,” he said again, but this time he shoved his bike into my shin, backed up a couple inches, and rode over my foot. It hurt like heck, but I didn’t flinch. Instead I grabbed him by the collar and shoved him and his Sting-Ray to the ground.

  Tough guy Cutler dumped his bike and made a grab for me, and the three of us went at it, kicking, punching, slapping, until a woman down on Hillcrest screamed, “I’m going to call the cops.”

  Suddenly Cutler and his sidekick jumped back on their Sting-Rays and took off like the wind.

  I didn’t shed a tear, but I threw up on the street. Then I limped home to Gram’s woods and spilled it all to Dare and Float. Turns out, Dare’s already had his fill of those two boys. I guess they dogged him down on Main Street, calling him King Kong.

  “I can’t believe they hurt you, Reen.” Dare shook his dirty head and jabbed his stick into the fire. Dare’s tall and broad like Dad, he’s taller now than Billy, with Dad’s same freckled skin and straight, straw copper hair. He might be extra-large for a boy that’s just thirteen, and he does wear size-sixteen husky pants, but he’s nothing like King Kong. In Denton, kids admired Big Dare Kelly for his fairness and his size. He was big enough to be a bully, but he wasn’t. “And Misery?” Dare said. “I ain’t staying here for school come September.”

  “Me either,” I agreed. Dare and I might bicker, but the Kellys keep the same side in a fight. “All for one,” Dad always says, and so we are.

  And all for one, Dare and I are scheming to get even with those boys. We’re not telling Gram or Billy, because Dare and I agree we’d rather handle this ourselves. Billy just wants peace, and Gram won’t want us scrapping in her town. We might write Dad in North Dakota once we’ve cleaned their clocks. It’ll make Dad proud to know we set two bullies straight. He sure won’t want them egging an old man.

  I’ve got a welt around my neck, and I’m limping just a little, but even bruised and aching I’m proud I stood my ground. One girl against two boys and they didn’t win! Skip will like this story. You might not like it much, but I thought you’d want to know those eggs will be revenged.

  Please don’t breathe a word of this to Gram. You tell Gram two boys tackled me, and I’ll lose my route to Dare. Gram has old-fashioned notions about girls.

  To Be Continued,

  Reenie Kelly

  Tuesday, June 25, 1968

  Dear Miss Kelly,

  One girl against two boys? Kicking, spitting, punching? All of this over paper routes and eggs? Or Billy pumping gas? Surely, the older Cutler sons aren’t entitled to that job.

  Those two boys were utterly uncivilized. I would call the Cutler father, but I doubt he’d intervene. The Cutlers have long terrorized this town. Young Steven Cutler’s father was a bully, and the apple didn’t fall far.

  Are you familiar with that adage? I believe it would be apt for you as well. Your father was quick to join a fight, and I’m afraid you might be, too. Didn’t you say you shoved that Rat boy to the ground? Yes, yes, after the tire stunt, but still. What if you had turned the other cheek? Walked home to Blanche Kelly’s with your temper still in check?

  Forgive that second adage, but I’m at a loss for words. Troubled and dumbfounded. Fistfighting on the street?

  Please don’t seek revenge. There is nothing you or Dare can do to change what has been done. I don’t care about the eggs. You can walk away from insults, even welts and bruises.

  Might you practice peace? You’re not too young for that. Perhaps you should ask Billy if he would advise revenge? One for all, as you would say.r />
  Sincerely,

  H. W. Marsworth

  Tuesday, June 25, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  Good to hear from you AGAIN!!!!

  I’m glad to practice peace, but when it comes to this, I can’t. Not until we’ve taught those two boys they can’t push us around. If they don’t learn that lesson they’ll be on us all the time. In Denton, kids didn’t mess with Dare because they knew that he was tough. (We’re both apples in your “adage.” Thank you for that word.)

  No offense, but when you LET bullies get the upper hand, they never quit.

  Without Dare and me as allies, they’ll egg your house again.

  You’re right, Billy Kelly’s lived his whole life on the sweet side of the street. That’s a good calm place for Billy, but it’s not for Dare and me. (Or Dad!)

  Don’t worry, Mr. Marsworth, we won’t lose.

  Soon to Be Triumphant,

  Reenie Kelly

  P.S. We’ll try to teach that lesson peacefully. How’s that for a deal?

  P.P.S. If your paper’s late one morning, please don’t complain to the Tribune. It won’t happen twice, you have my word.

  Wednesday, June 26, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  Here’s a plate of sugar cookies so you’ll know that I’m still kind, and if your paper’s late tomorrow you won’t be steaming mad.

  I hope you like blue frosting. I hope you eat all six for lunch.

  Dare and Float took my first hot dozen to the woods and ate them all. Float likes his unfrosted. Dare’s too dumb to care.

  I’m going to bring a bag down to the Conoco for Billy and his boss.

  If two bullies try to steal them, maybe I’ll turn the other cheek. ☺

  Peacefully and Sincerely,

  Reenie Kelly

  Wednesday, June 26, 1968

  Dear Miss Kelly,

  I do hope you are sincere.

  Between revenge and baking, baking would be best.

  Your blue cookies are most welcome at my house.

  Sincerely,

  H. W. Marsworth

  Thursday, June 27, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  I know you warned against revenge, but this revenge was peaceful. As peaceful as it could be, so I hope that you’ll be proud.

  It took us a few days to hunt down Rat and Cutler near their paper drop on Main, but once we knew their schedule we hatched the perfect plan.

  Five o’clock this morning we picked up our stack of papers, then we walked to Rash’s Hardware to hide beside it in the dark. When the two of them hit Main Street, Dare ran out of the shadows and grabbed hold of Cutler’s bike.

  “You got a problem with my sister?” Dare growled in Cutler’s face. Rat came to a skid, but he stayed back.

  “You mean that ugly tomboy?” Cutler said like he was tough.

  “Look who’s talking, Scarface.” Dare towered over Cutler, but Cutler didn’t seem scared.

  “She took his route,” Rat said. “He was waiting for a second one once Glen Taylor quit.”

  “The Tribune hired us,” I said. “Like Mr. Casey hired Billy. The Kellys are just better than you all.”

  “Misery and King Kong?” Cutler snorted. “And your chicken college brother?”

  “Shut your trap.” Dare squeezed Cutler in a headlock while I pulled out the can of Aero Shave to foam Cutler in the face. Cutler squirmed and cursed and spit, but we didn’t stop.

  “Cut it out,” Rat called, but he didn’t get in the middle. He just sat there on his Sting-Ray, scared of Aero Shave and us.

  “You want to punch him, Reen?” Dare was foamy from the squirming, but he didn’t seem to mind.

  “Sure,” I said, but instead of punching Cutler, I turned to foam Rat in the face. His whole scrawny face was white with foam.

  “It’s in my eyes,” he screamed.

  “Good,” I said. “Maybe you’ll go blind.”

  Dare pulled Cutler from the bike, then he pinned him to the wall of Rash’s Hardware, and he told him if he hassled me again, he’d end up dead.

  Then we picked up our two paper sacks and strolled off in the dark.

  “You better watch your back,” Cutler called behind us. Rat joined in with a weak “yeah,” but neither of us turned.

  “You, too,” I yelled. “Don’t cross the Kellys twice. And don’t you mess with Mr. Marsworth.”

  Dare smacked me on the head like I was stupid. “You don’t need to mention him. For once, just shut your mouth.”

  Doesn’t that sound peaceful, Mr. Marsworth? Not a single fist? I could’ve had a punch, but I didn’t take it. Dare didn’t take one either.

  I’m hoping all this peaceful makes you proud, because it sure wouldn’t make Dad proud. Dad would say that one good punch will always prove a point.

  Triumphant,

  Reenie Kelly

  P.S. I’m sorry your Tribune wasn’t in the box by 6:15, but it wasn’t much past 7:00, and I won’t be late again. Thank you for not calling the Tribune.

  And your mother, young Miss Kelly?

  What would your dear mother say to this?

  Friday, June 28, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  It was fun to find that little slip of paper in your box, even if I didn’t much like the note. I thought that you’d be prouder of the Kellys’ peaceful scheme. MY peaceful scheme. It took two days of begging, plus three dozen cookies, plus my sea-green cat’s-eye marble I won from Mack McCoy, just to bribe Dare into using shaving foam instead of fists.

  It won’t happen twice, so this one time was worth some praise.

  And you know what? If Mom were here, it might just make her proud.

  Mom liked “ingenuity,” and I was best at that. Billy was a pitcher all the way from Little League through high school, and Dare was Denton’s All-Star pitcher three years in a row, but I couldn’t be either one. (Football, baseball, basketball, PAPER ROUTES, Boy Scouts, etc. Don’t even get me started on all that boys can do!) When I used to gripe to Mom, she said I was blessed with brains, not the nearly straight-A brain of Billy, but a brain that liked to think “outside the box.” Ingenuity. Mom said my brain would take me farther than Dare or Billy ever dreamed.

  So in answer to your question: Mom might just say, “Good job on the Aero Shave! I’m glad you skipped a punch.”

  Or . . . she might say that whole “turn the other cheek” thing, because it’s true that was an adage that Mom liked.

  Which leads me to a question: Just how well did you know Mom??? If she thought that you were special, and left a letter in your box, it makes me think the two of you were friends. I know Mom wasn’t from here, but she came here every summer to a cottage on the lake. Did you meet Mom at that cottage? Did you know Mom when she was my age? Did she have ingenuity? I bet you that she did.

  I asked Gram how you knew Mom and she said MYOB. Gram gets tired of my questions, so she tells me that a lot.

  Waiting for Your Answer,

  Reenie Kelly

  P.S. Are you melting in this heat? I’m truly melting. Dare won’t go with me to the beach because he hates everyone who lives here, especially the boys, and the beach is full of kids. (I guess another gang of town boys hassled Dare this morning. He didn’t say much about it, but he’s mad.) I tried to talk him into hose tag, but he doesn’t want to play. I’m going out now with a bucket to toss water on his head!

  P.P.S. I guess all of us are shut-ins, Mr. Marsworth.

  Saturday, June 29, 1968

  Dear Miss Kelly,

  Are there not summer programs in Lake Liberty to join? Have you visited our library? Summer reading can be fun. The new woman on the corner has a daughter near your age; I’ve seen that child in her front yard doing cartwheels on the grass. Surely she could use a playmate, too.

  If none of those quite suit you, the
re’s my cottage on Gray’s Bay. The house has long been locked, but the two of you may swim on my shoreline undisturbed. Your father loved to fish there as a boy. Perhaps a place to play in safety would coax Dare from the woods.

  Of course you’ll need permission, so please ask Blanche Kelly first. It’s two miles or more from Main Street, on Tuxedo, the first left past Becker’s Bait Shop. You’ll see "Marsworth" on the marker. My cottage and the shore are through those woods.

  No doubt a healthy pastime would be best for all concerned. Fewer fights and fewer letters will serve both you children well.

  There are better things to do with this brief summer.

  Sincerely,

  H. W. Marsworth

  Sunday, June 30, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  A private cottage at Gray’s Bay??? I can’t believe it!!!! Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!!! It’s the first I’ve seen Dare happy since we moved to this dumb town.

  Dare already found a cane pole out in Gram’s garage, with line and hooks left from the old days, and a rusted Folger’s Coffee tin he’s filled with dirt and worms.

  When it comes to Dare and fishing, Dare does best with Dad. Billy can’t bear to see a live thing captured, and I don’t much like it either, so Sunday afternoons in Denton we stayed home while those two fished.

  It’s how the Reenie Billy Sunday Sundaes were invented. Billy scooped while I concocted toppings—melted peanut butter, marshmallows, grape jelly, crushed Oreos, raisins, Frosted Flakes, or Cap’n Crunch. Some of them were dreadful, but Billy always ate them, and we never once felt bad that Dare got time alone with Dad. (Well, maybe just a smidge.)