Until Tomorrow, Mr. Marsworth

by Sheila O'Connor

  When I get home from St. Patrick’s, I’ll walk this too-long letter to your house.

  City-Slicker Schemer,

  Reenie Kelly

  Monday, July 29, 1968

  Dear Miss Kelly,

  May I make a small confession?

  Yesterday, Clyde and I eagerly awaited your news of Minneapolis, and while we didn’t expect this morning’s missive, we welcomed every word. (I hope you don’t mind, there are days Clyde likes to hear how young Miss Kelly fares.)

  I am pleased to learn that Billy might object. Not so many years ago, I counseled boys like Billy, and Keith is right, he has a fight ahead. Although the extensive list of questions may overwhelm, I trust Billy has the answers in his heart. One can’t long stay a secret to the self.

  And Brandenbrook, Miss Kelly? Have you broached that subject yet with Billy? Time is of the essence if he wishes to apply. Remember, the draft would be deferred just as Keith counseled, and your mother’s dream for college would come true. Do not count the miles, but instead the days and years we could keep Billy safe from harm.

  Sincerely,

  H. W. Marsworth

  P.S. I see Disney’s Blackbeard’s Ghost is playing at the Lakeview. Perhaps a Monday matinee would be fun for you and Dare? A small break from the troubles of this world. Please don’t save this money for your Rescue Billy Fund. I will gladly give to that as well.

  Monday, July 29, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth!!!!

  May I make a small confession? There isn’t anybody nicer in Lake Liberty than YOU! Not a single soul!!! I wish you’d come with us to Blackbeard’s Ghost!!!!

  I told Dare it was a tip. I hope that you don’t mind. Dare wishes he’d picked Hillcrest when we split up our streets. No one on Dare’s route would tip five bucks.

  If you get the urge to join us, we’ll be there at 1:00. We’re buying buttered popcorn, a king-sized Coke, and licorice. If there’s any money left, I’m buying candy for Guess Who. Do you like Junior Mints? Mom always loved a box of Junior Mints. Listen for your bell, because you won’t want a melted chocolate mess inside your box.

  Your Good Friend,

  Reenie Kelly

  P.S. Don’t you love the smell of buttered movie popcorn???? Maybe I should leave some buttered popcorn in your box.

  Monday, July 29, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  I didn’t get to buy you candy, or have fun at Blackbeard’s Ghost the way you wanted, because Rat and Cutler ruined it by attacking us with Milk Duds once the theater went dark. We tried to just ignore it, and twice we changed our seats, but when they hit Dare’s head with a hard one, he tore up to the balcony, and dumped our king-sized cup of Coke over them both. I did the same with our warm popcorn, even though it went to waste. ☹

  Some mother ran to get the usher, and the owner made us leave.

  US!!!!

  We were the victims, Mr. Marsworth, but no one seemed to care. We couldn’t even buy a second buttered popcorn for the road. Never mind your Junior Mints. The owner shoved us out the front door, and said we couldn’t come back.

  I know you stand for peace, but we couldn’t put up with Milk Duds bouncing like hard rocks against our heads, even if it meant we lost our chance at Blackbeard’s Ghost.

  Dare says next time he’ll knock out Cutler’s teeth, and if we’re not gone by September, Dad’s going to have two school dropouts on his hands. I don’t want to leave you in Lake Liberty, but I WON’T go to school with these kids.

  Still Craving Buttered Popcorn,

  Reenie Kelly

  Monday, July 29, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  In a million trillion years, you’ll never ever guess who showed up at Gram’s house just after supper! That bully, Sheriff Cutler, with his rotten, scar-faced dressed-in-camo kid, and that pale yeah-man Rat. Cross my heart and hope to die—all three of them stood right in Gram’s hot kitchen, calling Dare and me delinquents, and telling lies to Gram.

  Sheriff Cutler said we’re lucky he didn’t arrest us for assault.

  Assault?

  “Heck no. That was self-defense,” Dare argued right away, but Gram didn’t want to hear it. As far as Gram’s concerned, Dare had no business dumping Coke on someone’s head.

  “Wesley Morgan called me from the Lakeview.” Sheriff Cutler hooked his thumbs over his belt like he was tough. “But this wouldn’t be the first complaint I’ve had about these kids.” The sheriff has the same flat block face as his mean kid, the same shaved head, those same cold steel eyes, and the minute he walked into Gram’s kitchen, Float hid under Gram’s table like he was scared. “I hear these two are stealing papers,” he told Gram. “And I know they’ve taken Steven’s. He’s had angry customers calling with complaints. A man wants to wake up to his morning paper, that’s his right. We don’t need two Missouri hoodlums wreaking havoc in this town.”

  “Hoodlums?” Gram said, shocked. “Dare and Reen are hardly hoodlums.”

  “Those two are the hoodlums.” I nodded toward his scabby kid and white-haired Rat. “Those two have swiped MY papers. They’ve tackled me. Shoved worms down my shirt. Fought me two-to-one for no good reason. Why don’t you ask about the chicken on Mr. Marsworth’s fence? The eggs.” (I didn’t tell about the BBs because Gram would end my route. Ooops! CROSS THAT OUT: I just remembered you don’t know about the BBs!)

  “Well, aren’t you full of spit and vinegar.” The sheriff sneered at me while his rotten kid and Rat just stood there smug.

  “Did you two rough up a girl?” Billy said to them, disgusted.

  “I got them straightened out,” Dare bragged to Billy. “Don’t you worry about that.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me, Reen?” Gram said, like not telling was my fault.

  “We weren’t going to snitch like these two punks,” Dare said. “Me and Reen fight our own battles.”

  “Could someone please enlighten me?” Gram said, flustered. “Why am I the last to know?”

  “They’ve been dogging us since we moved to this dumb town,” Dare said to the sheriff. “You want to send someone to juvie, start with them. They’re out for me and Reen, and that’s the truth.”

  “Not just us,” I said. “They’ve done their share to Mr. Marsworth.”

  “Old Man Marsworth?” Sheriff Cutler turned his sharp gaze from Dare to me, and I was sorry that I’d opened my big mouth. “What’s he to you, girl?”

  “He’s on my paper route,” I said. “I caught Rat and Steven throwing eggs at Mr. Marsworth’s house.”

  “That’s crap,” Steven interrupted, but Sheriff Cutler slammed him with a backhand right into Gram’s wall. (I hate to say this, Mr. Marsworth, but for one teeny-weeny second I hoped he wasn’t hurt. I’ve never seen a father hit his kid that hard or fast. Dad’s never even spanked us and he’s lost his temper lots.)

  “You watch your mouth,” he said. Steven slouched against Gram’s wall, a little out of reach, and Rat tried to steal a couple sneaky steps out of Gram’s kitchen.

  “Oh for heaven’s sake,” Gram scolded, like she was fed up with us all, including Sheriff Cutler for hitting his own son. (Gram’s not a spanker either.) “This is kid stuff, Stu. Let them work it out. I raised three boys as a widow, and I didn’t butt into their fights. If memory serves, you and Frank had your share of scraps.”

  “Most Frank started, like these two,” the sheriff said. “And now we’ve got another Kelly tied up with Old Man Marsworth.”

  “Tied up with Old Man Marsworth?” I asked Gram, but she didn’t answer. (Was he talking about Mom?)

  “He’s on Reen’s paper route,” Gram said. “She’s not tied up with anyone.”

  “I’ll talk to Dare and Reen.” Billy opened Gram’s door wide, but no one moved.

  “You’ll talk?” Sheriff Cutler glared at Billy. “I hear you’re hiding from the draft board. You
’re living in Lake Liberty, trying to dodge the draft.”

  “No sir,” Billy said. Flies were swarming through the door, but Billy held it open. “I’m working full-time down at Casey’s, living with my gram.”

  “I know where you work,” he said. “A boy your age ought to enlist.” He dropped his right hand to his holster, and pinned Billy in a stare so mean I saw how brave Billy would have to be to stand against the draft in front of a man like Sheriff Cutler. Braver than I was, I’ll tell you that. I just wanted Sheriff Cutler to get out of Gram’s house. “My two oldest boys are serving,” he told Billy. “Buster will follow his two brothers when he’s done with senior year. And yet, you’re at Casey’s wiping windshields when you could be in Vietnam. You think that’s fair to my two sons? You too good to do your duty?”

  “No,” Billy said, and for once I didn’t jump in to argue about Billy and that war. (I hope you’re not disappointed, Mr. Marsworth. I just couldn’t argue with a man as mean as Sheriff Cutler.)

  Sheriff Cutler rapped his fist on Billy’s chest like he was knocking at a door. “You get that letter from the draft board, you better plan to go.” He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “We don’t need another Howard Marsworth in this town. I know good men on that draft board. They’ll see to it you’re called.”

  Gram pointed toward the door. “You’ve had your say now, Stu. I’ll take care of my family, you take care of yours.”

  “I could’ve charged you with assault,” he said again to Dare. “You ever touch my kid again—” He grabbed hold of Dare’s old T-shirt, but then he let it go. “Get out to the squad car,” he ordered Rat and Cutler, and they cowered out of Gram’s door like two scared dogs. “You’re a great big ape like Frank,” he said to Dare, but then he turned again to Billy, pulled a Camel from his pocket, and lit it in Gram’s kitchen like he was staying put all night. “But you . . .” He waved his cigarette at Billy. “You don’t look much like a Kelly.”

  “Good-bye, Stu,” Gram said, pointing toward her door.

  “You ought to let Frank know they’re on the wrong side of the law,” he said to Gram. “All three of them as far as I can tell. I’m sure he’d hate to see his kids in jail.”

  In jail, Mr. Marsworth?

  And will he really tell the draft board to send Billy off to war?

  Gram’s calling up the stairs so I guess I’ve got to go. Dare and I are probably grounded, but at least I’ll get to leave to do my route.

  Not Guilty,

  Reenie Kelly

  P.S. Tied up with Old Man Marsworth??????

  Wednesday, July 31, 1968

  Dear Miss Kelly,

  How I wish I had a time machine to take back Blackbeard’s Ghost. I never could have guessed the harm a matinee might bring. Please steer clear of Sheriff Cutler. I would advise the same of Rat and Steven.

  I know well the fear you felt with a man like Sheriff Cutler, and I understand the desire to stay silent when you’re scared, but if Billy stands against this draft, moral courage will be called for on all fronts. There will be other men like Sheriff Cutler, other times you are afraid to say what you believe.

  And yet, perhaps your fighting spirit will finally serve you well.

  Better to take a stand for peace, than to fight a couple bullies with warm popcorn.

  In the matter of the draft board: time is of the essence. August 1 arrives tomorrow; in September college classes will begin. Is there a chance he’s written to Brandenbrook? Any chance at all?

  Sincerely,

  H. W. Marsworth

  July 31, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  I wanted you to see this. I guess I don’t know why. It’s too sad for me to read alone.

  Jackie Moon from Mississippi was killed in Vietnam.

  You can keep Skip’s letter. I don’t want it in Gram’s house.

  Hey there, Reenie Kelly,

  We’re coming up on August, so I thought I better write. Thanks for sending all those letters, and cutting out those comics, but I thought I ought to tell you I don’t laugh at Beetle Bailey anymore. The Army isn’t funny, you can take my word on that. Billy won’t be laughing in the Army, so I hope you’ve found a way to keep him home.

  I’ve had a few good days, and by good I mean I’m living. A week or so ago we took some heavy fire, and lots of guys were hit, but the worst for me was losing Jackie Moon. You know he was my best pal since I landed in this place, and I won’t find another like him in this life. You remember that pretty soap dove he sent your class at Christmas? Or that tape he made of folk songs he’d learned as a kid? I’m glad you’ve got a little bit of Jackie to remember. I have the birthday turtle that he carved for me, but I’d give anything to hear that tape of Jackie singing now. He always had a song when I was scared. “Joke, or song, or verse, what’ll it be?” he always asked me.

  I still expect to hear that question, but instead I’m left with my bad nerves, and a space where Jackie Moon once was.

  Lieutenant Kohl sent the news to Mrs. Lamb so she can break it to his pen pal. I sure hope you never get a letter saying that I’m dead.

  I won’t tell you how it is here because this killing’s not for kids, I’ll just say it’s hard as hell to be a soldier in this war. And worse to wonder why you’re living, on a day your buddy’s dead.

  You keep Billy from the Army, little sister. I guess it’s good you got that old man Mr. Marsworth on your side. If Billy gets into that Quaker school, tell him he should go. Aren’t you close to Canada? Maybe he should run. To tell the truth, I’d take prison now. I don’t mind if he objects to serving, I sure don’t.

  If I make it out alive, I’ll come to see that cottage and we’ll all go for a swim. That’s the kind of dream I like to have here. You and Dare and Billy, and that pretty, private shore. Gram and her peach pie. Float racing to the lake and beating you and Dare. Keep sending me those stories, I like to get your news.

  Say hey to all the Kellys from your friend Skip in Vietnam. I hope folks know I’m fighting for their freedom, or for something, I’m not sure. I just want folks to know that I’m still here.

  Your Friend in the Army,

  Skip

  Wednesday, July 31, 1968

  Oh my dear Miss Kelly,

  I am truly, terribly sorry. Sorry for Jackie Moon, and everyone who’d hoped he would come home from Vietnam. And for you of course, and young Skip, whose heart is ravaged by this war.

  You’re right. You should not be alone with this hard letter.

  Please go out to the woods to sit with Dare. Or go down to the cottage, where the two of you are safe.

  I wish that I were stronger, you need a strong, young friend.

  In Sympathy,

  H. W. Marsworth

  Wednesday, July 31, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  I don’t need a strong, young friend, I really don’t. Dare is young and strong, but he won’t do me any good when I’m this sad.

  You’re the only friend I’d like to talk to, Mr. Marsworth. Can you see me in the oak tree in the lot across the street? I’m here waiting for a friend if you’ll just come.

  Why don’t I ever ever get to see you, Mr. Marsworth? Why does your assistant carry in my letters and walk yours to the box? Aren’t you well enough to walk outside yourself?

  Please, please say that you’re not sick.

  It would be too sad to have you sick.

  I can’t stand another sadness, I just can’t.

  Jackie Moon. Jackie Moon. Do you think there’s any chance Mom will meet him up in heaven, or are there just too many millions up in heaven for Mom to meet them all? Do you think God meets them all?

  I hate thinking about heaven.

  I’m going to the Conoco to see Billy Kelly living. I just want to see him pumping gas.

  Brokenhearted,

  Reenie Kelly

>   Friday, August 2, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  Did you send a girl named Moira to Gram’s house? That cartwheel girl from California you mentioned back in June. The one from 349 Hillcrest who was gone to San Francisco for July. Well, this morning she just showed up on Gram’s steps.

  “You looking for a friend?” she asked. “Someone told my mom you were new to town the same as me this summer.”

  I don’t need another friend, I truly don’t. The only friend I really want is you. I don’t think a barefoot girl in a yarn poncho can cheer me up from Skip’s sad letter, or the death of Jackie Moon, or help me find a quick way to keep Billy from this war.

  She’s an only child, Mr. Marsworth. An only child with a California accent, and crooked bottom teeth, and a frizzy mop of hair, and she knows nothing about brothers, and she likes to knit and sew and make strange ponchos. Her dad lives in California, and her mom works here as a lawyer, which means she’s on her own this August just like us. She offered us free snow cones because she has her own machine, but we didn’t have a lot to show off except for Float. All the cool toys we owned we sold in Denton.

  Dare liked her right away because she kissed Float’s filthy nose, and oohed over Dare’s tent, and drank a cup of wood-smoked Sanka even though it tastes like dirt. Float napped right in her lap, a thing he only does with Dare.

  All in all she seems okay, but I don’t need another friend.

  She’ll never be a better friend than you.

  I wouldn’t mind a summer snow cone, BUT I don’t want her at your cottage, and Dare already told her she could hang out down there with us.

  That cottage is for US and NO ONE ELSE.

  Dare can go without me. I think I’ll just stay home. I can tell already it’s Dare she likes best.