by Donis Casey
I’m ashamed to think about the stab of jealously that went through me when Ruth said she was going to cook for him. If he’d have been there I’d have punched him right in the eye and thought of a reason later. It must have showed on my face because Ruth’s eyes got big and she laughed before she added, “Miz Beckie wondered to me if you might like to join us?”
I could have kicked myself around the building. “Well, I’d be pleased, if you’d like me to.” I tried not to sound too eager.
She began to play “If I Were the Only Boy in the World.” “I’d be pleased to have you,” she said, “if you think you can behave yourself.”
The Bedlam Boys
On her way back to Beckie’s house just north of town and nearly to the brick works, Ruth was thinking about the menu for tonight’s supper. She had been aware of the four men on horseback coming south on the road for some minutes, but as the daughter and granddaughter of horse-breeders, she had been paying more attention to the fine, healthy horseflesh than she was to the men on their backs—until they grew close enough for her to recognize them.
It was some of the Beldon boys. Jubal was in the lead, as usual, mounted on his big roan gelding with the cream-colored mane and the white blaze on its face. He gave her a wicked grin when he saw her expression change. She stopped in her tracks and looked around for an escape. The big, two-story, turreted and multi-windowed MacKenzie house was only yards away. So near and yet so far.
Shoot.
She was going to have to brazen it out.
Ruth didn’t have much good to say about any of the fellows in that gang. They were called the Beldon boys because six of them were brothers, but there was also that Gibson lad from down by Council Hill; Dave Walker, son of old Mr. Walker that farmed east of town; Marshall Dix; and one of the Leonard boys. They liked to travel in a pack, of which Jubal Beldon was the top dog. All the boys in the Beldon gang were low characters—impulsive, cruel, spoiling for a fight. And stupid, in her opinion, all but Jubal. He was sly, like a weasel, or maybe more like a rat, with his quivery pointed snout sniffing the air for something rotten he could get into. Jubal Beldon reminded Ruth of one of her mother’s clothespins, with legs entirely too long for his body. He was all out of proportion in a lot of ways. Nothing seemed to go together. One of his eyes was the color of thunderclouds and the other was milky white. He had a bitter little pursed mouth with a snaggle of teeth. His forehead bulged out, but he had a manly square jaw. All in all, Jubal was a startling sight, and a startling kind of fellow, to boot.
The others followed him around with their ears pricked up, and Jubal was just looking for some reason to say “sic ’em”. Her father’s cousin Scott Tucker, the town sheriff, called them the Bedlam Boys, always looking to cause trouble. People were scared of them, and that was all right by them.
Determined not to give them the satisfaction of seeing her anxiety, Ruth lowered her head and quickened her pace, hoping against hope the oncoming rowdies were in a hurry to get somewhere that had nothing to do with her.
She wasn’t surprised that they weren’t.
One of the brothers—Hosea, the second-oldest, she thought—turned his horse and fell in beside her as she walked. Two of the others followed suit, but Ruth was aware that the leader, Jubal, fell back to follow from a distance. “Where you off to, Ruth?” Hosea said.
Ruth didn’t answer.
“Why, you’re not very friendly today, are you?”
“This gal is never very friendly,” Dave Walker observed.
“Well, that’s because she’s a Tucker,” Hosea said. “They’re too good for the likes of us, boys.”
Ruth plunged on through the laughter and unsavory comments, trying to lengthen her stride but finding herself squeezed in.
“How ’bout it, Ruth? You think you’re too good for us?” Hosea dismounted and moved up beside her. “How about a little kiss to let me know there ain’t no hard feelings?”
The men snorted with laughter, and one of the others dismounted as well.
Ruth began to feel alarmed, but she kept her eyes on the wide, dusty road. She was somewhat comforted by the thought that if they tried to offer her bodily insult, they’d all most likely disappear mysteriously one day. If her father and brothers had anything to say about it, anyway.
Hosea stepped in front of her, forcing her to a halt. No one had put his hands on her yet, but one or another of them kept bumping her shoulder, her hip, her leg. She finally looked up, straight into his eyes.
“Let me pass.”
Hoots and catcalls. It was as though the very fact of acknowledging their existence had emboldened them. They were touching her now, her hair, arms, shoulders. What was going on? She had always been the little tomboy running with her brothers and no fellow had ever given her a second look. Something had happened recently. She had noticed people eyeing her differently, behaving differently toward her. But not like this. Nobody had ever bothered her like this before and she had no idea what to do.
Beckie had come out onto her front porch to see what the hoo-hah was all about. Ruth’s eyes clamped on the woman as though she were a lifeboat in a storm. She was about to call out, but Beckie figured out the problem pretty quickly and ducked back inside. Not five seconds later she reappeared with a broom in hand and strode down the porch steps. “You boys leave that child be!” she called, brandishing the broom like a club.
Miz Beckie may have been an old woman, Ruth admitted to herself, but she knew how to handle a bunch of unruly yahoos and she wasn’t afraid to do it, either.
The Bedlam Boys turned as a group to see who was intent on spoiling their fun. The sight of a small elderly lady bearing down on them with a broom didn’t seem to daunt them.
Not that Beckie was deterred by their laughter. She took a swing and caught young Dave Walker on his right shoulder. He staggered and his hat went flying. The mood turned ugly in an instant. Ruth forgot her fear and balled up a fist. She’d go down fighting to defend her protector.
Jubal prodded his horse forward a few steps and spoke for the first time. “Forget it, boys.” He extended his arms to hold off the pending anarchy. The Walker boy and the third Beldon deflated quickly, but Hosea shot his brother a look that would freeze fire. He ignored the order.
“I ain’t in the mood to forget it. I said I’d have a kiss and a kiss I’ll have.” He took a step toward Ruth.
“You’d best forget it, you hooligan.” Beckie inserted herself between them. “I’ll sic the sheriff on you. Not to mention my grandson is in town, and he won’t tolerate disrespect to a lady.”
“Is that so?” Hosea’s tone was sarcastic. “Well, if we happen to come across any ladies, we’ll keep that in mind. Come on, you lot.”
The boys remounted grudgingly as Ruth took Beckie’s arm and the two of them headed for the house as quickly as was seemly. Marva was standing on the porch, now, watching with an expression of alarm. Ruth wondered why Jubal, the head troublemaker, had backed off when his henchmen became unruly. It wasn’t like he disapproved of their actions. More like he wanted to get a good view of the proceedings. So why had he stepped in as soon as Beckie showed up and it looked like things might get ugly? Against her better judgment Ruth cast a look back over her shoulder as she mounted the steps to the house. The gang had spurred their mounts and were galloping headlong toward town. All but Jubal. He was still sitting on his horse in the middle of the road, watching them. His expression was calculating, and maybe a little disappointed.
Beckie MacKenzie
“I reckon you saved my bacon, Miz Beckie.” Ruth was sitting on the very edge of her chair in the parlor, across from Beckie, who seemed remarkably unaffected by the incident. Marva scuttled around the room, fluffing pillows behind Ruth’s back and pouring tea to soothe their nerves.
“Oh, I doubt if you were in any real danger, Ruth dear. Boys will be boys. But I won’t hav
e any truck with such unseemly comportment.”
Marva refrained from comment, but she did emit a derisive snort.
“I don’t know, ma’am,” Ruth said to Beckie. “That bunch is trouble for sure. Cousin Scott says he’s got to keep an eye on them all the time. They’re always up to mischief. He’s always got one or another of them in the jail overnight for vandalism or fighting. He says it’s just a matter of time till one or two end up in prison. My money’s on that Hosea.”
Marva spoke up. “Well, you keep shet of that Jubal, Miz Ruth, honey. If there was ever anybody looking to do harm it’s Jubal Beldon, always telling nasty stories about folks whether they was true or not.”
Ruth was surprised at the rancor in Marva’s voice. “What do you mean, Marva?”
The look Marva gave her suggested that she thought she had said too much and didn’t intend to be drawn into any more open criticism of a white man.
Beckie waved her hand. “Oh, Marva, quit fluttering around and sit down. If you’ve heard something about Jubal that dear Ruth should know, you’d best tell us.”
Marva relented and perched herself on an ottoman. Never had anything to do with the man, myself,” she said. “But I expect he said something to some kin of mine that made her quit working for a white family she liked. Don’t matter if it’s her fault or not. A colored girl can’t be too careful about that kind of thing.”
“When was this?” Ruth asked.
“Oh, a couple of years ago, at least. I ain’t thought about it since.” And that was all she was going to say about that.
Beckie shook her head. “Now, Ruth dear, a young lady must take great thought of her reputation. Next time a lad gives you any lip, you just lift your head high and plow right on by as if he wasn’t there.”
“Why do you think they did me like that, Miz Beckie? I wasn’t doing anything to bother them.”
Beckie gave her a knowing look. “Dear heart, boys will do anything to get the attention of a pretty young woman, even if they’re too jugheaded to know the right way to go about it.”
Ruth was startled at this pronouncement. What kind of idiot scared a girl to make her like him? It was pitiful, in a way. But it was hard to maintain a Christian attitude toward Jubal and his gang when they took such pleasure in the fear of others. And when did she become a pretty young woman?
Jubal Beldon
After the confrontation with Beckie MacKenzie, the Walker boy peeled off toward home. The Beldons continued on together, riding south until they reached the road that led to Morris and turned west, heading for their own farm. Nobody said a word as they rode to the corral and unsaddled their mounts.
Jubal threw his saddle over the top rail of the fence. “Zadok,” he said to the younger brother, “that feeder is low. Bring up another bale of hay.”
Zadok headed for the barn without comment. Hosea turned to follow him, but Jubal said, “Not you.”
Hosea halted in his tracks, his head lowered and fists clinched, until Zadok was out of earshot. He turned around to face Jubal.
“Don’t you never sass me again.” Jubal’s tone was menacing. “When I say stop your mischief, you stop it.”
Hosea was only a year younger than Jubal and much better looking, with his even features and clear brown eyes. And in his own opinion, infinitely smarter. He was also smaller in stature, though that had never daunted him. Jubal had ridden roughshod over him all his life and their father had always taken Jubal’s side. In fact, their daddy had seemed to enjoy seeing Jubal beat the wadding out of his younger brothers. Not that Hosea hadn’t given as good as he got. When they were boys, Jubal never failed to get the best of him, but once they grew up, their fights were usually fifty-fifty propositions. After the old man died, Hosea had briefly held out hope that all the brothers would be on a more even footing, but it hadn’t worked out that way. The old man had left everything he owned to Jubal and the younger brothers were too cowed to say anything about it.
Hosea’s nostrils flared with hatred. “Or what?”
His hostility seemed to amuse Jubal. “Or I’ll knock your teeth so far down your throat that you’ll be chewing with your belly button.”
“You want to try it?”
A childish shriek caused them both to start. “Mama, Jubal and Hosea are fixing to fight again!”
They turned to see their five-year-old sister Lovelle hanging over the corral railing, her rag doll dangling in one hand. Jubal casually slapped her off the fence. “Git, you little brat!” She sped off toward the house, crying for her mother.
Hosea was distracted just long enough. Before he knew what had happened, he was on his back in the dirt, staring at the sky and seeing stars in the middle of the day. He didn’t have time to register the searing pain in his jaw. He didn’t have time to register anything; not to think or plan or consider how to defend himself. Jubal kicked him in the side and he rolled into a fetal position, gasping for breath.
There was a pause, long enough for Hosea to realize that Jubal could kick him to death and there wouldn’t be anything he could do to prevent it.
But Jubal didn’t kick him to death. He didn’t say anything, only turned around and walked away without a backward glance.
Hosea lay in the dirt for a little while, trying to catch his breath, as tears of pain and humiliation dribbled down his cheek. Eventually one of the horses wandered over and nosed him, curious. Hosea lifted himself to his hands and knees, then slowly got to his feet and stood with his arm over the horse’s neck for support. He could see his mother standing by the back porch, comforting his bawling sister. Jubal was nowhere to be seen.
The wild, formless, burning resentment that Hosea had lived with all his life was no different after the beating than it was before. But he had learned a lesson. Don’t give your enemies any warning before you strike.
Trenton Calder
I would no more have gone to eat dinner with Wallace
MacKenzie than with Kaiser Wilhelm himself if Ruth hadn’t invited me. Of course, if Ruth had invited me, I’d have had supper with the Kaiser, the whole German Army, and the Turks, too, as long as she was there.
I don’t believe I had ever set foot in Miz Beckie MacKenzie’s house before that evening. Her and me hardly ran in the same social circles. The most important things in Miz Beckie’s life were her family, her music, and having Scotch blood. I never knew anybody so proud of the folks she came from.
Miz Beckie herself was born in South Carolina before the War Between the States, if I remember right, and she sounded like it. Except that she was always using these strange Scotch words. I think she had an idea that it made her sound interesting, but as far as I was concerned it just made her hard to understand.
That evening she was as gracious to me as if I’d been a regular gentleman. For Ruth’s sake, I expect. Wallace shook my hand and pounded me on the back like I was a long lost friend, but he spent the rest of the night making sport at my expense. His fancy education hadn’t changed him any. He was still as annoying as he had been when he was a brat. His friend Randal was another story, though. A fine fellow, it seemed to me, quiet and good-natured with a sharp wit. Made me wonder how him and Wallace got to be friends.
Ruth had made up quite a spread for the five of us—the fattest, juiciest pork chops I ever saw, with pan dressing, little creamed onions with tiny new potatoes, and cucumbers in vinegar. After we had all eaten ourselves silly, Miz MacKenzie said we should adjourn to the sitting room before dessert.
We mostly talked about the war in Europe and whether America was going to get in it, a topic which I thought wasn’t all that good for digestion. But Wallace was on a tear about it, and whatever Wallace wanted to talk about was what we talked about. Ruth never liked to hear about the fighting but Wallace’s grandma seemed as excited about him going off on a great adventure as he did. I’ve known folks like that, who don’t have much
of a handle on how things really are. Randal had a comment or two but Ruth didn’t have much to say. When she stood up to bring in the dessert, I went to help her.
We passed through the dining room on our way to the kitchen, gathered up some of the plates off the table and took them into the kitchen. She wouldn’t let me help her do the dishes. I tried to tell her that I sure had plenty of practice since my mother didn’t believe that a boy ought to sit on his backside when a meal was cleared up any more than a girl. Ruth just scraped and stacked the plates and cups nice on the cabinet, and I sat at the table and watched while she sliced pieces of cake. She put them on fancy little dishes to carry back into the sitting room, along with a silver pot of coffee and a bowl of sweetened heavy cream.
Miz MacKenzie gave her a sly look when we came back in, Ruth carrying the big silver tray and me trailing along behind her with my hands dangling by my sides like a blockhead. Ruth put the tray on the tea table and passed around cake and coffee before she sat down next to Miz MacKenzie on the blue velvet settee. I perched my long self on the only open seat available, an ottoman next to the fireplace, and balanced my plate on my knee.
I don’t know what her and Wallace and his friend had been talking about while we were gone but I reckon the war talk was done, because as soon as we were settled Miz MacKenzie commenced to questioning me about my family and my plans for the future. I didn’t mind. I figured I could use the practice. If things went between me and Ruth like I hoped, before long I’d be answering for myself plenty to her daddy and mama.
When she went to ask me if I planned to join the Army, though, I didn’t rightly have a good answer. Lots of people I admired were dead set against us getting involved in any war, but I knew that if we got into it I’d probably have to join up sooner or later. And in fact, after the U-boat attacks on American ships had started the year before, I had told Scott that I was eager for the adventure. But in spite of all my big talk I wasn’t as keen to fight any more. The idea of leaving Ruth just when I had found her didn’t much appeal to me.
