by Pete Beatty
ON THE FIRST DAY OF 1838 THE TWIN CITIES OF THE CUYAHOGA WILL BECOME ONE THE GREAT METROPOLIS OF THE NORTHWEST THE TRUE HEART OF THE REPUBLIC ONE GREATER CLEVELAND
A polite huzzah. No cusses of dissent. Dog were no longer with us to protest. All else who had backed NONE swallowed their contempt to spit another day at some other mortal affront.
Frawley gnawed the air for a while longer about limitless prospects and inevitable prosperity. But I did not mind him any once Big arrived to the festivity, hidying me with a slap on the back. He looked a far cry from this morning. His hair were brushed out and shining like brass, and his smile rode atop the reddest neckerchief I ever seen. He had taken some of his fortune to Handerson and Panderson for a proper set of readymade clothes, and the new getup rustled like straw as he moved. He were back in his power for the first time in a year. What a medicine is money.
But Big’s coming into fortune had not repaired his reputation. Soreness lingered over the bustings-up – undone feats – nuisancing – theft of dogs. As we laughed at each other’s dandyism and lifted a sugar-sling, I marked mean eyes cast Big’s way. Myself I did not feel the puppy bite over silver or Cloe or anything else. My inside goblins were behaved for the occasion. I wanted to congratulate Big on his betrothal, but Cloe had swore me to secrets about it, and I kept honest. I were out of that habit, but I had not lost it entirely. Strange that Big himself did not mention his own banns.
I did not see Cloe or any of the little Stileses, or Mrs Tab, or Mr Job – sick at our last meeting. Perhaps the whole homeplace had taken ill. Or perhaps they did not want anything to do with Tom Tod’s celebration.
* * *
Tom shone worse than Big’s hair – like he had won five fortunes. He wore a boiling white suit, and I swear his pox scars had done themselves up into handsome patterns and curlicues. For a moment I felt a gift of omens and I saw the future of Tom Tod. He would fatten up into a Mr Clark – a great white hog, chewing brandied dollars all day, atop a hill, alone except for his servants and silver.
For now he were only atop the wagon with Mayor Frawley, who were finally running out of words—
And now I have said my few thoughts I should like us to hear from our benefactor who stood us to this celebration To the sugar-slings and cakes and merriment Before we set to husking let us give Tom Tod our EARS
Groans gone up at Frawley’s comedy, then cheers for white Tom.
Hidy to you all Ohio Thank you to our eminent mayor for saying all the boring bits
Laughter and a badger frown.
I will not challenge him at prattling I will only say the rules of the husking The man who shucks the most in a half hour wins the stakes A forty-dollar horse and the honor of representing Ohio at the formal ceremony of union on the first day of 1838 at the center of Clark’s bridge
Robust cheers.
One last bit For each red ear a man finds, he wins a kiss from the maid of his choosing
Further hooting and a rush for the heap of corn. Big did not budge and I stayed with him. Normally a derby or contest of any type would fry Big’s blood. But coming into expectations seemed to have banked his appetites. He looked peaceful almost.
* * *
You have never laughed until you saw a husking bee. Men yanking and twisting like they had a thousand fleas – dashing to gather more ears – fighting each other over corn. See Alvo Farley with a spooked-horse eye and Eli Frewly’s bald head shining with sweat. YL Honey, his blasted arm still in bandages, ripping at ears with his handsome kreosoted teeth. Kerm Basket, older brother of Katie – and Richard Fish – Bill Gutkint – Lem Freeley – a dozen more. Tom Tod himself jumped into the bee, but he were only playing. He mostly watched and guffawed. When he did shuck an ear, it were somehow always a red one. He made a show of surprise before eyeing up maids like merchandise and finally taking his kiss.
Every husking bee I ever seen followed the same story. At first the gladiators keep to their own husking. But if you see a rival is badly outhusking you, clobber him to slow him some. And then when you and your rival see that a third man is pulling ahead, then you join to clobber that fellow. And then you are clobbered yourself. And so on until corn is forgotten in favor of a general rastle. This one gone the usual way – it was Eli going for Alvo that started it. Then the two of them grabbed up Richard Fish – and then Kerm – and Lem – and a fracas commenced. Before ten minutes had passed, only YL and Tom still husked. Tom was roostering around collecting his kisses mostly.
That were how singled-handed YL Honey outhusked twenty men. After the counting-up, Mayor Frawley went to raise up YL’s hand like he were a champion rastler but only found the stump wrist – which he raised anyway.
* * *
In the midst of backslapping and recalling the choicest moments of the brawl – Kerm had bitten Alvo on the seat of his pants – Tom Tod come over to Big and myself. Red corn were falling out of his pockets and his pineapple cheeks glowed with kisses.
Friends, I am glad to see you here Medium and Big celebrated Sons of Ohio soon to be Sons of Cleveland let us anoint the occasion and celebrate your fortune Big I hear the great Columbian eagle has made a nest in your purse
Big grinned, half sheep half wolf. I drew a ladle of sugar-sling and we passed it around.
We drank to Big.
I put up a toast to Tom, the emperor of kisses.
We drank to Tom.
I considered it were time to drink to Meed, but Tom said we ought to drink a second time to Big and his engagement to Miss Cloe Inches, that Tom would trade all these red ears and a hundred more for the affections of Miss Inches but you have conquered her heart A drink To your luck in love
Big froze with the drinking spoon at his mouth – a good amount of sling poured down his chin. He did not stop to wipe before bolting the barn in the direction of home.
The first drips of dawn brought Big back to the grocery. Even in the thin light, I could see his pride were dimmed again – his eyes red and his head hung low. It were not hard to detect who had battered him so.
He spoke uncommonly quiet and slow.
When Tom told me I rushed for the homeplace and ran the whole mile I found Cloe at the stove boiling sap to make a specific for Mr Job’s ague
Sugar mixed with clear corn liquor remedies most any illness.
And I dashed in the door to embrace her And she smacked me across the eyes with the spoon
I could not help an inside smile.
I do not recommend sap for eyes I hollered a fair amount Cloe knelt to dab at my face with her apron and made apologies Only that I had startled her I forgave her even though my eyes did hurt awful bad
I had mistook Big’s red eyes for heartache, not scalding.
I forgave her and said that Tom Tod had spilled her secret And that I could not contain my joy That I knew the Lord had sent three hundred dollars for reasons past my knowing
I did not ask how, if a thing were past knowing, he could know it.
She gone quiet a ways and stood up and turned her back to me I thought she were weeping with too much happiness and I went to finally get that embrace and she caught me in the ribs I fell over into the stove and spilled the sugar and scorched myself further Cloe did not rush to help me To pat out the sparks on my new clothes I looked up and saw she had put on her school teaching face
She said Big Tom has played a cruelty on you I will not marry you
and I said but I have got true prospects now I have got three hundred dollars
And she said I were not waiting for any prospects I have answered you true from the first
And I finally known she meant it But I only had a moment to consider it before she hollered at Asa Asa had let himself in the door and licked up all the sugar
My inside smile died
at an instant. Too much sugar would put the bloat on an ox.
I were too sorry to much mind Asa but Cloe would not listen to another word from me Banished me to the barn attic And I gone up to our roost and stared at my money And asked it what to do with myself Before any too long I heard an awful groaning from below It were poor Asa his belly all stretched out and aching
I went down into the barn and the whole household were at Asa’s side Even Mr Job wrapped in his sickclothes They done what they could Cloe cut into Asa’s paunch and put in a quill The gas come rushing out and made a sound just like a whistle I went back to my bed hopeful that Asa were saved Hearing his cheerful tune but—
My heart turned to wood.
I am sorry Meed Asa is dead I know how you loved that ox I am sorry
A wood heart will pump wood blood and soon enough you are wood all over.
I did not wish to breakfast with Asa’s killer. But I had a wood tongue and could not speak.
After a long silence I said it were cruel of Tom to lie so As far as Big known, Tom had only played a vicious trick on him.
Big said Tom has good as murdered Asa
Even with wood brains, I known that evil luck had killed Asa and that Big and Tom were innocent. But I still felt enough contempt to drown them both – with a ladle left over for myself.
I only said Asa will have a coffin
Big agreed it were right and fitting.
I were not sure how to tailor a coffin that size.
* * *
We sat in grief for Asa even as the idlers and loafers arrived to drink the day away. Big stayed and stared at the wall – at a bill posted amid Dog’s library of rusted swords.
Steam Line on the Lakes,
Comprising the following Boats:
ROBERT FULTON,
DE WIT CLINTON,
CHARLES TOWNSEND,
PENNSYLVANIA,
SHELDON THOMPSON
NEW YORK,
UNITED STATES
One Steam Freight Boat will leave Buffalo every day for Detroit and the intermediate Ports.
One Steam Freight Boat will leave Buffalo every 10 days for Chicago and intermediate Ports.
After some time I realized that Big were waiting for Tom.
* * *
In general Tom Tod were not innocent of much. But he were innocent on the matter of Cloe’s untruth. It is not always our sins we catch hell for. At the bee Tom had truly meant to congratulate Big. So it came as a great surprise when – before Tom could say hidy – Big grabbed him by the shirt and pinned him to Dog’s rusty wall.
Are you pleased with your comedy?
Tom squirmed a great deal but did not lose his style. Hello Big I hardly noticed you
You sent me to Cloe to make an ass out of myself
You were an ass already but I do not question her choice of bridegroom
She does not mean to marry me
Tom were stumped some and writhed at the old weapons poking his back. I will not call a woman a liar
For a spell they only breathed at each other. If Big had let go of Tom, the eyeballs of every creature in the grocery would have held him in place. Even the stove fires seemed to stare at the two rivals, who were briefly beyond the use of language.
Big spoke first, through clenched teeth. I will set you down from here You will gather all your dandy s___ and board the next Buffalo boat Choose east or west Only that you stay gone from Ohio
Or what?
Or I will remove your white teeth through your asshole
Tom smiled, like he were embarrassed by his own handsome teeth. If it were another man’s ass I would pay to see it But I must decline your invitation Out of a love of liberty
We must rastle then And the whipped one will leave
It is no match between us It is not sporting We ought to have a race instead
I swear I heard noses sniff around the room, tickled by the prospect of spectacle.
Big went right along, still snorting and snarling. However you like I will beat you
Tom did not have a ready answer. He swung his eyes around looking for one – until he seen the notice for Steam Line on the Lakes.
Boats We will race boats We will race steamboats
I haven’t got a steamboat and neither have you
We are both men of means
Big wrung his lips some You can have a steamboat I will swim and beat you and after you can keep on your boat and f___ off to wherever you like Anywhere but here
Tom jumped to agree to Big’s stakes. And if you lose you will do the same
The whole assembly of drunks and cats and stoves was holding their breath, and at that moment Dog’s voice come up from the cellar. If either of you had a private appendage half as long as your f___ing tongue you would make a man’s wager The loser roasted and eaten by the champion
The talk were so wild that no one minded the speaker’s being dead. Until Barse asked if that weren’t Dog talking from the world beyond.
No it were me I said. You heard me
Barse puzzled for a moment. That ain’t legal Meed A derby can’t have murder in it
Winter again.
To tell the story of Miss Sarabeth Strang you have got to know the story of Alonzo and Mary Bribb. If in that story you said Mr Alonzo sharpened his tongue with a strop, no one would debate you. If you went on to say that his Mrs Mary drank lye just to spit it at Mr Alonzo, no one would dissent. The Bribbs was the meanest two people in the history of Ohio, and it only made sense that they was married to each other. No one else could stand them.
So you could not fault Miss Sarabeth Strang for being shy of marriage. She were the Bribbs’ domestic helpmeet and had seen their misery at close examination. Perhaps she considered that matrimony were the cause of their misery – and that to marry would make a Bribb of a person. But Sarabeth did not run off when Mr Burge Ramsey asked her hand. She only curtsied and gave a murmur no one knew for yes or no. Sarabeth generally kept quiet – not even a humming of hymns as she stitched or swept. It were figured that murmur meant she were amenable to Burge’s offer, and Sarabeth did not indicate to the contrary. Burge Ramsey were not handsome or rich or clever or particularly reliable, but he were Christian and sober.
But no one can tell you any how their married life gone because on the night before the wedding supper Miss Sarabeth Strang turned to air. On the morning she was to wed, her mattress were empty as the grave.
Just like Carl Swarthout and Hiram Spurgeon, you would have to hunt down Sarabeth Strang to know the truth. But the general belief is that freedom spoke to her louder than comfort – she rathered to escape marriage altogether than to risk becoming a Bribb. In honor of her choice, we made a Webster’s word of her name – to STRANG were to cut your own road through life’s woods.
* * *
Our Cloe had run off a dozen times or more – to every corner of the state and places not on maps – different skins and skies. But she would always come back and say what her odyssey meant, what she seen, how folks done elsewhere. She always returned to tell us the story – shown us a handful of Ruth’s barley from the fields of Judah.
On the day after the husking bee, Cloe Inches run off again. I would tell you a story on why she did it, if I had it to tell. But Cloe has got sole proprietorship of the matter. If you want to make a Webster’s word of Cloe Inches, go find her yourself.
A contention. The national character favors MOTION above nearly everything else.
We have only put eagles and Geo Washington everywhere because you cannot draw MOTION. We are drunk for MOTION – to brag six days to Louisville and a day to Detroit and direct from Newyork et c To move, toward every compass point, always.
* * *
A second contention regarding CHANCE. If a matter exists, we will ma
ke bets on it.
The principal bet is business – sell a notion for more than you bought it. Prime lots or horseflesh. Speculations and expectations et c. But there are a thousand breeds of CHANCE. We bet on vegetable growing – chopping wood – all different types of rastling – climbing – marbles – foot races – horse races – roach races. Races put MOTION and CHANCE in angel harmony. Steamboat races are best of all.
* * *
We are guilty of nothing but our nature. They cannot hang us for that. There is not enough rope.
* * *
From the moment I met Tom Tod he were forever pulling notions from his pockets. Hard and soft money, watches, perfume water, marbles, penknives, silk kerchiefs, lucifer sticks. On the third day of December he topped himself and found a steamboat, bought from Buffalo sailors too skinned to pay for repair. His Radish were aged and somewhat on the runt side, but with a week of work from hired hands she were miles more boat than Big had.
A committee of competition – the grocery drunks and Mayor Frawley – convened and chose the lazy turnings of the river for a race way. The curves would even the odds between a steam engine and a man, and most important, folks along the banks could have a close view of the hilarity. From the northmost slip at Main-street around the first bend – past Big’s ruined bridge at Centre-street – around Irish town bend and concluding at Mr Clark’s bridge – a distance of one mile. Tom and Big agreed cheerfully and set the racing for a week before the New Year’s wedding – so that the loser would never spend a second of 1838 in the new city.
That meant three weeks’ more jawing. Not a word wasted on another topic – Big vs. Tom held the entirety of public interest. Not even the merger of cities were enough to turn heads.
