The Ragtime Kid

by Larry Karp

  Oh, Lord, he thought. Monday, laundry day. After I ran off to catch the train to Kansas City, she stripped the bed.

  The girl held a warning finger toward Brun’s face, then reached across and pulled the pile of music so it sat directly in front of her. “Now. Can you tell me why I shouldn’t show this to my uncle? Or Scott Joplin? Or maybe even the police?”

  Brun fell all over himself explaining how he came to have the music. “I was going to give it back to Mr. Joplin after I got back from Kansas City, and in fact, I came back here to look for it right after the dustup at Stark’s that afternoon. But it wasn’t here. Now, please, you’ve made a big mistake. Let me take it back to him.”

  They say smiles warm the heart, but Luella’s chilled Brun to the bone. “You’ve got it all wrong, Mr. Fast Talker. It wasn’t me who made a mistake. I don’t believe a word you’re saying. Your mistake was hiding it in such a stupid place. You knew exactly what you were doing. You were stealing your teacher’s music to give it to that hussy of yours, so you and she could go on the stage together.”

  Brun’s mouth fell open. Luella clapped her hands. “See? I’m right, aren’t I?”

  “No, no. Wait, listen—”

  “Uncle Bob told Belle and me at breakfast what happened last night before you went out on the town. About how Mr. Freitag and Miss McAllister and Emil and Fritz Alteneder and that Otis man tried to carry off Scott Joplin and lynch Mr. Stark and Isaac. But you all fought them off, and they ran. Uncle Bob said how Miss McAllister was probably ‘using her charms’ to get Otis to steal Scott Joplin’s music, telling him she’d go on the stage with him if he did. That’s when I knew for sure. You stayed a whole night at that Jezebel’s house, and then she gave you a great big kiss when you were leaving, and said the two of you were going to set vaudeville on its ear. I heard! She was doing the same with you as with Otis. She didn’t care who got her the music, just as long as she got it. So off you went and stole your teacher’s music, and it would’ve worked, too, if I hadn’t found it.”

  “No, listen, would you? You’ve got it all wrong—”

  “No, you listen. Because you’re the one who’s got everything wrong. You think you can talk your way around everyone, but not me, wise guy. I’ve got your number. You committed a very serious crime, and you need to be punished. What I really ought to do is take the music to the police and turn you in. Then you’d go to jail, like you deserve. But I’ll show you some Christian charity…maybe.”

  To Brun’s amazement, she pushed the music back over to him. “Here. Take this music back to your teacher, and confess to him and ask his pardon. After that, get yourself on the next train out of town, and don’t ever come back. If you do that, I’ll forgive you, and I’ll pray for your soul. But if you do anything else, I’m going to tell my uncle and everybody in town that you took the music back from me by force, and worse.”

  Her eyes were wild. Brun felt scared silly. He saw what was coming, lunged for her hand, but she jumped aside, then ripped the front of her dress open, tore away the slip underneath, and dug scratches and gouges with her fingernails across both breasts. “Stop!” Brun shouted, and started after her, but she ran to the stove, picked up a small knife, held it with both hands to her belly, and screamed, “Don’t you lay a hand on me. Move one more inch, and I’ll do it. Then when they find my body, you can just try to explain. Now, go do what I told you. I’ll change my dress, and if anybody asks about my cheek, I’ll tell them I scratched it by accident. But if I see you in Sedalia after this afternoon, I’ll show my dress and my body to Belle, and tell her you did it when you took back the music. Then you’ll go to jail for thievery and attacking a young girl. Quick, what do you say? And stop looking at my breasts.”

  You’re not trying real hard to cover them up, Brun thought. But he said, “Okay, you win. I’ll do it.” Whatever it took to get away from her. Then he’d have to figure what to do next.

  Her eyes went shifty. “You’d better not be lying, or you’re going to be the sorriest person on earth. Now…” She picked up the Bible. “Put your hand on.”

  Brun did as she said.

  “Now, swear that you will do exactly what I said, and nothing else.”

  “I swear I will do exactly what you said, and nothing else.”

  “Say what you’re going to do. Exactly. Swear it.”

  “I swear I will return the music to Scott Joplin, and then get out of town on the next train.”

  “And you’ll confess to Scott Joplin how you got it.”

  “And I will confess to Scott Joplin how I got it.”

  “And you petition the Lord, if you say or do anything else, He should strike your mother and father dead right on the spot.”

  Brun hesitated.

  “Say it,” she barked.

  “And I petition the Lord, if I say or do anything else, He should strike my mother and father dead.”

  “On the spot.”

  “On the spot. All right? Now, can I go?”

  She pulled back the Bible. “Go get all your things together, and I’ll put on a new dress. Then I’ll see you out the door.”

  The scratch on her cheek was nasty, a line of dark red with small drips where blood had run down. “Better wash your face, too,” he said. “You don’t want that to get infected.”

  “Don’t you worry about me,” she said. “You’ll do better to worry about yourself, especially if you don’t do what you’ve sworn. Mend your ways. I’ll pray for you.”

  The way she looked at him, he thought he’d rather she didn’t send any prayers of any sort in his direction. But he said nothing, just went to his room, gathered his clothes into a bundle, came downstairs, and started for the door. Luella waited for him in the hallway. She wore a different dress, and had washed the blood off her face. “I’d like to at least say good-bye to your uncle,” Brun said. “He’s treated me well.”

  “Better by far than you deserve.”

  “And I’d like to thank him.”

  “You just do what you swore. I’ll tell him you had to leave, and you send him regards.”

  She opened the door, and watched him all the way down the street.

  ***

  Brun did not hold much truck with swearing on Bibles, and in any case thought if God was truly fair-minded, He’d set aside such swearing when it was done under compulsion. As he walked up Ohio, he racked his brain for ideas about how he could set matters right. But every thought ended with a picture in his head of Luella showing that dress and her bosom to Belle. No person in her right mind would have scratched herself up like Luella did, and Brun wasn’t sure her uncle and aunt knew how far she was out of her right mind.

  As he crossed Fifth, an idea came to him. Maybe Mrs. Stark had a leprechaun to spare. With Stark and Isaac off to Knob Noster, the store would be shut and Mrs. Stark likely would be upstairs. But as he hustled past the Stark and Son display window, he saw the shop door was wide open, and there stood Mrs. Stark at the front counter, looking for all the world like nothing had ever happened the night before. She smiled when he came in. “Well, Brun, right on time, you are. But what’s that bundle you’re carrying?”

  He looked up at the clock behind her. One in the afternoon, he’d clean forgotten about coming to work. “Mrs. Stark,” he said. “I need to talk to you, bad.”

  She looked around, then half-whispered, “Does it have anything to do with last night?”

  “Sort of.”

  “All right, dear. Don’t fret.” She walked to the front door, shut it, and hung the CLOSED sign. “Let’s just wait until those people in the back are done. Then, we’ll sit in Mr. Stark’s office.”

  “If it’s the same to you, ma’am,” Brun said, “I’ll go in there now and wait. Best if no one sees me.”

  “As you say. I’ll be there just as soon as I can.”

  A few minutes later, she walked in, sat in her husband’s chair, smoothed her skirt, made a church steeple with her
fingers, and looked the boy over. “All right, then. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

  Brun always said that ever since that day, whenever he heard somebody talk about spilling their guts, he knew what it meant. His story poured out of him like he was throwing up some bad-tasting liquid. Mrs. Stark sat quietly the whole time. “I’d give anything to be here when Mr. Stark gets back,” Brun wailed. “If I could see him and Scott Joplin sign that contract, it’d be something I’d remember my whole life.”

  She sighed. “You heard Mr. Stark make the promise. I assure you, it will happen.”

  “But I thought…I was hoping that I could be a part of it. That there’d be a place for me, publishing music with Mr. Stark. It’s just not right, Mrs. Stark. That girl is crazy.”

  “She’s gone through a lot in her few years, Brun. It’s no easy row to hoe, being an orphan. As I’m sure it wasn’t for Mr. Freitag.”

  “But Mr. Stark was an orphan, wasn’t he? And look at him.”

  “Oh, well, yes, I suppose, strictly speaking. But he was fortunate enough to have had Etilmon and his wife take him in. They brought him up as a son. Lord only knows what might have happened to him otherwise. That poor little girl hasn’t been nearly as lucky. Her aunt and uncle do the best they can for her, but she needs a home where she feels as if she really belongs. And for that, she was looking to you, Brun, and lucky you were it didn’t work out. The only hell more fearsome than the one she’ll put her husband through is the one she lives in herself. I’ll make it my business to talk to her. But I think you’d best leave Sedalia, as you promised her.”

  “Don’t you believe me, Mrs. Stark?”

  She tapped a finger on Stark’s desk as a funny little smile came over her face. “Well, yes, Brun, I do, at least about this business. You have a fair bit of blarney in you, not uncommon in a Scotsman, and all considered, not so very bad. And if I don’t believe every word you’ve ever spoken to me, I do believe you’ve not done anything wrong. If you’d had designs on that girl’s virtue, you’d have used blarney, and I suspect it would have worked. But force? No. Your heart is good, that I know. But whether or not I believe you isn’t what matters now. I have no doubt that if you do stay, that girl will show her body to her aunt and the devil knows who-all else. And before you know it, everyone in Sedalia will be talking about you. Every man with a teenaged daughter will have his gun ready, and if you’re not shot to death, you’ll get a nasty bath in a tar pot. Or, worst of all, you’ll end up in church saying, ‘I do.’”

  “But Mr. Stark and Mr. Higdon—”

  “I will speak to them both, and you have my solemn word they will understand and send blessings to speed your way.”

  “But just to run away? I feel like a coward.”

  “Soldiers sometimes need to retreat so as not to be slaughtered, and there’s no shame in that, just good common sense. You remember the story I told you about Mr. Stark and Isaac, the first time we met…my, that was not even two weeks ago. It seems I’ve known you forever.

  “Yes, ma’am, I do recall it. But, please, can I ask you something?”

  “Of course you may.”

  “Was it all really true? None of it was blarney?”

  She laughed to beat all. “Yes, dear, it’s true, every word.” Then her expression hardened a bit, but her voice remained soft. “And now, my dear, I think you should be on your way. If that girl sees you and takes a notion to have her revenge, it won’t go well with you. Experience may be a good teacher, but she does go heavy with the hickory. I hope you’ll learn from this experience, Brun.”

  “You can be sure of that, ma’am.”

  “And do keep in touch with your parents. There won’t be a day they’ll not be thinking of you. Let them know you are alive and happy.” Sly smile. “Even if you’re not terribly happy right at that moment. And let us hear from you as well.” She paused. “This is not for anyone else to know, but before the end of the year, we’ll be in St. Louis. Since Mr. Stark has decided to put his all into publishing, it seems a move would be best for everyone. Nell can have her studio—”

  “But Mrs. Stark. The store. If you go to St. Louie… What about how Mr. Stark feels about the store?”

  “Well, let’s put it this way. Mr. Stark is quite certain that before too much longer, the establishments on West Main Street will be closed down to make the city more respectable. And when that happens, many musical people will move on, and then the store would likely have its problems.” She got to her feet. “Come upstairs a moment, and I’ll get you a couple of sandwiches and some nice fresh cake. You will always and forever be in my heart, dear. The last couple of years, I’ve worried considerably about Mr. Stark, what with all his talk about his day being almost done. You’ve helped him get back his fire. He’s my Johnny again. My lovely soldier-boy.”

  ***

  Mrs. Stark sent Brun off with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He started up Lamine toward the Maple Leaf Club, but then remembered there was no piano there. Where was he going to find Joplin? He didn’t dare look for Apple John up and down Ohio. Maybe Marshall’s? They had a piano.

  He crossed the tracks into Lincolnville, hurried past seven blocks of small houses, shacks and downright shanties. When he finally pulled up, sweating, in front of Marshall’s, he heard halting piano music from inside, one-handed notes and chords. Scott Joplin answered his knock.

  The composer looked confused. “Brun?” He checked his watch. “This is Thursday, your lesson’s not until tomorrow morning.”

  “I know. How’s your hand feeling?”

  Joplin held up the bandaged hand. “I do have some pain, but nothing I can’t bear. Mostly, I worry about whether I really will be able to play again.”

  Brun wanted to reassure him, but knew whatever he might say would be hopelessly lame, and decided to go directly to the business at hand. “I need to talk to you—is there a place we can go?”

  Joplin couldn’t take his eyes off the stack of papers in the boy’s hand. “I’m here alone. Come in.”

  Brun walked past the piano, littered with music manuscript, and sat in a sagging easy chair. Joplin pulled the piano stool over. Without a word, the boy handed his teacher the pile of music, then watched Joplin leaf through it. With every page, the composer turned, his eyes grew wider, and when he finally looked up at Brun, they were brimming. Brun coughed. “Where… How did you get these?” Joplin asked. He sounded like he’d got himself a bad case of bronchitis.

  “I figured they had to be in Maisie’s house, and that the coppers wouldn’t be getting there until morning. So right after the fuss last night I went back myself, and I poked around ’til I found them under the mattress.”

  Joplin didn’t speak for a long while. Then he looked into Brun’s eyes. Brun had to look away.

  “I am in your debt,” Joplin said quietly, and of a sudden the boy felt guilty as sin itself, like he really had stolen the music to give to Maisie. And then he knew Mrs. Stark was right, that he did have to leave Sedalia. If he could imagine what Luella said might be true, why shouldn’t the whole damn town believe it?

  “It’s me who owes you,” Brun said. “I haven’t had a lot of lessons, but I’m most grateful for what you’ve done for me.”

  “But we’re not finished, certainly.”

  “I’m afraid we are. I’m on my way out of town. Let’s just say I’ve had some trouble with a woman.”

  “At your tender age.” Joplin shook his head sadly.

  “I’ve learned my lesson,” Brun said. “And I hope to be back some day and learn more piano from you.”

  “You’ll always be welcome.”

  The boy was halfway to his feet when his hand went to his pocket. “Here’s something else for you, Mr. Joplin.”

  Joplin stared at the musical money-clip like he’d never seen it before. “There’s twenty-eight dollars there,” Brun said. “Same as when you lost it.”

  He wasn’t sure Joplin heard. The compos
er turned the money-clip over and pushed the button; music played. When he finally looked up, his face was as confused as his voice. “How did you come to have this?”

  “I found it on the ground next to Mrs. Freitag’s body, the night she was killed. I was going to turn it in, but when I heard you and Mr. Weiss talk about it, I knew it was yours, so I hid it away.”

  Brun was giving Joplin the bad stammers, but when he finally did get words out, they weren’t exactly the expression of gratitude Brun had expected. “Why didn’t you come to me sooner with it? Why not until now?”

  Brun’s turn to stammer.

  “I’d have hoped you’d have more faith in me.” Joplin’s voice was quiet but accusing.

  Brun looked the colored man square in the eye. “I’m sorry.”

  Very slowly, Joplin’s face relaxed. “Well, perhaps I’m the one who should apologize. After all, you really didn’t know me very well, did you? Thank you for protecting me…and for returning the clip to me now.”

  “I only figured it out in the last couple of days,” Brun said. “Last fall in Oklahoma City, Saunders picked my pocket, slick as a wink, just for fun. He gave me back my money and told me to be careful in a big city. It made sense that he picked your pocket so he could leave the money-clip with Mrs. Freitag’s body and then steal your music.”

  “We were all at Miss Nellie’s until late that night. Crackerjack did leave for a while and then came back, but not for long. I remember thinking he had ants in his pants, but he was always on the move, so I didn’t make a lot of it. It wasn’t until I got home that I found the clip missing. But have you told anyone about this? Anyone at all?”

  “No one. Not Mr. Stark or Mr. Higdon. Just you.”

  “We’ll keep it that way.”

  “You bet.” Brun stood. “I’d better get to the station.”

  Joplin stood, then took a silver coin from his pocket, which he handed to Brun. “Here’s something for you to take along. This half-dollar is dated 1897, the year I wrote ‘Original Rags,’ my first. Carry it as a good-luck pocket-piece, a remembrance of Scott Joplin and the piano lessons you took from him.”