by Karen Wolff
Outside, we hurried around the building and found the back wall of the bar on fire. A kerosene can stood nearby. By now a few neighbors had heard the commotion and were coming out in their nightclothes. Aunt Lida’s husband Carl had put on his pants and was pulling up his suspenders as he hobbled toward us on his arthritic knees.
“Start pumping, boys,” he yelled. Two or three others came running with buckets and pails and soon organized a line to throw water on the burning wall.
Where was Granddad?
I raced to the store again and climbed the four steps to the porch that ran across the front of the building. I heard a low whine from Buster and followed the sound. He was on the ground off the far end of the porch. Granddad lay beside him, his body still as death.
“Granddad!” I yelled. “Are you all right?”
He gave no answer. His left leg was twisted crazily under him. My hand on his chest found a heartbeat. I ran back to the men carrying the water, my own heart thumping in panic.
“I found Granddad. He’s hurt.” Ty came running, and someone made a torch so we could see.
“We need to get him inside.” I looked at the side of the store where we had propped a ladder to do some repairs on the roof. “Tell Gram to bring some quilts,” I yelled. One of the men headed to the house, and soon she came running heavily, still in her nightdress.
“You found him. Is he alive?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said, “but he’s bad off.”
Ty and I dragged the ladder to Granddad and covered it with the quilts. We lifted his small body onto the ladder, careful of his damaged leg. It dangled loosely, and he moaned with pain when we tried to straighten it. My hands shook, but somehow we got him covered. I grabbed one end of the ladder and Ty the other. We made our clumsy way across the grass. Granddad moaned again when we laid him out on the bed, and I was relieved when Gram took over. My heart still hammered; my jaw was clenched, and my teeth wanted to chatter, but I stopped them.
“Harry,” Gram said, her voice high and tense. “Ask somebody to get Doctor Brunner. We’re going to need him. I think he’s broken his leg. And look at this. His back is bleeding.”
I went out again and asked Ed Daniels, who had a car, to go to Portlandville for the doctor. “Sure, Harry,” he said and left at once.
Ty went to the icehouse and began chipping a bucketful for Gram to use with Granddad. I went back inside and watched as she washed his face and hands ever so carefully, muttering to herself. “You crazy old man. Why didn’t you come home and go to bed tonight? Now look at the fine mess we’ve got.” Her words were harsh, but her hands told a different story. He didn’t seem to be conscious. I saw two long scratches on his back, oozing blood onto the sheets.
Then I thought, Buster. I had to get back to Buster. Outside, the men pumping water had gotten the fire put out and were standing around, talking in the light of the cross that still burned.
I ran to the dog, dropped to my knees, and petted his head. “Come on, boy. Can you get up?” He licked my hand and tried, but he couldn’t do it. I ran my hands over his body. His legs seemed okay, but his back wasn’t right. He whined when I touched it. He must have broken it jumping, or being pushed, off the porch. I held his head in my lap, trying to think what to do for him. But in my heart of hearts I knew there was nothing. You can’t mend an animal whose back is broken.
Uncle Carl came over and put his hand on my shoulder.
“His back is broke,” I said.
He knelt down as I had and felt Buster’s body. You know we’ll have to put him down,” he whispered. “I’ll go get my shotgun.”
No. Not Buster. Not my best friend through all these lonely years. I wept into his head, and that sweet animal tried his best to lick away my tears. I sat doubled over, sickened, in agony to think I must lose my dog. I couldn’t bear for him to be shot. Why did this hideous thing have to happen?
“I don’t think you want to watch this, Harry,” Uncle Carl said when he returned.
I got to my feet, my legs shaky. “Yes, I do. I’m not leaving.” I stood while he cocked his gun and fired, the blast huge in my ears. Buster’s body rose up as though he had decided to get up and walk. Then he fell back, trembled, and lay still.
A fierce, sour anger roared up in me and pounded in my head. I hated the men who did this evil. I wanted to hurt them, to make them feel what I was feeling.
“I want to kill them,” I screamed at Uncle Carl.
“I know, Harry. This is as mean as it gets.” He waved his arm to take in the whole scene. “I don’t understand why they did this. There’s just no reason on earth.” He turned to join the other men and then, looking back, said, “You best get a shovel and bury him, boy.”
I nodded and waited until he left, my mind filled with loathing for the perpetrators of this viciousness. I sank down again beside the bloodied corpse of my dog. Who did this? Why us? Why did God let it happen? I did not love God. He didn’t deserve our love if He could allow this to happen. I’d learned that once before, and now I had to learn it again.
I felt my face knot up, my teeth grind together when I looked at the gory mess of tissue and bones that had been my dog. “Buster, my poor Buster.” I said it over and over. And I grieved. In my mind I could feel the soft, silky hair of his ears, his muzzle. I thought about how he followed me everywhere I went, how he would fetch his ball to play, and how he would curl up next to me when he knew I was low. The pain jumbled together with all the other old hurts; the mother I never knew, my brothers grown and gone, my father who was lost to me, and now the dog I loved. I let the tears come, and after a while, the heat of my anger drained away, leaving me tired and sad. I stayed beside Buster, saying goodbye until the first of the sun’s pink rays began to show through the gray, and Ty came looking for me.
“Better come in, Harry. Dr. Brunner is here, fixing up Granddad’s leg.”
I got up slowly and looked at the store. Someone had painted a black KKK sign on the front wall, and the cross was still burning up on the hillside. Never again would I believe that there was anything good about the Klan. What a fool I’d been to think they might make things better. I despised everything about them.
I started to go for the shovel when I saw a human body lying in the ditch beside the road. I went over and looked down into the sleeping face of Squint Pickard. He was snoring lightly, most definitely alive. He must have gotten drunk last night and stumbled into the ditch to sleep.
I gave his shoulder a shake. “Wake up, Squint. You need to go home.” His one good eye came open and then fell shut again. “Get up Squint. It’s morning. Time for you to go home.”
He groaned. “Harry. Izzat you?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Are you all right?”
He groaned again. “Too much las’ night. Too much beer.” He sat up slowly and looked around, getting his bearings
“Okay, but now it’s time for you to get up.” I reached down and helped him stand.
“Saw ‘em,” he muttered.
“What? What did you say? What did you see, Squint?”
“Whole thing. Saw the whole thing.”
He started to walk away. I grabbed his arm. “What did you see?” He tried to mouth some words, but I couldn’t understand him. I yelled. “Damn it, Squint. Tell me. What did you see?”
He raised his head and looked at me as if he didn’t know me. I knew his mind went fuzzy sometimes. There’d be no sense coming from him when he was like that. I let go of his arm.
“Saw the whole she-bang,” he said as he started walking toward his house.
TY HELPED ME gather up Buster’s remains and wrap them in newspaper and an old towel. We went up the little rise back of Gram’s garden and took turns digging the hard clay until we had a proper hole. As we piled the dirt over his body Ty said, “Do you want to say a prayer for him?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t feel like it.”
I put the shovel away, and we headed for the house where Dr. Brunner was
about ready to leave.
“Your granddad is going to take time to heal, boys. That was a bad break in his leg. Both bones snapped, and I think his thighbone might have a crack in it. I’ve given him something so he’ll sleep a while, and I’ll come back in a day or two.” He scratched his head as he looked around at the still smoldering cross. “Who did this? Was it the KKK?” We nodded. “Those Klan ideas are crazy.” He shook his head and climbed into his car, muttering, and drove away.
Ty went inside, but I had one last job I wanted to do. I got Granddad’s ax, and climbed the hill where I began chopping down that cross. I hacked and hacked at it until it fell with a heavy crash, scattering fiery embers over me. Then I cut it into pieces. I chopped every chunk, chopping until all of it was in tiny bits. I chopped until my hands were bloody and raw. Then I shoveled up the pieces, still hot to the touch, and put them in the metal barrel we used for burning.
When I was finished, I flopped down exhausted on the side of the porch. Gram brought me some coffee, and I drank it right down. My mind circled round and round with what had happened. I wanted to get even with those bastards. How? How could I do it? I didn’t even know who they were for sure. Exhaustion finally got the better of me, and I laid down on those hard boards and fell sound asleep.
THE MIDDAY SUN bored into my eyes. I awoke and threw off the quilt someone had tossed over me. The pain in my hands hit me. They were red and swollen with blisters in the palms, and my arms were covered with blood and grime. Last night’s scene filled my mind as I sat up. The horror of what I had witnessed, what I remembered, didn’t gibe with the clean fall air and the amazing blue October sky. Yet, there on the hill were the burn marks and ash left from the cross.
I stood up stiffly and went into the house for a drink of water. All was quiet, so I tiptoed back to the bedroom. Granddad was sleeping, his mouth open, his left leg huge in its white cast. He looked puny and sunken in, somehow. Gram sat in the rocker beside his bed, dressed now, but dozing. She seemed older, her face wrinkled and sagging. Even so, her black eyes snapped open at my sound, and she got up and followed me to the kitchen.
“How is he?” I asked.
“It’s bad, Harry. The doctor gave him something to keep him comfortable, but I’m afraid he’s got some hard times coming before this is over.” She shook her head and stared out the window to the place where the cross had stood, her face pale and tired looking in the daylight. “It makes me so mad. It’s so stupid.”
“Gram, I’m gonna get those sons-a-bitches if it’s the last thing I do. I’m gonna track them down and burn them out.”
“You’re angry, Harry. We all are, but we don’t even know…”
“I’ll find out. I don’t know how, but I will. I’m not helpless.” My voice rose as my anger rekindled.
“Take it easy, son.”
“No, I won’t. I’m gonna make somebody pay for this. Nobody can do this and get away with it.” I slammed the chair into the table.
“Shush, Harry. I want him to sleep.” She straightened the chair then turned to face me up close. “Look at you. You’re soot and grime from head to toe. I’ll heat some water so you can wash up.”
“I don’t care how dirty I am. It doesn’t matter.”
“I know,” she said, but she put the teakettle on anyway. She got me some clean clothes and left to give me privacy.
I was sorry I’d yelled at her. She didn’t need any more trouble than she already had, so I peeled down to my skin and washed my body, slow work because of my hands. When I was dressed, Gram came back to the kitchen. She took one look at my palms and got some Unguentine and gauze to wrap them up.
“Thanks for everything you did last night,” she said. “I don’t know where we’d have been without you boys.”
“They killed Buster, Gram.”
“I know. Ty told me.” She tied the last piece of gauze. “I’m sorry, Harry.” She put her hand on my cheek and smoothed back my wet hair, her face all puckered up. “He was a good dog. I’ll miss him.”
“Why’d they do this, Gram? What did we ever do to them?”
She heaved a tired sigh. “I don’t know why, Harry. Maybe ‘cause Granddad wouldn’t join up. You were there when that organizer guy threatened him.”
“Oh, yeah. Rufus Laycock.” I recalled the ugly episode at the store, and the anger hit me all over again. “I was glad he didn’t sign up. Who was that guy to come in there and try to force him to join?”
“He stood up to them all right. Maybe he shouldn’t have.”
I was appalled. “Do you really believe that?”
“No, I guess not. Not really, but I hate this kind of trouble.” She stood twisting her apron with her big, gnarly hands, her shoulders sagging. “If they’d seen Alfie all bloody and his bones broken…” Her voice trailed off.
After a minute, she straightened up. Her lips squeezed together, and her nostrils flared as she said, “It might have made them think. Made them wonder if that’s what they really meant to do with all that Klan business. It burns me up that folks around here would stand for this stuff.”
“Me too, Gram.”
She poured herself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter. “He won’t be able to work for I don’t know how long. The store’ll be hard to manage. Lord knows, we already had all we could handle around here without this.” She shrugged and muttered almost to herself, “We’ll just have to handle it. We don’t have a choice. That’s just the way it is. That’s the way it always is.”
Gram was tough. I wondered if anything could make her cry. I’d never seen it. I remembered something Mrs. Kleinsasser had told us in class. When she moved west with her husband, she was struck with the difference in the people out here compared to back home in Pennsylvania. She said people here took things the way they came. All the difficulties, the hardships, the hardscrabble life. All the things that people complained of back home, felt sorry for themselves about, cried and fussed over, and wrote to Congress about. Out here she thought people were stronger, more able to endure the bad things. They didn’t complain much. They didn’t fight much. They chalked up their afflictions to fate and moved on. She said they were stoics. Well, if that was so, I knew Gram was a stoic. I admired her for that. I wanted to be like her, but my blood was hot and I had to get revenge.
“I can’t see why they’d try to burn the store down just because he wouldn’t join. What kind of reason is that?”
“Well, there’s probably more to it. Some folks didn’t like it when Granddad added the beer hall onto the store. And they don’t think much of the men who sit over there drinking at night. Pug and Squint and the rest of them. Alfie drinks more than he should too. Folks thought Prohibition would bring an end to all that, but it didn’t.”
“They didn’t have to bust him up for that, did they? He wasn’t hurting anything. He could have died.” I winced when I thought of him lying back in the bedroom, helpless in his big cast.
“Some folks don’t like it that Alfie’s a Frenchman, not born in this country. They think he’s too flighty, just wants to have a good time. Not serious about things. Some of them know he was baptized a Catholic, and the Klan hates Catholics.”
“So they try to burn him out? Is that what this is about? They ought to think about what this town would be without a grocery store.”
“I’ll say! They wouldn’t like that very much. Especially one where they can get credit.”
She fussed around fixing me something to eat that I could manage with my bandaged hands. Then she went back to Granddad. Neighbors had brought food just like they’d do for a funeral—Aunt Lida’s apple cake, somebody’s potful of chicken and noodles, some good brown bread. I ate till I was full, drank a cup of coffee, and went outside to look things over.
At the store, someone had pinned a note on the door, saying we’d be closed for repair until Monday. Ty was hard at work, painting the front side. When he turned to face me, I saw his tired eyes and knew he must not have slept much
either. He painted with a ferocity that didn’t surprise me. Whenever the least thing upset him, he tore into physical work—sweeping, scrubbing, hoeing the garden. Today was no different, only the upset was bigger.
“I wanted to get rid of those KKK letters,” he said. “I had to go over and over it to cover them up, so I just decided to keep going. This whole front needed paint anyway.” He glanced at my hands and grimaced. “I was glad to see that damn cross gone when I woke up.”
“What are we going to do, Ty? We can’t let them get away with this.”
“What can we do, Harry? The two of us can’t fight off a bunch of men we don’t even know.”
“We’ve got to find them and raise hell with them. I’d like to kill them for what they did.”
“We might want to get even, Harry, but I don’t see how we can do it.”
Ty avoided controversy if he could, but this was too big. I wanted to get even, and I figured he’d want that too. But he turned back to his painting as if that would cover up the whole ugly thing. I gave up on him.
Around back, the wall was charred black from the ground to the roof. It was ugly and raw, but the flames hadn’t gotten going well enough to cause a lot of damage. Gram would have to call Claude Tucker, our local handy man, and have him take the siding off and check the beams.
The air was foul with smoke inside the store. Weak light in the beer hall made it difficult to tell, but I couldn’t see any fire damage on the inside. The place needed airing out. For now I closed the door on the barroom. If only it were that easy to shut out all the trouble the place had caused.
The food in the icebox was still cold, so I figured Ty must have seen to the ice. Finally, I walked back to the garden and the new mound where Buster lay. It looked so small and insignificant today. That poor creature. I wondered if he’d felt a lot of pain, if he’d felt it when Uncle Carl shot him. The anger churned in me again, and I tried to imagine how I could find the scum who did this. I was so tired I couldn’t figure out what to do.
