Billy Creekmore

by Tracey Porter

“Say, Billy,” he said, “I was thinkin’ you and I should tell Mr. Sparks we want to be clowns. Don’t you think we’d have a heck of a time bein’ clowns? We could work the crowd between the acts, pickin’ folks outta the audience and playing tricks on ‘em, like gettin’ ‘em to play catch with us, only the ball would be a balloon full a paint and it’d pop on ‘em and spoilt their clothes.”

  “Why, Rufus Twilly, how you talk! Just what makes you think Mr. Sparks would let any of his clowns act like that? You know he runs a good show that don’t cheat or take ‘vantage of folks.”

  Sun was pouring through the windows and we was making good time. There warn’t no mountains up here, only layers of smooth hills and dark blue lakes. We were on our way to Rush City, Rice Lake, and White Bear Lake, which struck my curiosity since I thought there warn’t any white bears ‘cept way up north where it snowed all the time. I didn’t think Wisconsin was anywhere near the Arctic, but I warn’t sure and Rufus warn’t either. We couldn’t ask Matthew since he was taking his usual nap.

  “I’m just thinkin’, Billy, just thinkin’ ‘bout what type of trainin’ I want once my year of workin’ advance is up come October. I’ve got my heart set on bein’ a clown.”

  “Well, I’ve set my sights on bein’ a trick rider.”

  “I don’t know, Billy. I still think you’d be awful good tellin’ fortunes.”

  “Nyah, I don’t wanna do that. Say, who knows … maybe one of those Christiani kids will wanna be a trapeze artist instead. Then I could take his spot.”

  We papered Rush City and Rice Lake, but it was another eighty-three miles to White Bear Lake, so I managed to take a nap myself. It was after seven when we got there, but the sun was still up since we were far enough north to have those long summer days when the sun don’t stay down for more than a few hours every day. White Bear Lake was a good-sized town with four streets crisscrossing like the spokes of a wagon wheel through the center, so there was plenty of fences and walls and sides of buildings to cover. Lots of folks were out walking the wooden sidewalks along the edge of the lake, and they stopped to read the dates and look at the picture soon as I got a poster pasted up. Kids pulled at their parents and whined to go, and I could tell there’d be a good turnout for the show.

  By the time the sun was down, I was heading back to the depot to meet up with Matthew and Rufus. My shoulders were aching from all that pasting. I was barely lifting my feet I was so tired, but I couldn’t help looking through town as I walked, wondering ‘bout the folks who lived there. It was a clean town, with all the storefronts crisp and neat without any missing letters on the windows. All the lampposts along Main Street were hung with baskets of red flowers, and down the way a friendly lookin’ fella was lightin’ the gas.

  I rounded a corner when I spied a fella looking at a poster I put up an hour ago. Only he warn’t reading the poster, he was peeling it off. The paste was still wet and it came off in one piece. He crumpled up the poster and threw it to the ground. Then he took one of his own posters from a stack by his feet, and stuck it up where mine had been. I watched him walk down the road a bit and do the same to a poster I had put up on the side of a dry goods store, and he was on his way to another. I near exploded with anger and ran up to him.

  “Hey, mister!” I yelled. “What are you doin’ to my posters?”

  The man was tall and lanky with an angular face that I could barely make out in the dark. He leaned against the wall and sized me up with a cool look on his face. “Your posters? Are you Mr. Charles Sparks hisself?”

  “No, I ain’t, but I work for him, and he pays me to put up his posters. Now you’re takin’ ‘em down.”

  Just then, Rufus come running up to me yelling hello and was I finished and when exactly was the train coming and warn’t I awful tired and warn’t I hungry, too. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw our crumpled up poster by the man’s feet.

  “Who are you?” asked Rufus. “And what are you doin’ to our posters?”

  “My friends call me Billy,” he said. “I’m sure the three of us can be friends.” He rustled in his pocket and held out two coins in the palm of his hand. “Now, why don’t each of you take a silver dollar and run off. Go meet up with your supervisor and get on your train, but don’t tell him nothing ‘bout me. I won’t take down any more of your posters. Go on now … take your money.”

  Rufus stepped forward, and for a second I thought he was gonna take the money, but it turned out his natural friendliness was taking over.

  “Why, this here is Billy, too. Billy Creekmore, and I’m Rufus Twilly.”

  “Billy Creekmore?” The man stepped forward and took a long look at me. “Is that your name, boy? Let me see now …” He took my chin and tilted my face toward the light. “Yep, those are her eyes all right, blue eyes with black lashes….”

  I looked back at him. He was familiar in a way, only I warn’t exactly sure how.

  “Can’t you guess who I am?” His face broke into a grin. “Can’t you guess who’s standing here before ya?”

  It was beginning to dawn on me, but I was cold speechless, and it took Rufus to put out the words, for he guessed right away.

  “Why, you’re Billy’s father!”

  “That’s right!” he cried, his eyes bright with tears. He burst out laughing, pulled me to his chest, and hugged me hard. “I’m your flesh and blood, your own pa!”

  My own eyes filled up, too, but I couldn’t really cry because everything was happening so fast it didn’t seem real.

  “Last I heard,” he went on, “you was at that orphanage, getting an education and going to church. Now here we are in White Bear Lake, meeting up at long last….”

  “Billy and I work the advance for the Sparks Circus,” said Rufus. “We’re circus folk. But, say, what are you doin’ to our posters? Our supervisor will be awful angry when he sees what you’ve done.”

  “Uh, now, boys. You see, I’m just doin’ a little reconnaissance work for the circus I’m with. The Graftin Circus it’s called, and Mr. Graftin’s always been right impressed with your outfit. Says your posters are the best in the business, so he sent me to get a few so we could copy some of the ideas. Imitation is the best form of flattery, and don’t you forget it…. But hey now, Billy, you’re letting your friend do all the talking. Don’t you have nothin’ to say to your pa?”

  “Well, then, why didn’t you take down just one poster and keep it neat,” Rufus went on, “instead of takin’ down near every one we put up?”

  But I wasn’t thinking ‘bout the posters no more. There I was standing with the father I’d been missing and longing for all these years. He smiled down at me while I fumbled for words. Finally something came to me. “I saved all the postcards you sent me.”

  “Did you? Well, then you got quite a collection, since I’ve been traveling all over the country, first with one circus then another. Been in every state east of the Mississippi, and even a few out west. Hope you kept ‘em in good condition, for the stamps alone is worth lots of money. Heck, I’m awful glad to run into you like this. You’re saving me a trip. I wasn’t planning on coming to get you till you was thirteen, but I guess you’re old enough as it is.”

  “Old enough for what?” I asked.

  “To come with me and learn the trade, son. Oh, I’ve got lots of stuff to teach you, Billy. We’ll travel the world and meet paupers and princes. Sleep under the stars some nights and in castles the others.”

  He clapped his hands and laughed at the sky. “Oh, son, the world’s wide open to us! Adventures every day of the week. We could be a father-son act, ‘cause if blood is blood then sure enough you’re a natural for the sideshow just like me.”

  “That’s just what I told him,” said Rufus, all excited. “Why, you should hear Billy tell a story! He’d fool anyone, he’s so full of detail. Just like it’s all a memory, but it ain’t! Turns out he made up most of the stories he used to tell back at the orphanage, includin’ the ghosty ones! Right outta his head
he got ‘em, but he fooled me and everyone else who was listenin’!”

  “Well, all this is good to know, good to know. Now, Billy, the Graftin Circus is considerable smaller than Mr. Sparks’s outfit, less polished too. I can’t say we have the fanciest acrobats or the shiniest costumes. To be true, it ain’t nothing more than a mud show really, but there’s always a place for new talent. And I can tell that’s what you are, Billy. New talent!”

  Right then, Matthew come along, and before anyone else could say a word, Rufus told him the situation, how we had run into my very own father and warn’t that the most amazing thing, and how I was gonna leave with him now to go work the Graftin Circus, which my pa added was just across the state line, but was heading this way more or less.

  “Heading this way more or less, eh?” said Matthew. “Heading this way exactly, I’d say. Bet you know our whole itinerary in these parts. Bet you’re planning on posting over our bills and stealing our audience a day before we get to town. Oh, I know all about the Graftin Circus and how you do business.”

  “Now, now …,” said my pa. He dropped his voice and had a worried look on his face. “That ain’t no way to talk in front of the young ‘uns, here. You’ve got the wrong idea ‘bout me.”

  Matthew turned to me and asked, “Is this man your father, Billy?”

  “I reckon so,” I answered. “I never seen him before, though.”

  “Oh yes, I’m his father. I even have somethin’ to prove it…. Somethin’ I’ve been carryin’ around for twelve long years, just waitin’ for this day.”

  He reached in his back pocket and pulled out a pile of folded up papers. “This here will end any type of argument about the situation.”

  Matthew took the paper and unfolded it.

  “It’s a baptism certificate for William Creekmore, Jr…. Well, that fixes it. This man’s your father.”

  My dad slung his arm around my shoulder and pulled me to him. “I’ve got a lot to make up to you, Billy, and I’m gonna do it. I’ve waited a long time to have you by my side.”

  “So you’re taking him with you, eh? Gonna have him join the Graftin Circus?” asked Matthew.

  “Yes, sir, I am. A boy should be with his pa.”

  It was true, I thought, looking up in his face. I felt a pang of sadness when I realized I’d be leaving Rufus behind. I hoped he wouldn’t be too upset about how things had turned out. We was building some plans together, but, out of nowhere, good fortune had come my way. I hoped he wouldn’t begrudge me none.

  “Good-bye, Billy,” said Rufus. “Hope to run into you again someday.” His freckled eyelids were blinking back tears.

  “Now don’t worry ‘bout that,” said my pa. “You’ll be seeing each other again. The circus is like a big tribe broken up into little clans. We’ll catch up with you sooner or later.”

  “So long, Rufus,” I said. “Tell Darla I said so long, and thanks, Matthew, for bein’ such a fair boss.”

  We waved good-bye, then turned in opposite directions along the tracks. Matthew and Rufus heading north, us heading south. A freight train was ambling outta the yard. Pa started running alongside it and threw his roll of posters inside the open door of one of the cars, then jumped aboard.

  “Pick your feet up, Billy Creekmore!” he yelled. “C’mon, boy! Move it!”

  For a moment I didn’t know if I should turn tail and run, or jump aboard with him. I ain’t never hopped a train, and that open door seemed awful high off the ground. My heart was pounding. The train was picking up speed and gaining some distance.

  “C’mon, Billy!” My pa stuck out his hand for me. It was all I could see of him—his hand outstretched in the dark. How I knew what to do, I can’t say, but I reached for him and ran along the train with all my might. Somehow or other I made the leap, and my pa pulled me aboard the empty car.

  “Yee-haw! You did it, Billy, hopped this train like a pro!” He slapped me on the back, laughing out loud. “Yessir, it’s you and me now, boy. You and me!”

  With all the excitement and noise, and the rocking of the train, I felt kinda sick to my stomach. I told my pa I thought I might throw up, but he said not to worry.

  “If you do that’s fine. Don’t worry none about my clothes.” He pulled me close, and in a little while, the bad feeling went away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  We Almost Run into

  SOME TROUBLE

  with

  THE

  LAW

  I sat right on the floor of the car, just a coupla feet above the tracks, feeling every single bump and swerve. There warn’t nothing inside to swallow up the noise, so it just banged around the car, echoing and thrashing till it filled up my whole head. I felt my bones shake, but it didn’t bother my pa none. He was sleeping sound, dreaming away by the looks of it. His mouth was moving like he was deep in conversation.

  As for me, I couldn’t sleep a wink, and it wasn’t just the noise and the rattling that stopped me, either. I was plain mystified at the sudden turn in my life. Not long ago, I was talking with Rufus about him being a clown and me being a trick rider with the Sparks Circus. Now I was on a freight train highballing into the night, my father sleeping beside me. It was what I had longed for when I was little, what Aunt Agnes had wished for me when she urged me to leave Holly Glen, but I had given up thinking it would ever happen. It’s best not to get settled on things being a certain way, I realized. Life had a funny way of interrupting your plans.

  I was thinking these things when the train began to slow down. The brakes screeched a long, long time, and eventually the train came to a halt. My pa jerked awake.

  “Where are we?” I asked.

  “Not sure. Did we pass a little town with a station on the main street?”

  “Can’t say,” I answered. “If we did, it didn’t have no lights.”

  “Hmm,” Pa said. He stood up in the doorway and had himself a look around. Down the line some men were talking. Pa shushed me, then crouched down to listen. He turned to me a few moments later and whispered, “We’re in a bit of trouble, Billy. This here’s a rail yard filled with bulls.”

  “Bulls?”

  “Railroad police. They’re on patrol, looking for the likes of us—plain, poor folks that can’t afford a ticket. They’ll beat us up if they catch us, or take us to jail, or both.”

  My blood ran cold. Memories of the Baldwin-Felts guards and all their brutality flashed in my mind. “What’ll we do?” I asked.

  “We’re gonna make a run for it. You’ve got to stick by me best as you can, and keep your mouth shut.”

  “Yes, sir,” I whispered.

  “You know how to Indian walk?”

  “You mean walkin’ on the outside of your feet?”

  “That’s right, son, and always heel to toe. Heel to toe on the outside of your feet. That’s the quietest way to walk there is. Once we’re off this train, we’re gonna Indian walk to that clump of trees over yonder. You ready?”

  “Yes, sir,” I answered.

  He picked up his roll of posters and tossed them to the ground, then, quiet as a cat, he jumped off the train. He grabbed me by the waist and helped me down. Before we took off, he nodded to the right for me to look. Not fifty feet away, two of the bulls was having themselves a smoke. The tips of their cigarettes glowed in the dark, and a shotgun was slung over the one’s arm.

  We crouched down as we headed into tall weeds along the tracks, Indian walking all the way until we reached the stand of locust trees. We barely made a rustle.

  “Didn’t I say you was a natural!” said my pa with delight. “I’m telling you, Billy, you’ve got talent to spare.”

  “Are we safe?” I asked.

  “You bet. Bulls won’t venture past the gravel. We’ll spend the night here, then follow the tracks a few miles. We’ve got a ways to go before we catch up with the Graftin Circus.”

  Between the trees, the earth was soft and bare except for a blanket of leaves. It was good enough for a night’s sle
ep, so we made our beds under the stars. Lightning bugs drifted by, and the night was filled with faint sounds. We didn’t speak for a long time. Then I asked him the question I’d had for as long as I can remember.

  “Pa, why didn’t you come for me when I was at the orphanage?”

  A tiny cloud of gnats buzzed overhead. It was a long time before he answered.

  “Well, son … I didn’t have much to give you. I didn’t eat regular, didn’t work regular, didn’t have a home. Seemed to me that long as you was so little, Guardian Angels was the best place for you.”

  “It warn’t,” I said. “The Beadles kept us half starved, and Mr. Beadle beat us for no reason at all. Boys was hauled off to work in the glassworks and some of ‘em died there.”

  “I always planned to come get you before you was of age for factory work. That was never gonna happen to you.”

  “But it almost did,” I said, “‘cause Mr. Beadle lied about our ages, and I was called up to go, but just in time, Uncle Jim came to get me. Then I went to live with him and Aunt Agnes in Holly Glen.”

  “You don’t say …,” he said. His voice got a little tense, and I was afraid I had upset him. “How’s Agnes? She still a healer?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said. I told him about the cave-in that killed Clyde and how Aunt Agnes bandaged the cuts and bones of the injured and helped the family of the dead in their grieving. Next thing you know, I told him about the UMW and the strike, and how the Baldwin-Felts agents came to break it up and killed Uncle Jim. My pa looked at the dark sky without sharing his thoughts.

  “Aunt Agnes was the one who told me to find you. The Baldwin-Felts was comin’ into town to round up those of us that broke away, so she grabbed some things for me and helped me off.”

  “Sounds like Agnes,” he said. “She always was one to care for her family.”

  “You wrote her I was stillborn,” I said. I felt nervous bringing it up. I didn’t want him thinking I was ungrateful. He had just helped me escape the bulls and was taking me on as his own son, but the question nagged at me, and I had to ask. “Why’d you lie?”