As the three men waited for the sale to begin Charlie wondered if this was the same Buster Funkhouser who once had a violent encounter with his daddy. He sure didn't want Buster or his new employer to think that he was anything like Bill Polk, who had a reputation as a drunkard with a violent temper.
“Got to visit the little boy’s room,” said Russell getting up from his seat. “Be right back.”
“Charlie Polk. I know some Polks.”
“My daddy is Bill Polk. You know him?”
“A little too well, I expect.”
“Thought you might be the fella he had a run-in in with a while back.”
“That's me.”
“Just didn't want you to think I was like him.”
“Already knew that. Ain't too many folks around like your daddy. He's got a mean streak for sure.”
“So, if you don't mind me asking, what happened between you two? Heard that the two of you used to be best friends.”
“Don't know about best friends but we were good friends.”
“So, what was the ruckus all about?”
“You're daddy never told you?”
“Never talked about it.”
“Charlie, that was troubles for another day and time. I've chosen to put it behind me and it would be best if you did the same.”
Russell returned just in time for the sale to begin. “Buster, do we need to save a place for John Wissler?”
“No. He conducts his business behind closed doors. Picks what he wants, writes a check, and then I load them up and haul them back to Strathmore. I just like coming out here to see the show.”
As the livestock were paraded into the arena, the auctioneer gave some basic information on each animal and then began a rhythmical, rapid-fire chant soliciting bids from the crowd. Charlie was in his element, like a kid in a candy store. As the cattle, horses, and hogs were presented, it was evident to his companions that he knew more than most about the earning potential or service capability of each animal presented.
Suddenly Charlie saw something that gave him cause for concern. A bull was brought into the arena, one of which he was all too familiar, and he immediately knew that his father was somewhere in the crowd.
“This here fine bull is from the Polk farm, Bill Polk owner,” said the auctioneer who then continued his lively sales pitch.
It didn't take long to find the little man with tanned, leathery skin wearing the same tattered straw hat that he had worn for years. Bill Polk was seated to the left of Charlie and he was already showing signs that he had been drinking. Red face, glazed eyes, blank expression, talking to himself, and weaving in his seat. This is going to get ugly, thought Charlie.
Soon the bidding concluded and another cow from the Polk farm was presented and then another.
“Charlie, ain't them your daddy's cows?” said Russell.
“Afraid so. Looks like he's selling them off.”
Selling the cattle meant that his daddy was either strapped for cash or unable to care for the herd. It was what he had feared, that his departure would cause his family hardship. Of greater concern was knowing what Bill Polk did with quick money. Most of it would be thrown away on bootleg whiskey. Hopefully, as on previous occasions, Mary Polk would snatch the roll of cash from Bill's pants pocket while he slept off his drunken stupor.
Moments later Bill spotted his son seated next to Buster Funkhouser and he immediately stood up, pointed at them, and angrily shouted, “you low-down bastards.” All eyes were on Bill as he rushed down the bleachers and headed for the exit. Even the auctioneer stopped his banter and inquired of those seated in the area of the commotion if it was safe to continue.
Charlie was so humiliated by the incident that he felt physically sick and he could only imagine what everyone was thinking about him. Even after the auctioneer proceeded with his sales pitch people continued to stare in Charlie's direction and some even pointed. He wanted to die.
“That was meant for me, not you,” said Buster.
“Don't know about that,” said Charlie while shaking his head in disbelief.
“It was aimed at all of us,” said Russell who felt sorry for Charlie but feared that if he said anything more it would only draw more attention to the object of Bill Polk's fury.
Despite the efforts of the auctioneer to continue his audience remained inattentive. For several moments, he struggled to get the bidding on a bull started at twenty-five dollars and when there was not a single offer he turned to an assistant and shrugged his shoulders in disappointment.
Seeing that things had gotten out of hand Russell Miller decided to cause a diversion of his own. When the auctioneer again asked if anyone would pay twenty-five dollars for an exceptional bull Russell upped the ante. “Fifty bucks.”
Russell's bid brought a smile from the auctioneer who now shifted back into high gear. “I've got fifty, fifty, fifty. Who'll give me fifty-one. Got fifty, need fifty-one.”
“Fifty-one,” shouted someone from the crowd.
“Fifty-two,” said another.
“How about it, Charlie? Should I go higher?” Before long the tension and drama ended and, much to Charlie's relief, the crowd returned their focus on the reason they came.
With the auction concluded Russell, Buster, and Charlie headed for lunch at the Stockyard Restaurant. On the way, they stopped by the sales office where Russell wrote a check for the bull he purchased and Buster obtained a list of the cattle that he would need to take back to Strathmore. When they stepped out of the office, more trouble was waiting.
“Well, if that don't beat all,” said Bill Polk taunting the men as they walked. “Always thought you were a good man, Russell Miller. They say you're known by the company you keep. Guess that means you're white trash since you're hanging with that sorry son of mine and that low-life, Buster Funkhouser.”
Bill's tirade resulted in a growing audience of those expecting a fight to erupt at any second.
“Best days of my life was the ones I spent in jail for putting a whooping on you, Buster. Should have finished you off when I had the chance.”
“Daddy, you need to stop now before you get yourself into trouble again.”
“If you had half a brain you would remember, you don't exist. Now shut your mouth. Me and Buster have some unfinished business.”
“Like I said the last time, I ain't gonna fight you,” said Buster.
“Thought they done sold all the livestock they had for today. Looks to me like they missed a big old jackass.”
“Come on, Buster. Let's get out of here,” said Russell.
“Why don't you tell your buddies here what you done?”
“I didn't do nothing at all. It's all in your mind,” said Buster as he turned to walk away.
Bill reached out and grabbed Buster's shoulder and when he turned around Bill launched a punch at his face that would have hit target had it not been for Charlie deflecting the blow. Then Bill attempted to throw a punch at Charlie, who caught his arm, wheeled him around, and put him in a hammerlock much to the delight of the crowd. “I would have paid good money to see this,” someone said.
“Let go of me,” said Bill as he tried to break free.
“I'm not doing nothing,” said Charlie applying more pressure. “Remember? I don't exist.”
“You're breaking my arm.”
A police officer pushed his way through the crowd and took charge of Bill. “I'll take over from here.”
“You're just in time,” said Russell Miller.
“Glad nobody got hurt. This fellow doesn't usually start his drinking until Friday or Saturday night.”
“Ain't had a drop,” yelled Bill and then he spit at Charlie.
“That’ll be enough of that,” responded the officer. Then he ordered the crowd to disperse, removed handcuffs from his belt and locked them on Bill Polk’s wrists.
“Them men attacked me,” said Bill. “I was just defending myself. Three against one. You got it all wrong officer. I'm not th
e bad guy here.”
The officer laughed “Not the way I saw it. “How you been, Charlie? See your daddy ain't changed a bit. That was a pretty good move you put on him. Why don't you drop by the police station? We could use a good man like you.”
Charlie wondered how the officer knew him.
“You don't know me, do you? Come on, Charlie. You used to sit right behind me in school?”
“Stinky?”
“Don't use that name anymore but, yes, I was Stinky?”
“Stinky Neal. Small world.”
“Now I prefer Sergeant Joe Neal.”
“Ain't that something. You've done well for yourself.”
“You fellas want to press attempted assault charges?”
The men looked at each other and then Russell spoke for the group. “Expect we'll just call it a day.”
“I have a request, though,” said Charlie. “Daddy's most likely got a sizable wad of cash in his coat. I'd be much obliged if you would see him home and make sure that money gets to my Mama.”
“Keep your hands off my money,” protested Bill.
The officer reached in Bill’s coat pocket and pulled out a fist full of dollars and then handed it to Charlie to be counted. “I’ll see that Mrs. Polk gets all of it.”
“Thanks, Stinky, uh, I mean Sergeant Joe.”
“Stop by and see me some time and we’ll catch up.”
“I’ll do it.”
After the unpleasant diversion Russell, Buster, and Charlie walked across the street for lunch at the Stockyard Restaurant.
“Got to say, Charlie, you sure know how to handle your daddy,” said Buster.
“Oh, he ain't been able to whip me in years. It's his talk that gets to me.”
“Wouldn't know it by the way you acted. You were as cool as a cucumber,” said Russell as he scanned the menu. “Think I'm gonna order the beef stew.”
“Yeah, guess I'll be having the same,” said Buster. “Charlie, don't let him get to you. He's a bully and all a bully wants is to get under your skin.”
“He might be a bully, but he's still my daddy. All I've ever wanted from him is to love me like he loves the rest of the family. Some people thought I worked so hard for him out of fear. That wasn't it at all. I worked hard because I was trying to win his approval. When Russell here offered me a job I had reached the point where I gave up trying to please him.”
The waitress stopped by their table and took their orders. “Me and Buster will have the stew. How about you Charlie?”
“Bring me two big pieces of chocolate pie with lots of whipped cream on top.”
The waitress laughed at Charlie's choice. “Cherry pie just came out of the oven.”
“Bring a piece of that too. It's been a rough day.”
“Might as well bring some of that cherry pie for the rest of us,” said Russell.
“Buster, let me ask you something. Back there when Daddy was pitching his fit, he said that you knew what you did to make him hate you so much. Is that something you can talk about?”
“Like I said earlier, I've put it all behind me. Don't expect I can tell you nothing you don't already know. He's mean. He's stubborn. He's a drunk. When your daddy gets something in his mind, real or imagined, he can't let go. It's like cancer that can't be cured. Eats away at him and causes him so much pain that he has to take it out on somebody. Unfortunately for you and me, we're the ones he singled out for venting his anger.”
“So there was something that he thinks you did that he's still mad about?”
“That's right, and it is all in his head, nothing to it but that's all I'm gonna say about it.”
“How did the two of you get to be friends?”
“We grew up together. My home place was where the Bausermans live now. Back then he was a decent fellow. Fun to be around but his daddy was hard on him...real hard. Got so bad, when he was a teenager, he ran away from home. Hopped a train in Edinburg and got as far as Mississippi. Didn't have no money and about starved to death so he tried robbing a store and got caught. He spent a month in jail and that scared him so bad that he came back home hoping things might be better but they weren't. The moment he walked in the door his daddy grabbed him and took him out back and beat him so bad we could hear him screaming over at our place.”
“When did you stop being friends?”
“Guess it happened not long after my wife died. So that would have been about 20 years ago. And no, I'm not going to tell you what caused the fuss, so don't ask.”
“Why won't daddy just come out and say why he has it in for you?”
“I figure because he knows it ain't true. He knows there's nothing to it. Some people have things that they just want to believe about other people even though they know it's not true. Somehow makes them feel better about themselves. In case you ain't learned it yet, your daddy has a mighty low opinion of himself.”
“Does what happened between you and him have anything to do with the way he treats me?”
“Now, Charlie, I wish I could tell you everything that happened. I really do. I made a promise to somebody a long time ago that I will keep to my grave. I gave my word and I ain't going back on it.”
“Then it does have something to do with me.”
Buster Funkhouser had gone further with his comments than he had intended and quickly excused himself. “Fellers, I've got to get over to the stockyard and get John Wissler's cattle loaded so I can get them back to Strathmore before dark.”
Charlie barely said a word on the way back to the Miller farm. All he could think about was his conversation with Buster Funkhouser. What was the imaginary issue or incident that fueled his father’s hatred for Buster Funkhouser? Why were both men so secretive about what happened? What about the promise that Buster made to an unknown third person? Three people were keeping a secret and all of them knew why Bill Polk treated Charlie so badly.
Competition – Early November 1918
The Millers were thrilled to have Charlie working on their farm. Russell was impressed with his work. Hannah liked his humility and politeness. Bobbie thought he was witty and charming. Lisa loved him because he played with her. And Priscilla, well she just loved Charlie.
She was well aware that he had no romantic interest in her and that he was pursuing a closer relationship with Mable, but she had one distinct advantage. Thanks to Mary and Moses Shown, Charlie could only see Mable on Sundays for church and never without one of them present but Cilla got to see him every day. She liked her chances at changing the direction of his affection and planned to take advantage of every opportunity to spend time with him.
Cilla was careful not to make her intentions obvious to Charlie or her parents and determined that the best course of action was just to be more helpful around the farm. Her newly acquired interest in all aspects of farming thrilled her parents but quickly became a nuisance to Charlie, who thought she talked too much and was way too opinionated.
On a cold morning in early November Priscilla heard her daddy complain that his tractor was broken down and he wondered if Charlie could fix it. So far he had not found one aspect of farming that Charlie didn't know and it stood to reason that a stalled tractor would be no problem.
Priscilla tagged along pretending to be concerned about the inoperable tractor.
“What do you know about tractors?” said Russell while watching Charlie milk a cow.
“Not a thing.”
“Tractor won't start this morning. How about taking a look at it?”
“Maybe he didn't hear what I said,” thought Charlie as Russell walked away but if that is what his boss wanted then he would give it a try.
Like a puppy following its master, Cilla shadowed Charlie to the tool shed where he fetched a wooden toolbox and then she stayed on his heels until he reached his destination behind the barn.
“Need help,” she said looking at Charlies puzzled stare at the tractor. “Sure you know what you're doing? All the staring in the world ain't gonna make th
at thing run. You act like you never worked on a tractor before.”
“There's a first time for everything...and this just happens to be it,” said Charlie as he pulled a wrench from the box. Slowly he banged, twisted, and pulled until there was a sizable pile of parts laying on the ground.
“What's that called?” said Cilla pointing to a greasy metal object that Charlie had removed from the engine.
“Beats me.”
“What you think’s wrong with it?”
Charlie grinned at the notion that he might have a clue as to the real problem. “Looks like the doolally was loose.”
“The what?”
“Just have to tighten the doolally to the thingamajiggy over here and she'll be like new.”
“You're pulling my leg.”
When Charlie had completed reassembling the engine, there were parts left on the ground. He stood over them for a while looking back and forth from the ground to the tractor engine.
Cilla laughed at his apparent confusion. “Don't much look like it'll run with them parts you had left over.”
“Why don't you go get you one of those fine horses out of the barn and go for a nice long ride way away from here before I say something I'll be sorry for. Did you just come down here to give me a hard time?”
“Nope. I'm just kidding' with you. Just came down here to learn about fixing a tractor. Trying to learn everything there is to know about farming.”
“What did you learn today?”
Cilla giggled. “I learned that you ought to stick to milking cows.”
Charlie held out his hands that were covered in grease and reached for Cilla’s face.
“Don't you dare,” said Cilla as she ran to the other side of the tractor with Charlie giving chase.
Round and round they went until Cilla stopped and held up her hand. “Stop. You'll get that mess on my coat. Mama will kill both of us.”
“Can't be having that,” said Charlie. “About time I crank up this machine.”
“I'll bet you it won't start.”
“If it does start...will you go away?”
“And if it doesn't start what are you going to give me? I've got some ideas.”
In the Valley of Hope Page 17
