Hoggee (4 page)

Howard stepped back. “I didn't,” he said quickly. “I didn't devil them at all, didn't even call out to them.” He took a breath to slow the beating of his heart and the speed of his words. “Cyrus, I would never hurt them—just watched, that's all. They are good skaters.”

The old man stared at him a minute, then repeated his warning. “Leave 'em be. If you don't, I'll turn you out of this barn to freeze. I will, by thunder! You just watch and see if I don't.”

Despite the cold, Howard's forehead was sweating. He ran his hand across it before he spoke. “I will never cause them trouble,” he said. “I promise you, Cyrus. That's not the way I am. Remember how I took up for Molly?”

Cyrus peered closely into Howard's face, considering. “Well,” he said, “you do seem a good-hearted lad.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe I got too riled up.” He swallowed hard. “I got to protect them, that's all. They got no da to do so, and it's all up to me. I got to protect them, most particular Sarie.”

Howard, leaning against a mule stall, knew he should let the conversation go at that, but he couldn't.

“What's wrong with Sarah?” he asked.

“There you go!” Cyrus stuck the pitchfork back into the hay. “That's the way it starts! I won't have her stared at and poked at.” He turned to face Howard. “She ain't right, boy. That's all you need to know. She ain't right, and it's done broke her mother's heart. You leave her be. Good-hearted or no, you can't help her none. I shouldn't never have agreed to have you in at Christmas, shouldn't never have looked the other way concerning you staying
the winter here in this barn, you with no work to occupy you.”

“I won't bother her,” the boy said, “nor question you again, neither. I'm sorry.” He went back to Molly's stall near the front of the barn, dug down to cover himself with straw, and stayed there until the man was gone.

Howard carved the words by the light of a candle he had found in the barn. It was not easy to light the candle even though there had been pieces of flint and steel beside it. Howard had to strike the flint to get a spark, light a string, and finally get a blaze from the candle. It was not a process he wanted to go through often. Besides, it made him nervous to have even a small candle in the barn with so much hay. Howard had reason to worry about fires.

Still, he had to have light, had to carve. The day had begun by his studying the marks on Molly's stall. They told him that it was the middle of January—a new year—1838. He only had to survive two and a half more months until his brother's return. It would not matter that Jack would fume over Howard's bad decision. He would be in charge again. Jack would make sure that Howard was never hungry again. His brother always knew what to do.

Then life on the canal would begin again. Being a hoggee was hard, driving the mules for six long hours without a break, sleeping on the boat for six hours, and going back to work again. No one could call it easy, but
as a hoggee Howard's stomach had been well filled. Captain Travis knew he got better work from well-fed hoggees, just as he did from well-fed mules.

Old Cyrus had brought him nothing yesterday, and the boy worried that Cyrus was too angry over his questions about Sarah to ever give him another morsel of food. Tonight he would have to fight the dogs for the scraps. He stayed in the barn until after dark. The wind cut cruelly through his thin coat, but he lowered his head and pushed himself to move ahead. On the curve of the road, he paused for a minute to look at Cyrus's house. Just as he turned half away, his eyes caught sight of a girl holding a large candle in front of the window.

“Sarah,” Howard said aloud. She turned to the side, and he could see the outline of her nose and of her chin. He could see the long hair that hung straight behind her back. “Sarah,” he said again softly.

Howard wanted to knock at the door. He wanted to speak to Sarah. In the darkness he could not see her eyes, but still he felt her sadness. He was alone, hungry, and cold. Sarah lived with people who cared for her, but somehow he knew that she too felt alone. Her sisters had been unaware of his presence as they had skated, but Sarah had known he was there. She knew, too, that he was hungry, and she cared. Her actions were not those of a demented person.

Too cold to stand still longer and too touched by Sarah's sorrow to go on to town, he went back to the barn to carve. Later, when his need to record had been satisfied, he went back outside to move toward the town. It was early in the evening, but few people were on the streets.

Snow had begun to fall, great fat flakes that quickly
covered the wooden walks the merchants had cleared from earlier snows. On the way to O'Grady's Inn, Howard passed only two men and a woman, their heads down to shield their faces from the wind. Customers at the inn would be few this evening. He feared there would be no scraps.

Hope, though, grew in his heart when he reached the back of the establishment. There were no waiting dogs. They're too smart to be out on a night like this, he told himself. They're hunkered down somewhere out of the cold. It was just then that he saw something not usually there, a large wooden whiskey barrel. O'Grady must have emptied it and thrown it out the back door.

Howard rolled the barrel away from the light that came through the back windows. Then he crawled inside. The strong whiskey smell made him slightly dizzy, but he was much warmer. Here he could wait. Surely there would be something thrown out. Before long the door opened. Howard could see Mac there in the light, and he watched as the boy threw out a plate of something.

When the door closed, he crawled out of the barrel and, without getting fully upright, moved quickly to the scraps. On the snow were several scraps of bread and two small pieces of meat. Howard's heart raced, and he dropped to his knees to retrieve the food. So thrilled was he with his good luck that he did not know the door behind him had opened again.

Suddenly, he knew he was no longer alone. The light from the open kitchen door revealed Mac running toward him. Howard dropped the scraps and scrambled to get to his feet, but Mac was too quick. His fist struck Howard's face hard, and the boy rocked back on his
knees. Mac leaned down, grabbed his shirt, and yanked Howard up so that he could hit him again. Howard fell to the ground, terribly aware of Mac's heavy boot coming toward him. Howard tried to roll, but the boot caught him. When the first kick struck his stomach, he cried out in pain. Mercifully, something in his head seemed to switch off before the second kick, and he felt nothing when the boot struck again.

His head cleared for a second, and a thought flashed through his mind. This is the end. I'll die tonight. I won't starve, after all. It was not a particularly frightening thought, just one of certainty. A call came then from the open door. “Stop it,” a woman shouted. “Stop it right now, or I'll come at you myself with this butcher knife.” Even in his terrible confusion Howard knew the speaker was Mistress O'Grady.

“Ah,” said Mac, his tone surly, “the little beggar hankers to be taught a lesson or two.” He turned, though, and went back inside the kitchen.

Unable to move, Howard lay for a time in the snow. He thought of crawling back into the barrel, but Mac might find him there. There was, he knew, no way he could make it all the way to the barn, but he had to get away from O'Grady's. He put his hands down in the snow to push himself up to his knees.

It was then that he found it, a small leather purse lying in the snow. He opened the purse and found a ten-dollar gold piece and a silver dime. Howard sucked in his breath with surprise. Still on his knees, he glanced over his shoulder. No one from the inn watched. He slipped the purse into his pocket.

I've got to run, he thought. I've got to get out of here before Mac comes back. The purse had probably
come from Mac's pocket, and he would miss it at any moment.

Keeping something that did not belong to you was stealing, wasn't it? He should return the purse, but he knew he would be beaten again. Besides, hadn't Mac stolen his job? The money in that purse would be more than enough to feed him through the rest of the horrible winter.

He pushed himself up and staggered away from the inn's back door. As Howard passed the backs of the dry goods store and the blacksmith shop, his head hurt and he felt dizzy. But he pushed himself on, determined to get farther away from Mac. Next was the livery stable, where people paid to have their horses kept. Pausing there to lean on the building, he saw a crack of light shine through the back door. Probably someone was sleeping in a room inside to take care of travelers' horses. Maybe he should open the door and say, “Please, sir, may I lie down here for just a bit?”

He reached out his hand toward the door. I'll pull it open ever so slightly, he told himself, but his hand did not grasp anything. It slid, instead, down the wood, and Howard's body slid also. He lay there, unconscious in the snow, for a very long time.

Then someone shook him. “Wake up, boy!” a voice demanded. “You're nearly frozen. Wake up, I say.”

Howard opened his eyes and tried to struggle to his feet. “Whoa there, now,” said the voice, and Howard saw a man hunkered down beside him. “Let me help you.”

The man stood; then taking Howard's hand, he pulled him to his feet.

“Thank you, sir.” Howard leaned against the building.

“Where do you live, boy?” He pointed to a horse and buggy that stood just outside the livery stable. “I'll give you a lift home.”

Howard looked at the man, and his head cleared enough to think straight. The man's clothing did not look expensive, but he was dressed nicely enough, and he did have money to keep a horse and carriage. He might know Captain Travis. Howard knew he should not tell him that he lived in the captain's barn, but he needed that ride badly. “I'm boarding with old Cyrus,” he said, realizing he did not know Cyrus's last name. “He takes care of Captain Travis's mules.”

“I know Captain Travis's place. I'll take you there,” said the man, and he helped Howard climb up to the seat. He took a blanket from a chest beneath the seat and wrapped it around the shivering boy.

They moved through Birchport in the darkness. For a time they rode in silence. Then the man spoke. “I was just bringing my rig in,” he said as he drove. “I've been on quite a journey to visit my mother, and got delayed when my horse threw a shoe. I think my bad luck was your good fortune.”

Even in the darkness, Howard could feel the man's eyes on him. His teeth had stopped chattering some, and he was able to say, “Yes, sir. I might have frozen to death if you hadn't come along and found me.”

“Well,” said the man, “boys are my business. I teach over at the academy for boys.”

Howard made a grunting noise to acknowledge that he understood.

“My name is Thomas Parrish,” the man said. “Will you tell me yours?”

“Howard Gardner.”

“Do you go to school, Howard?”

Howard swallowed before he spoke. He did not want his voice to be full of self-pity. “I did go to school, sir, but my father died. I'm a hoggee now. Well, not now because it's winter.”

“I wonder if you will tell me why you were lying out in the snow on such a night?”

Howard sighed. “I got whipped, beat up in a fight, and I guess I passed out.”

“I see,” said the man.

Howard wanted to explain. He did not want Thomas Parrish to think he was a ruffian. “The fight wasn't my idea, sir. The other boy attacked me.”

“I see,” the man said again.

They rode on in silence, and soon the rig turned off the road onto Captain Travis's property. “Cyrus lives just over the hill,” Howard said, and then he felt embarrassed. “I didn't mean you had to drive me to the door, sir. Of course I can walk.”

Thomas Parrish put out his hand to touch Howard's arm and urged his horses on. “No, Howard, I am not at all sure you can walk. I'll take you to the door.”

Now Howard felt panicky. He could not go into Cyrus's house in the middle of the night. He had to tell this man that he slept in the barn. “Well, sir, I don't so much sleep in the house. I've got a nice cozy little room in the barn.”

The man nodded. “The barn it will be, then.” When he stopped, he said, “Wait now, let me help you down.”

“Thank you, sir,” Howard said when he stood on the ground. “Thank you very much.”

Thomas Parrish nodded again and climbed back onto the buggy. “You go on in, Howard,” he said.

“I'd like to see you inside before I go.”

Howard turned to move slowly toward the door. He had taken a few steps when he felt compelled to stop and turn back to the man. “I have a book,” he called. “
The Life and Memorable Actions of George Washington.
That's the name of it, and I have read it many times.”

“I'm glad, Howard,” said the man. “I am glad you have a book.”

Howard dropped his head and turned away to go inside the barn. Why had he told Master Parrish about the book? What difference did it make that some hoggee owned a book? “You didn't tell him you started a fire,” a voice inside his head said. “You didn't tell him you burned your mother's house.” He pushed his way through the barn door, closed it behind him, found Molly's stall, and burrowed into the straw to find his blanket.

It was then that he remembered the purse. Holding his breath, he jammed his hand quickly into his pocket. “Oh,” he said aloud when his fingers closed over the clasp, “it's still there.” Something made him decide to bury the purse. Using his last bit of strength, he dug with his knife to make a shallow hole, put in the purse, and patted dirt back over it. He crawled under the hay with his blanket and went quickly to sleep.

Howard slept fitfully. The next morning, Cyrus muttered a greeting as he took Molly from her stall to put her in the exercise lot. Howard managed to grunt in response. His head hurt fiercely, his mouth was as dry as cotton, and he felt feverishly hot. He thought of asking Cyrus to get him a drink, but when he opened his mouth no words came. His head swam, and he dropped back into a troubled sleep.