John Fitzgerald (5 page)

   
"Trade me back," I said. "My
mother won't let me keep the
sow.
"

"A trade is
a trade," Seth said.

"But my
mother says I can't keep the pig," I protested. "What can I do with
it?"

   
Seth thought for a moment. "Maybe I
could board the sow for you until it got big enough to sell," he said.

   
"That is a peach of an idea," I
said, feeling mighty relieved. "How much will it cost?"

   
"Growing pigs eat a lot," he
said. "I figure it will cost you about ten cents a week."

   
He had me over a barrel and knew it.
"All right," I said. "I'll pay you when I sell it."

   
Seth shook his head. "Nope," he
said. "What if she gets sick and dies? You will have to pay in advance
every week."

   
I sure as heck wasn't going to be paying
ten cents a week to Seth and then have the pig die on me before she was old
enough to sell.

"I won't pay
in advance," I said.

   
"It is your sow," he said.
"I don't care what you do with it. But I might do you a favor and take it
off your hands, seeing as how your Ma won't let you keep it."

"And I won't
have to pay ten cents a week?" I asked.

   
"Nope," Seth said,
"providing you give me back the pig and I get to keep the bow and
arrow."

   
"It's a deal," I said. I handed
the little sow to Seth and watched him put it back in the pigpen.

   
As I walked home I wondered if Mr. Kramer
had ever ended up on the short end of a trade the way I had. I didn't think so.
There was more to this trading business than I had thought. One thing I knew
for sure. This was going to be the end of my trading days.

   
Mamma, of course, had to tell Papa all
about it during supper. I sure didn't think it was funny, but it made Papa
laugh.

   
"I guess, J.D.," he said,
"that you got the idea from Alex Kramer."

"And I
guess, Papa," I said, "that I'm just a born loser."

   
Papa stopped laughing. His face became
serious and so did his voice. "There is no such a thing as a born
loser," he said. "But there are people who continually overreach
themselves. And when they fail to achieve their objective, they call themselves
born losers and wallow in self-pity."

"I don't
quite understand," I said.

   
"Every person on this earth is limited
to what they can do in life by what is called inherent talent and native
ability," Papa said. "This determines what each person can do best.
One man might have the inherent ability to become a great musician while
another couldn't become a great musician if he practiced all his life."

"How do you
know what you can do best?" I asked.

   
"A great burning desire to become
something is a good indication a person has the ability for it," Papa
said. "A man who has this desire to become a doctor or lawyer or
journalist or merchant or teacher or farmer and so on almost always achieves
his goal. And it is this gift of birth that divides people into all the
vocations that are needed for mankind to survive. But there are some people who
stifle this desire to be something they can be. They are motivated by admiration
or envy to try to be something else. For example, J.D., you were motivated by
admiration for Alex Kramer to become a trader, although you lacked the ability
to be a successful trader. As a result you failed."

   
Papa leaned back in his chair. "And
while we are on the subject," he said, "I think it is high time you
stopped trying to imitate your brother Tom. I know your admiration for him has
made you try to take his place. But you lack the shrewdness of your brother, so
you can never even come close to taking his place. Find your own identity and
say to yourself, this is me, and I can't be anybody but me. Know
thyself
and be thyself. That is the key to a happy and
well-adjusted life."

   
At first I thought that Papa was telling me
in a polite way that I was pretty darn dumb. I'd got nine kids things they
wanted and what did I get out of it?
Absolutely nothing.
And when Tom found out I'd traded away his old Indian suit and war bonnet, he
would probably claim they were priceless heirlooms or something and charge me
plenty.

   
But the more I thought about what Papa had
told me, the more convinced I became that he wasn't just telling me I was dumb.
What he said about being
yourself
made sense. And I
figured the best way to begin to know myself was by admitting that I only had a
little brain, and the best way to start being myself was to stop trying to
imitate my brother Tom.

CHAPTER THREE

Frankie Pennyworth

   
I FIGURED NOW THAT I'd learned to know
myself and just be myself that all my troubles were over. I was looking forward
to the "happy and well-adjusted life" Papa had promised me. I began
by telling Frank and Allan Jensen that I'd do my own chores from now on. I
talked this over with Papa first. He was pleased I'd given up trying to imitate
Tom but worried about Frank and Allan not having any spending money. He solved
the problem by hiring them for ten cents a week to deliver the Advocate every
Tuesday after school.

   
Everything went along just dandy for a
couple of weeks. I was enjoying just being me and Papa said I was on the right
road. Then I discovered that a fellow could be on the right road himself but
somebody else on another road could change his whole life for him.

   
The road that ruined my happy and
well-adjusted life was the old road up Red Rock Canyon to the plateau and over
the mountain. This had been the main road to
Silverlode
when it was a booming mining
town,
and to
Adenville
from Cedar City. After
Silverlode
became a ghost town, a railroad was built from Cedar City to
Adenville
and the towns south. Then a new road for wagons
was built alongside the railroad tracks. It was a longer route, but a much
better and safer one to travel. The old road up Red Rock Canyon had always been
dangerous due to rock and land slides, especially after a heavy rain. Papa told
me one time that when it was the main road people were killed in Red Rock
Canyon almost every week.

   
The only people who used the road now were
a few homesteaders who lived on the plateau, and trappers and hunters. It was
this road that brought Frankie Pennyworth into my life. His name should have
been Frankenstein
Dollarworth
because he was a
monster and a dollar's worth of trouble. I know that sounds impossible when I
tell you that Frankie was only four years old. But I'd better start at the
beginning.

   
Mr. Pennyworth, his wife, and two sons
named William and Frank lived on the plateau, where they had a homestead of one
hundred and sixty acres. They grew mostly wheat, which Mr. Pennyworth sold to
the flour mill in
Adenville
. During the winter months
Mr. Pennyworth worked as a trapper and brought his cache of furs into
Adenville
to sell. His son William was ten years old but
never attended school in
Adenville
because it was too
far to travel.

   
Uncle Mark came to our house about seven
o'clock on a Friday evening carrying Frankie Pennyworth in his arms. The boy
was asleep. There was mud on Frankie's clothing and all over Uncle Mark. This
surprised me because it hadn't rained a drop in town all day. But I did notice
it was raining on the plateau and in the mountains.

   
"Good Lord, Mark!" Mamma
exclaimed when she opened the front door. "What happened to you and who is
that boy?"

   
"His name is Frankie Pennyworth,"
Uncle Mark said, after wiping his feet on the doormat and coming into the
parlor. "His parents and brother were killed by a rock and land slide in
Red Rock Canyon. I would have taken him home with me, but as you know Cathie is
back east visiting relatives. I didn't know what else to do so I brought him
here."

   
"Explanations can wait," Mamma
said. She took the boy in her arms, unmindful of the mud on his clothes.
"Bertha, go up to the attic and get one of John D.'s old nightgowns and a
robe. I'll give the little fellow a sponge bath and put him to bed. I'll let
him sleep with me tonight because he'll be frightened when he wakes up."

   
"Try not to wake him while you are
putting him to bed," Uncle Mark said. '"Doctor
LeRoy
said the longer he sleeps the better."

Mamma left the
parlor with Frankie and Aunt Bertha.

"What
happened?" Papa asked.

   
Uncle Mark removed his Stetson hat, but
remained standing because his clothes were so muddy. His face was very grim. He
told us that the Pennyworths had left their farm early that morning to drive
into
Adenville
for supplies.

   
They had stopped at the farmhouse of
another homesteader named Parker to get a list of supplies the Parker family
needed. It was about a two hour trip from the plateau to
Adenville
.
When six hours passed without the Pennyworths returning, Mr. Parker saddled a
horse and started down the canyon. About two-thirds of the way down he came
upon a gigantic rock and land slide that covered the road to a depth of almost
a hundred feet and for a distance of about a quarter of a mile. He saw no sign
of life and thought the Pennyworths might have passed before the slide and when
they tried to come back had to return to
Adenville
.
He rode his horse up the side of the mountain around the slide and came into
town. Upon discovering the Pennyworths had never arrived in
Adenville
,
he went to the Marshal's office to tell

Uncle Mark.

   
"I arranged for some men with wagons
and shovels to follow us," Uncle Mark said, "and then rode to the
scene of the slide with Mr. Parker. I knew it was hopeless the minute I saw the
slide. It looked as if half the mountain had dropped on the road and bottom of
the canyon. It would take an army of men weeks, and maybe even months, to find
the bodies under all those tons and tons of rock and dirt. That is the end of
Red Rock Canyon road. It will be impossible to build another road over that
slide. The people on the plateau will have to go all the way down the other
side of the mountain for supplies from now on."

"But the boy
is alive," Papa said.

   
"We thought for sure the entire
family were
buried under the slide," Uncle Mark said.
"I rode to the other side of it with Mr. Parker. We found no signs of
life. Then Mr. Parker said he had to be getting on home. And he promised to
look out for the milk cow and chickens on the Pennyworth farm. He started up
the road. I was getting ready to ride back to the other side of the slide to
meet the men coming with wagons. I heard Parker shout at me. I turned and saw
him riding toward me holding Frankie on his saddle. He said he'd missed seeing
Frankie earlier because the boy was under a ledge by the side of the
road."

   
"Didn't the boy tell you what had
happened?" Papa asked.

   
"He couldn't," Uncle Mark said.
"He is in a state of shock. He hasn't cried one tear or said one word
since we found him. I brought him back on my horse with me and tried to get him
to talk but he wouldn't. He went to sleep just before we got to town. I took
him to Doctor
LeRoy
. The doctor examined him and said
there was no concussion or bruises. He said the boy was in a deep sleep from
shock exhaustion. How the boy escaped and the others didn't we won't know until
Frankie comes out of his shock and can tell us."

   
"I know you must be tired, Mark,"
Papa said. "You go on home. I'll tell
Tena
and
Bertha all about it."

   
"Parker is going to notify friends of
the Pennyworths on the plateau," Uncle Mark said. "I will meet them
at the upper side of the slide tomorrow morning with Reverend Holcomb, who will
hold a funeral service there. Good night."

"Good
night," Papa and I both said.

   
Uncle Mark had just left when Mamma and
Aunt Bertha came back into the parlor. Papa told them what we had learned from
Uncle Mark about the accident. Mamma didn't even know the Pennyworths and
neither did Aunt Bertha, but they both began to cry.

   
It was past my bedtime so I went up to my
room. I fell asleep feeling very sorry for a four-year-old boy who had lost his
parents and brother. The next thing I knew I was having a nightmare. I dreamt
an Indian had sneaked into my room and was beating me on the head with a
tomahawk. I woke up. It was daylight. But I was still being hit on the head. I
was so stunned that I just lay there as a very hard wallop landed on my left
ear. I turned over on my back. I could see a hand with my shoe in it. The shoe
came down and hit me so hard on the nose that it started to bleed. I grabbed
the shoe and sat up in bed. And who do you think was standing beside my bed in
my old nightgown waking me up by pounding on my head with a shoe?
Nobody else but Frankie Pennyworth.
I took the shoe away
from him and jumped out of bed.