CRY OF THE GOSHAWK
(gos´hawk)
A Casey Jones Adventure
Copyright © 2006 Roy Bush
Smashwords Edition
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My thanks to Ann Saling, for her encouragement through the Pacific Northwest Writers Association,
and to Inga Wiehl for her patient editorial assistance.
To Dorothy, my wife and inspiration.
one
MY TRAIN WRECK
I I’ll always remember the summer of 1920. My dad died, and I still re-live the dark days when my mom and I struggled to get our lives back on track. I couldn’t help to support us. . . no job anywhere for a boy of sixteen that would pay enough. So now I’m on my way out west to live with my aunt. In a few hours, this train will roll into Seattle.
At first, thoughts of Mom and my friends back in Brooklyn crowded out everything else. But when I changed trains in Chicago, I sat next to this nice-looking guy. I watched him put his tan, tattered suitcase under the seat. I thought talking to him might get my mind off myself.
“Hi, I’m Casey Jones,” I began.
“Hello, I’m Benny from the Bronx.” He smiled and added, “Any relation to the famous railroader?”
Because I have the same name as an Illinois Central engineer who died trying to avoid a train wreck, I always get this question.
“No, Jones is a common name.”
Benny continued eagerly, “I’m goin’ to Seattle . . . gotta job on a fishing boat . . . might even make it up to Alaska.”
Benny, who settled in with a sigh, seemed to be in his early twenties; with his slim, lanky frame, he looked hungry.
“Fishing in Alaska . . . that sounds exciting.”
As the train clacked over the tracks, I sat back on the green, plush seat and wondered about sailing out to sea, fishing for a living. I longed for adventure; something that would give my life a lift, like standing on the deck, pole in hand, as a huge fish took the bait. My arm muscles tensed, as, in my mind, the line gave a mighty jerk. Braced on the ship’s rail, I struggled to reel in a huge, silvery salmon, then flipped it, flopping and flashing, into a waiting tub. The captain gave me a smiling thumbs-up just before the train gave a jerk, and I came back to reality. I wanted to stay aboard the boat . . . bait the hook, cast it in the frothy foam and challenge the sea for another catch. But my vivid vision evaporated. Instead of fresh, ocean air, I breathed cigar smoke mixed with fumes from our coal-burning engine.
Well, so much for my dandy day-dream.
I turned to Benny. “I’d rather be catching fish aboard a boat than slicing them up in a Seattle sea-food shop.”
Benny’s dark eyes went wide with surprise. “You’re going to work in a fish market?”
“Yes, from what my aunt wrote, it looks that way.” I slipped Aunt Minnie’s letter from my shirt pocket. “Listen to this, Benny: ‘Casey can use our spare bedroom . . . and maybe he’ll find it interesting to help out in his Uncle Carl’s sea-food business this summer.’”
Benny’s whole face wrinkled into a big smile. “Well, looks like I’ll be catchin’ ’em and you’ll be cleanin’ ’em and sellin’ ’em.”
I had to laugh. “And the moms will be fryin’ ’em and everybody’ll be eatin’ ’em.”
Benny welcomed a little humor, guffawed and poked me on shoulder. “Haw! Between the two of us, we’ll have folks eatin’ so much fish, it’ll be a comin’ outa their ears!”
Laughing helped lighten up my dark mood. But still, I couldn’t forget the strong smell of the Fulton Fish Market in lower Manhattan.
I hoped for the best. On the job I’d probably get used to smelling fish, and maybe I’ll get to go to high school too.
As we talked, the home-sick lump in my stomach melted away. Benny‘d left New York to start a new life, too. Maybe we could get together in Seattle before he sailed for Alaska.
I told myself, “You’re dreaming again! Seattle’s a big place. When we get off the train we’ll go our separate ways and I’ll never see Benny again.”
I looked out at the passing countryside from my window seat. In a way, my whole life seemed to be rushing by.
What would my life with Aunt Minnie and Uncle Carl be like? Would school be a part of it? Already I missed my classes back in Brooklyn . . . especially the interesting new electronic stuff produced by the inventor, Edison, and a scientist named Tesla.
I thought of old Mr. Lambrusco who lived in our apartment house. What a wonderful neighbor. He taught me to juggle, to play his mandolin, and loaned me fascinating geography and history books that showed how the explorers opened up the new world. Well, if I can’t go to school, at least maybe there’ll be a library nearby.
These last two days Benny and I had rolled through the mostly flat land of Montana, then crossed the Rocky Mountains. Now, as we raced though eastern Washington I noticed a big change in the landscape . . . and it wasn’t what I expected.
Back in Brooklyn, the principal’s parting comment was, “You’d better pack an umbrella, Casey, Seattle gets as much rain as London.” Checking me out for a three-thousand-mile journey brought out the teacher in him. He added, “Wet, maritime climate there, you know.” From that, I expected to see lush greenery about now. Instead, my eyes traveled out to a treeless countryside. Rain? Maritime climate? Not out there! Dry, desolate desert rolled by. Even the sparse sagebrush, which extended out to the distant hills, looked dead. I’ll bet if a drop of rain hit that scrubby stuff, it would explode. London? Forget the umbrella! This country is more like the Sahara!
I refused to be depressed by the dreary desert. We didn’t own an umbrella anyhow. A thought made me smile: “This part of the west is not exactly as bright and colorful as those patchwork quilts Mom made to cover our beds back in Brooklyn.”
In New York City the sidewalks run up and down; one like another, but the buildings are different and the neighborhoods with their six-story apartment houses, little shops and parks, have a sameness about them. Then I thought of the view from the Staten Island ferry . . . the big bridges, Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty, so different from this strange land out there.
An unpainted house came into view. Two black horses cantered about in a split-rail corral.
“Aha! I thought, “There is life out there.” I liked horses, and drank in the sight of them. In New York, motor cars were replacing them, but the big city still had horse-drawn carts. A strange idea began to push its way into my mind like grass sprouting between the cracks of a sidewalk. For days now, this train had rolled on through cluttered cities, thick forests, and vast prairies . . . on and on . . . I began to think we’d overshot the west coast and somehow wound up in another land entirely. As the corral passed by, my imagination began to gallop. Maybe we’ve run off the face of the earth to another planet. Except for the little farm, it was more like Mars out there than planet earth.
I bumped my head against the thick window a couple of times to get reality going again. Living out there would be like dying and finding yourself in the “hot place!” I couldn’t think of a landscape more unpleasant. At least in the Sahara, one could find a green oasis and palm trees. I leaned back and closed my eyes, overcome by thoughts of sun-scorched sands. Minutes later a sudden squeal of brakes snapped me back to reality.
Our single set of tracks had become two as our train entered a huge rail yard with hundreds of boxcars. Several small switch engines puffed smoke and pushed lines of cars. The train slowed, yet buildings rushed by; some were built of brick. We were stopping at a large town. I thought, “Maybe the train station will have a news-stand and candy counter.” My mouth watered at the thought of peanuts and chocolate as I eagerly pulled a nickel from my pocket.
When we lurched to a stop I jumped past Benny into the aisle, ahead of a woman and a little boy, ran to the vestibule between the cars, and clamored down behind the conductor to the brick platform.
On the platform the arrival of our passenger train had stirred things up. With the engine bell clanging, and pistons hissing steam, there was an air of excitement all about. Uniformed porters in red hats pulled their clattering green freight wagons, loaded with mail and baggage, to the freight cars ahead.
The air was pungent with smoke from our big locomotive that sat snorting a protest of pent-up power like a huge animal, eager to charge back onto the prairie. A thrill of excitement shot through me with a premonition that something big was about to happen.
The conductor checked his pocket watch. I knew I had only a few minutes, then the train would leave, with or without me. I sure didn’t want to be stranded in this strange place. And what would Aunt Minnie think if I didn’t arrive as expected?
I rubbed the buffalo on my nickel and squinted against the sun at the large, open area inside the depot. I could see no sign of a magazine counter . . no candy bar here. Disappointed, I turned back and became caught up in all the activity around me until the trainman called out, “All aboard!”
But just then, a large middle-aged man bore down on me like a steam engine. I panicked at his fierce expression, spun around and scrambled back, but the stranger caught my arm in an iron grip. We had suddenly come together, even though, like the other Casey Jones, I’d tried to avoid a collision.
My nickel flew away, bouncing under the train. No matter. My roiling stomach wasn’t wanting candy now; the big man had jerked me back with such force, I’d almost lost my lunch.
“Boy, is your name Casey?”
“Y-yes,” I gulped, with a voice pitched two octaves higher than normal.
With his red face close to mine, he barked, “I’m your Uncle Harry and you’re coming with me!”
The conductor, a few feet away, gave the signal for the train to move out. Uncle Harry barked again, this time at the startled trainman.
“Do you know where this boy was sitting?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Harry Kinsman, his uncle. I have authority to take him off the train. His mother says he has just one bag. Go find it and throw it off!”
When the conductor heard the name Harry Kinsman, he snapped to attention like an army private. He leaped on board to fetch my bag, and I heard, “TOOT, TOOT,” then the “CLANG” of a freight car door rumbling shut.
Uncle Harry wasn’t taking any chances. Now that he had me, he wasn’t about to let me get away. With an eye on the train, he tightened his grip.
How could I have imagined this wild train wreck of sorts? Here on a railroad platform miles from home, I’d collided with an uncle I’d never met.
two
HIT BY HATE
The train began to leave the station. As it picked up speed, Uncle Harry released me. I stood there rubbing the circulation back in my arm, and thought of my bag of clothes and keepsakes that were fast escaping to Seattle. Oh, how I longed to be with them. I hadn’t even said goodbye to Benny.
I’d tried to look on the bright side of things, and talking to Benny had helped. But now, my thoughts returned to last month. I’d tried to be strong and help Mom when my dad had died after an appendicitis operation. I’d thought, “It’s just the two of us now in the big, uncaring city. I have to grow up fast.” But during the long, dark nights I couldn’t hold back the tears. I’d finally slip off to sleep whispering, “Why? Why did you do it, Dad?”
After the operation, he’d gone back to work shoveling coal at the foundry. It had been too soon. Too soon! Now, thousands of miles from home, I fought down sobs rising in my throat as I watched the train, Benny, and my bag move away, leaving me behind. What would my dad have said about all this? Dad, so handsome, with his wavy brown hair and thick mustache.
I used to love it when he would come home from work. When I was younger I’d run to him and he’d swing me around. He’d laugh a greeting. “How’s my Casey from Canarsie? You been good to your mother?” Now, in a strange western town, I wiped my eyes with my sleeve.
I had a flashback to when Dad’s foreman at the steel foundry sat in our little parlor and told Mom the awful details of how Dad had died. “I knew something was wrong,” he’d said, “when your husband, Dan, dropped his coal shovel and grabbed his side with both hands . . . trying to keep his guts in, he was.” Mom’s face became pale with grief. The foreman finally finished. “Sure sorry ma’am, Dan’d pulled his stitches loose – bled to death right there on the job. We just couldn’t help him.” On his way out, the foreman handed over a stained envelope. “We took up a collection for you and the boy.”
Mom found a job as a clerk, but it didn’t pay much. When Aunt Minnie and Uncle Carl offered to take me, I had to go.
Now, on the depot platform, I felt light-headed and my heart was pounding. As I raised my hand to the letter in my shirt pocket, I wondered if I’d ever get to meet Aunt Minnie or see Seattle.
The conductor appeared at the last second and smoothly slid my canvas suitcase from the moving train onto the platform. I bolted down the track to pick it up, happy to retrieve something familiar. I hugged my bag of belongings and turned back to . . . I knew not what.
I’d heard very little about my mother’s brother, Harry. I looked him in the eye as he stood waiting for me. His thick crop of black hair and heavy mustache showed hints of gray. His dark suit and tie gave him a professional look. As he returned my gaze, his stern expression slowly relaxed into a smile. I walked up to him and smiled back.
Showing some kindness, he placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. “I sent your Aunt Minnie a telegram. She knows about this change of plans.”
We headed for a Model T Ford with its top down, and he continued. “Your mother knows too.” Uncle Harry’s attempt to reassure me helped to calm my riled-up stomach. “That’s my car there at the curb.”
Were we going to drive to some dry farm, out in the “dead” country? The thought gave me chills on a hot day.
I climbed in, still clutching my bag, as Uncle Harry stepped around in front and cranked the Model T to a start. The car bounced as he hopped in and began to drive smoothly through what seemed to be the main part of town. I was pleased to see the streets were paved and curbed too. There were neat shops with offices over them. I caught the name of the newspaper as we drove by, The Arborville Grapevine. I thought, “So now I know the name of this place . . . Arborville.”
Uncle Harry spoke up. “Right now, we’re heading to my place, Casey. You’ll meet your Aunt Louise.” In a gentle tone of voice he added almost under his breath, “and your cousins too, if they’re at home.”
Cousins! I dimly remembered that my mom’s brother, Harry, had three daughters, or was it four? My head began to swim again. Uncle Harry continued. “You will be living with us now. We have plenty of room and we’re better able to provide a true home for you than your Aunt Minnie in Seattle.”
I heaved a sigh. I’d been looking forward to living in Seattle. But now I wouldn’t be cleaning fish. For all I knew, that fish market might be the nearest one of its kind to Arborville.
There were few cars around, and some horse-drawn wagons gave the town a true western flavor. The sign above one quaint shop read: J. J. Magnusson’s Son—Harness Shop. I also noticed a larger building with two signs, one mounted vertically high on the corner and the other across the front. Both read: Hotel Bellmont. People on the street were dressed countrified; women and girls in blouses and long skirts; men and boys in overalls. Some of the men, however, probably shopkeepers or professional men, wore suits with vests and black string ties.
I’d just begun to relax and appreciate the ride with all the strange sights, when my attention was riveted on a young man standing on the sidewalk. As we passed, his menacing stare threw a scare into me. He stood with clenched fists and his eyes met mine in an unblinking glare of hate. When I glanced back over my shoulder, his whole face contorted into a fearful grimace. My heart began to pound again. When I closed my eyes, I could still see the round, menacing, face, under a tweed cap worn low to black eyebrows.
My mind raced for answers. Why had my uncle pulled me off the train? Had my mother and Aunt Minnie really agreed to my coming here to Arborville instead of going to Seattle? The biggest question I spoke out loud, “Who was that scowling young man, and why was he glaring at me?”
I wasn’t sure that Uncle Harry heard me ask that question over the staccato sound of the motor, but he’d seen the young man too. He leaned over and said in a loud voice, “That was just Vernon. He’s a ne’er-do-well. Take my advice, ignore him.”
This time Uncle Harry didn’t help my apprehensive mood much. Ignore him? Would I be able to do that? I truly hoped so.
Still light-headed, I wished that I’d eaten a candy bar to pep me up for whatever might come next. I’d had little to eat since the train had pulled out of Spokane, only a light lunch of a dry roll, the last piece of salami I’d brought along, and a cup of coffee I’d bought from the porter for 10 cents. I was relieved when we pulled up to the garage of a large, two-story brick home, with a sweeping front lawn and fine shade trees.
I wiped the sweat from my brow. Whew! Not the Sahara!
Uncle Harry switched off the motor and yelled, “Here we are, Casey!” He jumped down, leaving me to scramble out with my bag. I pulled my cap off and followed as Uncle Harry strode around to the front door of his impressive home.
There, to greet us, stood a tall, beautiful woman with blond braids wound neatly on top of her head.
Uncle Harry began, “Casey, this is your Aunt Louise.” Then he grabbed me to stand in front of him: “Louise, my dear, this fine young lad is my sister’s son, Casey Jones.”
She took my hand in both of hers. “Hello, Casey,” she said warmly, “I’m so very pleased to meet you. Welcome to our home. We call it Overton Manor. We have a meal ready for you. I expect you must be famished after the long train ride.”
Before I could respond, a cute girl ran right up to me and gave me a big hug. She seemed about my age, if not younger. She sparkled with cheerfulness. “Hello, Casey,” she laughed. “I’m your cousin Colette.”
three
AMBUSHED
Seated alone at the large dining room table, I met the maid, Sally, as she brought my meal, served on beautiful dishes. Middle-aged and medium-sized, she wore a blue and white striped apron and a kind expression.
As Sally put a plate of pot roast, small red potatoes and green beans in front me, I thought, “Hmm, the Kinsmans eat well.” I poured a generous amount of rich brown gravy over everything. Sally, who doubled as the cook, nodded her approval.
“You’ll be needing a glass of milk, I think.”
“Yes, thank you.”
Sally continued, “Apple pie for dessert?”
With a full mouth, I nodded emphatically.
Minutes later, I cleaned up the last bit of gravy with a bit of bread and wiped my mouth on a huge linen napkin.
Like magic, a large slice of apple pie came sailing over my left shoulder, served by Sally who’d been hovering nearby.
Fork flying, I tied into the pie.
“Can you think of anything else, young man?”
I hesitated.
“Now, now,” Sally said encouragingly. “Your first meal here should lack nothing. What else? A few after-dinner mints, perhaps?”
Sally looked at me so kindly, I couldn’t resist blurting out, “Some black coffee maybe?”
“Coffee?” Sally raised her blond eyebrows in surprise. “Well, now. We have a fresh pot on the stove. You shall have your coffee!”
Though I was large for my age, Sally must have thought me a bit young for coffee. I decided that my cousins probably didn’t drink coffee.
I thought of Colette, who’d kind of bowled me over and then had left as quickly as she’d come. I was nervous about meeting others. What would they think of me?
When I’d finished my coffee, Sally led the way up a curved staircase and down a short hallway to a large room where my old suitcase had been placed on a rack by the double bed.
“Skidoo!” I said out loud. “What a terrific bedroom!” Impressed by a desk with a bookcase over it, I loved the pictures of blue-green ocean scenes on the walls.
The view from the window overlooked dozens of homes below, all surrounded by neat lawns and colorful flowers. Farther out, I expected to see more dry, desert country, but instead, several farms, many with grapevines, extended out to green hills.
“I’ve not landed in the hot place,” I thought. “This is more like heaven!”
Below the open window, I heard Mrs. Kinsman call out, “Sally, have you seen Annabell?”
“Yes, ma’am. She’s out in the garden.”
As I began to unpack, I noticed my Brooklyn Dodgers shirt. Would I ever see another game at Ebbets field? With pitchers like Burleigh Grimes, who’d already won 20 games, and 300-hitters like Zack Wheat, they’d probably finish in first place. Sad to miss the rest of the season, I picked up another shirt to change into.
I found the upstairs bathroom and, after a refreshing shower and a change of clothes, I was eager to look around.
Overton Manor’s grassy grounds sloped gently to the main gate in front. I wandered around back to a large vegetable garden.
I loved the earthy smell of it; a welcome change from the horse smells of the city and the coal smoke of the train station. The garden gave off a marvelous mixed odor of growing things. As I wandered through rows of corn beginning to ear out, the broad leaves slithered across my shirtsleeves and seemed to whisper, “Welcome, Casey, welcome.” Just beyond were dozens of tomato plants. I’d seldom eaten tomatoes. Now I saw hundreds of them, as big as my fist and beginning to turn red . . . soon to be ready for the table.
Next to the tomatoes were dark green bushes. Some had been dug up. I knelt down and ran my fingers through the dirt. What a happy find! I uncovered a small red potato. Now I knew where the delicious buttered potatoes that had been on my dinner plate came from. A bit further on, I noticed two long rows of tiny plants with the imprint of someone’s knees in the soft earth next to the green sprouts. With closer look, I recognized tiny carrots, pulled out and left by the side.
At the far end of the row, I spotted something even more interesting than vegetables . . . a person facing the other way on hands and knees.
I thought, “How can I approach this gardener without startling him?”
I knelt and picked up a stick, snapped it in two, and scratched in the dirt, looking for another potato. The sharp sound did the trick. The person stopped and turned around. It was a girl of about 12 or 13. She got to her feet and swayed a bit.
“Hello, I’ll bet you’re Casey Jones.”
“Yes. Are you one of my cousins?”
“Yes, I’ve heard about you, and I think it’s funny you have the same name as that engineer who wrecked his train.”
I thought, “There we go, the engineer thing again.”
I said, “Funny? A train wreck?”
“I don’t mean funny ha-ha. I mean funny strange.”
I liked this girl right off. She wore denim pants and a loose, blue, sleeveless top. Her tanned face looked up at me with big brown eyes from under a floppy yellow hat, and her smile sparkled as she looked me over.
I got the urge to tease.
“Well, I’m sure your name isn’t funny or strange either.”
“Why?”
I took a step forward and gazed at her. “Well, a good-looking girl like you must have a pretty name, like Natalie, Sophia or maybe even Annabell.”
Annabell’s mouth opened in surprise.
“Sally told you!”
“In a way she did, I heard your mother asking Sally your whereabouts.” I smiled. “Annabell, under your smooth tan, I’ll bet you’re blushing.”
“So you came out here to tease me.”
“I apologize. I really didn’t come out to find you, and teasing was just an impulse.”
Annabell took off her hat and wiped her face with her arm.
I quickly added, “I’m sorry. I really should have said that you have a wonderful garden. I’m from the city, where we don’t have gardens. I’m impressed.”
Annabell’s smile returned, so I went on.
“Just now I happened on the potatoes and I realized that I’d had some of those tasty little reds as part of my first meal here. Ummm. Delicious.”
Annabell put her hat back on and gazed at me.
“I’m the one who should say I’m sorry. I should have given you a better welcome. Have you met Colette?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll bet she gave you a really nice welcome.”
“Nice enough. But you needn’t be sorry for anything, and I like being here.” I hurried on.
“Please, cousin Annabell, tell me why you’re pulling up carrots?”
She squinted up at me. “You really are a city boy, aren’t you? Carrot seeds are small and fine. The only way to plant them is close together. When they sprout, they need to be thinned out so they’ll have room to grow.”
“Now that you’ve told me, it’s obvious. Guess I have a lot to learn.”
Annabell continued to stare at me, maybe to see if I was teasing again.
“Do you want some advice?”
“Please. I need it.”
“Well, before you go anywhere, you’d better get out of those pants.”
Now it was my turn to show surprise.
“Pants! What do you mean?”
Annabell turned back to her gardening. “I need to finish the carrots before I get cleaned up for supper. . .” As I walked off, I heard her say, “…and I go by Annie.”
Strolling back, I felt cheerful enough to hum a tune: “Oh Susanna! Don’t you cry for me.”
I stepped around a tool shed. “I come from Alabama with a banjo on my knee. . .” suddenly a heavy blow to my shoulder spun me around to receive a heavy kick in the lower stomach. The pain was almost unbearable. Knees up, I fell, face forward.
A young man’s voice, in low tones only I would hear, growled, “You look so stupid in those sissy pants! Go ahead. Eat dirt!” I felt his shoe on the back of my head as he pushed my face into the soft earth. By the time I recovered enough to look up, I was alone.
“Vernon!” I thought. The homesickness I’d been warding off for days flooded over me like filthy run-off from the gutter. Now, deeply depressed, back in my room, I paced back and forth, walking off the pain in my belly; I had to contend with sheer panic. What could make me more miserable than a kick in the groin? Then I thought, “I’ll bet Dad’s appendicitis hurt him even more.”
Pants? Annie warned me about my pants. Now, worse than that, Vernon had ridiculed me about them too.
I only had two pairs of pants and they were the same. In New York, all the boys wore them. They’re called knickers; cut short at mid-calf and bloused with a knitted cuff, British style. Socks were pulled up to meet them. I went to the window at the end of the hall and looked out on the street. Several boys walked by as I watched. None wore knickers.
four
THE KINSMAN CLAN
The evening meal was served in Overton Manor’s large dining room. The whole family was there. I met another cousin who greeted me from across the table. “Hello, Casey,” she said cheerfully. “I’m Neva. In case you’re wondering, I’m fifteen. I’ll be a junior in high school next term.”
Mrs. Kinsman spoke up. “And Casey, this my sister, Olga Boltus.”
I looked down the table at a woman dressed in black. “This is Casey Jones, Olga. We’re pleased to have another member of the family staying with us.”
I responded with, “How do you do, Mrs. Boltus.”
Olga Boltus seemed unfriendly. She nodded in my direction and quickly turned her eyes away.
Mrs. Kinsman went on: “You still haven’t met Olga’s son, who lives across town. He has his own apartment now. His name is Vernon.”
Vernon! My inner voice shouted, “My God! I’ve met him! Don’t I have a stomach ache to prove it?”
Aunt Olga didn’t say a word during dinner and left the table early, but the rest of us had a very pleasant chat. Everyone kept me busy answering questions about New York.
“I’ve seen pictures of the tall buildings, Casey. Have you been up in any of them?” Neva asked.
“The Manhattan Eye and Ear Clinic is about twenty stories, but I wasn’t able to enjoy the view from the top floor. I had to go there because, while I was chopping a piece of wood, it flipped up and hit me in the face. That day, a Dr. Kenyon took a dozen slivers out of my eye.”
“Who plays that piano I saw in the parlor?” I asked, eager to change the subject.
Neva smiled. “I do some. Mom gives me piano lessons. She is the pianist in the family.”
Mrs. Kinsman smiled. “After dinner we sometimes have a little music, Casey. Maybe we can talk Neva into playing for us when we finish dessert.”
Colette chimed in with, “Do you play?”
“Not the piano.”
“That sounds like you might play some other instrument.”
I mentally kicked myself for inviting that question.
“Well, I have played some on the mandolin.”
“Mandolin? Is that anything like a guitar?” asked Annie.
“I’ve wanted to see about that. Do you have a guitar here.”
Colette bounced on her chair. “Yes. You’ll get a chance to find out.”
As promised, Neva gave us several really lively piano pieces as we sat around the music room. Then everyone looked at me as Colette brought out a beautifully made guitar and handed it to Neva, who tuned it up before passing it to me.
I found, after testing it out, that I could play simple chords for a few numbers I’d learned from our neighbor, Mr. Lambrusco. I finished with a number called Valencia! I was surprised at how enthusiastically the family received my playing. I was too shy to try singing along.
Mr. Kinsman summed it up: “Casey, except in church, we don’t hear much music way out west here. It’s so refreshing to hear the guitar played so well. Thank you and be ready . . . rest assured you’ll be called on again.”
Then the man of the house went on: “Now Casey, you’ve met most of the family, but not Lobo. He’s the family dog.”
Colette lit up: “Oh Casey, you’re going to love Lobo. That’s Spanish for wolf, and his mother was a wolf. Lobo’s father was our big dog on the ranch before a cougar killed him. Now Lobo’s taken his place. Lobo’s just the smartest and best dog any family could ever have!”
As I listened carefully to this dog and ranch talk, it hit me. I had become a part of this family. Life here was fast paced and I was caught up in the middle of it.
“Colette gets a little carried away when it comes to the dog, Casey,” Mr. Kinsman continued. “But what she says is true. Lobo is an extraordinary animal; you’ll find out for yourself when the girls take you out to the ranch this evening.”
“Today?” all the girls said at once.
Neva spoke up. “Daddy, are you going to let us drive Casey out there right now?”
“Yes. I’ve got the buckboard wagon with the horse all harnessed up for you. Be prepared to spend the night.”
Annie jumped up and shouted. “C’mon. Let’s change into our cov’ralls!
The others shouted, “Yes!”
I loved the excitement of the moment as the cousins happily hopped up and headed for the stairs.
Mrs. Kinsman laughed at their exuberance then turned to me. “Casey, we should explain that Overton Manor is our residence here in town. The ranch is our home in the country.”
Mr. Kinsman got up to go. “I must excuse myself, Casey. I have a pile of paperwork waiting in my office down at the depot. You see, I’m the Northern Pacific Railroad’s Superintendent for this Western Division. The girls will take good care of you, as will Bernie Wellman and his wife, Stella. They are the caretakers at our ranch that we’ve named K2.”
“I’m sure looking forward to seeing your country home, Mr. Kinsman.” Then I blurted out, “And maybe some time, I can visit your office too.”
Mr. Kinsman paused and gave his wife a knowing look. “Yes, Casey. You’ll see my office in good time. But for the next few days, you might learn the ABCs of the K2 Ranch.”
“I will.” Again I spoke impulsively. “Excuse me, sir. “May I please call you Uncle Harry?”
“I want you to,” he replied.
Mrs. Kinsman then took her cue to respond in kind. “And you must call me Aunt Louise.”
five
A BRUSH WITH DEATH
I hadn’t unpacked my bag, so it was easy just to pick it up and get set to go out to the ranch. Sally led me to a comfortable chair by the back door.
“You got ready quickly, Casey,” she said. “But, with the girls so eager to get out to K2, they won’t keep you waiting long.”
Sally was right. Neva appeared first with a little overnight bag of her personal things. She plopped down next to me and smiled a question. “Well, Casey, what do you think of us so far?
“Neva, you are flat out the finest folks a fella could have. I can’t fully fathom it. I’ve been here only a few hours. Yet, in some ways I feel like it’s been all my life.”
“Casey, I know I speak for all of us and feel the same about you. You really fit in.”
“Thanks, Neva. But I have one big question.”
“Stop! I know what it is, and we’re not supposed to talk with you about it until after you’ve been with us a bit longer. Please be patient.”
We hadn’t mentioned his name, but Neva and I both knew that Vernon posed a problem. I sensed something sinister about both Vernon and his mother, Mrs. Boltus.
“O. K., I trust you, Neva. My question will wait.”
As we heard Annie and Colette on the stairs, Neva jumped up. “Let’s go, Casey.” Neva tossed her head and laughed, “Unless you’re too shy to ride with three girls all by yourself.”
“Not on your life!” I laughed, and ran out to the one-horse wagon.
Neva, on the front seat, called out, “Casey, ride up here with me.”
With a slap of the reins and a “giddap!” from Neva, our wagon set off down the winding driveway. Soon the four of us were happily chattering away as we wheeled out onto a country road, with the summer sun low in the sky.
On the outside I was all smiles and chuckles as I responded to my cousins’ cute comments. But inside I couldn’t dismiss a worrisome thought: I’m in some sort of danger and these kind folks are shielding me; getting me out of town.
The Arborville countryside was rich farmland, no sagebrush in sight. When we came to the K2 Ranch, dark green fields rolled by. “That’s alfalfa,” said Neva.
Colette chirped, “Casey, those beautiful grassy fields up ahead are barley. See how they’re beginning to get plump heads with whiskers on the stems. Barley is a good crop to grow out here because it brings a nice price per bushel and doesn’t need to be irrigated, like the alfalfa does. It’s a dry-land crop.”
“Then why raise alfalfa?”
“Because we need hay for the cattle.”
Annie gave me a sideways smile. “Be truthful now, Casey. Did you know that alfalfa is hay?”
My face got red. “I’ve never had to give it a thought.”
This brought giggles from all three girls.
“You’ve got a lot to learn.” sighed Colette, as she flashed her green eyes at me.
“Your dad said I should learn the ABCs of this ranch. Looks like that means alfalfa, barley and cattle.”
All three girls burst out laughing.
Neva, still holding the reins, gave me an admiring look. “Casey! That’s clever! Come to think of it, that’s exactly what Dad wants you to do. I’d never pinned it down the ABCs of K2 that way.”
“Colette, you mentioned that the alfalfa is irrigated. How?”
“There’s a network of canals that brings water down from a dam on the Serpentine River.” Colette answered.
“Where’s the nearest canal?”
Neva pointed to a distant dwelling. “The K2 ranch house is over there. The canal’s a short hike beyond the barn. A series of ditches control the flow into the fields.”
We arrived a good hour before sundown. The wagon stopped in front of a rambling one-story wood frame farmhouse with a tile roof and a huge gray barn in back. A white rail fence extended back beyond a neat lawn studded with shrubs and a row of tall, poplar shade trees that followed the curved driveway up to the front door. I thought to myself, “What a beautiful place!”
A farm-hand took charge of the horse and wagon, and we strolled over to where Bernie and Stella Wellman were waiting with a warm welcome.
Before the girls could introduce me, Bernie stepped forward. “You must be Casey Jones. Pleased to meet you, Casey. You have a famous name. Any relation to the engineer?”
“No, Mr. Wellman. Jones is a common name.”
“Call me Bernie.”
Mrs. Wellman stepped forward: “Welcome, Casey, and call me Stella. Make yourself at home now while you’re here. I’ll show you to your room.”
The girls went to their rooms and, for the second time in one day, I was looking around a bedroom intended for my use. I liked this one too. It had a sliding, glass door that opened out to the pretty yard, where bright orange and yellow mums and marigolds bloomed. I could see all the way to the blue-gray hills in the distance.
I wandered out through the living room, furnished with western style furniture and colorful tapestries, to the kitchen, where I found Stella using a wooden barrel-like device that, she explained, was used to churn cream into butter.
“Stella, I’ve never been on a farm before. If it’s O.K., I’m going to take a quick look around.”
She nodded, and I headed out the back door, past the barn and across an alfalfa field to what looked like the banks that sloped up to an irrigation canal. Yes! I soon stood on the edge and leaned over, looking down at the swiftly moving stream of ditch water, some twelve feet across. It seemed fairly deep.
Just then, I was startled by the loud, menacing, bark of a dog. As I quickly straightened up, I lost my balance. The moss on the ditch bank was slippery. I slid and grabbed frantically at some tall grass, but still went in with a splash.
Cold water assaulted my skin, shot up my nose, and my mind reeled: “City Boy! You dumb City Boy! Never learned to swim! CAN’T TOUCH BOTTOM! Now you’re in for it! Help me dear God! Help me get out of here! Can’t hold my breath much longer! MOVE ARMS! KICK! GET TO SURFACE!
THANK GOD! I popped to the surface for a second, just long enough to gulp some air and get a mouthful of water too as the swirling current pulled me under again and swept me down the ditch. Going to DROWN!
MY SHOULDER HIT A BRANCH OR SOMETHING. It jammed into my shirt in back. IT’S PUSHING ME TO THE SURFACE!
AIR! AIR! I CAN BREATHE! I’m not sinking. SOMEONE’S PUSHING ME OVER TO THE BANK . . . HOLDING ME AGAINST IT!
DUMMY! QUICK, GRAB SOMETHING! A SHRUB! YES! Slowly now! Climb up the slippery slope.”
I got a boost from behind! WHO? WHAT?
It’s a DOG! A HUGE DOG!
Scramble up. Roll over. Get your breath.
Thank God! THANK YOU! I’m not going to drown in a ditch. I’m not going to . . . die.
As I lay there shaking all over, gasping, the big shaggy dog came up beside me. He growled a threatening, RARRRAAHH, and then gave out two of those deafeningly loud barks, like the one that startled me into falling.
With lips curled back the dog snapped his teeth. I sensed someone else by the ditch bank. I reared up on one elbow; my vision cleared.
Vernon with his same look of hatred, sneered down at me. The dog seemed to be protecting me from Vernon. Yes! Except for the dog, Vernon might have TRIED TO PUSH ME BACK IN.
I rolled down the embankment away from the water, then slowly rose to my feet facing Vernon.
He spoke first. “You stupid, dumb, jackass of a kid! The first time you get on a farm with no girls around to baby you, and what happens? You fall in a ditch and almost drown! You must have cow dung for brains! If the dog hadn’t pulled you out, you’d be buzzard bait! GET OUT! GO ON TO SEATTLE OR GET KILLED!” Vernon’s eyes were blazing and he punched the air with his fists.
“GET OUT! YOU HEAR ME? YOU DON’T BELONG HERE!”
Vernon stalked down the slope and disappeared. Seconds later I heard a horse gallop off.
Vernon’s verbal abuse hit as hard as had his earlier kick in the stomach. I slumped down, wet head in my hands, shaking with misery, almost sorry I’d survived. I felt like . . .when . . .
For a few seconds I re-lived coming home from Dad’s funeral with Mom, trying to hold back the tears as we walked back to our cold apartment.
I sobbed, “Oh Dad, I wish you were with me now!” Then I raised up, fighting off the dreary mood.
The dog shook himself and snorted. With his wolf-like stand-up ears and beautiful tawny coat, he stood panting; looking at me with an almost human expression of friendliness. He seemed to say, “C’mon Casey, things aren’t so bad. You’re alive and the folks back at the house like you.”
Then I noticed the bluish eyes. “Lobo? Are you Lobo?”
Several quick wags of his tail seemed to answer, yes. He turned and trotted toward the ranch house. I followed him back, silently slipping through the sliding door to my room.
Following a shower and with dry clothes, I sauntered out into the living room as though nothing had happened. But my heart still tripped like a tom-tom.
six
WOLF BLOOD ON GUARD
I couldn’t be certain that no one here had observed my close call in the ditch. But it didn’t come up when we got together for milk and cookies, so I relaxed and joined in the girls’ banter.
The Wellmans were treated as family. After Stella placed the simple refreshments on the table, she sat down and poured coffee for Bernie and herself.
“What do you think of our K2 ranch so far, Casey?” She asked.
“Compared to all that sage-brush country I saw this morning, it’s almost too good to be true. I hope to learn all about this fine farm.”
Everyone smiled at my answer, then I enjoyed hearing first one, then another of the girls giving me sage advice. They could hardly wait for tomorrow; their pretty, bright faces shone with anticipation.
Neva pushed an amber curl from her face as she explained, “We’re going to have to get back to town after lunch tomorrow, Casey. But we’ll have all morning to show you around.”
Annie beamed as she added, “Yes, and that means no sleeping in. We need to get up early and make the most of the morning.”
Neva’s serious expression helped make the point. “Casey, we don’t want to overdo it, but tomorrow we should make every minute count.”
I was exhausted after the most eventful day of my life. It seemed more like a week ago, but it was just this morning when I woke up on the train. Then, when I got off, my life actually speeded up to the wild gallop of a runaway horse.
Now, I fought to stay awake as the girls joyfully planned the next day.
I heard Neva say, “We can take Casey in the buckboard out to see the far pasture where the Hereford cattle are grazing.”
“Good idea,” Colette replied. “Then we can head over to Funnel Creek. There’re deer up in the canyon. We might see ’em.”
“O.K.,” agreed Bernie. “But we should circle back around to check out the wooded area that follows the creek. I’ve seen several coveys of quail in there recently. And we should take the .22 rifle along too, in case we stir up a few rabbits.”
Stella liked that idea. “Good. We could have rabbit for dinner tomorrow.”
I roused up. “Rabbit for dinner? Are you serious?” I asked.
Everyone smiled at me. Neva gave me another sideways look. “Now, Casey. I’ll bet you’re going to tell us that you’ve never eaten rabbit.”
I paused and looked at everybody’s expression to see if they were kidding me. I decided they weren’t. “I guess there’s a lot of things I’ve not tried.”
Neva went on. “You’ll like rabbit. It tastes like chicken.”
Back in my room, I tossed pants and shirt aside. I was exhausted. Just as I flopped on the bed, I heard the sound of soft steps coming toward me.
Heart pounding, I peered into the gloom expecting to see a menacing Vernon about to pounce on me.
Then I heard a loud snuff, as Lobo blew dust from his nose. He’d come to spend the night and protect me.
Never had I heard such a reassuring sound. I grabbed a handful of his soft coat and drew him to me. Lobo, in turn, put a big paw on the bed. For a full minute I hugged him, and he licked my ear. Sheer relief poured out, and I cried tears of love for my new animal friend. I’d tried to put up an inner wall of strength. Now I had Lobo to help me meet Vernon’s awful challenge.
“Lobo! Lobo,” I whispered, as love welled up in my heart. “You’re an answer to a prayer! With you by my side, I’ll be safe tonight.”
seven
MISSING LOBO
Hours later I struggled to come out of a dreamless sleep. My comfortable bed was like sleeping nestled in a warm cloud. As I tried to get fully awake, thoughts of train stations and country roads swirled around in my head. It seemed like I’d stepped through Alice’s looking glass. The big rabbit in the story had better not come by. The folks here might eat him!
Sunshine streamed in through the sliding door as Stella pulled the drape aside.
“Good morning, young man,” she said cheerfully. “You’d want to sleep ’til noon, but those cousins of yours are a chompin’ at the bit; rearin’ to go.”
Lobo was gone. Had I dreamed that he’d come to me?
“It’s nigh on nine o’clock. That’s late on the farm. You’ll have to grab a quick bowl o’ mush and get with the day! Bernie’s talkin’ about putting our hired hand, Chin Lee, in charge of teaching you to ride. There’s a nice little pony named Jasper picked out for you.”
Stella had found some shirts and pants my size . . . all clean, starched, and very welcome. Decked out in them, I felt less an easterner; a point made by Neva as she looked up from the kitchen table.
“Well, mornin’ Casey. If you top
off your frame with a cowboy hat, you might fool folks into thinking
you’re from around here.”
Annie piped up and shook her head.
“Nooo, there’s still too much dude in his walk and talk to fool
anybody.”
Colette looked me up and down with a wan smile. “You can take the boy outa the city but you can’t take the city outa the boy.”
Cheered up by my pretty cousins, I needed to reply, but later on I was to regret what I blurted out.
“Well, my cousins,” I began. “We’ll just see about that. I may not have mastered the western swagger by the time you get out here again, but I intend to be riding a horse all over the place by then.”
Bernie snorted. “How long do you think these gals are goin’ to stay in town, a month?”
Red-faced, I changed the subject as everyone laughed at Bernie’s comment.
“Well, we’ll see. And for now I’ll settle for a bowl of mush.”
Instantly Stella served me with a steaming bowl of oatmeal and raisins, and I poured cream over it all.
“Brown sugar?” she offered, pushing the bowl across the table to me.
I answered her with an expression I’d heard from Bernie. “Thank ye kindly, Ma’am,” which broke up the table in laughter.
Annie grinned, “Drawled like a true cow-poke, Casey.”
On the way out to the wagon, Bernie handed me a broad-brimmed hat. “Here, if this don’t fit just right, I’ve another you can use.”
The hat fit perfectly. I loved the growing westernized feel of things.
Minutes later, we clamored into the buckboard and, after viewing over five hundred head of fine, healthy-looking cattle, circled back by way of Funnel Creek. It had been a fun morning. I had seen my first deer at a distance and, at one point, I was surprised to see Annie jump out, raise a .22 rifle and bag two rabbits. I admired her skill.
When we arrived back, a bit dusty and weary, Stella met us at the back door. “Have you seen Lobo? He didn’t show up for his morning meal.”
Bernie looked worried. “That’s not like him. That dog is as regular and dependable in his habits as a mailman.”
I could tell the girls were worried too.
Annie said for everybody. “Golly, I sure hope he’s not lying sick somewhere.”
Bernie stood thoughtfully, stroking his chin. “No point in lookin’ for him. There’s a thousand places where he could be. We’ll just have to wait and hope he comes back to us.”
I was torn at that point between telling about Lobo saving my life, or just waiting to see if he came back. After all, last night he’d stretched out by my bed. The nagging question was, did Vernon have anything to do with Lobo’s disappearance?
During lunch, the girls didn’t seem to be talking about anything in particular. But as we finished, I sensed that a pre-arranged comment had surfaced.
The girls climbed into the buckboard with Neva in the driver’s seat. Annie took up the challenge. “We’ll be back in just three days, Casey. Maybe you can ride out to meet us on Jasper.”
I could hardly wait for the girls to leave. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bernie walking out of the barn with a young man leading a horse, and I jogged over to them.
“Casey, this is Chin Lee.” We shook hands, and Chin Lee smiled and nodded. “He’s gonna give you a bit of training so’s you can get up and ride Jasper here.”
Jasper snorted and wagged his head as though to say: “Oh, no you’re not.”
“Casey,” Chin Lee began. “Approach Jasper from the left side and get his reins in your hand before you mount. Then put your foot in the stirrup and swing your leg over as you come up, like this.” I watched Chin Lee rise up smoothly and slide into the saddle. It looked easy, but what happened next was so awful I try to block it out of my mind.
eight
JOUSTING WITH JASPER
That night I wrote a letter to my mom. In a few words I described how Uncle Harry had found me on the railroad platform and told me about the change in plans. He brought me to Overton Manor and introduced me to the family. Then I told her of the Kinsman ranch and offered my guess that I’d be living here for a while. I wanted to be mostly upbeat about things, so I didn’t mention Vernon or Lobo. When I came to Jasper, I provided some details.
“Looking back on it, Mom, I was really over-eager to show everybody I could learn to ride this horse named Jasper.
“Chin Lee is the hand who will teach me to ride.
“Mom, I watched Chin Lee rise up and slide into the saddle. It looked so easy, but what happened next was awful.
“The first time I hoisted myself up into the saddle, Jasper first moved away from me a bit, and then, as I swung my leg over, he stopped his sideways motion. This caused me to tip toward the other side of him. I slid across the saddle, my foot came out of the stirrup, and I crashed to the ground on the far side.
“Mom, I was crushed. Lying there in the dust with everybody whooping it up, laughing like it was the funniest thing they’d ever seen. Talk about a greenhorn from New York! It’s a good thing I wasn’t wearing my knickers! I jumped up to try again.
“I forgot everything I’d been told. I rushed it. Trying again, I was on the other side of the horse, so when I put my foot in the stirrup and swung my leg over, this time I came down backwards in the saddle and with the reins dragging on the ground behind me.
“Jasper happily trotted about, giving the onlookers a close-up view of my ‘trial by horse.’ For those watching, it must have seemed like something from a Wild West Show comedy as I wildly bounced around, hanging onto Jasper’s tail.
“How to end it? I managed to swing one arm around and grasp the saddle pommel to keep from falling off again . . . this time from a moving horse.
“Then as I rode sideways, still clutching Jasper’s tail with one hand, he took another turn around the paddock. I thought, ‘This has turned into a circus act, with me as the clown.’
“More ranch hands joined the onlookers shouting and yelling. They slapped their knees laughing at the sight of a New Yorker gyrating on a tame cowpony. Would I ever live it down?
“Chin Lee jumped on his horse and caught up to Jasper and me. He grabbed the reins and brought us to a gentle stop; his arm steadied me as I swung back around .
“‘Get both feet in the stirrups, Casey; take the reins and hold back on them gently until you’re ready to go.’
“Mom, what a great relief it was to get set up right! Chin Lee talked me into just the right set of actions and within minutes the laughter stopped as our horses began to move, side by side, in a large circle. After a few minutes, Chin Lee moved away and Jasper and I went on.
“‘Grip with your legs; move the reins from side to side. See how Jasper responds to those movements; you don’t even have to say ‘gee’ or ‘haw’ for him know you want him to turn one way or the other, that’s for plow horses.’
“I noticed that with the reins loosened, Jasper began to trot. I pushed down in the stirrups to keep from bouncing. I tried to anticipate his rhythm and it worked.
“Chin Lee cautioned me: ‘Careful not to bump Jasper’s flanks with your heels, Casey. He might take that as a signal for him to break into a gallop.’