A Bright Tomorrow (17 page)

And though Will Stuart made a few feeble attempts to get Agnes Barr to leave, they could all tell his heart wasn't in it. Agnes was a full-bodied woman, lush and ripe, and though she would be fat and blowsy in a few years, right now she had an animal magnetism men like Will could not resist.

Finally Lylah could stand it no longer. At one o'clock, she marched up to the woman. Amos was alarmed. What would his sister do?

But Lylah had certain skills against which Agnes Barr was helpless. “Thank you for your help, Mrs. Barr,” she said sweetly, taking the woman's arm and propelling her toward the door. “The family needs to be alone now. Don't bother to come back. We'll make out somehow.”

Lylah did not miss the poisonous glance she received from the woman, but it lasted only a moment. Then Mrs. Barr composed herself and replied, “Of course. I was about to leave. Will…send for me if you need me.”

The air was thick for a moment after the woman left, but then Owen whispered loudly to Lylah, “I was hoping you'd knock the heifer down with a stick of stove wood!”

Just after midnight, Lylah came into the main room, her face twitching in a spasm of grief. “Come on…she's going—”

They jumped to their feet. Amos found that his legs were trembling and was grateful when Rose slipped her hand into his, whispering, “I'm here, Amos!”

They circled the bed, and at first they thought they were too late. Marian's face was smooth, not lined as it had been for years. The evidence of pain was gone from her features, and she looked almost like a young woman again.

Will was sitting beside her, his face working, tears running down his cheeks. Marian slowly opened her eyes, and when she saw him weeping, she said, “Will…I love you!”

“Oh, Marian…I've been—”

“Don't say it, Will. It's all right. We've had a fine family. Be a good father to them, Will.”

Stuart dropped his head and clenched his teeth. He knew they all thought of him as a failure—which was true enough—for he was a weak man. He'd intended to change—to be a good husband and father—but now it was too late.

Marian looked slowly around the circle, taking in each face, studying it carefully. She began speaking of her love for them all, calling every name, giving each one a kind or encouraging word. She sounded almost prophetic, like Jacob blessing his children, Amos thought.

Finally she said her farewells to the younger children, then asked for her three oldest to stay.

When only Owen, Lylah, and Amos were left, Marian began, “Amos, my firstborn…you're so much like me. Take care of the little ones. The world is getting worse…it will take a strong man to keep them safe…promise me!”

“I promise, Ma!”

Marian kissed him, then turned to Lylah. Her eyes were luminous, and she spoke in a whisper. “You have chosen a hard way, daughter. But my God has told me that you will find your way back to him.”

Lylah put her head down on the shrunken bosom and wept wildly. It was Owen who picked her up, and then Marian took his free hand. She held it for a long time, and the only sounds in the room were Lylah's muted sobs.

“Owen—,” the dying woman whispered, “you've had to pay the price for holding the family together. You're the one who wanted most to see the world…but you stayed and helped your father and me. You've been bitter, son, but God is going to reward you greatly—” Her breast heaved as she struggled for breath, and she lifted herself up in the bed, gasping. “Owen, my son, never…be bitter.”

Then Marian Stuart gazed on her children one last time. She smiled, her face more serene than they had ever seen it. She closed her eyes, calling, “Jesus…Jesus!” And then she slumped back against the pillows.

Will cried aloud and fell on her body, weeping. But Amos, Lylah, and Owen knew that their mother was at last free from pain and grief, as she had never been in life.

“Let us never forget,” Amos whispered as he held his mother's worn hand, “how well she endured her going forth.”

L
ylah…I've got to talk to you!”.

Amos had come to the Minerva Theater where Lylah was rehearsing for her new play,
Girl of the Golden West
. He had waited impatiently in the wings until the scene was over, then took her arm as she came to him.

“What's wrong?” she asked at once, noting his look of agitation.

“I've just received a letter from Pa,” he said. “He married that woman—that Agnes Barr.”

“He
couldn't!”
Lylah exploded. “And Ma not in her grave two months!” Anger swept over her for a moment, then she sighed. “Yes, I guess he could, Amos. I knew it was going to happen. She was after him even while Ma was dying.”

They stood there, angry and bitter, each knowing that nothing good would come of the marriage. “She'll make life a nightmare for the kids,” Amos said gloomily, “and there's nothing we can do about it.”

“I'll write to Pa,” Lylah said as Amos turned to go, “but he's a fool where women are concerned.” She hesitated, then looked at her brother, a dark wisdom in her violet eyes. “I'll tell you something else, Amos,” she said in a hard voice, “Agnes Barr's the kind of woman who can't let men alone. You mark it down…inside of six months, she'll be cheating on Pa!”

Lylah was right–and wrong. Agnes Barr did not last even six months before she grew restless. She loved dances and insisted that her new husband take her to every party within fifty miles of the farm.

At first, Will was delighted with this arrangement, for he had always felt guilty over leaving his family to play his music. But Agnes just smiled and ran her hand through his hair. “We're lucky to have older children to stay home and take care of the young ones, honey. Besides, we're still on our honeymoon!”

After two months of chasing around frantically to every barn raising and dance in Stone County and some even farther away, Will Stuart began to feel his years. “We've got to settle down, Agnes,” he said wearily after the pair returned from a three-day circuit, where he'd played every night. “I can't ask the boys to do all the work…and the house is a wreck.”

“It won't kill your kids to clean the house,” Agnes said, tossing her hair. “And those boys are big enough to work the place.”

Will stared at her, but he had learned that Agnes wasn't as gentle and agreeable as he'd thought. Still he was a man who hated confrontation and merely said, “Well, I've got work to do. I'll take you to the dances close by…but we can't go way over to Fort Smith every time there's a frolic.”

Agnes had made a quarrel of it, finally storming off for a visit with one of her old girlfriends, Ada Thomas. She'd stayed overnight, and at supper Will had been silent, saying only, “Your ma's gone for a visit. Be back tomorrow, I expect.”

Owen stared at his father, but said nothing.

Later that day Lenora confided in her brother. “Owen, I don't like her. She's mean! I wish she'd stay gone forever!”

Owen put his arm around the fourteen-year-old, unable to offer much comfort. “We'll just have to get along with her, Lenora,” he said slowly. “The more you cross her, the worse she'll get.”

“I wish Ma—” Lenora broke off, tears springing into her eyes, then pulled out of his embrace and ran away, sobbing.

For all practical purposes, Owen had managed the farm for years. Not that Will Stuart was a poor farmer, but his heart simply wasn't in it. It had been Owen who had planned everything, and most of the time he had taken care of the finances—such as they were. His first clash with Agnes came when she demanded to handle the money.

“That won't do,” Owen said evenly. “You don't know how to buy seed or how much to ask for cotton at the gin.”

Agnes went off in a huff, and later that day, Will came to Owen with a hangdog expression on his face. “Son, I guess we'll have to let her handle things now.”

As Owen predicted, Agnes soon spent all their cash on clothes for herself and ran up a big bill at the store for useless notions. So he threw himself into spring plowing, trying to ignore the misery he could see in the faces of his brothers and sisters. Owen didn't mind hard work, and as long as he was busy, he could think of other things. Mostly he thought of travel, of seeing things in the big world beyond the Ozarks. He'd read every travel book he could get his hands on and thought longingly of what it would be like to see the world, as Lylah and Amos had. The names of cities fascinated him, and he would put a map on the floor and stare at it for hours, reading the names of the rivers and mountains and small towns. Agnes laughed at him and called him a fool for dreaming of places he'd never see, and he put the maps away, looking at them only when she wasn't around.

And she was away much of the time. She began going to parties on her own, and once, when Will refused to go, she ventured to the county fair. Owen discovered from some of his friends that Agnes even went to some of the dances with her old friends. He suspected that his father knew this, too, but Will never mentioned it.

As the days of summer grew longer, Owen became more and more restless. He began to drop in on some of the dances, where he was always welcomed for his music. He took his younger brother Logan with him on some of these excursions, and the two of them grew close. It occurred to Owen that Logan had the same feelings for him that he himself had had for Amos when he was growing up.

Dale Truman, the science teacher at the school in Mountain View, was a particular friend of Logan's. He'd pointed out to Will Stuart that the boy had a fine head for math and science and urged him to send his son to the university at Fayetteville. Such a thing had been out of the question, of course, but Logan did frequently spend weekends with the teacher.

Late one Friday night, when Logan was away, Owen was sitting at the table poring over maps, when he heard a team approaching. His stepmother had gone to town, and everyone else was in bed. Rising at once, Owen picked up a lamp and went out on the front porch.

“Owen?”

“Yes. Who is it?” Owen stepped to the ground, held up the lamp, and recognized Dale Truman. “What's wrong, Mr. Truman?”

“It's Logan. He's been badly beaten.” The teacher, a tall man of about forty, leapt to the ground and hitched the team to the porch railing. “I got Doc Willis to patch him up, and he gave me some morphine to kill the pain. I dosed him pretty good, so we may have to carry him in.” The two men moved to the back of the wagon and together picked up the unconscious boy.

“Let's put him on the couch, Mr. Truman,” Owen said when they got him inside.

They laid Logan down, and Owen stared at his face. The boy's eyes were swollen shut, and his lips were puffed out. “Who did this to him?” Owen asked from between clenched teeth.

Truman shook his head sadly. “It wasn't a local fight. A carnival came to town this morning…sort of a medicine show. I took my family and Logan. There was the usual sideshow, and one of the acts was a man called Iron Mike. He performs feats of strength—bending iron bars, picking up weights, that kind of thing. Then there's a boxing match. Mike takes on anybody in the crowd who's game. Anyone who can last three rounds with him gets fifty dollars.”

“And Logan took him on?”

“Yes. I wasn't there when he did it, Owen. I was on the merry-go-round with my children. But someone told me what Logan was doing, and I ran over to the tent to talk him out of it.” Truman shook his head. “I was too late. The fight had started. It was awful! He cut Logan all to pieces! He could have knocked him out any time, but he wanted to hurt him!”

Owen nodded, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “The carnival…will it still be in town tomorrow night?”

Truman stared at the young man, understanding at once what he intended to do. “Don't try it, Owen,” he warned quickly. “That fighter outweighs you by thirty pounds and he's strong as a bull.” Then he saw that his argument was falling on deaf ears and sighed. “Yes, it'll be there.”

“Thanks for bringing Logan home, Mr. Truman. Will you stay the night?”

Truman declined, explaining, “I've got to get back to my family.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a brown bottle. “If the pain gets bad, give Logan a couple of drops of this. He didn't lose any teeth, but he's got a couple of bruised ribs, so make him lie in bed for a few days.”

After the schoolteacher left, Owen got a blanket and made himself a pallet on the floor beside the couch. He slept on it very little, however, for a cold fury was building in him. The Stuarts suffered from their quick tempers, but Owen had never before been filled with anger. That night, however, he understood how a man could kill.

The next day, Logan was better. He was able to eat some hot mush and drink a little fresh milk.

Will Stuart was furious—not so much with the man who had wrecked Logan, but with the young man himself. “Don't you have bat sense?” he demanded, shaking his finger at his son. “The man's a professional brawler! Nobody's got a chance against him in the ring!”

“Well, Pa,” Owen said, angry enough to challenge his father, “you'd better not bet on that…because I'm going to that carnival tonight and whip his tail!”

Will stared at Owen and knew at once that argument was useless. His second son, he well knew, was easy to manage, agreeable to a fault. But once his back was up, there was no changing his mind. The family all grew quiet, and Will studied his son's set jaw. Finally he grinned, saying, “All right. I haven't been to a carnival myself for many a year. We'll all go!” He looked over at Logan. “If you can make it, son, you can go too. I'd like you to see your brother in action.”

The children were ecstatic, and there was no more work done that day. They all piled into a wagon, and on the way to town, Will wondered if he was doing the right thing. “If that feller starts cutting you up for fun, Owen,” he said as they pulled the wagon up at the edge of the field where the carnival was located, “I'll put a spoke in his wheel!” He pulled back his coat, and Owen was startled to see the butt of the Colt .44 in his belt.

“You can't do that, Pa!”

Will shrugged. “Oh, I won't kill him…just mebbe shoot a leg off his carcass.”

At that moment Owen felt closer to his father than he'd ever felt. “You're a caution, Pa!”

Then they all got down, and for an hour, the Stuart youngsters had the best time of their lives! Neither Gavin nor Christie had ever seen a carnival, and Logan and Lenora, though they had been once before, had never ridden a ride.

Again Owen felt a warm feeling for his father when Will said, “I've got a little cash I've been saving, kids. We're going to ride every ride and eat everything they got! Come on!”

Owen stayed with Logan in the wagon while the family explored the carnival. “I'm right proud of Pa, Logan,” Owen said once. “The young ones will never forget this.”

Logan peered at his brother through puffy slits. “Neither will you if you get in the ring with Iron Mike, Owen. Don't do it.” He winced as he moved on the wagon seat. “I know you've licked everybody in this part of the world, but he's different. He knows lots of tricks.”

Owen grinned at Logan. “Maybe it'll be your turn to sit up with me, baby brother.” He sat loose and easy in the wagon, not in the least nervous.

Logan, though tall and wiry, weighed no more than 140 pounds. Owen himself weighed 185 and was hard as nails. He had never lost a fight, for he was quick as a cat and tough as boot leather. He was aware that he would take some punishment, but that didn't matter. He had a strong sense of family and knew he'd get in the ring with Iron Mike if he died for it.

It was growing dark as the family came back, and his father gave him a worried look. “Owen, Mr. Truman told everybody what you're planning to do. I think the whole town's here to see the fight.”

“Well, let's go give it to 'em,” Owen leapt to the ground lightly, gave Logan a hand down, then led the way to the tent where the barker was already beginning his speech.

“Step right up!” he cried in a shrill voice. “Colonel Franklin Fletcher's world-famous show now offers for your entertainment…Iron Mike! The strongest man in the world!”

A heavyset man wearing a purple robe stood on the platform and looked over the crowd with a contemptuous sneer on his thick lips. About forty, he was past his prime, but when he dropped the robe and bent an iron bar, Owen saw that though he had some fat around his middle, he was still a powerful man.

When the crowd went inside to watch Iron Mike and the other performers, Logan explained, “When this is over, he'll offer to box anybody in the crowd.”

Owen took the children inside. Before long he himself was fascinated by the thin Greek named Populis, who rammed a sword down his throat. “Ah, that thing folds up in the handle!” jibed a man in the front row. Populis smiled and removed the handle, then handed it to the man for his inspection. When he handed it back, satisfied, Populis swallowed it again, and the crowd laughed at the scoffer. The performer lit a torch and, for his grand finale, put the flaming brand in his mouth, bringing a scream from Lenora.

Owen was amused at the acts, some of which seemed very good. He especially enjoyed the three young women dancers. But it was Iron Mike whom he watched most closely. The strong man bent a spike in his hands, put ten men from the audience on one end of a rope, then laughed at their efforts to upset him. He lifted massive weights, and the muscles of his thick body writhed like serpents.

Finally the show was over, and Owen moved outside and found his father and the others. Truman tried once more to persuade him to reconsider. “Owen, you're crazy to try this. That pug will cut you to pieces!”