Hoggee (8 page)

Jack looked closely at Howard. “You're thin,” he said.

“I got pneumonia. Mac beat me up pretty bad, and I stayed for a long time in the snow. After I got sick, they took me in at Cyrus's house.”

“How sick?”

Howard shrugged his shoulders. “Pretty sick, I reckon. They had the doctor and all.” He shrugged again. “I'm fit as a fiddle now though.”

Jack closed his eyes again, let out a sigh, and shook his head. “It's a thousand wonders I found you still alive.”

Howard turned away. “Want to get your bag and sleep in here with me?”

Jack laughed. “No,” he said, “I'm not sleeping in there with a mule. I don't trust her not to kick me or step on me.”

“Molly wouldn't do that.” Howard laughed. “Not unless you riled her.”

“I'm not taking any chances.” Jack turned to go back to the front of the barn. “I'll find a spot up front. Come on with me. I'm near about starved.”

Howard followed. Jack dropped to the straw-covered barn floor, opened his haversack, and took out a cloth that had bread and meat wrapped in it. He tore the bread apart and held out a piece to Howard. “Want some?”

Howard shook his head. “I had plenty for supper.” He stretched beside his brother.

“At old Cyrus's house?” Jack smiled. “Eating at old Cyrus's house, if that doesn't beat the Dutch! Remember how he always told us hoggees that he would fire any one of us that happened to be caught even close to the path to his place?”

Howard frowned. “He doesn't like people around his granddaughters. That's all. One's deaf and mute, and he's afraid she'll be made sport of.”

Jack took out his pocketknife and cut himself a piece of meat. “Deaf and mute.” He shook his head slowly.
“Can't hear or say a word. That's awful sad. How old is she?”

“Sixteen, same as you.”

“I'd like to see her.”

Howard sat up straight. “She's not a sight in a sideshow,” he said, and anger filled him. “That's just what Cyrus doesn't want, people staring at her like she's some freak or something.”

“Whoa, now. I never said I thought she was a freak. Don't be so vexed.” Jack laughed. “Sounds like you're a little sweet on this dummy.”

Howard clenched his fists. “That's crazy,” he said. “I just feel sorry for her, that's all, and I'm beholden to old Cyrus. I shouldn't have told you about Sarah. I just want you to stay away from her, you hear? And don't call her a dummy.”

Jack stared at Howard. “Don't get yourself all riled up,” he said. “I've no plan to plague the girl.”

Howard searched his mind desperately for a change of subject. “Want to play marbles?” Howard asked.

“It's too dark for marbles, dunce.” Jack cocked his head and continued to stare. “What is it with you? You've never volunteered to play marbles. I've always had to hound you to get a game.”

Howard felt his face flush. It was true. He did not like to play any game with Jack, who always won. He did play, though. Partly he supposed it was the hope of winning. Partly he played because he had no power to resist when Jack insisted.

He swallowed hard. “Are you tired, then? You've been on a long journey. Bet you're ready to go to sleep.” He started to stand, but Jack pulled him back.

“Not sleepy yet, just got aching feet. Tell me more about old Cyrus's house.”

Howard sighed. “Not much to tell. It's just a little house. I had a bed in the pantry while I was sick. Cyrus's widow daughter lives with him and her three girls. It's the middle one I teach.”

“How old is that one?”

“Fourteen, like me.”

“Are they pretty?”

“Who?” said Howard.

“Cyrus's granddaughters, of course? Who were we talking about? The mules?”

Now Howard was really angry. “How would I know if they're pretty? I don't think about such things! Now mules I can tell you about, but not girls. I don't know about girls, and I don't talk about them. Ma wouldn't like you talking about them, either.”

Jack laughed. “There's nothing wrong with saying whether a girl's pretty or not!”

Howard did stand this time. “All right!” he said. “I suppose they're pretty enough, but that's no matter to us or anyone else. Cyrus means for them to be left alone, and you had best abide by that.” He stomped away. Then he turned back to call to his brother. “I'm going to bed,” he said. “I'm too tired for such nonsense.”

In the quiet of Molly's stall he thought about what had just happened. Jack was interested in girls now. He was interested in Cyrus's granddaughters. The thought made him uncomfortable in a way that the hardness of his bed never did.

He did not want Jack to go around Sarah and Laura.
In the darkness he bit at his lip. Jack would not be cruel. Howard had never known his brother to hurt anyone except boys like Mac, who started the trouble. “So what are you worried about?” he whispered to himself in the dark.

He turned in his blanket. Admit it, he thought, you don't want to share Sarah and the others. If Jack gets to know the girls, he will find a way to turn that knowing into a competition. With Jack that's how everything ends, a competition that Jack always wins.

Howard opened his eyes in the morning as Cyrus came in. For a second he forgot that his brother also slept in the barn. Then it came to him. This would be a day of contests. He drew in a deep breath and sat up.

“Good morning, sir,” Jack said to Cyrus, and Howard saw him jump to his feet. “I'll be glad to help you with the chores.”

Howard smiled, knowing what would come next.

“Don't want help,” Cyrus said, and he picked up the pitchfork. “I'm paid to take care of the mules. You're paid for driving them. I don't try to drive them. You don't try to tend them.”

Howard thought of crawling back under the straw, but Jack had already seen him. Jack came to Molly's stall. “I've got some bread and dried apples, want some?”

“No, you'll need your food. I'll eat at Cyrus's house when he finishes his chores.”

“Right, I forgot. I'll eat later, too. I've got a new sling. Let's go and try it out.”

Howard sighed. He had no interest in using Jack's new sling, but he took his haversack from the nail. “I'll take my book and paper, and go from out there up to breakfast.”

Outside, the new March morning was crisp, and Howard pulled his coat closed. Jack showed his sling. “Isn't this something?” He held out the leather strap and pointed at the pocket where two leather strings held a small rock. “Will, the tanner, made it. I worked for him four days to pay for it. Watch this,” he said. “See that fence post?” He pointed toward a post several feet away. “I can hit it.” He began to swing the strap in a wide circle above his head, then pulled one of the strings, and a rock flew across the field, striking the post. “It's how David killed the giant, you know, in the Bible.”

Howard did know about David. He knew that it had been David, not his older brothers, who brought down Goliath. He also knew that Jack was going to insist that Howard now try to hit the post. “You're good with that,” he said. “I guess you've practiced a lot.”

“Some,” said Jack, “but it's pretty easy.” He walked toward the post. Howard followed. Jack bent to get his rock. “Here,” he slipped the rock back into the pocket, walked back a ways from the post, and handed the sling to Howard. “Make it circle above your head. Pull the string when it's lined up with the post.”

Howard began to circle the strap above his head. He watched the post and pulled the release string at what he thought might be the right time. The rock missed the post by several feet.

“Not bad for the first time,” yelled Jack, and he ran to get the rock. “Here,” he said, handing the rock to Howard. “Let's put it back in so you can try again.” He was smiling. “When you're better, we can have a competition.” He stood back, waiting for Howard to swing.

For just a minute Howard hesitated, but he knew he would work to learn the sling. It was always this way—Jack smiling, Howard dreading. Howard felt powerless when it came to his brother. He would, he supposed, follow always behind Jack, always losing and always, always trying again.

He was still swinging the sling, still trying to hit the post with the rock when old Cyrus came out of the barn. “I've got to go,” Howard said, and he handed the sling to his brother.

“We'll practice some more later,” Jack said, and of course Howard nodded.

“That lad's your brother, aye?”

“Yes.” Howard did not add any comments. He did not feel like talking about Jack.

“He's a likely lad, I'd say. Should make his way well in the world.”

“Yes,” Howard said again. His feet began to feel very heavy.

Cyrus stopped, looked up at the sky, then turned his gaze to look around at the trees. “Might say spring is here. The other lads will be showing up in the next few days.”

“I'll have to go on the boat,” said Howard. “It will make me sad to leave Laura's lessons.”

Old Cyrus shook his head. “It's no matter,” he said. “A girl ain't in need of book learning.”

“She wants to learn,” said Howard. “I know how she feels. I'd like more schooling myself.” He put out his hand to touch the man's arm. “Is there any chance you might send Laura to school?”

“No,” said Cyrus, and he shook off Howard's hand.
“Don't bring it up again. I won't have you stirring the girl up with such nonsense.”

“I won't say anything,” said Howard. He looked down at the ground.

When breakfast was over, Laura helped her mother and Gracie clear the table. Sarah disappeared as soon as the meal was finished. Howard spread the reader open and took out paper and pencil. They went over the word list from the day before, and he wrote sentences using some of the words for Laura to read. As they worked, he glanced often at the bedroom door. What, he wondered, did Sarah do in her spare time? When she was not working with her mother, what occupied her mind and her hands?

The lesson was almost over when he looked up to see Sarah. She stood in the bedroom doorway, just as she had during other lessons. Howard took up the pencil and wrote a sentence for Laura. “She is sad,” he wrote.

He carved the words in the moonlight. It was not a new idea. Howard had been aware of Jack's winning as long as he could remember. Still, the words stung as he carved them, stung with a new sharpness. This contest had mattered so much more than the others.

For a few days Howard and Jack had waited. Other boys also returned, ready to go back to work as hoggees. When Howard was not at Cyrus's house eating or teaching Laura, he was practicing with the sling. “You're getting good,” Jack would say. And he was improving.

Howard lowered the sling he had started to twirl. “Well, then,” he said, “we may as well have the competition and get it over with.”

Jack shook his head. “No, I want you to have a real chance of winning.”

Howard threw up the sling again. It was always that way. Jack took no pleasure in beating him easily. Occasionally, Jack would even let Howard win, but Howard was not fooled. He knew that Jack feared he would get discouraged with no victories at all. Jack need not have worried. Howard could no more walk away from Jack's
competitions than he could turn his back on water to drink.

Once, last summer, Howard had actually won a race, and he knew from the look on Jack's face that Jack had not given the success to him. For a few minutes Howard had been exhilarated, but the thrill did not last long. Jack insisted they race again immediately. Howard bent his legs in the starting position. You beat him once, he told himself over and over, but he knew he could never do it again. Jack, newly determined, reached the finish line well ahead.

“We'll have to have the slingshot competition tomorrow,” Jack said one evening when Howard came back to the barn after his lesson with Laura. “We're going to work tomorrow. Captain Travis was here while you were gone.”

Howard stopped in the barn doorway. “It doesn't seem warm enough. We're going day after tomorrow?”

“Yes.” Jack sat up from his straw bed. “You and Bert Briscoe are hoggees on
The Blue Bird.”

“We're on different boats!” Howard walked over and dropped down beside Jack.” Why'd he put us on different boats? He knows we're brothers.”

Jack held out his hand in a stop motion. “Whoa! I never said we're on different boats. I said you and Bert are the hoggees on
The Blue Bird.”
He stopped and smiled big before going on. “I'm to be a bowman this year.” Jack punched Howard on the shoulder. “I've been promoted, little brother!”

Howard stared at his brother. “A bowman, not a hoggee? I thought bowman were grown men.”

Jack laughed. “I'm sixteen,” he said. “It appears that is
man enough for Captain Travis.” He pulled himself up to sit very straight. “He said he had been keeping his eye on me. Liked my work, that's what he said.”

“You'll make more money,” said Howard. “Ma will be glad of that.”

“That I will, twelve dollars a month and less work to boot. I can tell you I'd rather see to that towrope than drive the mules. All that money, and all I have to do is keep that rope clear of tangles.”

“You've got to secure the boat in the locks, too,” said Howard.

Jack smiled. “I like the locks, always have.”

Howard liked the locks, too, watching the water being shut in or let out to move the water to a different level of the landscape. There were always interesting things going on at the locks, too. Drivers had a chance to hear stories told by the lockmen and watch fights over one boat slowing another one down. Howard was careful not to be involved in the fights, but Jack sometimes took part.