The Clock (10 page)

But it wasn't just petty pilfering. “Sir—”

He held up his hand to stop me. “Now, as far as this business of his pestering you, forcing his attentions on you—well, you're a pretty girl. These things happen. I expect he'd been drinking.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We all know he has a weakness for rum. But so long as it doesn't interfere with the work, I don't imagine that Colonel Humphreys wants to know about that, either.”

I
was feeling mighty low. All along I'd figured that if I told somebody I'd have a chance. But it didn't look that way. “Mr. Brown, I just have to get out of the mill.”

“The best advice I can give you is to stay out of his way as much as possible. When's your contract up?”

“In April, sir.”

“That's less than three months. If you're still unhappy at the mill, I don't suppose your pa would want you to stay on beyond that.”

There was nothing more for me to say. I stood up. “Well, thank you, sir, for all the trouble I put you to.”

I cleaned myself up, for I didn't want Pa and Ma to know anything about it, especially that I'd told Mr. Brown the whole story.

Pa was too busy watching the clock to see how late I was, to notice that I was scuffed up a little, and when Ma did notice the bruise on my face I said I'd slipped on the ice on the road and fell, and had gone to the Browns' to clean up, which was why I was late.

I went off to the mill the next morning feeling dreadful low. It seemed like there was no escape. I'd have to last out the next three months until my contract was up, and pray that Pa wouldn't sign me up again. Oh, I was trapped, and there wasn't any way out.

On top of it, it was still mighty cold. I kept flapping my arms and trying to keep my nose from freezing. It made me late again, and when I was a half mile away I began to run, slipping and sliding on the icy snow. I was concentrating so hard on trying not to fall down that I was actually going into the mill before I realized that something was wrong. The place was dead quiet; none of the machines were running.

I raced upstairs to my slubbing billy, to get there before Mr. Hoggart missed me. But I didn't have to worry. The girls were all away from the machines, standing at the windows, looking downward.

“What happened?”

“The waterwheel's frozen solid with ice. It won't turn until they can knock the ice off.”

I leaned out the window to look for myself. I was almost directly above the wheel, and had a good view of what was going on. There was ice all over the banks of the shunt and a coating of ice on top of the water in the shunt, although the water beneath was still flowing through the shunt, down the spillway, and under the waterwheel. But the wheel was not turning; it was standing still. There was ice all over it—on the spokes, on the blades, and down between the wheel itself and the walls of the spillway. Mr. Hoggart was down there, with three boys who were jabbing at the ice with poles. He was cursing a lot, for every minute that wheel stood idle it cost Colonel Humphreys money.

They weren't having much luck. The ice was hard and thick and wouldn't crack easily. It
was
pretty plain that poles weren't going to do it; they'd need to hack that ice out with axes. Not that we girls were in any blame hurry to see that wheel moving again. It was like a holiday for us. Every time one of the boys took a whack at the ice and nothing happened, we'd let out a low cheer. The other boys were hanging out the windows, the same as us. They were jeering and shouting at the boys down below, crying out, “Why, you ain't got the strength of a fly, nor the brains either,” and roaring with laughter when one of the boys down below slipped on the ice and fell, even though they knew that soon enough they'd have to take their turns with the poles.

Then Mr. Hoggart said something to one of the boys. The boy dropped his pole and trotted off out of sight around the corner of the building. The other boys stood there, leaning on the poles, and the boys leaning out the windows began to jeer even louder, until Mr. Hoggart shook a fist at them and cursed, and they shut up for a little.

We waited, and in a couple of minutes the boy came back into sight, carrying an ax. He went over to the waterwheel, and began to hack at the ice. The main trouble was the ice that was frozen between the wheel and the wall of the spillway it turned in. If they could clear the ice out from there, and from the same place on the other side of the wheel, up against the mill, the wheel would move again.

The boys went on hacking. The ice was spraying up into the sunlight, sparkling yellow as gold. It was a pretty sight. We girls went on leaning out the windows, watching. They'd get the wheel moving in time, but in the meanwhile we could enjoy our holiday.

After a while the boy with the ax got tired, and another one took his place. Mr. Hoggart said something to the boy who had just quit. Off he went out of sight around the corner of the building. In about two minutes he was back. Coming along behind him was Robert. He was having a lot of trouble keeping his footing on the ice around the spillway.

Mr. Hoggart picked up one of the poles and jammed it down between the wheel and the wall of the spillway. It went pretty far down, which meant that they'd got that side of the wheel pretty well cleared. Mr. Hoggart stood back, the boy went to work again with the ax, and in a moment that side of the wheel was free.

Now Mr. Hoggart turned to Robert and said something. Robert took the ax and limped to the wheel. But he did not lean down and start hacking at the ice. Instead, he began to climb up on the wheel, holding onto the icy struts with one hand, carrying the ax with the other. It was going to be his job to hack the ice out from between the wheel and the other side of the spillway.

The problem was that to do that he'd have to work from on top of the waterwheel itself. The wheel was right up against the side of the mill. There wasn't any place to get at the ice, except from up on the wheel.

Now he was lying on top of the wheel, facedown. He began swinging the ax into the space between the wheel and the mill wall. Suddenly my back went all chill and my heart began to race.
For
I saw what it was all about. Once Robert had chopped a certain amount of ice out, the pressure of the water would suddenly break the wheel free. There was no telling in advance when that moment would come. The wheel would suddenly begin to turn, and where would Robert be then? If he had two good feet, he could quickly stand and make a jump for it. But with that bad foot Robert wasn't much for standing quickly, much less jumping. One little slip and he'd be gone over the wheel into the spillway, with that wheel turning on top of him.

I grabbed up my coat and raced out of the slubbing room, down the long flight of stairs and around the back of the mill, where Mr. Hoggart couldn't see me. I ran on, slipping and sliding down the mill road, until I got to the village road. Here the footing was better. I went on running, my feet twisting and turning in the ruts, until I got to the Browns'. I banged on the door, and then waited. In a minute the door swung open, and there was Mrs. Brown. “Annie—”

“Mr. Brown's got to come right away,” I shouted. “Mr. Hoggart's put Robert on top of the waterwheel to chop out the ice. He's trying to kill Robert. He's bound to be flung into the spillway
w
hen the wheel breaks free. He can't jump like the rest.”

“Lord, is this true, Annie?” She turned away from the door, and in a minute Mr. Brown, was there.

“What's this, Annie?”

“He's trying to kill Robert. I know he is.” I stood there, my heart pounding.

Mr. Brown stood there for a minute, thinking. Then he said, “It doesn't sound right putting a boy with that lame foot up on the wheel. I'd better go have a look.”

“Please, sir, hurry.”

He grabbed his coat, and began to run out of the house, putting his coat on as he went. I came running on behind him, but he was going a good deal faster than I could go. He reached the mill road when I was still a good piece away. I saw him turn up the mill road, stagger on a patch of ice, straighten up, and go on up the road. In a minute he disappeared around the side of the mill. I went on running. I turned into the mill road and began to work my way up it as quick as I could. I reached the mill, and started for the side when Mr. Brown suddenly appeared.

He stood in front of me, barring my way. I stopped. Then he put his arm around my shoulder and gently turned me around. “Better not go back there, Annie,” he said. “You don't want to see it.”

I screamed, broke away from him, and dashed around the corner toward the waterwheel. Two boys were coming toward me, carrying something heavy. I screamed again, and then they came by me.

Robert's body was soaked in water, and already the ice was forming on his face, his eyes, his clothes. His nose was squashed down and one eye was just a pool of blood. His other pale blue eye was open and just stared out. His clothes were torn, and his body was limp as an empty sack,
for
most of his bones had been broken by the wheel. The one thing I never forgot was his foot. It was bare, and twisted all the way around so that it was pointed backward. I screamed, and then Mr. Brown picked me up and carried me away.

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

T
HERE WAS PLENTY OF TALK
in the village about it. A lot of people said that Mr. Hoggart was in the wrong of it, and thought he ought to be dismissed before he hurt somebody else. A lot of other people said he wasn't to blame; it was an accident. The boys had all been taking turns and it was just Robert's hard luck that he was the one on the wheel when it started to move. Besides, it wasn't Mr. Hoggart's fault that Robert hadn't been able to jump off quick enough.

Robert's pa went to the justice of the peace and talked about bringing charges against Mr. Hoggart. The justice of the peace told him there wasn't anything to be done about it. It was an accident. There were always accidents in mills, everybody knew that; and if you went to work in a mill you had to watch out for yourself. Just as there were always accidents on farms too. If Robert hadn't got his foot hurt in a farm accident, he wouldn't have been in the mill in the first place.

Pa and Ma felt just dreadful about it. They were good friends of the Bronsons, and it hurt them something awful to see how stricken the Bronsons were. “Poor Robert,” Pa said. “He never had a bit of luck. First his foot, and now this.”

“It wasn't any accident, Pa,” I cried. “Mr. Hoggart did it on purpose.”

“Now, Annie. I know how you felt about Robert, but we can't blame Mr. Hoggart for this.”

Even Ma agreed. “I don't like Mr. Hoggart, and I don't trust him, Annie. But I can't believe he'd do this to Robert deliberately.”

The tears began to leak out of my eyes. “He did. Yes, he did.”

Ma put her arms around me. “Poor Annie. It's been hard for you.”

“It's God's will,” Pa said. “There's always death in life, and the dead must bury the dead. In time, we'll be reconciled to it.”

But then George spoke up. “I believe Annie,” he said quietly. “I believe Hoggart did it on purpose.

We all looked at him. “What makes you think that, George?” Ma said.

He didn't say anything for a minute. Then he said, “I just have a feeling about it. I don't like the man. I never did. Since this happened I met a man from where Hoggart worked before he came here. The rumor's true—Hoggart lost his position there because he was pestering the girls.”

Pa stared at George. “Who told you that?”

“One
of the men who works at the Derby sawmill. He says everybody knows it.”

“Rumors,” Pa said. “Just rumors.”

“I don't think so,” George said. “Pa, if it was me, I'd take Annie out of the mill.”

“George, it's your father's business,” Ma said.

“That may be so,” George said. “But if it was me, I wouldn't have her in the mill.” He stood up. “I'm going to see to the ox.” He didn't say anything more, but went out through the back door, and into the night. I sat there for a minute, wiping my eyes, and trying to get a hold on myself. Then I stood up. “I'll go collect the eggs.” And I went out after George.

He was pouring a bucket of water in the ox's trough. “George,” I said. “Why did you say that?”

He shook his head. “I don't know why I bothered. There's nothing Pa can do. He's near ruined with debt, and he's depending on your wages to keep him going. I think down inside he knows he ought to take you out of the mill. But he can't allow himself to believe that, for he'll be in serious trouble if he lets you stay home.”

“Why can't he just give that blame clock back?”

George shrugged. “That's Pa's stubbornness. If he gives the clock back it's like admitting he failed. He can't admit that, even to himself.”

I looked at George. “What am I going to do?”

“If it happens again, don't bother Pa about it. You tell me.” It made me feel better to hear him say that. But nothing could make me feel much better, because of Robert.

******

The worst of it was to go on working at the mill. Robert's burial was that Sunday, and Pa let me stay home until then. But on the next Monday I had to go back to the mill. Pa had signed the contract. I didn't have any choice. But it had less than three months to go. I had to get through that.

It was just dreadful. I had to stand there all day long, with that waterwheel turning around and around below me, trying not to think of Robert being caught under it and his bones all smashed. I hoped it hadn't hurt him much. I hoped it had killed him quick, before it started to break up his bones. Those first days back at the mill I thought a lot about jumping out the window on top of the water-wheel myself.

After a few days I knew I couldn't go on like that. I just couldn't stand the pain. I knew I had to put Robert out of my mind, or die myself. The trouble was that I had too much time to think. So, when I was standing at my slubbing billy or walking back and forth to the mill, I tried to go over the eight-times table in my head, or work out what countries were next to France. Finally, after another week or so, there came times when I wouldn't think about Robert for a whole hour at a
stretch.
But then something would happen that would remind me of him—I'd hear somebody use an expression he liked, or a song he used to sing, and it would all come up again. Of course, I had to walk past his house every morning and every night; and there was always that awful waterwheel.