Jake fed and
watered the flock and when Timber returned he slowly walked the worn path to the house,
his feet leaden. He rounded the corner and saw that the glass in the upper half of the
weather-beaten kitchen door was steamy, as if boasting of all the good cooking and warmth
going on behind its chilly exterior. Some of his weariness left and when his hand touched
the coolness of the door knob he heard his uncle's horse whinny from the nearby hitching
post.
From the corner he saw swirls of smoke rising
from his Uncle Enos's corn cob pipe. What's going on . .He doesn't even know I'm here.
What happened?
He watched his mother move from the cupboard
to the sink, and back again, talking first to his father, then to his uncle. She wiped her
hands in the folds of her apron and turned toward him. "Wash up for supper
Jake," and he went outdoors to the washstand. He listened, but couldn't make out what
was being said. He hurried his washing and returned in time to hear his mother ask,
"What if the animals get out and kill our sheep, or worse, the children?" Her
question went unanswered.
Jake took his seat at the table. What
animals?
He glanced about the room, looking for an
answer A large cupboard on the opposite wall held all the family's dishes, silverware, and
pots and pans. The walls were ivory-colored and scrubbed often. The wood stove claimed a
wall of its own and over by the kitchen door was a row of wooden pegs on which coats,
shawls, and hats were hung. One peg was always reserved for a lantern so it could be
easily grabbed during an emergency. A large round oak table, which often appeared
majestic, occupied the center of the room.
Hand-hewn timbers, hoisted into place a
century before, with the help of oxen gave the room visible strength.
The laden plates and dinner bowls were passed.
The air was heavy with silence. Jake looked from one to the other. Their eyes met and
still no one spoke. He listened to the muted tick of the kitchen clock. The meal was
almost finished when he heard his father ask his uncle: "Do you know who sold off
their land to him?"
"Sure do," Enos said. "There's
the Brackens, the Richardson's . . . the Capes, and the Heywards. Damn Bracken anyway! His
was the best piece. Without his chunk, this might not have happened."
Jared Fremont looked across the table and saw
confusion in his son's eyes. For a few moments he appeared to be casting about in his mind
for words to explain what happened. He laid his fork on his plate, and with much obvious
effort told his son: "Your Uncle Enos learned today that one of the Ringling brothers
of circus fame bought the small village of Petersburg, lock, stock, and barrel -- the
village, the pond and eight hundred acres of valley land. He plans to build a big mansion
and barns to house his circus animals -- right here in this valley."
Jake could find no speech. He looked to his
mother. She nodded.
He turned to his uncle Enos. "Does this
mean elephants and lions will be coming here?"
"God a' Mighty, yes," Enos said.
Jake saw his uncle's blue eyes harden to the
look of fine steel, saw him yank his napkin from under the folds of his sweaty chin.
"That's not the worst of it, lad,"
Enos said. "This circus king plans to flood some of this land. Valley land, mind ya,
to make himself a private lake. Jesus, Mary and Joseph! A person is supposed to respect
the land. You plow it. You fertilize it. You build on it. Land is the most important thing
of all. You sure as hell don't purposely flood it! This Ringling must think he's God, for
Christ's sake!"
Jake watched his uncle move from the dinner
table to the rocking chair, where he began to light his favorite pipe. Jake marveled how
his pipe clung to the corner of his mouth in defiance of gravity. He watched the smoke
rings float like balloons toward the ceiling. He saw deep burrows beginning to form across
his uncle's forehead. Jake's gaze shifted then to his father who rose and walked across
the room toward the wood box.
"You know, Enos, you can't blame Caleb
Bracken and the others for selling. These are bad times. Real bad, for some folks in this
valley," Jared said, as he shoved more wood into the stove.
"Just a dang minute, Jared," Enos
said. "I'm not blaming them for this mess, although I don't believe most of 'em have
it that bad. It's just that land is important, real important. I don't understand why any
man would want to flood all that land for any reason. It doesn't make sense."
"I can't begin to imagine a reason
either, Enos, you know damn well I can't see the sense in it. All I'm saying' is, it's his
land, and like it or not, it seems to me he can do what he wants with it."
"To a point, Jared. To a point."
Jake stared across the room as he
half-listened to their voices. He had an impulse so strong, he fought to stay in his
chair. I wonder if Amanda knows? If her father allowed her to have visitors I could run
across the fields right now and be at her house in minutes. He quickly pushed those
thoughts back into his mind and turned toward his uncle. "Where's he going to put his
mansion, Uncle Enos? Eight hundred acres is a lot of land."
"Near Petersburg Pond, boy. And, it's
gonna have twenty-six rooms . . .did ya' hear that. Twenty-six. I just can't imagine
anyone wanting twenty-six rooms -- 'cept maybe a king or a queen. Another thing,"
Enos said, "This circus king could bring all those wild animals and circus freaks to
this valley. The animals are bad enough but freaks . . . ."
"Enos!" Jared said in a tone a
father would use to chastise his son. "You should never judge people because of their
infirmities, and certainly not before you know them."
"That may be, Jared. All I'm saying is we
don't need a freak show in this valley."
Jake saw his father clasp his callused hands
together and rub them slowly. Jake was impressed less than anyone else by his uncle's
roarings and he began to envision the circus king's mansion. He saw wealth beyond measure.
In his mind's eye there was plush furniture, drapes, rich meals, servants, crystal, silver
cutlery. More wealth. They would eat with perfectly clean hands. He glanced down at his
own hands as he poured the rich gravy over the last of the pork loin on his plate.
Already, the color of earth was ingrained into every callused line. No matter how hard he
scrubbed, the dark lines remained.
"When is he going to build this
estate?" Lavenia asked, her arm jerking up and down as she pumped water for washing
the dirty dinner dishes.
"Early this summer," Enos answered.
"Is his wife coming with him?"
"He's divorced."
Lavenia's hand tightened on the stilled pump
handle. "How do you know that, Enos?"
"Calvin Easton and I both heard it from a
stranger at the inn this afternoon."
Lavenia put the filled pot of water on the
stove and turned toward her brother. "When did they get divorced?"
"Last year, least ways according to this
stranger. He also said Ringling is married or gonna marry a woman some thirty years
younger. God! the man is in his fifties! I don't. . ."
"Thirty years younger! Are you sure
that's what he said?"
"Yes, Lavenia. I'm sure."
"Did he say anything else about the
Ringlings?" Lavenia asked as she stacked dirty dishes.
"Well, he told us to keep an eye on
Ringling's son, Richard. Seems he's been drinkin'' since he was fourteen. He's supposed to
have a shady reputation amongst some of the Ringlings and the circus performers."
Jared rose, swung around, clutched the back of
his chair and faced his wife's brother. "For God's sake, Enos, how do you know that
this man -- this stranger -- was telling you and Calvin the truth?"
"He showed us newspaper stories about the
divorce trial."
"I don't understand . . .Why did he tell
you and Calvin all of this?"
"Well, for one thing he stayed at the inn
longer than he should have and the brandy loosened his tongue," Enos said, and he
smiled a thin smile. "Calvin seems to think this stranger felt sorry for us valley
folk. Seems when he was a kid his Pa, who was poor, had his land taken from him. He
remembers well what it did to his folks. They didn't stand a chance he told us. Big money
against little folks. Left an awful taste in this fella's mouth."
"What's his name? -- Does he work for
Ringling?" Jared asked.
"He refused to say who he was, but he did
tell us he came from Boston. We figured he's some kinda' land agent or something', but
that's not important. What's important is that something should be done about Ringling
flooding lots of this valley land. You know, don'tcha, that when Ringling floods that
land, Caleb Bracken's apple orchard will go under. Best darn orchard in these parts. I
just don't understand how anyone could bury something like that just so they can have
their own private lake. We should call a meeting right away."
"Perhaps, but that could stir up
trouble," Jared said. "I think we should meet with this Mr. Ringling and ask
some questions. I'm wondering why a man in his fifties wants to do all of this. Most men
his age are thinking about getting away, slowing down. "Enos rose from the rocking
chair and paced about the kitchen. "Come now, Jared. Do you really think most valley
people would believe what this rich man will tell them? I know I wouldn't. Don't trust
rich people. Never did, never will. They're greedy. Rich men have power over poor men --
have since the beginning of time."
"What can we do?" Jared asked.
"Nobody can go up against big money
alone. We need a group, Jared. Why, Mrs. Ringling got a $305,000 divorce settlement, along
with some properties. Now, that's a lot of money," Enos said. "Well, I've got a
lot of folks to see." He removed his cap from its peg by the kitchen door and grabbed
his coat and began to turn the knob on the kitchen door.
"Do you know which one of the Ringling
brothers bought all this land?" Jared asked.
"Alfred T. - Alfred T. Ringling,"
Enos said. "Thanks for the evening meal, Lavenia. Delicious as usual. I'll probably
see you in a week or so." He nodded to Jared, rubbed his big hand through Jake's
hair, pulled his cap down hard over his ears and left.
© Marie Hollins Howard |
