Orphan Train, page 18
“Yes, Captain.” The helmsman’s eyes didn’t leave the river.
The captain’s eyes were dark and piercing; Theodore could feel them. The man spoke stern warnings and chastisements with those eyes, without uttering a word. When the burrowing stare finally left Theodore, he knew he was in for something terrible. Until the boat came to a stop in Ozark, Theodore’s eyes looked straight ahead, wide as the plate he still held in his lap.
“FOLLOW ME,” THE CAPTAIN ordered before he opened the door and glided down the stairs with ease. Theodore could hardly keep up.
“Pardon the interruption, folks,” the captain spoke to the passengers in a friendly tone without stopping his march to the bow. “We’ll be underway again within five minutes.”
The captain led Theodore to a wooden ramp jutting out from the riverbank, which they had to jump over a two-foot-wide gap to reach. The captain stepped over without a change in his step. Theodore felt like the gap was ten feet wide. When they reached the bottom of the ramp, the captain suddenly grabbed Theodore by the shirt collar and practically dragged him into the AMSC building, which was much smaller but an exact match to the building in Van Buren. He burst through the door and began to holler.
“I need the sheriff and I need him now!”
A young man behind the counter leapt from his chair and bounded out the door obediently without a word. The captain stood tall and strong, his grip squeezing Theodore’s shirt tighter with every passing minute. Theodore was in a full sweat now. His eyes darted around the room, looking for an escape. His rapid breathing was leaving him lightheaded. He didn’t know what punishment came to a stowaway, but he wasn’t going to find out without a fight.
Spurs could be heard jingling with the hollow thud of slow and steady footsteps on the boardwalk outside. The door opened gently and the local sheriff walked in, rifle in hand, and a long moustache that curled into a full circle on either side adorned his lip. He had a gut that hung below his belt buckle, and he walked with a firm step that thudded loudly against the wooden floor. He spit a mouthful into the spittoon near the door before acknowledging anybody inside. He took his hat off and looked at the captain. “Trouble on board?”
“Found me a stowaway. Hopped on in Van Buren.”
The sheriff gave the boy a look of disgust then spit into the spittoon once more. He nodded at the captain again. “Alright. Come along boy.”
The captain released his grip and the sheriff turned toward the door. Theodore looked up at him. “I’m sorry sir.”
The captain pointed toward the sheriff, who was now walking out the door. “Tell it to him.”
Theodore felt the adrenaline burst through his body. His blood suddenly felt cold and his heart began thumping so loudly in his chest that he could hear it in his ears. His arms quaked and he felt out of breath. In one swift move, he spun 180 degrees, until he was facing the door he and the captain had come through, and his legs began turning as fast as they possibly could. The captain yelled and the sheriff turned, but by then Theodore was out of sight.
He burst into the light and was immediately at the bottom of the ramp. A quick glance left and right proved neither option was good for an escape. He could hear heavy footsteps approaching quickly from behind him. He chose left and ran with all his might. He followed the riverbank to the end of the building, then turned and ran toward the town. Between his light steps on the sandy riverbank and his youthful speed, he quickly created distance between himself and the sheriff. The steamboat captain left his business at that, returned to his craft, and continued on his journey.
Theodore didn’t run in a straight line for more than one building. Every time he had an opportunity to slip into an alleyway or down a new road, he did. Ozark wasn’t nearly as big as Van Buren, and he soon found himself bursting through an alleyway and into an open field, which marked the edge of town. Beyond that field lay dense woods and a bright setting sun. Far in the field he saw an overturned wagon, missing three of its wheels. He made sure the coast was clear and sprinted with what energy he had remaining to that wagon. He dove face-first into the grass, putting the wagon between him and the town, and he waited. The sun dipped lower and the stars began to appear overhead. He rolled onto his back to watch the stars come out. His eyes got heavy. Right there next to the wagon, with a growing number of stars beginning to twinkle overhead, he soon forgot about the sheriff and drifted off to a restful sleep.
32.
“Fine lookin’ driver you got yourself.”
“Sure is, Mr. White,” Farmer Hutson smiled and put his arm around Rollie.
“Greetings, Mr. Hutson.”
“Good day to you, Mr. Little.” The farmer tipped his hat to the man who was wearing a large smile and waving at him while leading a donkey in the opposite direction.
“Fine day to make my final payment, Mr. Hutson.”
“A beautiful day to take it from you, Mr. Beatty,” Farmer Hutson returned a wave and smiled at the man, who bowed proudly. “Congratulations on owning your own farmland!”
Farmer and Mrs. Hutson sat on the bench of the carriage with Rollie between them. Rollie was driving the carriage while the two adults waved and greeted what seemed to be everybody they passed as they entered Dardanelle. Nearly everybody greeted Farmer Hutson by name, and the men who greeted Mrs. Hutson removed their hats and nodded respectfully. Rollie watched it all out of the corner of his eyes – he didn’t dare take his attention off the horses and road in front of him. He made it all the way to town with just a few minor adjustments from Farmer Hutson, and expertly pulled in front of a bank building where Farmer Hutson directed him to stop.
“I dare say the boy’s a natural horseman,” Farmer Hutson beamed a smile as he disembarked the carriage and hurried around the other side to help his wife down. Rollie excitedly jumped to the ground and wrapped the reins around the post, the way he’d been shown the day before. He, too, was beaming with pride at the job he’d done. The accolades were piled on by the farmer, which embarrassed Rollie almost as much as it boosted his pride. “Rides a horse like they’re connected and drives a carriage like he’s been doing it since the womb. I suspect Wells Fargo will be calling for his service any day.”
The early afternoon sun was high and hot. Rollie had rolled his shirtsleeves halfway up his arms in a fashion he had seen on Fred and Otto, to take advantage of the slight cool breeze that was blowing steadily along the river. It wasn’t much – hardly enough to tousle the hair on his head – but it did provide just a touch of relief from the heat that he was thinking he might never get used to.
The first time he’d ridden through Dardanelle, his eyes had been puffy and his mind still wailing for his brother. Now that he had a chance to look around, Dardanelle was a quaint little town with a small main street bordered by six buildings on one side and eight on the other. Further down the road stood a whitewashed church building with a small bell tower high over one side and a cross in the ground on the other. Beyond that, on both sides of the main road were a handful of buildings separated by small alleys and roads. Some had signs overhead – the saloon and a barber were closest to Rollie. Beyond that, there didn’t appear to be much to his new hometown. Rollie couldn’t help but wonder where all the people walking around town had come from.
“Sure seems like everybody knows Pop,” Rollie whispered to Mrs. Hutson after they’d entered the bank and walked through to the offices in the back, being greeted by everybody they passed along the way. “Everybody is friendly, too.”
“Thomas has many friends in this town. He’s helped many of the people around here get back on their feet.”
Rollie gave a confused look. “Do people fall down a lot?”
Mrs. Hutson let out the sweet giggle that Rollie was getting to know as his new mother’s laugh. “No dear boy. He’s the manager of loaned monies here at the bank. He loans money to people who need help after a bad crop year, or when their herd dies off unexpectedly. He’s a very fair and patient man, which is where he has made so many acquaintances that adore him.”
“Don’t let it fool you though,” the farmer piped up from behind his desk. “I’ve made an enemy or two along the way. I’m fair and honest, but not everybody returns those traits to me.”
Rollie looked out the window a long while, waiting with the patience of any eight-year-old. When a customer entered the office, Mrs. Hutson and Rollie left to run their errands around town. Farmer Hutson stopped the two before they walked out the door.
“Ah, Mr. Gregory. Blessed to see you today. You remember my wife of course. I’d like to introduce you to our son. This is Roland, but he likes to be called Rollie.”
“I heard the news just this mornin’. Congratulations, my boy, congratulations.” He removed his hat and smacked Farmer Hutson on the arm playfully. “Wonderful lookin’ lad, I do say. And Mrs. Hutson, always a pleasure to see you.”
The pleasantries were concluded and business continued inside the room. Mrs. Hutson didn’t notice anything amiss until she and Rollie walked out the door of the bank and the boy stared at his feet.
“Is something the matter?” Rollie just shook his head. “Are you sure. You were smiling ear to ear not five minutes ago, and now your glum has brought a cloud over us all.” She pointed to the sky, where a thick fluffy cloud had blown in front of the sun, providing a wide shadow over the town that would last for nearly an hour. Rollie looked up but was unamused by her humor. “Well, I supposed I’ll just have to introduce you to the schoolmaster as a grump, won’t I?’
“It’s just odd,” Rollie barely spoke above a whisper. Mrs. Hutson caught a hint of sadness in his voice. “Nobody’s every called me their son, except for Mother and Pa.”
Mrs. Huston led him to a wooden bench on the porch of the bank and sat him down. She adjusted her dress and knelt down next to him, looking directly into his sad eyes. “Thomas is very excited to have you in our lives. We’ve prayed fervently many nights for a child. Now that we have one, we are overjoyed.
“I understand why it must be odd to you. It is true, your mother and father will always be the people who gave you life, and whom I assume loved you more than anybody else in this life. Thomas and I have no desire to erase their memory from your little mind. But it is our sincere hope that you’ll find in us a family that’s now gone from you. I pray your parents rest in peace. And I pray you never forget them, I truly do. But I also hope that you’ll let us love you as much as they did.”
Rollie sniffled and wiped a tear from his eye without looking up from the ground. Mrs. Hutson had such a calming presence that when she reached into his lap to hold his little hand, he was filled with the warmth of a loving mother – a feeling he was afraid he was never going to feel again after losing his.
“Thomas and I believe it was the grace of the good Lord that we found you. Our trials of not being able to have a child and the trial of your terrible loss have brought the three of us together. I have no doubt that we will be a happy little family one day.”
Rollie looked up at his new mother, with swollen red eyes and wet trails on his cheeks. Mrs. Hutson smiled a tiny smile and brushed back a strand of hair that the wind had blown in front of her eyes. Her soft rosy cheeks dimpled as she smiled, and Rollie saw true love looking back at him through lovely green eyes. He slid down from the chair and wrapped her tightly in a hug.
AFTER WALKING FROM one end of town to the other, with his hand firmly grasping hers the entire time, Rollie and Mrs. Hutson stopped in front of the church building. They hadn’t spoken a word during their walk. Rollie let his eyes dry and Mrs. Hutson would gently reach over and rub his hand from time to time. Many people greeted her as they walked, and she politely smiled and returned the greeting with a nod or a wave. She was a proper woman, along with being beautiful and wealthy. But Rollie didn’t get the sense those were the reasons everybody wanted to say ‘hello’ to her. He believed everybody else could feel the beautiful, friendly person that she was, and that made them want to tip their hats and throw a smile her way.
“I hear children playing at the park next to the schoolhouse. How would you feel about going over with the children while I go find the schoolmaster?”
“I’d like that.”
“Good.” With a gentle wiping of the dirt from his cheek, Mrs. Hutson sent him away with a smile, then walked into the one-room schoolhouse next to the church building.
It wasn’t until he saw the children that he became nervous. Theodore, he suddenly remembered, was the natural at making friends. Rollie hardly ever met anybody new; Theodore always introduced them after he’d made friends with the new person. What do I say? He stopped walking toward the children and began to worry. Until he saw some of the boys in the far corner of the park swinging a stick. He watched for a moment and quickly realized the other boys were tossing rocks towards the boy with the stick, who was doing his best to hit each rock. Memories of stickball suddenly flooded Rollie’s mind. Oh how I miss that game, he remembered with a smile. I wonder if they have a...
Then, as if a silent wish had been granted, Rollie spotted another boy near the schoolhouse, standing by himself and tossing a ball high into the air before catching it once again. The worry was suddenly gone. Rollie forgot that he didn’t know these children. He didn’t care what he would say to them, or if they would be rude to him when he finally said hello. He was on a mission.
“Have you ever played stickball?”
The boy tossing the ball up and down looked around startled. “Who, me?”
Rollie nodded excitedly. “Come with me.”
He grabbed the boy by his arm and began a brisk walk across the large open lawn to the group of boys hitting rocks with a stick. The other boy was taller than Rollie, but only by two inches. He was skinnier than any of the other boys out there, and the fact that somebody had spoken to him was as exciting as it was startling. He did his best to keep up with the strange boy whose grip was tighter than he was comfortable with. But they were approaching the older boys – the bigger boys – who were more often than not trouble to anybody they didn’t like.
“Hi!” Rollie’s excitement had only grown on the walk across the lawn. The skinny boy he’d practically dragged behind him was out of breath. “Have you ever heard of stickball?”
The boys all looked at him. Some gave a questioning glare, others seemed to be racking their brains to answer his question.
“What is it that you said there?” One of them finally asked.
“Stickball. It’s a game. My favorite game. You break into two teams and take turns hitting the ball with the stick, and try to get the players on your team to touch the marker where you hit the ball.”
The boys looked at each other. Only then did Rollie realize they were all much older than him. They were probably older than Theodore, some of them. But that didn’t deter his enthusiasm. The biggest boy in the group, who’d been using the stick when Rollie approached, stepped forward. He was a fat boy. Not only was he tall, like Roy had been, but he was at least twice as wide as Rollie. His round cheeks were red and sweat dripped from his brow. But despite all that, he had a friendly look about him.
“What’s yer name?”
“Rollie.”
“Alrighty Rollie. I like hittin’ things with sticks. Why don’t you tell us ‘bout yer game.”
“But Grover can’t play!” Another one of the boys yelled and got an affirmative response from two others in the crowd. The skinny boy next to Rollie cowered into himself.
“Everybody will have to play. We only have ten people. That’s five on each team. It’s better to have ten, especially on a field this big.” With every boy listening intently, Rollie quickly outlined the basic premise and rules of stickball. He excitedly ran around the lawn, identifying which natural elements of the park would be used as bases – a stick for one, a large flat rock for another. After a handful of questions, he split the boys into two teams and pointed his team out into the field first.
“I don’t want to be on Grover’s team,” the mean boy spoke up once again. And, once again, Grover sunk. “I heard he slept by the river last night, down with the hobos.”
Rollie switched the mean boy with another from the other team, then he took the ball and became the first thrower. The boys seemed eager to play, or at least they all argued over who would get to swing the stick next. The fat boy, who everybody called Peter, was the first to hit, and sent the ball sailing far over everybody’s heads. Nobody in the field moved, unsure of what to do. And Peter stood there holding the stick and watching the ball roll after a good hard bounce. Rollie explained to everybody what was supposed to happen, and they tried it again. After four boys had gotten a chance to hit, everybody finally seemed to be learning how to play the game.
“Well I certainly don’t see the boy having any problems fitting in with the children here,” Mr. Holmes, the schoolmaster, said to Mrs. Hutson. The two had been standing on the steps of the schoolhouse watching Rollie passionately teach the group of boys the game.
“He’s a bit nervous at first, but once he opens up, he’s a wonderful boy.” The smile on her face was wide and proud, watching her son play with children he had met just moments ago.
“I’m elated to have him join my pupils. Do bring him by on Monday. I shall have a desk ready.”
“That’s wonderfully kind of you, Mr. Holmes. Thank you so much.”
“Of course, my dear, of course. It’s the least I could do for my favorite pupil from my very first year of teaching. I remember your bright pink ribbon as if it were yesterday. I only hope the boy shares your eagerness to learn.”
“I hope he does as well. Good day, Mr. Holmes. We shall see you next week.”
Mr. Holmes, an old man with long sideburns and a bald spot on the crown of his head, hugged the tall woman affectionately and watched her walk into the park. The two had known each other for nearly thirty years. He’d watched her grow into a find young woman, and looked at her as one of his own daughters. Their friendship was mutual; their families had become well acquainted over the years. He was as excited to hear about the adoption as Mrs. Hutson had been to bring Rollie into his schoolhouse.
