Authors Note: As a courtesy for those who may be reading this into the night or those whom have other obligations soon arising, I'd like to inform the reader that this next chapter is a fairly lengthy one. Here we will see the slow lowering of pretenses and previously masked behavior. Tomlinson's true nature will begin to unmask itself. I just didn't see any good place to break this up.
Chapter
Descending
When Joe had awoken that second morning, he let his mind slip back to his family again. Again, devoting these times to them. As his mind became clearer with the day he was trying to avoid, the image of the man standing over him presented itself in startling clarity, recalling what he had found upon opening his eyes on the morning yester. He shot his eyes open expecting to be greeted in the same manner but was instead met with an empty room. A strange sense of relief washed over him.
His mind was pulled then to some sort of unnatural feeling beneath the sheets. There was a slight chill that he could account for was wetness. Somewhat warm, but mostly cold. He caught a subtle whiff of ammonia. He pulled back the bed sheets. The bed underneath them both was soaked. Scotty's back was soaked and where Joe lay was soaked. He was mortified. Had he wet the bed? Joe can't even remember the last time he had done that. Why would he do it here? Could missing one's family, or the shock of being away from home cause that to happen? Knowing his luck. He cupped his hand in that area and discovered himself to be dry. At least there. The rest of his hip leg and buttocks were soaked. But at least he could confirm, this didn't come from him. Joe wasn't sure if he should be relieved or all the more horrified that the piss that he laid in was not his own. He was laying in someone else's piss. Joe wasn't sure what to do about it. He'd been polite enough into not stirring Scotty until he was ready to wake up, but how long should he remain here lying in someone else's urine. Scotty rolled over. The feel of his own wetness must have brought him around, because he opened his eyes and looked down right away. The boy turned over looking at Joseph with his own look of horror and chagrin. The kid's look about broke his heart and Joe told himself that he shouldn't make a big deal out of this.
"It's okay. Come on. Get up. Let's get out of these sheets." Joe stripped himself of the wet clothes right away. Scotty, though seemingly relieved at Joe's reaction and eager to comply, remained in his, almost in a stale state, like he was waiting on the direction that Joe had already given. "Go on." Joe urged. "Get out of yours." When the boy didn't comply, Joe placated. "How about we go get your pa. Tell him what happened." The boy's eyes went pitifully wide. They watered instantaneously and his lips cinched. Joe almost caught sight of a shake of the head, but the no was so subtle it was barely visible as if he was going to debate but caught himself afraid to do that? The whole sight caught Joe as strange.
The kid might have been embarrassed to admit such a thing to his pa but Joe didn't really see any way of getting around it. Still, he contemplated. A moment later the decision was made for him as Paul came up the stairs. Seeing the boys standing in the middle of the room half-dressed forced the pater to look about and evaluate the situation. Spotting the sheets as they were a knowing eye went to Joe, perhaps to see how he would react to his boy's unnatural problem. Joe knew now. There was no point keeping it a secret. Joe tried to portray to the father that it wasn't a big deal to him but the father kept a strange disquiet about him. Turning from the room. With as little words as possible to portray his expectations, he directed Joe to the trough outside.
As a courtesy Tomlinson had let Joe clean himself first. Joe hadn't wanted to take too long for two reasons. Returning the courtesy, knowing that others were waiting on him was just the first. The second was that the water was cold. Using the underground well to fill up the old horse trough was the only thing the Smith's had in the way of bathing in this house, the Smith's being the former tenants. Their routine was to head into town once a week and buy a bath. The Tomlinson's just barely having moved in had to get settled first before they could afford such luxuries as an indoor bath.
The sheets had been stripped and piled by the front door in the time it took Joe to bathe. He passed Tomlinson coming out with Scotty as he went back inside to dry himself off and get dressed for the day. Soon after, Scotty was brought up wrapped in a towel and set before Joe. Could you help him get dressed? Tomlinson barely waiting for the 'sure' was out the door again. Joe smiled at Scotty's bluish tinge, remembering just how cold the water had been. His little bottom lip vibrating into a shiver.
"Come on."
His drawers didn't have a lot in them. After all, they had just moved in. They hadn't travelled with much and Tomlinson still hadn't gone back to town to replenish his goods. Joe considered that he might have tried doing that the day they got into town if it hadn't had been for that fight.
Joe picked out a nice long sleeve shirt to counteract the cold Scotty was feeling, and a pair of trousers. During the process of dressing him, Joe had bade Scotty to move and stretch, to encourage blood flow.
"It's what works for me when I'm cold."
Joe jump and shook himself to show him how it's done. He didn't get much back out of the naturally inert child but what he did get he got a smile to accompany it. If ever a smile could warm a heart, it would be in this moment. Scotty's lip had slowed its spasms.
Dressed and ready to face the day they were downstairs five minutes later and in good spirits. Tomlinson was just making his way back inside, wet sleeves rolled up to his biceps. The boys took their seats at the breakfast table. The father went right over and served up their plates. Eggs and sausages had awaited them.
"It's cold." Tomlinson made sure to point out as he set the plates before the boys, with those words making it clear that he had no intention on heating the meal up again. Joe accepted that Paul probably had a bad start this morning (nobody likes to wake up to that sight) and was in no mood right now to indulge. His soaked sleeves probably aiding in his annoyance. Everybody has bad days. Joe would just have to deal with it until it was over.
Tomlinson spent that meal nibbling on toast, black coffee washing it down; reading his paper as the boys dug in. It wasn't today's paper, Joe observed. By the date written, it was a week old. It would stand to reason that Tom wouldn't have a current paper to read as he hadn't the time to go into town to pick a new one up. Joe was going on his second day here and Paul certainly hadn't gone into town in that time.
"You think we could head back to the lake today?"
"Not today." The answer came from behind the flimsy wall.
Joe felt the disappointment. He wondered if the lack of entertainment would lead him to dwell on his family.
"I need your help today."
"Oh?"
"Your pa told me you were capable." He lowered the paper to say this. "You are capable, are you not?"
"Sure. What do you need my help with?"
"We'll be setting up the workshop today." He rose the paper again as he said this.
Tomlinson's been here for two weeks now and hasn't set up his own workshop? Joe considered with perturbed perplexity. Ah well. His pa did say it wouldn't be all fun. There'd be some work to do too.
"I can help." Paul gave no response. Not a 'thank you' nor anything of the kind. He just kept to his reading. "You think we can go to the lake when we finish?"
"We might be too tired after."
"Too tired for the lake. I don't think so."
"You don't know how much we have to do."
"Well how much do you have?"
He had his answer twenty minutes later. Much of his things were in wooden crates brought over from the east. He had two boxes of leather alone. A box of tools, and a few boxes of jars. Most with a yellow tinge liquid. Not all, some were completely empty. It was apparent now that Tomlinson didn't want to unpack his things until he had proper places to set them up.
He'd been pretty busy in here already. In the week and a half time he's been here, he's removed the spaces where the corrals used to be and cut up the wood to create shelves, which he now had piled against the wall. This was what he wanted Joe's help with. Once this could be done, Joe and he would set about to unpacking.
The Smiths had used this place as a ranch. They had a few shelves up in the open floor. Tomlinson kept them, but moved the rickety things to one wall.
They'd spent hours out here. The dirt floor sticking to their clothes and creeping into the threads of their fabric. Palms drying out from the dirt and rubbing raw from the old wood. The smell of dirt and old wood getting into their nostrils.
It started out well enough, but as time went on, he felt Tomlinson getting short with him. Joe got bored with the task early on but tried to stay true, if for no other reason than to represent his pa well. The sooner they'd get this done the sooner they can get to the lake.
He'd find his mind drifting off. Not just thinking about the lake, but to whatever his mind could fancy. A good portion of his thoughts went to his kin and what they might have been up to at the time. He wondered how far they'd made it and where they might be now. Were they pushing those steers or resting beside a fire to take in some viand? Were they still in the mountains or by some lake or cliff? Probably a thousand times grander than Swallows Flat. Out there in open sky. Have they come across any Indians yet? Will they? Are the Indian's watching them and just haven't made contact?
"Will you hold the board straight?" Mr. Tomlinson snapped, pulling him out of his daydream. "Pick it up Joe. Pay attention to what you're doing." The lake, he wants to go to the lake that would get him out of his head. Just pay attention.
They built a total of three shelves that day. A workman's table and a bench. The table took the longest time. The bench was up there next to the table in time it took to complete.
Joe watched the day pass hour by hour, ready to prove Tomlinson wrong. The moment he would tell Joe that they were done for the day, Joe would show him the energy he had left for the lake. As if to prove Joe wrong, Tomlinson busied Joe until sundown. By the time they'd finished the first day it got to be too late. Not for Joe, but Tomlinson was too tired, plus he still had to make supper. It took twenty-five minutes for Tomlinson to heat up leftovers. After a quick wash to rinse the day away, they were all at the table eating. "Do you think we can go to the lake tomorrow?" Tom set down his paper.
"No."
"What are we going to do tomorrow?"
"We still have more work to do on the shed."
"How about the next day?" Perhaps he was being a bit pesky but the response was not one in which he'd expected.
"Joe at this table children are not to speak." His caretaker said before lifting his paper again effectively shutting him out. Joe glanced over at Scotty to see if that were true. That's a strange rule. That might explain why he's always so quiet at the table; but how about everywhere else for that matter? This was far different from his own supper table which was rarely quiet and it certainly wasn't on account of his pa carrying on conversations by himself.
"Really?" The boy asked. Tomlinson lowered the paper again.
"Little Joe. You were asked to be respectful and to obey my rules. This is my rule. Please respect it."
"Yes sir." Joe mollified with a gulp. He finished his meal in silence. After supper, the boys washed up and got into bed.
Joe laid in bed lost in his thoughts. He was thinking of his family again, wondering where his family might be now. Were they up in the Sierra's? Had they just gotten there? Had they been there for some time? How far are the Sierra's? And once you're in them, how much time are you in them for? How far is their reach? Their expanse? How many days would they be in them? He went to sleep on these thoughts.
~.~
It was the third morning now. Joe had for a second time awoken to wet bed sheets. Tomlinson was not in the room when they awoke. He couldn't think of why he might be so relieved to not find him there as the man brought good tidings to them on that first morning. It was in fact that presence that paved the way for a good day. Notwithstanding, Joe still found it unnerving to wake up realizing that someone had been there watching him sleep. As he thought back on it, he chalked it up to the feeling of a sense of violation. If that time that he had devoted to his family was being monitored by a third party, that would make it not really his. He would be cheated of this time just believing that someone might be looking over him.
He had gotten the boy up and out of his clothes and prepared them both for the cold bath. He was willing to do this without Tomlinson's aid as he pretty much caught on with the event of yestermorning how wet sheets and bodies were meant to be dealt with. Tomlinson came up to help anyways. When the boy's had been cleaned and dressed and the sheets washed and hung up, the boys came to the table.
Joe couldn't say that Tomlinson was in the same foul mood as he was in the morning yester. He did however distance himself by hiding behind his paper once again. The same paper he had been reading on the morning prior.
Joe, remembering the rule from the night before and following Scotty's example, finished his meal in silence. When they had filled their bellies, Scotty took his plate to the sink and rinsed it all up. Joe followed suit and rinsed his as well. Joe made sure to sprinkle some soap on Scotty's head as he did. They hadn't been in the kitchen area for very long but long enough for Paul to be in the doorway looking on.
"Get your shoes on." He stopped them in their play.
"Where are we going?" In his heart he hoped Tomlinson would have changed his mind and decided after all to take them to the lake. Of course, this was just wishful thinking.
They'd spent that day unpacking and setting things out on the newly created table top and shelves.
He thought he was done but when they had finished Tomlinson took his focus back to the low work bench, staking the ends of it into the dirt floor. For some reason Mr. Tomlinson wanted this bench to be really secure.
If that were all there was to do than they might have made it to the lake. It was not. When they had done this task Tomlinson had gotten it into his head that he wanted to change the stable doors from a sliding one to one that resembled the look of a standard shed. With swinging double doors instead. This took way more time to do, as Tomlinson had to change the whole structure and bring in the frame.
Throughout this, Tomlinson's frustration in Joe was increasing. Tomlinson was putting much on both boys and was getting frustrated at them both for falling short. Scotty on account of his diminutive size and his inept ability to fold in half under heavy weight and Joe whom instead of picking up where Scotty fell short gave into fits of daydreams. Tomlinson wasn't the only one getting frustrated. Joe was getting frustrated right back at him. Just work, work, work. Man, that lake sure seemed awfully nice and clear two days ago. It sure would be nice to dip in it.
Both boys were exhausted by days end and it showed in their countenance. Supper was eaten in silence as the boys were forbidden to speak at the table. It took Joe a couple of meals to get used to the idea of a quiet table. Tomlinson buried his face in his paper. Just because they couldn't talk didn't mean they still couldn't have some fun. He took it upon himself to lighten the mood. Joe felt some mashed potatoes on his cheek as he shoveled in a spoonful but refused to wipe it away. Scotty looked at him curiously and glanced at his pa wondering if it was alright to tell Joe. Joe acted as if he didn't know it was there. Before Scotty could say something, Joe picked up another spoon and 'accidently' hit his nose with it before shoveling it into his mouth, leaving behind a mushy swirl. At this Scotty snickered, realizing it was a joke, spitting out his own spray before recovering himself. Joe picked up the two pieces of cut celery and placed them over his mandibles making the face of a walrus. The whole picture, the potato makeup, complete with the celery teeth, made Scotty laugh out loud which only egged Joe further on.
It's not as if Joe couldn't see Mr. Tomlinson fuming beside him. He just didn't pay too much mind. It was the job of a child to push their parents to see how much they could get away with. This was a job Scotty wasn't too used to doing, so Joe had to teach him how. He really just had to teach Mr. Tomlinson to lighten up. Teach them both how to lighten up. He'd go until he couldn't go no further just like he would with his pa. His pa would let him know when he had enough. No doubt Mr. Tomlinson would do the same and Joe would heed. This was all in the back of his mind. What was up at the forefront and had taken priority was just making Scotty laugh, bringing some laughter into this house.
The large boom as fist met table stopped him. The eating ware clinked as the table jumped in reply, then all was still again. Scotty's face in no way resembled the laughing boy that was just sitting there in that spot. There was not a snicker nor a grin left. His eyes were wide as a doe staring down a barrel of a Hawkin, hoping not to be fired upon.
"I don't know how you're able to act at your table." Tomlinson bid his anger through gnashed teeth and fist still tight. "But here at this table we eat civilized. Clean yourself up." He spurned chucking a rag at Joe. "You look like an animal. And you." Tomlinson pointed to his son. "You know better than to be encouraging such poor behavior." Scotty lowered his head with a remorseful grimace.
Joe had got what he wanted. He pushed Tom as far as he could. Had this been what he was really striving for? Not exactly. Joe let it be for the rest of the night.
~.~
"Everyday, not making shoes, is a day wasted." Tomlinson said to Joe on the fourth day. This was Tomlinson's mantra which Joe would come to hear and hear often.
Apart from the first day, which represented the fulfillment of promises, they had spent every day since laboring. Tom had a long list of demands in their work to remodel the shed; but they had completed the shed yesterday. Joe thought for sure he had earned a trip to the lake but anxious to begin his job and having a new work space, Tomlinson made up his mind to get started right away. This was not an open invitation for the boys to do as they pleased. He had a job for them as well. He decided it was time to get his plants into the ground. He sanctioned off about a 10 x 25-yard section. He demonstrated to Joe how to use a hoe to break up the earth. It was to be his job to turn up the earth at about a 2-foot depth. When he felt Joe had the hang of it, he left him to do the whole of the work. Tomlinson would be in the shed if Joe needed him.
It took Joe the entire morning to break up all that dirt. Scotty equipped with a shovel of his own was helping but being as small as he was Joe felt that it was more for show than anything else, though to hand it to the boy, he kept at it, even though Joe could see he was tiring. Towards the end of this task, he found himself getting sluggish on account of his back hurting and shoulders hurting and hands hurting. He resorted to using the shovel instead. Tomlinson had come out a few hours later bringing them ready made sandwiches.
"How's it going?"
"Well Mr. Tomlinson, we're just about done." He informed the pater with pride.
"Done huh?"
Tomlinson looked out, a scowl spreading across his face. Seeing it through Tomlinson's eyes he saw a good-looking ground from the point in where they had started, from where Tomlinson had helped him out. From that point though it gradually got worse. Towards the end, where Joe had gotten too tired to use the hoe and resorted to the shovel there were untilled clumps pulled up and resting in ugly blotches on the earth.
"You call this done? This was not what I showed you. Break that earth up." He handed Joe the hoe. "Hand me that." He said referring to the shovel. He stabbed it into the earth at what Joe thought was one of his finer spots. "Not deep enough. I told you, two feet deep. We're planting saplings. Their roots need to be able to spread out and grow. What are you doing? Are you even helping?" He asked his son. "Get in there. Don't let him do all the work." Joe looked over at the boy layered in sweat and grime who picked up his own shovel again and got back to digging, not really sure what or why he was digging, just digging because it needed to be dug. "Steady that thing. You look like an idiot wiggling around that shovel every which way."
"You don't have to be so rough on him."
"What did you say to me?"
"I'm just saying, he's doing the best he can."
"Don't you ever talk to me like that. You mind yourself. Keep your nose to your own affairs. Don't you ever get into the middle of me disciplining my son." Joe bit his tongue as stared at the pater whos stared back wondering if Joe was going to say more. Seemingly satisfied he turned his attention back on the little one.
"Scotty, get in here." He called out. "Eat your food." He said to them both as Scotty came in. "When you're done, go over this again. Break up this earth. Scotty, you best be helping." He warned before going away.
Joe hadn't known what Tomlinson had been doing in all this time. Not for sure. He never saw him enter the house to make them their lunch. He wasn't sure when that really was. How long had he been in there for? Had he allowed himself rest while they labored in the sun? He kind of felt taken advantage of. Like working for Tomlinson was the only reason that Joe was really here and that Tomlinson was too lazy to do his own work.
The boys finished their offerings in a timely manner. When they were hydrated again, they went right back to it, this time focusing their attention on the clumps of earth. Though barely finding the energy it hadn't taken as much time as Joe thought it would. It was just a matter of breaking apart what already lay above the surface. He started with the largest blocks and worked his way down to the fist sized clumps which didn't exert all that much energy. When every last square inch had been broken up, he went in to find the taskmaster.
His suspicions would have been confirmed had he found him in the house. Joe followed the sound of grating into the shed. Tomlinson had a strip of leather that was dotted in lines at several places. He used a large tool and he was scraping along it. It appeared that the leather had already been cured and dried, so what he was scraping off now Joe wasn't sure but Tomlinson seemed that he was preparing to cut it up into predesigned smaller pieces.
"I finished the job." Tomlinson looked back at him warily. He set down his scraping tool and picked up a pair of shears.
"You're done huh?"
"Sure thing."
He bent down to make his first cut but stopped. After contemplating a moment he stood upright again.
"Let me see." He set the sheers back in their place.
Joe took him out to show him his work. "Pick that up." He said of Joe's shovel. Joe got it for him and handed it over. "It's dirty. Why would you just leave it in the dirt like that?"
"Of course, it's dirty. We've been digging with it."
"You're not supposed to leave tools lying in the dirt, smart mouth. That's how they get ruined." He stabbed with brooding anger into the earth. It's not deep enough." Joe grimaced. He'd forgotten all about that. Joe's instructions came in two parts. "Are you trying to get away with something? Joe, I told you, two feet."
"I'm sorry. I just forgot."
"Forgot? Or thought I wouldn't notice?" He fumed walking away. Joe was met with a feeling of dishearten. He had allowed himself to get excited about how quick the job became at breaking up the earth. He had put all his effort into that so as to please Mr. Tomlinson only to end up upsetting him more because in doing so he had forgotten of this other part. This part which would take more time and energy than he had to give. Faithfully he got back to it, rubbing his hands raw in the process. He went until his body shook in a way he could not control. It was late afternoon when Joe found Tomlinson again.
After following Joe out, he stabbed the shovel into the dirt in the same spot. He looked at Joe with suspicion, went five feet and stabbed again. Center plot, he stabbed. Fields end, he stabbed. Walking back to Joe he handed the shovel back. Joe felt elated in pride and spirit. He took a heavy breath then said, "Smooth it out." Joe could have laid his heart on the ground right there.
Together the boys spent the rest of the day raking the dirt into one smooth patch of land.
Two hours later Tomlinson came out to meet them.
"Put the tools away and clean yourselves up. Supper's ready."
Both boys were cleaned up and at the table 15 minutes later.
Tom did not have his paper this time. He was leant over his own plate assaulting his string beans. He had this way about him where he would get food on his fork then release it, then get a few other pieces, releasing some of that, then add more. He would stab his plate four or five times before finally settling on a bite that would meet is precarious standards.
"What were you doing all day?" Joe thought this question was for him but it was not. "Were you even helping out? Or did you spend the entire time looking like an idiot?" Scotty didn't know how to answer which was good as it seemed Tomlinson wasn't expecting one as he continued. "Tomorrow those trees need to go into the ground. You'll need to dig your holes first. Two feet deep." He iterated. "Don't be trying to get away with what you did today. That just isn't going to cut it. Scotty, I want you helping out tomorrow. Not flopping about like you're a damned fish. This shoddy work isn't going to cut it. I don't need my plants dying because you two were too lazy to do what was right."
"It's a lot different being out there in the sun then it is in a shed." Joe didn't even have the chance to think about what he had just said before the hand came around slapping him on the face. Joe never saw it coming. He instinctively shot from the table. Tom stood with him.
"You can't hit me." Tomlinson responded with another slap just to prove Joe wrong. Joe's nostril's flared, but he thought it wise to cinch his lips.
"You got anything else to say, wise mouth?" Joe's silence did not appease Tom. He stood over Joe puffing with a clenched fist as if he wanted to strike him again. Instead, Tom took his frustration out on Joe's unfinished plate slapping it off the table so it came down with a crash which resonated within those four walls. He turned back at Joe again wanting to strike him as if he blamed Joe for the plate like it was a plate he dropped.
"Clean up this filth!" He growled turning and slamming Joes chair against the table before storming away.
Joe could see Scotty through his blurred watery vision tip over his water glass onto a dishrag which he expected Scotty without forethought to start using to clean the table. He was almost angry at Scotty for not caring that he'd been hit on account of him. Scotty did care though as Joe discovered when the boy climbed down from his chair bringing Joe the soaked rag.
"Are you okay?" The sweet voice inquired. Joe took the rag, placing it against his enflamed cheek. Maybe it was the rush of adrenaline, but Joe in spite of Scotty's efforts still felt angry with him. He just sat there and let his pa hit him. Oh, he knew there was not anything he could have really done about it.
Together in stuffy silence they cleaned up the mess. They cleaned up every trace of dinner and the impetuous turmoil. Washing the dishes, wiping down the table, and taking extra care of the floor.
He laid in bed thinking of how unfair that night had turned out to be. He was mad at Scotty for something that wasn't his fault. For what? For being weak. The very thing Tom was spurning him for. It wasn't fair of him to be mad at Scotty. Scotty was only six. What did he expect him to do? Stand up to his pa?
Tom was picking on him for something you can't help. When you're small, you're small. There ain't nothing you could do about that. Joe's always been small for his age. He knows what it means to be small. His family always teased him for it, but they never spurned him. None of them. Joe remembers a time when he was too small to hold a shovel. They all built him up and encouraged him until he could do it.
Joe thought of his family. How much he really missed them. The ache growing evermore, but also thinking how disappointed they would be in him when they found out about what he'd done. They were mad at him before, for always getting in fights. Now he goes and smarts off to the father. For what? Doing what father's do. His cheek had a strange feel to it. He could still feel the heat from it but it was somewhat numbed as were his gums. His mark of shame. He pondered what remnants would be left tomorrow.
~.~
It was the fifth morning. Joe had awoken to movement from the boy next to him. Scotty had rolled himself over. He opened his eyes to see Scotty staring straight at him. They stayed like this a moment in silence. A knowing sorrow in the little one's eyes. Knowing what? Joe furrowed as he pondered over what the little one might have been thinking. Scotty moved a small hand up and set it on the cheek Joe was struck on; or seeing. Joe felt that interaction was strange.
"You ready to get up?" Joe said to avert the attention from him.
He peeled off the soaked blanket nudging Scotty out then crawling out after. He immediately tore off his wet shirt joining it with the sheets. Joe must have gotten lucky the first day because every day since Scotty has wet the bed, furthermore every day since the first, Paul has become increasingly more upset by it. Today he was not a reflection of the placid mild-mannered father he was the first time it had happened. The worst that had happened then was cold sausages. Today though as Joe was stripping his clothes, Tomlinson came in. Giving Joe a passing glance he looked upon his own child with disgust.
"Every day with this." He said, releasing a fuming breath, he grabbed his boy and pulled him like a ragdoll down the stairs.
Joe pulled off the wet clothes preparing himself for the bath all the while thinking of that boy. As he thought of Scotty, he felt that small hand on his cheek. He wondered what was there. What did Scotty see when he looked at him? Was there something to be seen? A mark on his cheek? Evidence of his indiscretions? Standing in front of the dresser he saw the mirror face down on top. He pulled it up and stared through the glass. He was despondent to find that no mark whatsoever had been left behind. Joe had a strange mixture of insult on account that it hurt like it did with nothing to show for it and relief that no evidence had been left of Joe's insolence. The swelling on his cheek had subsided so much that you couldn't tell now that he had ever been struck. Let's just let that memory fade too. That was not a moment he was proud of nor wanted his family to know about. The day he smarted off to Scotty's father. His pa would be furious if he found out. Joe knew what he had to do.
Five minutes later Tom brought the boy back up. "Go get washed up. I'll get him dressed."
He considered what he would say to Tomlinson as he bathed himself. The sooner he fixed this mess the better it would be. It didn't take Joe more than five minutes. As he was crawling up the steps, still thinking of the words he would say, simple yet direct, he heard whimpering coming from the room.
"You like that? You like the way that smells? Smell it?" What he'd walked in on he hadn't expected. It had completely derailed him. Tom had Scotty's face forced down inches away from the soiled linen. When he saw Joe, he shoved Scotty away and got up. Swiping down his own trousers a few times, swiping the sweat from his upper lips and running his fingers through his hair; all in an effort to compose himself. Taking a breath, he snatched up the linen and pushed passed Joe.
Scotty remained on the floor crouched over and sobbing. "You okay?" He bent to him.
Down at the breakfast table Joe ruminated on what he had seen in Scotty's room. It was completely shocking to him. He wondered if Tomlinson's anger was stemming over the interaction, they had last night. Could the way he's treating Scotty be a direct reflection of the way he had treated Tomlinson the night before. Somehow, he felt this were true. The sooner he apologized for his misdeeds the better it would be for all of them. He'd just needed the right moment which he had yet to find. He couldn't do it now or he would be violating Tom's rule about no talking at the table. His apology might not go over too well then. He decided to wait until breakfast was over and the table cleaned up.
Finally, the moment had come. He summoned up his courage.
"Mr. Tomlinson?" The caretaker eyed him suspiciously. He swallowed past rising turmoil. "I'm sorry for getting mouthy with you yesterday." Tom let these words sit with him for a few uncomfortable moments as he read Joe. Finally, he spoke albeit not what Joe had expected. Where Joe had expected forgiveness, what he got in its place was derision.
"I don't know what sort of insolent you're allowed to be at your home, but here you are going to mind me."
"Yes sir."
"And respect me." Joe gulped.
"Yes sir." At that moment, he missed his pa. Five weeks was beginning to look an awfully long way away.
As was expected of them they dug all the holes and put the trees into the ground. The trees were generally no taller than two and a half feet and looked more brush like. Tom explained later that they weren't going to grow much taller than that. Setting his mind to the task before them it had taken the entirety of the day but even Tom could admit that it was a job well done.
~.~
"You two going to sleep the day away?" It was day 6. "Come on, up, up." He clapped them into action.
That morning's wash occurred without incident and when it came time for breakfast Tom was back in his paper. Joe was really hoping they'd deserved a trip to the lake but knew by now that it was better to not come straight out and ask. He'd have to approach it from a different angle.
"We finished up the trees yesterday. What would you have me do today?"
"I don't have anything for you today." There was a feeling of jocund that washed over Joe's heart which he suppressed.
"Since there's nothing more for us to do, you think we could go to the lake?" Joe ventured.
"I said there's nothing more for you to do. I still have lots to do. Especially after all the times you pulled me away the last few days. Showing off shoddy work like it's something to be proud of. All that nonsense really slowed me down. I've got some catching up to do."
"You know sir. You don't have to come if you don't want to."
"What do you mean?"
"I know the way. I've been there lots of times with my brothers."
"No."
"It'd be a good way to get us out of your hair."
"Your father may allow you to go tromping all over the countryside like beasts of the land, but while you're in my care you will be raised civilized."
This wasn't the first time he's put Joe down or his upbringing, but now it seems to be coming out with more regularity; rolling off his tongue with surprising ease. It made Joe wonder what Tomlinson had against him and his pa all of a sudden, when a week ago it seemed he had nothing but fondness for him and his kin. Perhaps he had forgotten that it was Joe and his wild nature that had led him to stand up and protect his son. How quickly it seems that Tomlinson had forgotten that. Not that Joe wanted to be praised by him at every opportunity but he was sure getting tired of being derided by him. Instead of lashing back he heard his pa's mantra in his head. 'Be good for Mr. Tomlinson.' His pa wanted him to make him proud. Represent him well. Even though he was in a round-about way putting down his pa at every opportunity, Joe couldn't see his pa being too happy with him talking back. How could he resolve this in a way that would make his pa proud? He took a deep breath regretting the answer that may come from this question but asked.
"Is there something you would rather I be doing instead?" Tomlinson looked up at him considering the question.
"Go play. Take Scotty with you." Like a weight lifted from his shoulders. He smiled softly. In his heart the smile was miles long. Tom got up from the table coffee in hand. "You can't do much else at least you could do that." He said walking out the front door.
After all the work Joe had done for Tomlinson, this is what he says to him? Joe bid back the offence. At least he was letting him play today even if he was sending him off with an insult. Joe wasn't going to ruin this golden opportunity with a smart mouth. He watched through the window Tomlinson making his way over to the shed. Closing that door between them. The boys cleaned the table and washed up the dishes.
When they had finished, they stepped outside breathing in the day and the opportunities before them. This was their first day off since Swallow's Flat, but what were they to do? He took Scotty's hand and led him behind the house.
"What should we do?"
Seeing the area, they were in, Joe had an idea.
"You ever climb trees before?"
He ran to the tall juniper and began to scale it. Scotty wasn't even going to attempt it. "Did you know that these berries are edible?" He said pulling one from the stalk and shoving it between his teeth. Scotty did nothing but stare at Joe's antics. "Here try one." He pulled off a few more and tossed them down to Scotty who made no attempt to catch them. Picking one of the fallen off the ground he stared at it a moment before shoving it between his own teeth. Scotty scrunched his features disapprovingly and spat, which made Joe laugh.
"Well don't let it fall next time. You got to clean them if they hit the ground. Don't you know? Come on up here." A quick shake of the head told Joe that Scotty had no intention. "Come on." He climbed down just as easily to retrieve the younger boy. "Come on." He coaxed and grabbed his hand and took him over. Realizing that Scotty didn't even know how to climb trees, he turned this into a teaching moment. After several attempts and no success, Joe decided a smaller tree might do this boy a little better. They spent the next hour looking for the perfect tree. Trying one and then another. Mastering only a few out of the whole lot they attempted.
They came to a particularly twisted tree with what Joe thought provided some good footholds for the boy. He climbed up first. Once he got some good hold, he reached an arm down for Scotty to take hold of.
The frail thing slipped. His leg scraping along the rough bark. Losing his grip Scotty slid the rest of the way down landing on his bottom side. He lifted his hand with a grimace and looked at it. A thorny twig had embedded in his palm. Joe was down at his side a breath later.
"You okay?" Scotty showed him his hand with the twig still inside. "Let me see." One quick tug and it was out. A pin-drop of blood followed behind. "You're okay. It wasn't too deep. Let me take a look at the rest of you." He turned over Scotty's arm examining the scrape. Scotty's clothes showed signs of wear. A small tear ripped at his breast pocket but otherwise intact. "You're okay. You seem alright. You want to try again?" The boy hastily shook his head. "How about we find another tree? We'll go back to the smaller ones?" Scotty gave another shake of the head. The older boy sighed. "You want to go back to gathering berries?" Scotty considered. "You won't have to climb anymore trees. I promise. There's plenty of them on low bushes. You just have to know where to look." He answered with a nod. "Come on. Follow me. You could leave all the climbing to me. You take the low berries and I'll get the ones from the trees."
Joe knew better not to let him get filled up though. If he'd never eaten wild berries before it could sit in his stomach raw and make him not too hungry for lunch. After another twenty minutes of wandering Joe decided it was time to head back to the house in case Tom was ready for lunch.
Tom met them at the back of the house as they came trudging up.
"Where were you two?"
"We were gathering berries." The boys stop before him.
"Why do you look like that?" He was speaking a little of Joe but particularly Scotty seemed to be in a rough way.
"We were climbing trees too. He slipped on one." Tom looked down upon his son.
"Let me see." The boy lifted his palm.
"He got a sticker in his hand. It wasn't that bad." Joe justified. Letting his hand go, he eyed Joe.
"I don't want you climbing anymore trees."
"But Tom..." Joe stemmed his words at the pater's inpatient glare.
"I don't want to have to make a special trip to the doctors just because you guys don't know how to behave civilized. Is that clear?" Joe hated to agree to this. Climbing trees was a part of his very nature. Without this, what would he have?
He looked at Joe seeming to get angry at his slow response.
5 weeks. Joe reminded himself.
"Yes sir."
"Get inside. Get washed up. Lunch is waiting for you."
There were sandwiches set out on the table. A table cloth covered each plate to keep the flies off. Tom did not join them. He'd gone back into the shed to continue his work.
After lunch and again cleaning the table, the boys were set with the same dilemma. What to do now? Climbing trees was off limits. As much as the younger boy might want to Joe didn't think it a good idea to go pick anymore berries. As of yet. He thought it should be something he slowly broke Scotty into. He stepped outside and got another idea.
His next entertainment was lying right next to the trough. The wet ground provided just what he needed. He picked up a handful and clumped it in his hand before flinging it at his younger companion.
"Stop." His cry was less emphatic. Quiet like, in good Scotty fashion.
"Come on. Ain't you ever played in the mud before?"
"We're not supposed to." He implored.
"It's okay to get dirty once in a while. Come on. Pick one up. It ain't gonna kill you." Scotty seemed hesitant. "It's a mud-ball fight, and I ain't gonna quit until you fight back." Another came flying in, to show Scotty he was serious. After a few more came flying in Scotty's direction, Scotty to protect himself bent low to gather up his own ammunition.
"What is this?" Tomlinson asked as the mud-ball his son threw landed on Joe. He snapped up turning around to look at his pa who was standing in the doorway of the shed. "What's going on out here? Why are you muddy?"
"We were playing." Joe justified.
"In the dirt?" Joe failed to see the problem. "Like animals?" There he goes again.
"It's just a little dirt."
"A little dirt?" He roared. "You have clumps coming off you."
"We'll get cleaned up." Joe offered.
He stared at Joe cruelly but didn't take his aggression out on him. Perhaps because Scotty was closer, he directed his anger onto him.
"You." He reached out and snatched up his son by the hair. "You know better."
"I'm sorry." His son cried.
Scotty could have pinned it all on Joe. He should have. After all, it was his fault but he didn't. Maybe he would have had his tongue not been tied with panic. Scotty was too frightened to do anything but plead for mercy. Tomlinson slapped his son once then twice in the face but Scotty's arms which went up to protect himself made the blows less effective. He shoved Scotty to the earth. Expecting more blows Scotty lifted his arm again to protect himself, face distorted in frightened tears. Joe worried for Scotty feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt watching the man's treatment of him.
"It wasn't his fault. It was my fault." He called out.
In spite of Joe's attempts, Tomlinson picked Scotty up by his shirt and threw him against the basin. The boy fell against it lifting his arm again up to protect himself.
"Tomlinson Stop!" Joe shouted as he ran over to stop him but he was merely shoved away.
As if encouraged by Joe's miserable attempts, Tomlinson lifted his son up again. This time when Scotty's knees had cleared the edge of the basin, Tomlinson dunked him down into the water holding him beneath the surface with a determined focus. The flailing agitating the water so that the mud fell away. He pulled him out. Muddy water falling around his frightened head.
Sucking in a terrified breath Scotty grappled for his pa's grip on him, hands speaking his plead as they tried pulling the grip away. His mouth and lungs too preoccupied with sucking in pained labored breaths to form the words to beg for mercy. Seeing the mud fall away Tom dunked the boy down again holding him under. Bubbles blended with the violent thrashing. Mr. Tomlinson didn't care what he was doing to his son. He made it a part of the punishment. He'd let his son come up only to grab a breath before putting him right back down again. He was scrubbing him violently too. Joe had told himself after the last time that he would not get in the middle of a father disciplining his son. That no matter how unfair he thought it was, that it was not his place. This he could not stand by and watch.
"Stop!" Joe ran forward again. Tugging at Tom's arm but finding his efforts to be quite ineffective. "Please. It was me!" He shouted and tugged. "I did it. I made him do it!" Tomlinson released his boy with a shove, turning to Joe who stiffened wide eyed, fearing the same treatment would come to him. Scotty pulled himself sitting and was coughing and choking out cold breaths. Water pouring from his head.
Tomlinson grabbed a fistful of Joe's hair and yanked his head back so that Joe stared in his eyes. Dread filled the pit of the youth's stomach. He wasn't certain what was going to happen to him, fearing drowning a beating or both. After a moment of Tomlinson boring a hole into the young Cartwright's soul, he grabbed Joe by the arm and drug him away from the scene.
"Where are you taking me?"
"You're not getting a bath. You want to act like a heathen? Roll around in the mud like an animal. You can live in your filth." He opened up the door to the cellar and threw Joe down the steps. Joe, who was on his knees, looked up as the doors closed above him. He heard Tomlinson fiddling with the latch, sealing him inside.
