Chapter

Grapes of Wrath

Tom was in a storm when he barged into the room. Joe was barely coming around when he felt the boy at his side being ripped away from him. This was what woke him. When he saw Tom tying his own son to the bed frame he scampered in fear to the foot before Tom had the chance to manhandle him too. Watching Tom draw the belt from his waistband he pushed himself into the corner.

His mouth was agape, nerves were on fire as the tyrant swung down upon his son. This was a horrific way to wake up. For the both of them. Seeing the boy collapse down to his knees burying his face in the crook of his arms which were strangled above him while Tom continued his torrent, he was only reminded of where he was days ago locked in the cellar. His crime, theft. He'd deserved what he'd gotten then. What had Scotty done to deserve this? Nothing. He'd been sleeping.

It was wrong.

This was all so wrong.

It took a few strikes even before Joe had the senses to come into himself.

"Tom stop!"

He'd finally developed the nerve to jump down but this had been a mistake. It was as if this was what Tom had been waiting for. He did stop but now his focus was entirely on Joe. Coming forward before Joe could escape, he grabbed a fistful of hair and drug him out of the room.

"Where are we going?"

Down the steps.

"Where are you taking me?"

Breeching the outside. When they headed towards the side of that house his gut twisted and his heart filled with dread. "No, please." For he felt he got his answer. Stopping before the doors of that hole his stomach bottomed out.

Oh God! "No. Don't do this. Please, don't do this. I beg you. Please."

None of his pleas mattered. Tom was deaf to all of them. Opening the latch and throwing the boy down the steps. Hitting the floor, Joe scrambled up in a panicked frenzy but could not make it before the door sealed above him. He pushed against it and cried and shouted. More despondent pleas pouring from his lungs. He pushed desperately hoping for give. Praying for it. Moments later the rug was drug overhead and he was sealed once again in his tomb.

No.

He looked around himself and was met with only darkness.

No. Why?

How had he found himself here again?

He dreaded those same lonely, desperate days without food and water. He dreaded those days he knew would come. How had he not foreseen this? How had he not planned for this? As if he didn't think it would ever happen again, and yet, here he was. He collapsed down on the steps and cried.

~.~

Time went by like this. Joe, lost in his pity. His tears dry as he smelled breakfast cooking and his stomach grumbled. As if psyching himself out he remembered the thirst that came the last time and his mouth became parched. If that wasn't enough there was a weight in his bladder too. He hadn't even the chance to relieve himself that morning before being put in here again but what was he to do? He laid his head back down and wept again.

~.~

A strange noise came overhead. A scraping sound and suddenly there was light. His heart jumped with elation. Even as the doors flung open and the scary man stood with the light at his back Joe was filled with hope. He was looking at the man through a tear drenched face.

The man sighed a disgusted, reproaching sigh and stepped aside.

Meekly, he wiped at his face and climbed out.

~.~

Following him into the house the table was set with a meal still steaming. Eggs and sausages. It had the sweetest smell to it and his stomach grumbled. Breakfast had been a late one but it seemed that they had waited for him.

"Sit."

Joe took up his chair across from Scotty whom sat with head low. Dried tears staining his face. Joe drooped his own head as he mourned for the boy across from him. Tom went to serving up their plates. Serving himself last he took his seat at the head. He did not hide behind his paper this morning. Joe was wishing by now he had been because what he was doing instead was uncomfortable. He was stabbing at each bite and glancing up at Joe as he chewed. He got a third of the way through his meal before he finally said something more.

"I warned you before not to get into the middle of me disciplining my son."

He said this with his eyes looking into his plate stabbing at another mouthful, almost as if he was afraid of Joe or afraid of his own resolve. The bite must have given him courage because he looked up at Joe then, placing his fork down, crossing his arms over the table and leaning in. He stayed in this deathly stare waiting for Joe to respond. The boy doing his best to squash his fear which was difficult in the way Tom eyed him. He swiped down his mouth seemingly in an effort to compose himself, then picked up his fork to stab at another mouthful. When he had swallowed this one and taken in some water, he wiped his mouth again and turned to Joe.

"What's say we make this a better day?" He acceded. Joe hadn't expected him to say that. At the boy's inertia he eyed the young Cartwright and pushed. "Agreed?" Joe nodded his response. This was alright by Tom. He stabbed at his plate.

"I need your help today." The older boy felt a twinge of dread return imagining what back breaking labor he had planned for them and understanding now just how easily their shortcomings could lead to Tom's wrath. Tom sighed perturbed and rubbed his temple apparently able to read Joe's face which the boy thought he masked better. He must have slipped. With some disappointment but doing all he could not to escalate, Tomlinson expound. "Not anything huge." Stabbing the plate, a couple of times. "I was hoping I could get you to feed and water the horse." Speaking of his Clydesdale which he kept in a corral southeast of the back of the shed. "That shouldn't take you more than twenty minutes."

"Sure Mr. Tomlinson. We could do that." Joe responded hoping to sound a bit more enthusiastic also doing what he could to not escalate. Tom sighed and continued.

"When you are done with this, I need you to water the plants. This may take you a bit longer as you'll have to transport the water in buckets until I can tap a line."

"Yes sir."

"After this you could have the rest of the day to yourself." He assured giving Joe some peace of mind. "Just please, please don't get dirty again. Try your best, will you?"

"Yes sir." He agreed.

~.~

He made it clear to the boys that he had to get back to work. It took them a bit over an hour to transport all the buckets to the trees.

When they had finished this task, the day belonged to them. Scotty had decided he wanted to go pick berries again.

At the back of the house, in the safety of those bushes, Joe watched the boy. How fascinated he seemed to be with these plants. How at peace he seemed to be. His eyes innocent and consumed only in his work. Joe couldn't help but think of the events of that morning. He reflected on the young boy and how he came to be who he is. He was small. Everything about him was small. The noises he made were small. He made small gestures. Walked small. Had small needs. Perhaps smallest of all was the attention he sought. It was almost as if he thought that life was better if no one noticed him at all. Maybe it was, at least when it came to the one person who mattered the most. The one person who dominated his life. He wondered what had become of the other whom was supposed to be there for him.

"What did happen to your mom?" Joe asked. The boy stilled his hand in midair as he was reaching for a berry before drawing it back into himself. Joe felt somewhat guilty now for taking Scotty out of his repine. Maybe it was the way Scotty withdrew that made Joe all the more want to push, but he didn't want to lose him in this. He wanted Scotty to be able to open up to him. Wanted Scotty to see him as someone he could talk to if he needed to. That's the one thing the boy never does. He doesn't talk about his feelings. Doesn't talk about his pain or sadness. Doesn't tell you when he's thirsty or hungry or even afraid. Talking about himself at all was something he's never known the boy to do. Granted he hasn't known him for all that long. Getting him to talk about anything for that matter is a challenge with him.

This was far from the life Joe knew. Talking has never been a problem for the youngest Cartwright. He's sees something or feels something he says it. A thought pops into his head he expresses it. Getting him to filter those thoughts were his family's biggest challenge.

That's it. He thought. That's how he would do it. How he would get Scotty to open up. Talk about himself. His own mother. "Mine died." The older boy said. "Just a few years ago. I think I was five. I can hardly remember her now. People say she was like me. Wild, untamed. Had a fiery spirit. I don't remember any of that. I remember her eyes. How soft they looked when she looked down at me. I remember her touch when she would run her fingers down my cheek." Joe left it there waiting for Scotty to pick up the conversation but there was a long moment of silence and Joe wasn't sure Scotty would.

"Mine died." The boy with buttermilk hair, uttered at last. "A couple of years ago." And then a tear strolled down his cheek. That was all he said. That was enough for Joe.

He considered the grieving father and the grieving boy in the same breath and how they both came to be. The father had been holding onto the pain of his loss which might account for the anger he portrays now and again. The boy carries his grief in sadness and quietude.

The boy had become inert, drawn in, within these last few moments. Even more than usual and he did that to him by asking about his mother. Now Joe had to get him back out of his head. He considered what to do then. Suddenly thinking of the words of the pater that morning at the breakfast table. 'Let's try to make it a better day, shall we?' and it came to him. He was going to do something nice for the grieving father. Get Tom back on his good side.

"Hey, I got an idea." Scotty drew up. "Why don't we bring some of these for your pa. What do you think? You think he'll like that?" At the boy's blank look, Joe urged him on. "Come on." He proceeded to pick berries and use his shirt to hold them. After a couple of handfuls filled his shirt, he considered his position. "We need something to put them in." He hated to do it but he emptied the contents onto the dirt floor. "Come on." He tugged Scotty to move.

They went back to the house in search of a good container. Hoping to find what they needed in the kitchen; they went there first. Joe came up with some ideas of what could work. A glassware here, a ceramic bowl there, but somehow Joe thought Tom might get upset if he used one of them. Scotty left Joe looking and went outside. After a few more minutes Cartwright concluded that this was not the best place to look. Maybe Scotty had the right idea, if in fact he was still looking. What outside could they use? He considered. As he crossed the threshold and looked out Scotty came to him lifting one of the gallon-buckets they use to water the plants.

"Perfect." He boasted.

Scurrying back out. They found the freshest berries for Tom and squeezed the ones that didn't make the cut between their teeth. When they had neared half a bucket, they decided to bring it in.

Tom was still in his work so Joe took the bucket in and washed all the berries. It was late afternoon and Tom had yet to come in and make lunch. Perhaps because breakfast had been so late, Tom felt lunch could be pushed back a bit.

Joe thought this was perfect. He would surprise Tom with lunch and berries. He whipped some sandwiches together and put a handful of berries next to each one, taking extra care with Tom's presentation.

He was just about to bring his offering out, when the pater appeared in the doorway, stopping Joe. The boy gulped before recovering himself.

"We made you something." He said, lifting his offering. Tom only glared back. He bore a look of confused disgust, looking down at the berries then at the boy presenting them. He glanced around the kitchen which was in shambles. Berries stained the basin and their clothes.

"Tell me Joe. Are you this filthy back at home or is it just me that gets rewarded with this privilege? I asked you very kindly, not to get messy and this is what you do? You take that as 'let's wreck this house instead." The older boy glanced around himself. "It's not enough for you to keep your outside messes outside. No, you've got to bring all that in and tear apart my kitchen."

"We were just trying to do something nice."

"Something nice? I hope you know, your 'favor' just cost me an hour's worth of work."

"We'll clean it up." But this only further angered Tom. He slapped the plate out of Joe's hand and slapped Joe for good measure. Joe who'd fallen to his knees was lifted up by his hair.

"I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? Oh, that makes it all go away, doesn't it? Doesn't it?"

"Please."

"Don't you 'please' me. You know you did this on purpose."

"I didn't."

"It's like you're trying to piss me off."

"No. I swear."

"I tell you Joe; I try with you. I really do but what am I supposed to do when you challenge me at every opportunity." He glided down the boy's length and pulled. They were going outside. Joe's stomach bottomed out.

"No. Where are we going?" He asked, but he already knew.

"I wanted to make this a better day. I tried, but what am I supposed to do when this is what I get?" When they turned the corner and that cellar came into view he pulled against his captor and cried when he could not get free.

"No."

"Do you want to go back in there?" With a grip full of hair and another grip on the boy's bicep he forced Joe to stare at that closed door. "Do you?"

"No!"

"I can put you back in there if you want."

"No. I'm sorry!" He cried out. It hurt that he was apologizing for trying to do something nice but here he found himself with no other recourse. This was not good enough. Tom flung open the wooden door. "No. Please no." Joe leant against his grasp, pulling at Tom's grip in his hair, wishing he would release his brutal hold.

"Look at it! Do you want to go back?" He asked again.

"No." Tom eyed the boy considering his options. To Joe's relief he slammed closed the door again and drug Joe back to the house. He pushed him down onto the kitchen floor.

"Clean this mess up." He ordered before walking out.

Glancing around the kitchen his eyes were finally opened to the warzone in which Tom had seen. He eyed those berries in the sink and in the bucket and the stains smeared across the countertop.

He sniffled, and wiped away the tears fogging up his vision. He hated those berries now. He never wanted to have anything to do with those berries ever again.

He dwelled in his pity as he thought about how effective of a threat that hole was to him now. How terrified he was of it. Tomlinson didn't have to put him in there. He only had to threaten him with it and that was enough. When weeks ago, that cellar was nothing more to him than it was to the rest of the world. An underground food storage room. Now it was a place bad little boys went to be forgotten about and waste away. To hunger and thirst, surrounded by temptations and never finding fulfillment. He'd like to pretend that that part of his life was over. That none of that really happened but even he wasn't foolish enough not to realize how close he came to death in that time. Now he'd been enlightened to one more fact. How easily it could happen again.

As he stood at the sink washing the crimson basin, he stared at the water, watching it flow with each pump as it came up from the ground and fell over the ware. It was lush here. Plentiful. Only yards away from the hole in the ground; but once you're trapped inside there's no getting to it. Then he had a thought. A thought that could be his undoing… or the very thing that keeps him alive.

~.~

Tomlinson was looking into the kitchen from the doorway of the dining room as Joe was coming in from the outside. He knew Tom suspected wrong doing in the way Joe nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw him.

"What were you doing?"

"I was washing out the bucket." Joe quickly stammered out but Tom stared at him as if he could see through him. If Tom suspected anything he wasn't saying.

~.~

The rest of the evening went without incident. Though Tom watched Joe throughout supper as if trying to read his thoughts. Joe ate with his head down wishing to give nothing away. Wishing to disappear. He was glad when supper was finally over. The boys got to bed without having to be told.