CHAPTER SIX
Hans and Billy became as thick as thieves from then on, although Hans managed to avoid inviting Billy for supper after the twins warned him a meeting between his new pal and their father would likely bring an end to the boys' friendship.
Instead, Hans took to visiting Billy's home almost every week, discovering that Miss Lillian appeared to have no particular rules other than expecting Billy to be home before she went out to work. She wasn't much of a cook and usually brought food home from the saloon each night to eat the following day. If Hans happened to stay for a meal he was usually given leftover meatloaf, cold pie, bread and cheese or something similar. Slouching on the huge over-stuffed sofa with Billy, their feet on the wobbly table in front of it, eating cold leftovers, Hans couldn't have been more happy and he marvelled at the enormous difference between his own home and his friend's. He almost wished he could leave home and go to live with Billy and Miss Lillian instead.
Billy continued teaching Hans to fight and he put most of his energy into practising. Billy also taught him to play poker and to ride the old mare at the saloon which the owner, Red Burrows, let Lillian borrow when she needed a horse for anything. By the time he reached seven no one in school bothered him, not even Thomas and his gang. The four of them were no longer the group for the other children to avoid – it was Billy and Hans who nobody wanted to upset.
If Hans had put as much effort into his schoolwork as he did learning to be like Billy, he would have become an excellent student like his brothers, but he continued to loathe the lessons and paid little attention, sketching comical pictures to pass along the back of the class to Billy instead of writing or calculating sums. Twice in that first year Miss Rivers wrote a letter home to Jorgen, but she made the mistake of asking Hans to deliver them so of course they never reached his father. It was eventually Jorgen who visited the school after Hans had been there eighteen months, to demand why his youngest son still appeared not to be able to read. He only regretted it had taken him so long to notice, but his law practise had recently begun to command more and more of his attention and he had spent less and less time with the boys.
Horrified by Miss Rivers' report, Jorgen returned home in a temper, vowing to keep more of an eye on Hans in the future. He had never had any need to worry about the schoolwork of Lars and Leif, both of whom excelled at everything and even at the age of twelve, knew exactly what they wanted to do when they left the town school. Both would go to college, Lars to become a lawyer and join his father's practise and Leif to study to become a doctor. Jorgen was proud of both and knew they were going to grow into fine young men. Not so with their brother.
"Hans!" bellowed Jorgen as the front door crashed shut behind him. "Come here!"
He received no reply and headed up the stairs to look for his wayward son. Leif appeared in the doorway of the room he and Lars still shared.
"He's not here, Father," he said.
"Where is he?"
"He went to Billy's house."
"Where does this Billy Jenkins live?" Jorgen demanded.
"On the edge of town, Father," said Lars. "I think it's on the last street past the saloon."
"Right. I'm going over there. What are you two doing?"
"Homework, Father," Lars said. "We have a history test to study for."
"Excellent. Keep at it, boys," Jorgen nodded and returned downstairs.
He left the house again and began to stride off in the direction of the saloon, passing it a short while later and turning into the street Lars and Leif had mentioned. There were only three houses there, all looking as if they would fall down in a light breeze. The first house had its front door standing open and an elderly lady kneeled in the front yard, picking peas from the plants growing there.
"Excuse me, Madam," Jorgen said, pausing. "Could you tell me which is the Jenkins house?"
"The one on the end, Sir," the lady replied, straightening up and staring curiously as the smartly dressed gentleman strode off down the street. She assumed he must be a customer of the Jenkins woman. They didn't usually call around at the house, but there had been the odd occasion when this had happened.
Hans and Billy were in the middle of a game of poker, gambling their allowances when the loud knock on the door almost shook it on its hinges.
"Who's that?" asked Hans.
"Dunno, do I?" Billy shrugged and got up. He pulled the door open and looked up at Jorgen, guessing immediately from the man's appearance that he was Hans' father.
"Can I help ya?" he asked.
"I wish to speak with your mother," Jorgen demanded, grimacing at what he could see of the room behind the partially open door. Out of sight, Hans cringed and bit his lip, knowing his father would be furious that he was spending time in such a place and without Billy's mother present.
"She ain't here, Mister," Billy replied. "She went out to the store."
"You're Billy Jenkins, I take it?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Is Hans here?"
"Yeah." Billy pushed the door wider open and Jorgen looked in, his mouth dropping open as he saw Hans sitting cross legged on the floor with some cards in his hand, various coins scattered on the table in front of him.
"What on earth are you doing, boy?" he demanded.
"Playing poker, Father."
"Come here this minute!" Jorgen didn't enter the house, but waited on the step as Hans got up, picked up some coins and shoved them into his pocket, then walked slowly to the door. Jorgen grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him out of the building, almost pulling him off his feet.
"Hey, ya'll hurt him!" Billy exclaimed.
"You keep out of this!" snapped Jorgen. "Come on, Hans. You have some explaining to do." He turned and began to drag the boy along the path, stopping suddenly as he came face to face with Lillian, a basket on her arm containing some fabric she had bought. As usual she looked beautiful, her silky black hair pinned up and tied with lace and her gown of a deep moss green, trimmed with more lace at the neck and cuffs.
"Why, Jorgen, what brings you here?" she said, her red lips stretching into a surprised smile.
Hans looked up at his father, his mouth falling open. His father and Miss Lillian knew each other?
"I've come for my boy," Jorgen grunted, his face reddening. "I'd thank you not to invite him here again."
"Whatever ya say," Lillian said softly, still smiling. "Although the boys are great friends, it'd be a shame to keep them apart."
"I don't want Hans spending time with the likes of you and your son!" snapped Jorgen.
Lillian tilted her head slightly to one side and raised her eyebrows, continuing to smile although she said nothing.
"Come along, Hans!" Jorgen ordered again, beginning to stride away again and pulling Hans along with him.
"You know Miss Lillian, Father?" Hans dared to ask.
"Of course I don't know her!" Jorgen blustered. "I don't associate with those sort of people and neither will you in the future."
"Well, how does she know your name?"
"Obviously you've mentioned it to her!" Jorgen yanked harder on his son's arm and walked faster, Hans finding himself having to run to avoid being dragged off his feet altogether. He thought it best not to ask any more questions about Lillian as it seemed to be angering his father even more, but he was sure he had never said his father's name was Jorgen. He would ask Billy about it next time he saw him. He would probably know; he seemed to know everything.
Arriving back at the house, Jorgen thrust the door open, pulled Hans inside and slammed it after him.
"Get up to your room!" he ordered. "I'll come and speak to you directly."
Hans went up the stairs without a word, ignoring Leif peering out of his room as he passed.
"What have you done now?" Leif called after him.
"Nothing."
"Other than be found at Billy Jenkins' house," said Leif.
Hans swung around. "You told him where I was, didn't you?" he said.
"Of course we told him," Lars said, appearing beside his twin. "It's about time Father knew what you've been getting up to. You're so busy with Billy behaving like a pair of thugs that you can't even read yet."
"You're useless," Leif added. "I don't know anyone of seven who can't read and write."
"Father must be so ashamed of you," Lars finished. "We are too, we don't like admitting you're related to us."
"Shut up!" Hans cried.
"Hans!" Jorgen barked, starting up the stairs. "I thought I told you to go to your room!"
"They started it," said Hans. "I was going to my room."
"Don't answer me back, boy! You're in enough trouble as it is. I had a meeting with Miss Rivers this afternoon. She tells me you do nothing but cause trouble in her class and that you haven't learned even the most basic of skills in over a year!" Jorgen ushered Hans into his room and closed the door. "She also tells me she has written two letters to me recently, which you were supposed to have delivered."
"Sorry, Father," Hans said with a sigh.
"In addition, I find you playing poker with your rough little friend in that trollop's house!" Jorgen continued.
Hans wondered if 'trollop' was a more polite way of saying 'whore', but kept his mouth shut, knowing he was in for a thrashing without him adding to his crimes by uttering that word.
"Have you anything to say for yourself?" Jorgen demanded.
"No, Father."
"Well, you're going to be punished. I've been much too soft on you recently. Unfortunately my work has got in the way somewhat and I haven't paid as much attention to the three of you as I ought to have done. Consequently you seem to have got away with wasting your time rather than attending to your studies. You'll end up just like your good for nothing friend, with no prospect of a decent occupation or home!" Jorgen began to unfasten his belt. "Drop your trousers."
Hans eyed the belt in alarm. Up to now he had only suffered the back of his father's hand, but he knew without having experienced it that the belt would be a hundred times more painful.
"Please, Father," he said. "I'll behave, I promise."
"It's too late." Jorgen yanked the belt free of its loops. "For once, do as you're told!"
Hans slowly unfastened his pants and let them fall down. Underneath he was wearing long underwear and they were left on. He bent over slightly and placed his hands on his bed, waiting for the belt to make contact and holding his breath. He could hear the leather whistle as it cut through the air and then it slapped across his rear, making him gasp and dig his fingers into the mattress beneath his hands. The belt hit Hans from the buttocks to part way down the backs of his thighs five times in all and as tears of pain squeezed out of his closed eyes, he realised ironically that he could count. He now climbed slowly onto the bed and lay face down, snuffling into the pillow.
Jorgen backed away and returned the belt to his trousers, grim and silent as he wondered if perhaps he hadn't gone a little too far, but how else could he keep the boy in line? The way he was going, he was going to end up a complete failure.