Billy Creekmore Page 4

  “Makes sense to me,” said Walter Barnes, sour as usual. “Once he stole a biscuit from the tin under my bed.”

  “Can’t say I ever saw that side to him,” replied Willis Dawson, who was the only one who could stand up to Walter, for they were the same size, although Willis warn’t near as tough as Walter. I stayed out of the conversation for fear I’d spill out all my secrets if I started talking. So I made out like I was going to the privy, and out in the dark I went.

  Gusts of wind rattled the trees, making the branches toss their arms about as if they was wild. Clouds pulled apart leaving patches of black sky sprinkled with stars. I stuffed my hands in my pockets, hunched my shoulders, and walked into the wind. At first it felt good to be alone, but then the wind stopped blowing, and I could hear the river rushing and gurgling over the boulders. This was the last sound Meek ever heard, only it was all around him, roaring and accosting him, filling his mind and pulling him under. Soon enough, the sound of the water was filling me, and I felt certain Meek’s ghost warn’t resting peaceful. Maybe he blamed me for what happened to him since I gave him the very sack that weighed him down. Maybe it strangled him when he fell into the river. I tried cluttering my mind by humming so I couldn’t sense Meek’s ghost or hear it trying to talk to me. I walked back to the orphanage away from the woods.

  Across the way I could see that the lights were on in the Beadles’ dining room, so I crept on over to my spying window.

  There was Mr. Colder and Mr. Beadle sitting across from each other. Each had a piece of pie, but neither was eating. It seemed that they were arguing about something. I leaned toward the window, close as I dared, and tried to hear what they were saying.

  “No, Mr. Beadle, your offer is unacceptable. I cannot pay for the boy’s coffin and burial and then offer you a fee for providing a new apprentice. The company lost money on Jones as it is, and now we need another boy to replace him. I will not pay you the usual fee in this instance. I want you to provide me a new boy free of charge.”

  “Be reasonable, Mr. Colder!” yelled Mr. Beadle. He banged the table with his fist and made the dishes clatter. “I have agreed to allow the boy to be buried here, thus saving you the cost of transporting the body to the paupers’ graveyard near Charleston, but surely you don’t expect Guardian Angels to pay for his coffin and burial?”

  “I do indeed expect it, Mr. Beadle! I do so because you lied to me when you first discussed him. You said he was a compliant boy, sharp-witted and nimble, a boy who could be easily trained. He was so clumsy, he got himself maimed and then cost us the doctor’s fees….”

  They went on and on, arguing about who would pay for this and why the other owed that. It was easy to see Mr. Colder was going to win the argument. His voice was loud and firm, but overall he was less excitable than Mr. Beadle. Eventually they came to an agreement. Mr. Colder would pay for the coffin but not the gravediggers, and Mr. Beadle would provide another boy to apprentice in the factory without taking the usual fee.

  “And who will you be sending?”

  “His name is Billy Creekmore, a bright boy, a very capable boy, but quite meek at the same time….”

  It felt like I’d just been struck by lightning. The cold shivers descended upon me, and my heart started thumping.

  “Very well then, Beadle. Our disagreement is settled. I’ll come for the boy in a week,” said Mr. Colder. You could tell he was pleased as punch with himself. He shook his head and smiled. He picked up his pie and ate it with his hands.

  Somehow or other, I made it back to the dormitory. Don’t ask me how, ‘cause I don’t remember. I didn’t have to look deep in my heart to know that I couldn’t survive life in the glass factory. The heat and the noise of the furnaces seemed like hell itself, and I knew for a fact that Mr. Colder wouldn’t pay no attention to my stories ‘bout seeing spirits. He was a rich man who warn’t about to pay for the coffin of a poor boy who worked for him. Seemed to me he’d be comfortable speaking to the Devil himself. My heart started aching, longing for my pa to come fetch me. I was in a terrible fix. What happened to Meek Jones could just as soon happen to me, and I had to figure a way to escape.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  DREADING

  AN APPRENTICESHIP

  IN

  THE GLASS FACTORY

  I Plan

  MY ESCAPE

  Two days later, early in the morning, some men came to dig Meek’s grave. There were three of ‘em, and they was already working when we filed into the dining hall for breakfast. Meek’s grave was on the highest part of the hill, and the sound of their shovels striking the earth filled the little valley. Rufus and I watched ‘em while we drifted through our chores, three faraway figures under a bare oak.

  “Ain’t it bleak, Billy?” asked Rufus.

  “Sure is,” I answered. Two of the men were resting with their backs against the tree while the third kept digging.

  “Has Meek been talkin’ to you? Is he mournin’ ‘bout being dead?”

  “He’s awful sad to be dead,” I said, thinking back to the night I wandered by the river and was too scared to hear his spirit talk to me. It was on the tip of my tongue to unburden myself to Rufus. I wanted to tell him how I was the one who gave poor Meek the very sack that made him drown, and how scared I was that his ghost was out there, waiting to wreak its revenge. But I couldn’t tell him without burdening him, too, so once again I buttoned up.

  Before dinner, in the last bit of pale light, we gathered in the graveyard to pay our respects. Meek’s pine coffin looked awful small resting there next to the big dark hole in the earth. The skinny old preacher led us in some prayers, and then Mr. Beadle and the men grabbed the ends of some rope and lowered the coffin into the grave.

  “Good-bye, Meek,” I whispered when I threw a handful of dirt on his coffin. “Please don’t haunt me none when I run away at night.”

  For the next few days and nights, the only thing I could think about was running away before Mr. Colder came to get me. If I took the river path, I expected I’d meet up with the ghost of Meek Jones, so I figured the road to Albright was the best way to go. No doubt it’d be the first place Mr. Beadle would look for me, so I’d have to hide somewhere during the day and make my way at night. Where I’d hide during the day, I couldn’t say. I never heard talk of any caves or hideouts along the road, no barns, or shacks. For the first time ever, I realized just how plain ignorant all of us boys at Guardian Angels was. Why, most of us had never been anywhere ‘cept the general store to help Mr. Beadle carry a load of lumber and sacks of feed. No wonder we were all so eager to go off with Mr. Colder to the factory in Morgantown. We was thinking we’d be seeing the world. Only I knew different now, and the truth of what went on was scaring me so bad I couldn’t sleep at night.

  So there I was, tired and scared, my mind racing, hoping the first snow wouldn’t fall the day I had to leave. I did my chores and kept to myself. I was so glum, Rufus Twilly thought for sure I had received a card from my pa.

  “Where’s he now, Billy? Ain’t he sendin’ for you yet? It must be awful sad knowin’ that your own pa don’t want nothing to do with you. At least I know why my pa won’t come get me. He doesn’t get outta jail for another three years….” He chattered on, but I wasn’t really listening. If only my pa really would send for me, I thought.

  We were gathering eggs in the chicken coop. The hens was squawking about, and their reddish feathers were floating in the air. For the first time ever I noticed they were the exact same color as the freckles all over Rufus’s face. It made me laugh out loud.

  “Rufus, do you know your freckles are the same color as these hens, which is the same color as your hair…. And your skin’s as white as their eggs.” I was laughing so hard, I was doubled over. A few of the eggs in my basket fell to the ground and broke.

  “Well, you don’t have to tease me ‘bout it, Billy! I can’t help it. It’s just the way I was made.”

  I was laughing so hard, I lost my breath. When
it came back I said, “I don’t mean to tease you none, Rufus, it’s just that I never noticed it before, and it struck me funny, probably ‘cause all I’ve been thinkin’ about is Meek and what happened to him.”

  Meek’s name caused Rufus to ease up, and he warn’t angry at me no more. “Sure was a terrible thing that happened to him, warn’t it, Billy? But maybe God was punishin’ him for stealin’ from us….”

  “I don’t think so, Rufus,” I said. “I don’t think God wants us to suffer the way poor Meek did, no matter what he did.”

  All of a sudden, I became powerful worried about Rufus. Why, in another year or so, Mr. Beadle might sell him off to the factory.

  “Listen to me, Rufus, I’m gonna tell you somethin’ and I want you to remember it. Don’t ever let Mr. Beadle send you off to that glass factory. I can’t tell you how, but I know it’s a terrible place. It ain’t like they tell us. There ain’t no adventure or fortune or fun of any sort there. If you ever get word that it’s your turn to go, you gotta run off. Start figurin’ out where to go and how to get there now. And don’t tell the other boys what I said. Remember what I’m sayin’, you hear me?”

  “Yes, Billy, I hear you. I can’t say I understand you, but I hear what you’re sayin’.”

  “Good. You don’t have to understand. You just remember what I’m tellin’ you now.”

  Rufus and I gathered the rest of the eggs without talking. We covered up the broken ones with straw, and I fell into a dark mood again, worrying that I had said too much and not enough at the same time. I didn’t have more than three days to figure out what I was gonna do. If only I knew how to get word to my father. Surely he’d come get me if he knew what lay in store for me.

  Gradually, it began to occur to me that I should tell Peggy about my plight. After all, I reasoned, she told me I should have woken her up the night I saw Meek so that she could help pack him some food. Why, she might even help me make my escape and get word to my pa that I had moved on. I was thinking about how she walked to Albright every Sunday to go to mass at the Catholic church. Maybe I could sneak in with her so she could point me in the best direction for running away once we were in town. There must be other roads besides the one going into Morgantown.

  “Are you sure it was your name Mr. Beadle gave him?” she asked. “You were awful scared that night. Maybe you didn’t hear right.”

  I assured her I heard right.

  “Why they’re nothing but slave traders, they are! Trading away the lives of poor motherless boys!” Then she picked me up and rocked me awhile, crying at the sadness and injustice of it all. Once she set me down, she was all business, and we worked out the beginnings of my plan. Peggy would put together a little sack of food and get me some money. There was only one road into Albright from here, and three roads out. She didn’t know of any hideouts along the way, but once you crossed the river, you were on your way to Fairmont, a town almost as big as Morgantown. Peggy would take me to the road herself and get back to her church in time for mass, same as she did every Sunday. We’d have to be careful to make sure that no one saw us together, but seeing how she rarely ever saw a soul else walking into Albright early Sunday morning, she warn’t too worried about that.

  In the meantime, I started getting ready to leave. I put my few possessions in an old flour sack that Peggy had given me. I packed some socks, my tin box of postcards, and my mother’s broken necklace. Once I was set up in another town, I’d write Peggy a letter pretending I was somebody else so she’d know where to send any postcards my dad might send.

  At times I’d get right excited about my new life. Why, I could change my name, if I wanted, and make up a story about how I came to Fairmont and what I was seeking. I’d say I was brought up in a holler down the way, and all my kin had just dropped dead of fever, and that I came to town to make a living and learn the ways of city people. I didn’t bother thinking up too much detail, since I figured I’d have plenty of time to make up my story once I struck out on the road.

  Other times I’d get bogged down by worries. What if I lost my way? What if the snow came early and I didn’t have any shelter? What if my father came to fetch me before I was settled somewhere? Then Peggy couldn’t tell him where I was, and we’d be lost to each other forever.

  “For Heaven’s sake, Billy!” yelled Rufus. He was tired of me staring into space and not hearing him “What’s wrong with you these days?”

  “Oh, nothin’,” I lied. “I can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout Meek.”

  “Poor Meek! Warn’t it awful, Billy?”

  “Sure was,” I answered, feeling sadder still, for I realized I’d probably never see Rufus again and he didn’t even know it.

  Soon enough it was Friday, my next to last day at Guardian Angels Home for Boys. I ate breakfast and went about my chores feeling both heavy in my heart and excited at the same time. None of the animals seemed particularly mean that day. The cows didn’t kick and the geese didn’t nip. Mrs. Beadle was in the kitchen when we came in for lunch, looking almost healthy, although I’d have to say she was still the wrinkliest, skinniest person I’d ever seen in my life. She was helping Peggy pass out bowls of soup to us. I took mine and said thank you, and I was almost feeling good at my place in the world, until I heard her say something to Peggy once my back was turned.

  “He’s here now,” she said. “For Billy.”

  I near crashed my soup on the floor. I turned to look at Peggy, but I didn’t catch her eye, and I didn’t hear what she said back to Mrs. Beadle. All I could think was that all our plans had gone to waste, and I was off to the glass factory for sure.

  The next thing I knew, Mr. Beadle was stamping into the room. Behind him was a little man with his cap in his hands. He hobbled in, doing his best to keep up with Mr. Beadle but having trouble doing so, for one of his feet was turned inward and he had to walk on the side of it.

  “Creekmore!” he yelled. “Billy Creekmore, get over here, boy!” For a moment I thought I should just push past the two of them and make a run for it out the door, but I was too shocked to act, so I did what I was told. I stood before the two of them trembling with fear.

  “Do you know this man, Creekmore? He claims to be your uncle!”

  “Oh, he don’t know me, sir. Never saw me, but I’m his uncle, honest to God, husband of his mother’s sister I am. I have a letter from the boy’s aunt explaining how we came to know he was here, if only you’d take a look at it, sir. T’is here in my pocket. No reason I’d lie about a thing like that.” He had a soft, musical voice. “Don’t be afraid, lad,” he said. “I’m here to take you to live with your aunt Agnes and me. We want to care for you, which is what your poor dear mother would want, God rest her soul.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  A

  SURPRISING

  LETTER

  Starts Me

  on

  a New Life

  I looked from one face to another but couldn’t get a word out. And I warn’t the only one who had tensed up, waiting to hear what would happen next. Boys stopped eating and fidgeting, and it felt like all of us was trapped in a balloon that was ready to burst.

  “A letter?” Mr. Beadle sputtered. “I will, indeed, see this letter! Hand it over at once!”

  “Oh yes, sir. I’m glad you’re taking a look at it, for it’s sure to answer all your questions,” said the man. “I’d be happy to read it to you, sir, for the handwriting’s hard to figure in parts.”

  “I can read it just fine!” glowered Mr. Beadle. He took the pages out of the man’s hand and began to read aloud.

  Dear Sir,

  My husband, James Berry, and I have heard that a ten-year-old boy named Billy Creekmore is in your care. We believe this boy is the son of my sister, who died shortly after he was born. Only recently have we learned of his existence. His father, also named Billy Creekmore, wrote us when my sister died and said their son was stillborn. Last month, however, I heard news that leads me to believe that he wasn’t telling the tr
uth and that the boy is alive. I was tending the bed of a sick woman in a mining camp not far from our own, when I heard the story of an unusual boy near ten years of age named Billy Creekmore. The teller of the tale, a healing woman like myself, claims she delivered the boy at midnight on Friday the 13th, 1895. The boy’s father abandoned him shortly thereafter. She took care of the child for a while, then left him at the Guardian Angels Home for Boys, an orphanage run by her cousin and her husband. Knowing that the name and age of this boy match that of our nephew, should he indeed be alive, my husband has come to see him. If the boy no longer resides with you, we appreciate any help you might offer in determining his whereabouts. If he does, we thank you heartily for caring for him up to now. We are his only living relatives and wish to raise him as our son.

  Sincerely yours,

  Mrs. James Berry

  “Are you Mr. James Berry?” thundered Mr. Beadle, to which the man answered yes, he certainly was. “And do you have a birth certificate? A baptism record? I need documentation, my good man. It’s the only way to determine if you have claim to this boy.”

  “No, sir,” said the man sadly. “We didn’t know he existed. How could we have such things? I can tell you, though, that he has the same sort of chin as my wife and her sister, and the same blue eyes with black lashes. And he’s the right age with the name of the man we know to be his father.”

  “Sir, this is not good enough, not good enough at all! Until you can prove you are indeed his next of kin, I am his legal guardian, and I have arranged for him to be apprenticed to the glassworks factory in Morgantown.”

  “The glassworks!” gasped the man. “Surely you wouldn’t send him to a life as miserable as that!”

  “It has been arranged. The boy is going to the glassworks.”