Hoggee Page 2

  Howard just nodded. The next morning he began to make marks on the manger in Molly’s stall as a record of the days. This morning, before beginning to carve his story, he counted the marks. Six in a row with a seventh across it to mark a week. Four weeks of marks and three more days. So it was December now. Jack would be back in March, when days were warm enough for walking but before the canal was fully thawed. They always walked back to Birchport in the spring. There was no money then for the stage or the canal boat that they used to go home. Besides, the canal boats would not have begun to run yet. They found barns to sleep in on the journey, their feet sore and bleeding by the time they reached the town.

  He would be glad to see Jack, but he wondered if he would have to confess about the winter. Would it be possible to deceive Jack, to let him think the winter had passed well? He doubted it. Jack could usually tell when he tried to keep secrets. Besides, his clothing was already very loose. No, Jack would know the truth. He would not chide, would not say blockhead. Instead, Jack would close his eyes briefly and shake his head. That was what Jack always did when faced with Howard’s blunders—except, of course, for the fire.

  That time, that terrible time when Howard had left a candle too close to a curtain, Jack had yelled at him. When they were all out and staring with unbelieving eyes at the flames, Jack had screamed, “Nitwit! Now you’ve done it! Where will we live now?”

  His mother had cried and said, “Howard, how could you be so careless?”

  Even lying there on the floor of the barn, so many miles from his home village, he could close his eyes and draw in that horrible sharp smell that lived in the ashes after the rain fell on them.

  Howard was glad then that his father had not been alive to see the blaze. Even his father’s patience would have given away.

  Howard thought of his father and the gate. At nine, Howard had left the gate open, allowing the cow to wander away to the neighbor’s garden. His father had managed, even with the consumption almost finished with him, to walk over to apologize to Mrs. Stempson.

  Howard had run for the cow. His father, leaning on the yard post, had closed his eyes, slowly shaking his head. Howard supposed Jack had learned that shaking from their father. “You’ve got three little sisters will be depending on you. There’s a need to grow up now, son,” he said. “Like Jack.”

  Howard had bit at his lip, and his father, aware that his words had stung, had added, “You and Jack both. You’ve got to hunker down to the business of being men now.”

  Jack had hunkered down. They had left school that year, Jack gladly, Howard sadly. It had been at school, just a few months earlier, that Howard had experienced something remarkable, something special and sweetly secret. Howard had been at his desk when the schoolmaster stopped to put a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll pass your brother in your studies next year, Howard, my boy,” the master had said quietly. “You’re more of a scholar than young Jack.”

  A flood of disbelief had rushed through Howard, had filled every blood vessel and made his heart beat wildly. Pass Jack, two years older, stronger, faster, always-at-the-ready Jack! No one had heard the master, Howard’s seat-mate being absent that day, and Howard had told no one. Sometimes at night while lying in the bed he shared with Jack, he had gone over the scene in his mind, even moving his lips to silently form the teacher’s words: “more of a scholar than young Jack.”

  When the term ended, the teacher had given Howard a book, The Life and Memorable Actions of George Washington. Howard had treasured the book; but too self-conscious to show anyone, he had hidden it in the cowshed. After the house had burned, he took it from the shed and said he had found it on the road. He had it now in his haversack, buried under the straw in Molly’s stall. After the house burned, though, Howard had no longer gone over and over the teacher’s words in his mind. No use to remember kind words. All his hope for the future had burned with the house, leaving him with the unrelenting smell of smoke.

  There had been no next year at school for Howard. He had not passed Jack, would never pass Jack. Undoubtedly, Jack would move up in the world of canallers. He could see Jack as a captain, owning his own boat and wearing a smart uniform, waving to Captain Travis. But would he, Howard, have to work, even as a grown man, as a hoggee for his brother? Howard had never known of a hoggee who was a grown man. What became of canallers who did not advance? Maybe they starved during hateful winters.

  The days dragged by, one like the other. Sometimes when the wind was not quite as harsh, the boy would leave the barn to wander about the village. Birchport, named for the trees with white bark that grew about the place in abundance, was a true child of the canal. All its businesses faced the waterway, with only narrow strips for carriages. A traveler could step off a boat and be, almost, inside a Birchport shop. Before the canal, there had been no town at all. It was strange to see the empty canal dividing Main Street down the middle.

  After a quick walk past the businesses, he liked to go by the academy for boys and even the big stone building with the sign that read, “Phipps Union Seminary for the Education of Girls.” Once he crouched behind a bush next to a window that was opened slightly at the bottom. Pressing his ear near the crack, he could hear a girl’s voice reading. Howard could not follow the words well enough to understand what she was reading, but he could tell by the rhythm of her voice that it was a poem. Those stolen words were, he knew, as close as he would ever get to being a scholar.

  2

  I MUST FIND FOOD

  Howard was surprised when the hunger pains lessened. He had not known that his body would grow used to not eating. Now his head felt strangely light, and he wanted only to sleep. He knew, though, what his body needed, and he made it part of his carved record.

  It became his custom to go at night to the back doors of the inns where he had once sought work. He would stay in the shadows until the leftovers were thrown out, then fight the waiting dogs for bits of food. So he was able to stay alive.

  One mild afternoon with no snow on the ground, Howard came upon three girls on the path that led from old Cyrus’s house to the barn. They had baskets of walnuts they had picked up from somewhere. Howard was interested. If he could find the tree, there might be nuts left, and his stomach was totally empty.

  The girls were dressed alike, in calico dresses, and their long, fair hair was pulled back to hang down their backs. They stopped dead still when Howard approached, and they stared at him with identical big blue eyes. The oldest looked to be about Jack’s age, but it was the second tallest who spoke.

  “You’re him Grandpa says lives in the barn,” she said, and her voice was not friendly.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Leave us alone,” the girl said, crossing her arms over her chest. “We don’t want nothing to do with you.”

  “You needn’t be so crabby,” he said. “I had no plan to disturb you.”

  The girl who spoke and the younger sister whirled away from him toward the house, but the older girl stood unmoving, staring at Howard, her blue eyes wide. As Howard looked at the girl he saw something in her eyes, something he could hardly bear to see.

  This, he knew, was no ordinary girl. He wanted to ask what sorrow filled her heart and spilled over so clearly into those blue eyes. Maybe she, too, had burned her family’s home, or, he wondered, could there be something even worse?

  Suddenly, the girl who had done the talking turned back and grabbed her sister’s hand, pulling her away. The taller girl looked back once over her shoulder. Howard opened his mouth to call to her, but he did not know what to say, so he stood still and watched the girls disappear over a hill.

  Howard never found the walnut tree, nor did he see the girls again for a long time, although he watched for them on the path and in the tiny yard around Cyrus’s house. He thought often of the oldest girl and wondered about her sadness.

  On Christmas morning old Cyrus came early to the barn, amazing Howard with his holiday cheer. “Wake up, hoggee! It’s Chri
stmas and it’s lucky you are to have lived to see this fine Christmas Day.”

  Howard awakened reluctantly. He did not feel lucky, and he did not sit up. He had no wish to consider Christmas, did not want to imagine his mother’s kitchen, with its wonderful smells and his little sisters smiling.

  Old Cyrus poked at the boy with the toe of his shoe. “So is it that you’ve no desire to get up and face Christmas?”

  The boy made no response except to grunt, and Cyrus poked him again. “Up with you,” he said. “We’ve got the matter of Christmas dinner to settle.”

  Howard, thinking perhaps Cyrus would promise to bring him a bit of food, pushed the straw away from his face and sat up.

  “My daughter says it ain’t Christian leaving you hungry on Christmas day. She’s insisting I ask you to join us for a bit of celebrating,” Cyrus said, and he half smiled at the boy. “Captain Travis give me a chicken, he did, and my daughter has made a dressing and beans. Mince pies, too. We’ve enough to add an extra plate.”

  Howard stared dumbly at the man.

  “Well, boy, speak up. Will you be coming, then?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I will.”

  “There’s one more thing.” The old man’s face was stern again. “It be about my daughter’s girls.” He took a deep breath. “They ain’t, like you’d say, used to company. I don’t know as I could recollect the last time someone come in from the outside.” Cyrus looked hard at the boy as if he expected a response, but Howard, not knowing what to say, remained quiet. Finally the man went on. “You’d not devil them, would you?”

  “I’ve been taught manners by my mother, sir,” Howard said, and Cyrus nodded. Howard wanted to ask about the oldest girl, but he knew Cyrus would not like the question. He would see her again and maybe learn what troubled her.

  When the old man was gone, Howard washed his face and hands in the icy trough where the mules drank. Resisting the urge to dry his hands on his dirty clothing, he waved them in the air until they dried. Next he changed into the other clothing he had washed in the trough last week. He took up his comb and ran it through his long, limp hair to comb it back from his eyes. His mother would have been horrified to see him so dirty calling on anyone for Christmas dinner, but he feared the icy water would kill him if he tried to bathe.

  When he was dressed, he went outside to the holly tree that grew near the barn. Howard had admired the red berries that grew there earlier, but now he wanted to bring a bit of Christmas inside. He broke some of the thin, berry-laden branches from the tree and took them into the barn. Twisting them together, he made a wreath to hang around Molly’s neck. Stepping back, he admired his work. “Merry Christmas to you, old girl,” he said. “I’ll keep my eye out for a bite of something for your Christmas pleasure.” He closed the barn door, climbed the slight hill, and stood looking down at Cyrus’s little house behind the large one owned by Captain Travis.

  Howard stopped for a minute on the front stoop. He wondered how the second oldest girl would react to his coming. She had been so hostile on the path. He did not wish to offend anyone. But the smell of roasting chicken seeped through the door, and he raised his hand to knock. Before his knuckles hit the wood, the angry girl opened the door.

  “Grandpa says you’re to come in,” she said, and she turned away.

  He followed her. The house was small, one main room with two doors opening off of it. Howard supposed those were sleeping rooms. There was a small pantry room off the kitchen, with the door open, and he could see shelves with food on them. A fireplace stood in one corner, but Howard also saw a large cast-iron stove like the one his father had bought his mother for cooking. A long sawbuck table stood near the stove, and there were empty plates on it, and dishes of food. Howard’s eyes traveled over loaves of bread and a bowl of beans to a plate of apple slices, once dried and now freshened with water. He would, he decided, slip a piece or two of the apples into his pocket for Molly.

  A woman standing near the stove looked up at Howard. “Well, Da,” she said to old Cyrus, who sat nearby smoking a pipe, “your visitor has come, it seems. Won’t you make us acquainted?”

  Cyrus took the pipe from his mouth and scratched at his beard. “This here is my daughter, Mistress Donaldson.” Next he pointed to three girls who stood nearby. The one who had opened the door had been joined by the two others, one smaller and one larger. Their hair, clean and dressed in shiny braids, was almost white.

  The boy put his hand to his head. His own hair was also that fair, but it was so dirty now that it looked much darker. Cyrus pointed to the tallest girl. “This be Sarie,” he said, and his face warmed with the saying of her name.

  “Sarah,” his daughter corrected him, but Cyrus paid her no heed. “This be Laura,” he said, pointing to the next girl, “and little Grace.”

  Howard nodded his head to acknowledge the introductions. “Pleased to meet you,” he said, but the girls said nothing.

  “Da,” said Mistress Donaldson. “You’ve not told us our visitor’s name, now have you?”

  Old Cyrus twisted his face, thinking. “Why, I don’t know your name, boy,” he said. “All I know is hoggee, and you ain’t rightly a hoggee at the moment, are you? Not in the dead of winter, not on Christmas Day.”

  The boy nodded. “I’m not,” he said. “I’m just plain Howard Gardner.”

  The woman motioned toward the table. “Set yourself down, then, Howard Gardner. Our Christmas dinner wants eating.”

  Don’t grab, Howard told himself. He wanted to reach out and fill both hands with meat and bread, but he realized the chicken was small. Cyrus passed the platter first to Howard, and he took only a wing. “We’ll have none of that holding back, boy,” said the man. “It’s Christmas now, ain’t it?” He used his own fork to spear a thigh to drop onto Howard’s plate.

  Mostly, he kept his eyes down, happier than he’d ever been to eat any meal. When, occasionally, he did glance up, he was aware of the girls. They sat on a bench across from Howard, and they watched him even as they ate, all three sets of blue eyes stared at him. Two sets were curious, as if he had two heads. The eyes of the older girl, though, were like they were on the path, and Howard looked away from them.

  They were, Howard decided, peculiar girls indeed, but he did not let them spoil his delight in the food. His only disappointment was becoming full so soon. His stomach, shrunk as it was, could hold only a small portion of what his eyes wanted.

  The last two bites of dressing and beans left on his plate barely went down when he swallowed. Just then Mistress Donaldson took up the mince pie to cut. A small cry rose in his throat. Embarrassed, he choked back the sob. “None for me, ma’am,” he said. “I couldn’t swallow it.”

  “What?” The woman looked at him closely. “No mince pie on Christmas? What kind of daft notion is that? Are you that stuffed? You do have a taste for it, though, don’t you?”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am,” he said. “I love it, but I’m hurting from the chicken and all.”

  “Well, then,” she said, “we’ll have to wrap a slice for you to tote back with you, won’t we?”

  Joy filled his heart. He would have mince pie, after all.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for the meal, too.”

  “You’re welcome, boy.” Mistress Donaldson smiled at him.

  The oldest girl followed him to the door. Howard noticed her as he turned to go out. She looked as if she wanted to speak to him, but her mother came, took her by the hand, and led her away, as she would lead a small child.

  On the way home, he stopped for a minute, ignoring the cold of the night and looking up at the sky. “Christmas stars,” he said aloud to himself. “Christmas stars.” He stared as if he had never before seen such beauty.

  Back in the barn, he first gave Molly the apple slices he had slipped into his pocket. While the mule munched, he sat cross-legged in the straw, and very very slowly he ate his Christmas pie.

  3

  I HAVE A FRIEND
r />   Howard carved his third message a few days after Christmas. Cyrus had gone immediately back to his cranky ways, and the boy was not invited again to his house. Once, just after a fresh snow, Howard saw three sets of footprints, and knowing they belonged to the girls, he followed them over a hill.

  A small frozen pond lay at the bottom of the hill, and the girls skated there. They looked carefree and happy. Howard wanted to watch them, but he knew the girls would object. A cedar with low green branches grew halfway down the hill. While they were turned away from him, he dashed for the tree and slid in among the branches.

  They were good skaters, gliding easily around the pond. The oldest of the three was especially graceful. Her legs seeming to move without effort, she was a willowy streak, her fair hair flying out behind her and shining in the winter sun.

  He was not surprised to see that Sarah was different from her sisters. They laughed and called to each other as they skated, but Sarah seemed unaware of them. Watching, Howard remembered how it had been the middle girl, Laura, who had spoken to him on the path. It had been Laura, too, who opened the door to him on Christmas Day. Howard knew from his life with Jack that the oldest child was always the leader at home. Something, he decided, was wrong with the girl Sarah. She must not be right in the head, addled. Yet, she didn’t seem disturbed. He hurt for the skater, who moved so beautifully but had to be led by the hand of her mother or sisters.

  He knew he should leave, go back to the barn or to the tavern to wait for scraps, but he was reluctant to move. At one point, Laura stopped skating and went to a basket they had set beside the pond. She took out bread and pieces of meat. This time both Sarah and Grace skated to her, and Laura handed out food to them.

  Howard had not tasted food at all that day and had eaten only a few scraps from the inn the day before. His mouth watered with hunger. The girls seemed to have plenty, and he wondered if they would share if he called out to them. But remembering how Laura had acted toward him, he doubted it.