John Fitzgerald Read online

  Everything went along just dandy for a couple of weeks. I was enjoying just being me and Papa said I was on the right road. Then I discovered that a fellow could be on the right road himself but somebody else on another road could change his whole life for him.

  The road that ruined my happy and well-adjusted life was the old road up Red Rock Canyon to the plateau and over the mountain. This had been the main road to Silverlode when it was a booming mining town, and to Adenville from Cedar City. After Silverlode became a ghost town, a railroad was built from Cedar City to Adenville and the towns south. Then a new road for wagons was built alongside the railroad tracks. It was a longer route, but a much better and safer one to travel. The old road up Red Rock Canyon had always been dangerous due to rock and land slides, especially after a heavy rain. Papa told me one time that when it was the main road people were killed in Red Rock Canyon almost every week.

  The only people who used the road now were a few homesteaders who lived on the plateau, and trappers and hunters. It was this road that brought Frankie Pennyworth into my life. His name should have been Frankenstein Dollarworth because he was a monster and a dollar's worth of trouble. I know that sounds impossible when I tell you that Frankie was only four years old. But I'd better start at the beginning.

  Mr. Pennyworth, his wife, and two sons named William and Frank lived on the plateau, where they had a homestead of one hundred and sixty acres. They grew mostly wheat, which Mr. Pennyworth sold to the flour mill in Adenville. During the winter months Mr. Pennyworth worked as a trapper and brought his cache of furs into Adenville to sell. His son William was ten years old but never attended school in Adenville because it was too far to travel.

  Uncle Mark came to our house about seven o'clock on a Friday evening carrying Frankie Pennyworth in his arms. The boy was asleep. There was mud on Frankie's clothing and all over Uncle Mark. This surprised me because it hadn't rained a drop in town all day. But I did notice it was raining on the plateau and in the mountains.

  "Good Lord, Mark!" Mamma exclaimed when she opened the front door. "What happened to you and who is that boy?"

  "His name is Frankie Pennyworth," Uncle Mark said, after wiping his feet on the doormat and coming into the parlor. "His parents and brother were killed by a rock and land slide in Red Rock Canyon. I would have taken him home with me, but as you know Cathie is back east visiting relatives. I didn't know what else to do so I brought him here."

  "Explanations can wait," Mamma said. She took the boy in her arms, unmindful of the mud on his clothes. "Bertha, go up to the attic and get one of John D.'s old nightgowns and a robe. I'll give the little fellow a sponge bath and put him to bed. I'll let him sleep with me tonight because he'll be frightened when he wakes up."

  "Try not to wake him while you are putting him to bed," Uncle Mark said. '"Doctor LeRoy said the longer he sleeps the better."

  Mamma left the parlor with Frankie and Aunt Bertha.

  "What happened?" Papa asked.

  Uncle Mark removed his Stetson hat, but remained standing because his clothes were so muddy. His face was very grim. He told us that the Pennyworths had left their farm early that morning to drive into Adenville for supplies.

  They had stopped at the farmhouse of another homesteader named Parker to get a list of supplies the Parker family needed. It was about a two hour trip from the plateau to Adenville. When six hours passed without the Pennyworths returning, Mr. Parker saddled a horse and started down the canyon. About two-thirds of the way down he came upon a gigantic rock and land slide that covered the road to a depth of almost a hundred feet and for a distance of about a quarter of a mile. He saw no sign of life and thought the Pennyworths might have passed before the slide and when they tried to come back had to return to Adenville. He rode his horse up the side of the mountain around the slide and came into town. Upon discovering the Pennyworths had never arrived in Adenville, he went to the Marshal's office to tell

  Uncle Mark.

  "I arranged for some men with wagons and shovels to follow us," Uncle Mark said, "and then rode to the scene of the slide with Mr. Parker. I knew it was hopeless the minute I saw the slide. It looked as if half the mountain had dropped on the road and bottom of the canyon. It would take an army of men weeks, and maybe even months, to find the bodies under all those tons and tons of rock and dirt. That is the end of Red Rock Canyon road. It will be impossible to build another road over that slide. The people on the plateau will have to go all the way down the other side of the mountain for supplies from now on."

  "But the boy is alive," Papa said.

  "We thought for sure the entire family were buried under the slide," Uncle Mark said. "I rode to the other side of it with Mr. Parker. We found no signs of life. Then Mr. Parker said he had to be getting on home. And he promised to look out for the milk cow and chickens on the Pennyworth farm. He started up the road. I was getting ready to ride back to the other side of the slide to meet the men coming with wagons. I heard Parker shout at me. I turned and saw him riding toward me holding Frankie on his saddle. He said he'd missed seeing Frankie earlier because the boy was under a ledge by the side of the road."

  "Didn't the boy tell you what had happened?" Papa asked.

  "He couldn't," Uncle Mark said. "He is in a state of shock. He hasn't cried one tear or said one word since we found him. I brought him back on my horse with me and tried to get him to talk but he wouldn't. He went to sleep just before we got to town. I took him to Doctor LeRoy. The doctor examined him and said there was no concussion or bruises. He said the boy was in a deep sleep from shock exhaustion. How the boy escaped and the others didn't we won't know until Frankie comes out of his shock and can tell us."

  "I know you must be tired, Mark," Papa said. "You go on home. I'll tell Tena and Bertha all about it."

  "Parker is going to notify friends of the Pennyworths on the plateau," Uncle Mark said. "I will meet them at the upper side of the slide tomorrow morning with Reverend Holcomb, who will hold a funeral service there. Good night."

  "Good night," Papa and I both said.

  Uncle Mark had just left when Mamma and Aunt Bertha came back into the parlor. Papa told them what we had learned from Uncle Mark about the accident. Mamma didn't even know the Pennyworths and neither did Aunt Bertha, but they both began to cry.

  It was past my bedtime so I went up to my room. I fell asleep feeling very sorry for a four-year-old boy who had lost his parents and brother. The next thing I knew I was having a nightmare. I dreamt an Indian had sneaked into my room and was beating me on the head with a tomahawk. I woke up. It was daylight. But I was still being hit on the head. I was so stunned that I just lay there as a very hard wallop landed on my left ear. I turned over on my back. I could see a hand with my shoe in it. The shoe came down and hit me so hard on the nose that it started to bleed. I grabbed the shoe and sat up in bed. And who do you think was standing beside my bed in my old nightgown waking me up by pounding on my head with a shoe? Nobody else but Frankie Pennyworth. I took the shoe away from him and jumped out of bed.

  "Why did you do that?" I demanded. "And how come you are upstairs instead of in Mamma's bedroom?"

  He folded his arms on his chest. His big dark eyes beneath his black head of hair just glared at me as if he hated the sight of me.

  "Answer me!" I shouted, feeling blood from my nose running over my lips.

  He answered me all right. He bent over and picked up my other shoe and banged me on my bare toes so hard it made me cry out with pain. I grabbed that shoe and took it away from him.

  "What kind of a loco kid are you?" I cried. I was so angry I was about to box his ears when Mamma called up the stairway.

  "Is Frankie up there, John D.?"

  "He is up here and tried to murder me in my sleep!" I answered.

  Mamma came rushing upstairs and picked Frankie up in her arms. She got punched right on the nose for it. She stared at him with astonishment.

  "Don't let a little thing like that bother you,
" I said. "He was pounding me on the head with my shoe when I woke up."

  "Your nose is bleeding and so is your ear," Mamma said.

  "He is crazy, Mamma," I said. "What happened to him must have driven him plumb loco."

  Frankie proved I was right by trying to gouge Mamma's eyes with his fingers. She then held him so he couldn't move his arms.

  "Don't be a naughty boy, Frankie," she said. "We are your friends and love you. And to prove it you can have anything you want for breakfast."

  This kid was unbelievable. Instead of thanking Mamma, he began kicking her. He didn't say one word or let out one peep as she held him tight and carried him downstairs.

  I went down to the bathroom, where I put cold towels on the back of my neck until my nose stopped bleeding. Then I put some peroxide and a bandage on my ear. I could hear Mamma pleading with Frankie in her bedroom as she tried to get him dressed in some of my old clothes. I went back upstairs and got dressed. Breakfast wasn't ready when I came down so I went into the parlor. Papa was there.

  "What happened to your ear?" he asked.

  I told him about Frankie trying to beat me to death. But did I get any sympathy? Heck, no.

  "How unusual," was all Papa said.

  Then Mamma brought Frankie into the parlor dressed in one of my old Buster Brown suits. "I'll leave Frankie with you while I help Bertha with breakfast," she said.

  Frankie stood with his arms folded on his chest looking at Papa as if he would enjoy seeing him boiled in oil. Then he walked over and kicked Papa on the shin. Papa lifted up his leg and grabbed his shin.

  "Now you stop that, Frankie," he said.

  It was a stupid thing to tell a kid who was plumb loco. Frankie kicked Papa on the other shin. Papa hadn't given me any sympathy and I wasn't about to give him any.

  "How unusual," I said.

  I was so intent on watching Papa rub both his shins that I wasn't paying any attention to Frankie. The little monster walked over and kicked me on the shin so hard it really hurt. Then he sat down on the floor with his arms on his chest and glared at us as if we were his worst enemies.

  "This kid belongs in a cell down at the jail," I said.

  Did Papa telephone Uncle Mark to come get the little monster and lock him up in jail? Heck, no.

  "This is very interesting," Papa said.

  Boy, oh, boy, I never knew being beaten on the head and toes with a shoe and being kicked on the shins was interesting.

  In a few minutes Mamma came into the parlor and told us breakfast was ready. She tried to pick Frankie up in her arms. He punched and kicked her so hard she had to put him down.

  "Now be a good boy, Frankie," she pleaded. "I know you must be hungry. You can have a nice bowl of oatmeal. And you can have some nice hot cakes with maple syrup or sugar on them."

  Again she tried to pick him up. This time he not only punched and kicked her but tried to scratch her eyes out. She had to let go of him.

  Aunt Bertha came into the parlor. "Things are getting cold," she said.

  "Frankie won't let me touch him," Mamma said, looking completely bewildered.

  Aunt Bertha looked at Frankie. "Now let's not have any more nonsense," she said. "Breakfast is ready, Frankie, and you are going to eat."

  I'll be a four-eyed frog if Frankie didn't hold out his arms toward Aunt Bertha. He didn't kick or punch as she picked him up. She carried him to the kitchen and put him in a chair.

  "Very interesting," Papa said as he sat down at the table.

  It got even more interesting when Mamma put a bowl of oatmeal in front of him. Frankie picked it up and threw it on the floor.

  "Clean it up later," Papa said. "Now let Bertha give him a bowl."

  Aunt Bertha fixed a bowl of oatmeal and put sugar and cream on it. She put it in front of him and handed Frankie a spoon. I watched, bug-eyed, as Frankie started eating the oatmeal as if he were starved.

  Papa waited until we had all eaten our cereal. "Now, Tena," he said, "you give Frankie a glass of milk."

  Mamma poured a glass of milk from the pitcher and gave it to Frankie. I'll bet she wished she hadn't when Frankie threw the glass of milk on the floor.

  "Let the mess go," Papa said. "My theory is proving itself. Now, Bertha, you give him a glass of milk."

  Aunt Bertha poured a glass of milk and put it in front of him. Frankie picked up the glass and drank all the milk in it.

  "I think, Bertha," Papa said, "that you had better serve Frankie his hot cakes."

  Mamma appeared to be completely bewildered. "I don't understand," she said. "I've never known a child who didn't like me."

  "I'll explain later," Papa said.

  We finished eating our breakfast, with Frankie eating three hot cakes and drinking another glass of milk served to him by Aunt Bertha. Papa then asked her to take Frankie into the parlor for a few minutes. Frankie put his arms around her neck and held her tight when she picked him up. He gave the rest of us a real nasty look as if he despised us.

  "You said you had a theory," Mamma said after Aunt Bertha and Frankie had left the kitchen.

  "The boy recognizes that you are the mother and I am the father and J.D. is the son in this house," Papa said. "When he woke up this morning he went looking for his own parents and brother. Instead he found us. He also found himself in a strange house. He is still in a state of shock. And I think he believes that we did away with his own parents and brother so we could take their places. That is why he hates us three. He has no such association with Bertha because he evidently didn't have an aunt."

  "Poor little fellow," Mamma cried. "How long do you think it will be until he gets over it?"

  "I have no idea," Papa said. "But I do know I've read of people who have undergone such a horrible experience that they get a mental block. In other words the shock is so great that their minds refuse to remember the experience. I'll talk to Dr. LeRoy about it today. Meanwhile, all we can do is to give Frankie all the love and understanding possible."

  "You mean we just let him go on hitting us and kicking us whenever he wants?" I asked.

  "The boy is temporarily mentally disturbed," Papa said. "He is not responsible for his actions."

  "Boy, oh, boy, he'll get by with murder," I protested, "Aren't you even going to give him the silent treatment?"

  Papa and Mamma never whipped my brothers or me when we did something wrong. Instead they gave us the silent treatment, which was worse than a whipping. For a period of a day or a week or even longer neither one of them would speak to us. And they would pretend they didn't hear if we spoke to them.

  Papa thumped his finger on the table to emphasize each word as he spoke. "I told you the boy is not responsible for anything he does," he said firmly. "And don't you forget that, J.D., or you will be the one getting the silent treatment."

  I excused myself and got up from the table. "I am going to do my morning chores and then go play with the kids," I said.

  "You will do your chores," Mamma said. "And then you will spend the rest of the day trying to make friends with Frankie. Get some of the games you used to like to play when his age out of the attic and play with him."

  "The only game that kid would like to play with me is to beat me black and blue," I protested.

  "You will do as you are told," Mamma said, "and not another word out of you. And he isn't 'that kid' but Frankie."

  I did as I had been told. I finished my chores and went up to the attic. I looked in a box where Mamma had stored all the games my brothers and I used to play. I finally decided on a set of logs and blocks that could be made into a log cabin. I remembered how I used to like to build the log cabin when I was about Frankie's age. Then I went to my room and got my catcher's mask and put it on. I was no dummy.

  I went down to the kitchen, where Frankie was watching Mamma and Aunt Bertha preparing to bake some cookies.

  "There will be no ball playing for you today," Mamma said sternly. "Take off that catcher's mask right now. I told you to play with Frank
ie."

  "I didn't put it on to play ball," I said. "I put it on to play with Frankie. You can give me the silent treatment for a year but I'm not going to play with him without some protection."

  "All right," Mamma said. "Take him into the parlor."

  Frankie ran over and grabbed hold of Aunt Bertha's skirt. He wouldn't budge until she took him by the hand and led him into the parlor.

  "Your Aunt Bertha wants you to sit on the floor and play with John," she said.