John Fitzgerald Read online

  Frankie nodded his head. He obeyed her and sat down. But he stared at me as if he'd like to cut my throat.

  "I'll show you how to build a log cabin," I said as I dumped the blocks and logs from the box.

  He watched me build the log cabin. I let him look at it for a moment and then knocked it down.

  "Now see if you can build a log cabin," I said.

  He picked up one of the blocks and threw it straight at my face. It hit my catcher's mask and fell to the floor.

  "Ha, ha," I said. I wanted this little monster to know I was too smart for him.

  That really made him angry. He began throwing blocks and logs at me. They bounced harmlessly off my catcher's mask because they were all too big to go through the holes in the mask. Then one of the blocks went sailing over my head. It hit one of the glass doors on the bookcase and cracked the glass.

  "Mamma!" I shouted. "You had better come in here if you don't want the furniture wrecked."

  Mamma and Aunt Bertha arrived in the parlor just as the last piece of the log cabin bounced off my catcher's mask. Frankie folded his arms on his chest and stuck out his lower lip as if he'd like to take a bite out of me.

  I stood up. "You see, Mamma," I said, "if I hadn't been wearing my catcher's mask I'd be blind in both eyes now and my face would be cut to ribbons. A fellow could get killed playing with this kid."

  "Stop exaggerating," Mamma said. "And I'm not going to tell you again to stop calling Frankie 'this kid.' The next time it will cost you one week's allowance."

  "In other words," I protested, "I'm just to let him murder me. And when you see your youngest son lying dead in a coffin then maybe you'll be sorry."

  "Stop being melodramatic," Mamma said. "Play some other game with him, like checkers."

  "Not me," I said. "Checkers are small enough to go through the holes in my catcher's mask."

  "Then play tiddlywinks with him," Mamma said. "I'm sure those little chips can't hurt you. And I don't want one more word out of you about it."

  I knew if I opened my mouth I'd lose a week's allowance. I did get some satisfaction when Mamma tried to pat Frankie on the head. He grabbed her hand and bit it. Then just to show he didn't hate Aunt Bertha, he walked over and took her hand and kissed it.

  Frankie must have learned how to play tiddlywinks with his brother because he knew how to play. He did throw the leather cup at me a couple of times. He gave up when he saw it bounce harmlessly off my catcher's mask. Then he stopped playing the game. He reached over and pinched me on the leg. He sure had a lot of strength for a four year old. He pinched me hard enough to make my leg turn black and blue. I decided I needed more protection. I went up to my room and put on my football suit. It had padded pants and padded shoulders. I really needed a suit of armor but the football suit would have to do.

  I don't believe Frankie had ever seen a football suit. When I came back into the parlor he was standing in the middle of the room. I walked over beside him and turned my head away. He grabbed my leg and pinched it but the padding protected me. I laughed at him. This made him try to bite me on the leg, but again the padding protected me. I figured I had him completely buffaloed when he walked over by the fireplace and stood there glaring at me, his fists clenched by his sides.

  I sat down with my back toward him and began putting the tiddlywinks into the leather cup. Suddenly I saw stars. I got to my feet. Frankie had taken a big stick of wood from the fireplace woodbox and belted me on the head with it. I let out a yell that brought Mamma and Aunt Bertha into the parlor.

  "He tried to kill me!" I shouted. I pointed at Frankie, who still held the stick of wood in his hand.

  Aunt Bertha held out her hand. Frankie gave her the stick of wood without any protest.

  Mamma shook her head sadly. "So much hatred and all misdirected," she said. "You will just have to watch him the best you can, John D. Bertha and I have baking to do."

  "Not until I get my football helmet," I said.

  When I returned wearing my football helmet, Mamma and Aunt Bertha left me alone with Frankie. I figured if he'd never seen a football suit that he had never seen a football helmet. I picked up a stick of wood from the woodbox and handed it to him. Then I got down on my knees and bent my head over.

  "Go ahead and sock me, you little monster," I challenged him.

  He belted me a couple of times on the football helmet. I laughed at him to let him know he wasn't hurting me a bit. This made him so angry that he threw down the stick and walked over and climbed up on the couch. He folded his arms on his chest and stared at me as if wishing he had a cage of hungry lions to throw me into.

  This suited me fine. I sat down in Papa's rocking chair and stared right back at him. We were sitting like that when Papa came home early for lunch. Frankie greeted Papa by running over and kicking him on the shins. Papa just shook his head sadly and moved far enough away so Frankie couldn't kick him again.

  "What are you all dressed up for?" he asked.

  "This is the only way I can protect myself from Frankie," I answered.

  "I am beginning to see what you mean, J.D.," Papa said. "I came home early for lunch because I want to talk to your mother. Ask Bertha to take Frankie into the kitchen."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Curing Frankie's Mental Block

  PAPA SAT DOWN IN HIS rocking chair after Aunt Bertha had taken Frankie into the kitchen. Mamma and I remained standing.

  "Mark left this morning with Reverend Holcomb to hold a funeral service at the slide," Papa said. "Mr. Harmon and some other people in town who did business with Mr. Pennyworth went along. The Parker family and other friends of the Pennyworths living on the plateau will meet them at the slide. After the service Mark will go to the Pennyworth farm and see if he can find any letters or anything that will help him locate relatives who would take Frankie. However, Mr. Parker told Mark he had never heard the Pennyworths mention having any close living relatives."

  "I am more interested in what Dr. LeRoy had to say," Mamma said. "The hatred in that little boy for the three of us is unbelievable."

  "He agrees with my theory," Papa said.

  "Then we must place the boy in another home until Mark locates some relatives," Mamma said.

  "I suggested that to Dr. LeRoy," Papa said. "He doesn't think it would make any difference. The boy would just transfer his hatred to the new family. Dr. LeRoy also believes that the boy will not recover until he lets all that grief and terror bottled up inside him come out. Frankie can't do that until he can cry and talk. And he can't cry and talk until he remembers the accident and what really happened to his parents and brother."

  "Did the doctor give you any indication of just how long that might be?" Mamma asked.

  "No," Papa answered. "He said it could happen in a day or a week, or Frankie might not get over it for a long time, unless he had expert medical help."

  I sure didn't want to live in the same house with the little monster for months. "Boy, oh, boy," I said, "I sure hope Uncle Mark finds some relatives quick before Frankie drives us all crazy or murders us in our sleep."

  "Stop talking nonsense," Papa reprimanded me.

  Mamma apparently didn't think it vas nonsense. "Let us assume that Mark is unable to locate any relatives," she said.

  Papa looked at her for a moment before answering. "You mean, what will we do if no relatives ire located who will take the boy and if he doesn't recover his memory in a week or so?"

  "Yes," Mamma answered.

  "I asked myself and the doctor that very same question," Papa said. "Dr. LeRoy hasn't the medical education to treat a mental patient. However, he knows of a doctor in Salt Lake City named Lieberman who has a private sanitarium and specializes in treating mental patients. I will take Frankie there." Papa inhaled and exhaled deeply as he shook his head. "If the boy would only cry and let out what is bottled up inside him, it would solve everything."

  I took off my football helmet and rubbed the bump on my head. "I'll gladly take on the
job of making him cry," I said.

  That sure made Papa angry. "I'm giving you an order right now, J.D. Don't you dare lay a hand on that boy no matter what he does to you. And you'd better start right this minute thinking of him as a helpless little boy who needs all the love and understanding you can give him."

  I knew Papa and Mamma were determined to think of Frankie as a helpless little boy until he cut all our throats. If they had taken the abuse I'd taken, they would know the accident had turned him into a homicidal maniac. They could think what they wanted, but I was going to be on my guard day and night. I'd not only lock my bedroom door at night but also push the dresser up against it.

  I had to take off my catcher's mask to eat lunch but I made sure I sat far enough away from Frankie that he couldn't stab me with a knife or fork. The meal was peaceful enough, with Aunt Bertha serving Frankie all of his food, until Mamma forgot and tried to give the boy a second piece of cake. He rapped her across the knuckles so hard with his fork it made her drop the cake. He ate a second piece that Aunt Bertha served him. I'd been doing some thinking during lunch. If I was going to take a chance of being crippled or killed, I figured I should be paid for it. I wasn't trying to imitate Tom. I was just being me and using my common sense. I walked to the front porch with Papa after lunch.

  "Mamma has given me orders to play with Frankie," I said. "I'm taking my life in my hands but I'll do it. And it means I won't get to play with the other kids and have any fun at all."

  "I think I know what you are leading up to," Papa said. "If your Uncle Mark doesn't locate any relatives, we will keep Frankie with us for one week. As a boy maybe you can get closer to Frankie than the rest of us. You do everything you can to make him well during that week and if you succeed I'll give you a dollar. The rest of us will give you all the help we possibly can."

  "Boy, oh, boy!" I shouted joyfully.

  "Not so fast," Papa said. "If I have to take Frankie to Dr. Lieberman in Salt Lake City at the end of that week, you get nothing."

  "But that isn't fair," I protested.

  "I think it is, for the following reason," Papa said. "It will make you try twice as hard to win Frankie's confidence and friendship and help him get well."

  I started earning that dollar right away. Mamma told me that I'd have to mind Frankie because she and Aunt Bertha had work to do. I thought if I took Frankie outside it would make it easier. I had on my football suit and my catcher's mask and football helmet just in case. I figured even a kid with a mental block must like dogs.

  I whistled for my dogs as Frankie and I came down the steps of our back porch. Both of them came running from the rear of the yard. Then a horrible thought hit me. I wasn't afraid of my dogs biting Frankie, but what if the little monster tried to bite them? I patted Brownie and Prince on their heads. Then the pup ran over to Frankie, wagging his tail and barking.

  Frankie looked down at Prince for a moment. Then he dropped to his knees and began petting and hugging him. I wasn't taking any chances. I watched closely to make sure Frankie didn't try to strangle the pup. But he played with Prince just like a normal kid.

  I had taught both my dogs to fetch a stick or a ball. I picked up a stick and threw it. Brownie ran and got it and brought it back to me. Frankie watched me do this a couple of times. Then he picked up a stick and threw it. Prince ran and got it and brought it back to Frankie. I figured Frankie would go on playing with Prince, and got careless. I sat down with my back toward Frankie and began scratching Brownie behind the ears. I could hear Prince barking and assumed he was still fetching sticks for Frankie. A few minutes later there was a thumping sound on my football helmet. I turned around.

  Frankie had gathered up a pile of rocks and was throwing them at me. I guess I felt safe with my catcher's mask on because I just sat there. It was a stupid thing to do. Frankie threw a sharp pointed rock that was small enough to go through the holes in my catcher's mask. I could feel blood running down my cheek as I got up and went into the kitchen.

  Mamma was greasing a bread pan with a piece of bacon rind. "Your cheek!" she cried.

  "Frankie hit me with a rock that went through my mask," I said. I sure didn't want to tell her I'd been dumb enough to just sit there and let him do it.

  "Come into the bathroom and let me fix it," Mamma said, wiping her hands on her apron.

  I took off my football helmet and catcher's mask and followed her into the bathroom. She bathed the cut on my cheek with peroxide and then put a bandage on it. I was surprised to see tears come into her eyes. It really didn't hurt me enough to make her cry over it.

  "I love you very much, John D.," Mamma said. "I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you because of Frankie. I didn't tell you but he tried to steal a paring knife after lunch while you were talking to your father on the front porch. And although you exaggerated about how dangerous he was, there is a great deal of truth in what you said. I am going to insist that your father take him to Doctor Lieberman in Salt Lake City."

  I thought about the dollar Papa had promised me. I could kiss it goodbye unless I thought fast.

  "Please don't, Mamma," I pleaded. "Please wait at least for a week."

  She looked surprised. "There is something going on I don't know about," she said. "Fess up, John D. What is it?"

  "Papa promised me a dollar if I could help make Frankie well in a week," I said.

  Mamma shook her head. "I am sorry, son, but the boy is too dangerous to keep here for a week," she said. "I'm afraid Frankie needs the sort of help only Doctor Lieberman can give him. I'll have your father take him to Salt Lake City on the Monday morning train. Until then I will have Bertha take care of him during the day. And your father, Bertha, and I will take turns watching him during the night."

  "But Papa has to get out his newspaper," I protested. "And why not wait until we find out if Frankie has some relatives?"

  "My mind is made up," Mamma said with determination. "Meanwhile, you are not to play with Frankie. I'll have Bertha take care of him. And you are to stay far enough away from him so he cannot harm you. Is that understood, John D.?"

  In every court in the country anybody can appeal a decision right up to the Supreme Court of the United States. But no kid in the whole United States can appeal any decision his mother makes.

  I followed Mamma into the kitchen. Aunt Bertha wasn't there. We found her sitting on the back porch holding Frankie in her lap.

  "Bertha," Mamma said. "Tell Frankie he must remain on the porch. Come into the kitchen. There is something I want to discuss with you."

  Aunt Bertha put Frankie down. "You stay right on this porch," she said to him.

  I could tell by the look on his face that he didn't like it. But he folded his arms on his chest and sat in the old chair on our back porch.

  I went to the barn and climbed up the rope ladder to Tom's loft. Mamma had ordered me not to play with Frankie or get near enough to him to get hurt in any way. This was one place I felt perfectly safe. I sure hated to lose that dollar Papa had promised me. I lay down on my stomach to think about it. The more I thought about it the more convinced I became that Mamma was right. When a fellow tries to protect himself with a football suit and helmet and a catcher's mask and still gets hurt, it is time to give up. I was now convinced that the accident had turned Frankie into a maniac who wouldn't rest until he'd killed Papa, Mamma, and me.

  I was lying on my stomach facing the top of the rope ladder when I though for sure I was having a daymare, or whatever they call a nightmare that you have in the daytime. I saw the black hair first and then the big dark eyes. And I'll be a four-eyed bullfrog if I wasn't staring right into Frankie's face. I hadn't been able to climb up the rope ladder until I was five years old. I was so sure it was a dream that I reached out and touched him on the head. Then I knew I wasn't dreaming.

  I started to tell him to climb back down the ladder but didn't. I was afraid he would fall. It is always harder to go down a ladder than to go up because you have to
watch your feet. I reached down and got hold of him under the armpits and lifted him onto the loft. Then I sat down on a box and just stared at him. He walked around the loft looking at things and touching them. He even touched the skull of the Indian. I kept an eye on him so he couldn't pick up something and throw it at me. I knew I had to get him down from the loft. Although Aunt Bertha was supposed to be watching him, if anything happened to him it would be my fault. I waited until he had seen everything in the loft and sat down on a box.

  "Frankie," I said, "Aunt Bertha will be worried about you. And it is time for her to give you a glass of milk and some cookies. You climb on my back and put your arms around my neck and hold on tight. I'll carry you down the rope ladder."

  He got up and walked to the edge of the loft and looked down. I guess he was wondering if he should try to climb down the ladder by himself. Then he got on my back and put his arms around my neck. I carried him down the rope ladder. He let go and dropped to the ground. He thanked me by kicking me on the shins. I grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the barn.