November 2018 - Fragile

Hello peeps

Late - but here.

Your challenge for the cold and bleak month of November is...


Fragile

Which is a suggestion from one of you lovely ladies.   Suggestions for the List [pom, pom, pooooom, ]   are always welcome :)


(BTW - I am not feeling fragile at the moment ... but I am feeling work harassed    chasing my tail!!)

Seth Green groaned when he heard the knock on the door. He knew that knock. He put his papers down, folded his hands and took a deep breath. “Come in.”

The door opened, revealing the formidable bulk of Miss Griswold. Five feet tall and five feet wide, she filled the doorway.

“Mr. Green, I must speak to you. That boy – “

He held up one hand to silence her.

“If there’s an issue with a boy you wish to discuss, you know it must be confidential. Please close the door behind you.” She bit her lip in frustration, but complied.

"Will you sit down? And then you can tell me, slowly and calmly, what’s got you so upset.”

“I am not upset! I am frustrated. There is a difference, you know.” She pushed two chairs together and sat down across both. There was an audible protest from the chairs. She ignored the sound and rearranged her voluminous skirts, ignorant of her imminent peril.

“Of course,” he soothed. “What’s frustrating you?”

“These boys!” she fumed. “We took them in when nobody else would. And after all we do for them, providing a roof over their heads, providing education, providing everything. What do I get in return? Not respect, not gratitude. I expect better.”

She didn’t notice his eyes narrow, or the harder tone in his voice. “I’m glad you said that, Miss Griswold, because now I understand the root of the problem you’ve been having here. You say, we don’t have to take in these orphans. As Christians, we do have to take in the orphan, house him, feed him, and clothe him. Our Lord does not command the recipient of our duty to say thank you.”

“No one can say I am anything less than a committed Christian, Mr. Green! Have I not served Valparaiso for ten years now? And I have certainly not been enriched in the process! No, rather, I am frustrated by the un-Christian behavior of some of these boys. They do not realize how good they have it here.”

“Why should they? They are orphans. They had it good with their parents. No matter what we provide for them at Valparaiso, it can never equal what they have lost. They aren’t grateful. They are angry. They feel cheated. They may even believe that God has abandoned them. You and I know that is not true, but they are children, and we are adults.”

“Well. I suppose. I see your point. But at the least, they can comply with the rules.” She leaned forward towards him, her bosom straining against the fabric of her dress. Seth caught himself inadvertently looking at the fascinating struggle of flesh against fabric and forced himself to look her directly in her face.

“What do you expect, Miss Griswold? What do you want from these boys that you don’t think you’re getting now?”

“A little respect. Not being challenged when I ask them to do some little thing, like clean up after themselves. Or when we ask them to do simple tasks, simple upkeep, so that they can eat, or that the building doesn’t fall down around their ears.”

He sighed. “That does sound reasonable on the face of it. But we are living in unreasonable times. The war has created more orphans than we can accommodate. The demands on us are greater than our resources. You know that as well as I do, since, as you say, you’ve been employed here for ten years. Many of the children we admit are damaged by the terrible things they’ve seen since the fighting began back in the ‘50’s. We put them in bunkhouses, feed them donated food, stuff them into overcrowded classrooms, and in turn, expect them to study hard, perform chores cheerfully, and to be happy and grateful for all these gifts they never wanted. Is that logical?”

Seth watched her grind her teeth. She didn’t look any less frustrated. In fact, she looked more frustrated. Well done, he told himself. You’ve let off some steam, and now, she’s built up her own head of steam. He decided to switch tactics before she threw his own inkwell at him.

“But you didn’t come here today because of the general unsatisfying situation we all must endure. Is there a particular incident, or student, that has aroused your ire today?”

“The usual one. I just don’t know what to do with him, Mr. Green. I’ve tried paddling and detention. I’ve given him extra tasks, made him skip meals, and nothing gets through to him. He is incorrigible.”

“Ah. The Heyes boy. What’s he done this time?”

“He broke into Mr. Gridley’s desk and found the mathematics final in the drawer. He then copied all the answers, and he’s been selling them to other students.”

Seth was curious. “Selling them for what? The boys don’t have any money.”

“Food, or favors. For example, he’ll give a boy the answer key in exchange for his turn washing dishes. That sort of thing.”

“I’m curious. How did he get the test in the first place? Mr. Gridley’s desk has a lock.”

“He picked the lock.”

A look of doubt crossed Seth’s face. “No, really,” she insisted. “He knows how to pick locks.”

“How would he know that? His father was a farmer, not a locksmith.”

“I don’t know how he knows, but he knows.” Now her voice became more firm. “You can ask him yourself. Either somebody showed him, or he figured it out for himself. He’s very clever, you know.”

“Alright. Let’s agree that he got into the drawer, but not about how. It could have been left unlocked, you know. Did anyone see him pick the lock?”

“No. But it had to be him.”

“For me to accuse him of theft, I need better proof than ‘it had to be him’. There are 150 boys here.”

“Alright,” she admitted grudgingly. “But I know he gave the answers to that little friend of his, the Curry boy. As you know, the Curry boy is not clever at all. He never saw a test he couldn’t fail in some spectacular fashion. And suddenly, he did well on a mathematics test.”

“Maybe Heyes tutored him. I’ve seen his grades, and he does very well in math. And the boys are close friends, I’m told.”

She looked at him with pity. “Mr. Green, sometimes I think you are just too good for this world. You do try to see the best in everybody, don’t you? Just don’t let that blind you to facts.”

“Let’s look for more facts, then, because I’m not going to accuse any boy without cause. Did any boy tell you, or another adult, that Heyes had offered to sell him the mathematics test?”

“No. But Mr. Gridley found him in the room, after class ended, when he had no reason to be there.”

“How did that happen?”

“Mr. Gridley left his good pen on the desk. When he realized, he went back to get it. It wasn’t ten minutes since class had ended, and Heyes was still there.”

“Doing what?”

“Sitting on the desk, seemingly just looking out a window. Mr. Gridley told him to go back to the residence hall and make sure his chores and homework got done.”

“And then what happened?”

“Mr. Gridley got his pen, and then he wondered, what was the boy doing there, really? He checked his desk, and the drawer was unlocked. He saw that the mathematics test was there, but the papers were out of order, so he knew someone had been there, but wasn’t sure any damage had been done. Not until the test was given, and then he knew.”

“I see. Circumstantial evidence, no smoking gun. Have I got that right?”

Miss Griswold glared as hard as she dared at a male supervisor. “I suppose so,” she grunted. “He’s too clever to get caught with his hand in the cookie jar.”

“I suppose so. And you want me to talk to him, do you?”

“Of course! I hope you will put the fear of God into him. Nothing has made an impression, as I’ve told you. You’re the superintendent of this orphanage. You need to get tough with him.”

“That’s already been tried, hasn’t it? He’s been paddled. He’s been denied food, denied privileges. You told me the previous administrator even locked him in a wardrobe overnight to ‘teach him a lesson,’ didn’t you? What kind of lesson that’s supposed to teach a vulnerable child, I don’t know.”

“He’s a tough boy. He requires a strong hand to set him on the proper course of behavior.”

Seth looked away for a moment, wondering if he could ever get through to this woman.

“Miss Griswold, I don’t believe he’s tough, anymore than I believe most of the boys here are tough. In fact, I think he’s fragile. He’s been broken by his losses, by the things he’s seen that no child should ever see, and he’s acting out. He doesn’t have the tools to do anything else. The inappropriate corporal punishment he’s received here has only caused him to rebel more.”

She pushed herself to her feet. The chairs seemed to sign with relief. “Mr. Green, I say this with all due respect; you are new to this job. You don’t know these boys as well as the staff do.”

“No, I don’t. That’s my advantage. I assume you have him waiting in the hallway?”

“Of course, Mr. Green. I’m nothing if not efficient.”

“Give me five minutes to review the files. Then you may bring him in.”

“Of course.” Alone, Seth pulled the files on the two boys and reviewed them quickly. When he heard the knock on the door, he was ready.

“Please come in.” The boy entered hesitantly but closed the door behind him quietly. “Please sit down, Hannibal. I need quick moment to organize my paperwork, and then we can talk.” The boy settled himself lightly on a chair. Seth aimlessly moved papers around on his desk while surreptitiously studying his guest.

Hannibal Heyes didn’t look like a major threat to the proper running order of the Valparaiso Home for Waywards. He looked like a typical skinny 14-year-old boy who was lurching into manhood by fits and starts. On closer examination, Seth noted the large dark wary eyes that observed and filed away everything they saw. They were the eyes of a wounded animal. Not much different than so many of Valparaiso’s boys, but this child-man was known by everyone to be unusually intelligent and much too cunning for his age.

Seth clasped his hands on top of his papers and gave the boy a reassuring smile. “Do you know why I wanted to see you, Hannibal?”

The boy shrugged. “I must be in some sort of trouble, except I don’t know what kind. I ain’t done anything wrong.”

“Haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Haven’t.”

“No, that’s not it. I asked you here because a younger boy might be in trouble, and I wanted to see if you could help him. I’m hoping that you and I can have a good give and take on this problem.” Seth smiled at the surprised expression that passed over the boy’s expressive face. “Would you be willing to consider doing that?”

“Yes, sir. Sure.”

“Good. I knew I could rely on you. You’re already fourteen, right?” A nod. “Young to me, of course, but old enough to accept some adult responsibilities. Part of that is setting an example for younger boys. Does that make sense to you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Seth steepled his fingers. “How is your friend Jed Curry doing with his studies?”

“He does alright, sir.”

“Not according to his file, which I read before you came in. He’s not doing very well at all.”

“Why’d you ask me, if you already knew the answer?”

“I wanted to get your perspective.” Seth could almost see Heyes’ consider the new word, discern the meaning, and then file it away. “You are his friend, aren’t you?” Heyes nodded, almost imperceptibly. Like a hunted animal, suspicious of everything, completely untrusting.

“Jed has not had a stellar academic record. Yet on the last mathematics test, he did better than he’d ever done before. So did two of the other boys who’ve not done well to date. Mr. Gridley is wondering how that’s possible.”

Heyes almost snorted with contempt. “It sure ain’t got anything to do with Mr. Gridley. He don’t care if anybody fails or passes, so long as he’s getting paid to write on the blackboard for an hour and drill the multiplication tables.”

“If it’s not Mr. Gridley helping Jed and the other boys improve, then who?”

“I couldn’t say, sir.”

“What would you say if you could say?”

The boy smiled.

“You know what Mr. Gridley thinks?”

“Mr. Green, if Mr. Gridley thinks anything, that’s news to me. He’s numb as a box of rocks.”

“You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

Heyes shrugged. “I figure you can’t do me worse than the others who sat in that chair. Besides, you said you wanted to have a give and take with me, didn’t you? I’m only doing what you asked for.”

Seth smiled in return, refusing to take the bait. “I did say that, didn’t I? I hope you’ll continue to be frank with me. Not everyone is, you know.” A nod.

“You’re doing very well in that class. He must be teaching you well.”

The boy’s big brown eyes narrowed in anger. “He ain’t taught me nothing. I just take the books and work through the problems myself. I don’t need him for that.”

Seth was intrigued. “All of the math books?” Heyes nodded. “By yourself? How did you do that? And more importantly, why?”

Heyes shrugged nonchalantly. “I got bored sitting in class, so I just kept working the problems so I didn’t start snoring and get in trouble. Mr. Gridley don’t care what anyone does, so long as they don’t bother him with a question or talk out of turn or snore too loud.”

“I see.” He looked at the boy with new respect. “Do you know what teachers think when a poor student suddenly improves dramatically? That the student has cheated. Maybe the student got a copy of the answer key before the test. He memorizes the answers, and suddenly, he gets an A. It doesn’t make sense otherwise. You see?”

Heyes nodded slowly, cautious again.

“You know what I think? I think somebody may have gotten his hands on the test and shared it with other boys. For whatever reason. Maybe he thought he was helping a friend who’s been struggling. But that’s not helping someone. Not if teachers and administrators like me believe those results are the result of cheating. Do you understand?”

Heyes sat still, tense, waiting. If only Miss Griswold could see this boy now. The tough exterior the boy wore had slipped away, replaced by the fragile child who was waiting for, expecting, punishment. His slender fingers were compressed into fists.

“As you know, I’m new here. I’m not familiar with how these situations have been handled in the past. I’ll ask Mr. Gridley to nullify the results – nullify means, erase them like they never happened – prepare a new test on the same material, and re-test the boys. If they know the material, they’ll do well again. If they did well because somehow, someone provided the test answers to them, they might fail. But at least they’ll do it honestly. How does that sound to you?”

Heyes’ tense body seemed to relax slightly. “That sounds fair enough, sir.”

“I’m glad you agree with me. And, I’m going to require Mr. Gridley, and all the instructors here, to never leave confidential testing material in the classroom. They should take tests home with them, so that test security is ensured. Does that also sound fair to you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. The only unresolved issue is, how did the test results get to these boys? Any ideas on that?”

“I couldn’t say, sir.” A quick grin crossed the boy’s face and deep dimples appeared. It was a brief glimpse into the cocksure, happy child he’d been before . . . well, before. “And I wouldn’t say, even if I could. Sir.”

“I can’t say, either. I will say that I suspect someone copied the answer key and shared it with other students.”

“And what are you going to do about that, Mr. Green?”

“Had I direct evidence or a witness, I would punish the perpetrator. Because I have neither, I will take no action in this matter beyond what I’ve already told you. However” – the boy’s quick grin froze – “I hope that the thief, whoever he is, realizes that cheating does not help anyone; it only creates more problems. Do you think the thief will understand that?”

“I can’t rightly say what goes on in some person’s mind, sir. If he’s smart, though, I feel pretty sure he’s going to learn from his mistakes.”

“I hope so. It’s best for him, and it’s best for the other boys as well.” Seth stood up. “I’ve enjoyed this little give and take with you, Hannibal. I hope you have as well.”

Heyes got up. Seth could see relief flooding his wiry body. “Yes, sir, I have.”

“And one last thing, Hannibal. You might try tutoring those boys, instead of giving them the answers to the test. Learning is the goal of education after all.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Seth looked at the door for a long moment after Heyes had left. He could only hope that the boy would eventually learn that honest effort beat stealing any day of the week. Only time would tell.

The morning was greeted by sounds of groaning, which could be interpreted as a wounded animal in great pain. Instead, the sounds emanated from Kid Curry, who sat with his head in his hands at the kitchen table.


Across from him was Hannibal Heyes, his forehead on the table, forearms resting either side of his head. Similar wounded animal sounds came from him.


Both were unshaven and dishevelled, hair mussed and sticking up at odd angles. Heyes even had a flower head stuck behind one ear. Both looked as though they had slept in their clothes, which they had.


“Heyes.”


A grunt of acknowledgement.


“I think I’m dead.”


“Oh, Kid. I know I am,” came the moaned reply.


Elsewhere in the kitchen, Mary and Caroline looked at each other and rolled their eyes. Both shook their heads at the state their husbands were in, unusual for either of them.


So what could have caused this departure in behaviour? The marriage of one Wheat Carlson, later that day, that’s what.


After his amnesty and installation as manager of The Hardware Store’s Salt River branch, Heyes concerned about Wheat’s literacy standards, had sought help from the town’s schoolteacher. A spinster of middle years, Elizabeth Burton had taken no nonsense from Wheat, applied him to the task and succeeded in raising his reading, writing and arithmetic several grades. On thing had led to another and Wheat had mumbled a proposal expecting the best-case scenario of a slapped face. To his great surprise, he was accepted.


Wheat found himself in the same situation Heyes had. He had to tell Elizabeth about the outlawing and his real name. He was working out how to do so when it became public knowledge who Joshua Smith was, or rather had been. Bringing it up in conversation, Wheat gauged how Elizabeth reacted. She was ambivalent about it but finally conceded that any man should have a second chance. Then she had asked whether he, Walter Brown, had known he was really working for Hannibal Heyes, ex Outlaw King, as she had described him.


Wheat had pulled at his shirt collar in disgust. “He was full of hisself ma’am but he weren’t no king!” he had spat at her. Which only prompted further questions and Wheat knew he had no alternative but to make a full confession.
Elizabeth had listened to his tale, glossed over and embellished in parts with equal measure, quietly and calmly.


“Amnesty you say?”


“Yes ma’am.”


“Like Hannibal Heyes, your employer?”


“Yes ma’am.”


“The Hardware Store isn’t a front for illegal activities is it?”


Wheat had looked shocked. “No ma’am. Me and Heyes are strictly by the book these days. We’re a lawful enterprise. No stain on our characters. No … .” He fought for a new word Elizabeth had taught him. “Blemishes on us, ma’am. No way. Too much to lose now. I mean Heyes has his family to think of and I … .”


Wheat had pulled up short at that point. What DID he have to lose? Only his livelihood, security and … her. He’d dropped his head when he realised just what was at stake. Just how fragile his new life really was.


“I’m sorry ma’am, I … well I best be getting along. Outta your hair.” He’d turned to go but she called him back.


“Walter.” When he’d turned back she was smiling. “Wheat.” She’d laughed. “No I’m NOT calling my husband Wheat so … .” She’d paused as if making a final decision. “I know you don’t like it but if you can accept being called Walter for the rest of your life then
… that’s what I’m happy to call you.”


Wheat had grinned when he realised what Elizabeth was saying. “Yes ma’am. I reckon I can tolerate that.”


The wedding was still on and Elizabeth would become his wife later that day.


The bachelor party had taken over a back room of the saloon in Porterville, a small select group, designed to drink the health of Wheat and his fiancée and wish the pair good luck. That’s how it had started out and was a quiet dignified affair, until the arrival of Hank and Lobo. Wheat had issued the invitation without any real expectation of acceptance, so no one was expecting the arrival of the former gang members. That’s when the atmosphere in the party had changed. Several toasts to Kyle, and other missing old friends, later and the party had descended into drunken revelry. At that point, John Beecher, Heyes’ liveryman cum gardener and several others of Wheat’s now conventional acquaintance had departed. John, as designated driver, and Wheat’s best man, would return later to transport the Amnesty House Trio home safely.


On returning to Amnesty, Wheat had stayed with John in the stables, whilst the Kid and Heyes had weaved their unsteady way along the path to the main house. Twenty minutes later both were snoring in the study, the Kid face down on the chaise lounge, Heyes sprawled untidily across two chairs. Peeking in from the door, their night attire clad ladies, were relieved that their men were at least home safely. Seeing that there was no point in trying to encourage them upstairs, all the ladies could do was make them more comfortable with blankets and pillows.


“Coffee, Jed?” asked Caroline, pot in hand.


“Yes,” the Kid breathed and held out his hand. He remained huddled over the table.


Rolling her eyes at Mary, Caroline pushed a mug into the awaiting hand and closed his fingers around it.


A grunt of thanks and a second hand shakily joined the other around the mug and together they raised the hot liquid to trembling lips. Tentative slurping followed.


Mary didn’t bother asking the question of her husband. Instead, she slopped a mug down next to his head. Hard enough and close enough to make him start. She wafted coffee fumes in his direction and then stood back arms folded. Caroline looked a question at her and Mary nodded, with a tight-lipped smile. Together they watched as the dark head attempted to lift from the table, failed once, and then with more determination forced its way up. Flowery relic from the previous night floated off to the floor. He sat bolt upright. Eyes blinked open, and then closed smartly as the morning sun through the kitchen window, hit with its full force. A groan escaped, then hand shielding his eyes, they opened again to spy the coffee mug.


“Ah! Coffee.” A faint smile flickered and the nearest hand made a lunge for the mug, succeeding in securing it on the third attempt.


Stereo slurping began in earnest.


Both ladies turned away with heavy sighs. Today was going to be a long day until their menfolk even remotely resembled the men they’d married.


“If they look and feel THAT bad, how is the groom feeling?” Caroline asked, keeping her voice low. Normal conversation level had already provoked strong protests to “keep it down”.


“Oh, I think HE’S feeling just fine,” Mary said, seeing Wheat coming up the path from the stables, whistling tunefully.


A moment later, said whistler had opened the kitchen door and stamped in.


“Morning ma’ams,” Wheat greeted, loudly. “Beautiful day for it.”


Groans and requests to SHUT UP greeted him.


He started in surprise at the reaction from the seated men. Then Wheat chortled. “A mite fragile are you,” he said, stating the obvious. He shut the door unnecessarily loudly.


“Coffee, Wheat?” Mary asked.


“Thank you, ma’am. Don’t mind if I do.”


Before he could move to join the table, the internal kitchen door opened and a small whirlwind rushed in.


“Wheat!”


Wheat grunted as the whirlwind launched itself at him, barely giving him enough time to catch it.


“Hey, Little Missy,” he greeted Susan.


“Happy wedding day, Wheat. I’m excited. I’ve never been a bridesmaid before. Are you excited?”


“Susan … .” Heyes started.


“Yes I sure am, Little Missy. I sure am.” Wheat confirmed his state of mind as he lowered her to the floor.


“Do you like my bridesmaid’s dress?” Susan asked, eagerly and spun round so he could see it in its full glory.


Wheat nodded. “Yes I sure do.”


“Susan, you’re not supposed to be wearing it yet. I’m not ironing it again. Go and take it off before it creases,” Mary scolded.


“Oh, Mama, I’m just showing Wheat.”


“Wheat will see it later.”


“But Mama he’ll be TOO busy then,” Susan protested.


“SUSAN … .” Heyes yelled and then groaned, putting a hand to his forehead. “Do as Mama says please.”


“Pappy are you not feeling well?” she asked in concern.


“No Susan not this morning.”


Susan glanced over to the Kid and she realised. She folded her arms.


“Oh this is the demon drink isn’t it? They told us about this at Sunday school. You ought to take more care. Men are PARTICULARLY susceptible.”


The Kid smirked and watched as Heyes’ lips twitched to speak. However, the battery that powered his brain was running on minimal power this morning. No sign of any reply in formulation. Instead, defeated, Heyes looked up at Mary, giving her his best pleading face.


Mary sighed and moved to take hold of Susan firmly.


“Susan, go and take that dress off now.” Mary shuffled Susan to the door. “You can lecture Pappy later, when he’s feeling better.


“Yes Mama,” Mollified Susan trooped out determined to tackle her father about alcohol and its effects at another time.


The Kid snorted into his coffee


Wheat scratched a cheek, amused.


“You have your work cut out with Little Missy there Heyes,” he chortled.


Heyes shook his head and then wished he hadn’t.


“Believe me, boys are SO much easier to deal with.”


“You think?” The Kid was surprised. His three boys ran him ragged most days.


“All things considered, yes.” With that, Heyes groaned again.


Wheat pulled out a chair deliberately slowly, increasing the level of noise and length of the scraping. He sat down and looked from one to the other.


“Still cen’t hold ya drink can ya?” he said, shaking his head and sipped at his coffee. “Amateurs,” he mumbled. “Hope you two are gonna buck up ‘fore the wedding. Don’t want folks mistakin’ it for a funeral.”


Wheat appeared unfazed as a double dose of “the look” hit. “Yous no call to look at me like that. Only sayin’.”