“And All Our Yesterdays…” and Nine Other Stories

By Kenneth C. Gardner Jr.

The stories in "All Our Yesterdays..." and Nine Other Stories continue to explore the lives of the Cockburn family and other characters in and around the fictional town of Menninger, North Dakota, first created in the novel The Song Is Ended and continued in the novel The Dark Between The Stars and the short stories in Meatball Birds and Seven Other Stories. While the events and the characters found in the ten stories exist in rural and small town settings, the themes explored have a universal appeal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491735336

Kenneth C. Gardner Jr.

Kenneth C. Gardner, Jr., was born and raised in New Rockford, ND. He taught at Kenmare (ND) High School in 1966-1967 and at Drayton (ND) High School from 1967-2013. He and his wife Carol have three children—Kathy, Kenny, and Jeff—three grandchildren—Olivia Grace, Caleb James, and Charlotte Dae, plus three stepgrandchildren—Kaelyn, Brooklyn, and Kinley.

Book preview

Copyright © 2014 Kenneth C. Gardner, Jr.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

iUniverse books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

iUniverse LLC

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.iuniverse.com

1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4917-3532-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-3533-6 (e)

iUniverse rev. date: 05/20/2014

CONTENTS

STACK

WHISKEY (WHISKY) AND ME

GIMPY

HARVEY PEAKE AND THE RISE AND FALL OF AMERICAN RADIO, PART I

HARVEY PEAKE AND THE RISE AND FALL OF AMERICAN RADIO, PART II

MOMENTO MORI

ONE NIGHT IN DECEMBER

SOW THISTLES

AND ALL OUR YESTERDAYS…

THAT’S WHAT ARE FRIENDS FOR

Books by Kenneth C. Gardner, Jr.

Novels

The Song Is Ended (2011)

The Dark Between The Stars (2012)

Collection

Meatball Birds and Seven Other Stories (2013)

Non-Fiction

Echoes of Distant School Bells: A History of the Drayton Public School, 1879-1998, Volume 1 (1994); Volume 2 (1999)

For all my students—the Good… the Bad… and the… , well, I never had any Ugly students.

And for all my friends and relatives who have supported my efforts as an author… thank you.

STACK

The biggest mistake Richard Flowers ever made was giving Stack a place to stay.

Of course, Stack wasn’t his real name, but then nobody knew what his real name was. When he first jumped off the NP freight along with about a hundred other harvest hands, two farmers on the platform looked at each other and one said, That boy is big as a haystack. Shortened to Stack, the nickname stuck. And so did Stack, returning each fall for the harvest and leaving for nobody knew where when it was done.

Because he had a shock of blonde hair, some people thought he might be Swedish, but no one ever knew what he was.

He had a huge body and could work like a house afire, but his mind was weak. When he wanted something, he’d point at it. Sometimes he’d grunt, but he never spoke.

Stack’s hands looked like baseball gloves, they were so big, and his fingers were like thick sausages and so strong they could bend nails.

After he’d been coming to harvest for several years, Lloyd Hill found out the hard way that Stack had a soft heart.

One night the harvest men were in Ansen’s barn where they slept after a hard day’s work. It was Little Joe McGregor’s first year, and he didn’t know much about rural life, having been raised in Chicago. He and Lloyd got to arguing about gophers. Little Joe didn’t think they could swim, and Lloyd was getting upset that he couldn’t convince him otherwise.

The next day during the nooning and after the meal at the cook car, Lloyd made a snare, placed it around a gopher hole, and caught himself a striper.

Everyone walked over to a stock pond and Lloyd threw the rodent into the water. It immediately began to swim to the opposite shore, much to the chagrin of Little Joe and the delight of Lloyd. That is until Lloyd felt himself being hoisted into the air by Stack and shaken like a rag doll.

Some of the men began pounding Stack’s arms and back, and finally he threw Lloyd down in the mud, then he lumbered to the far side of the pond where the exhausted gopher was trying desperately to climb up a steep muddy incline. Stack put down an old fence post and the animal clambered up and headed for the stubble field.

Another time Lloyd was driving a team pulling a wagonload of wheat from the field when they got stuck in a mud hole. Lloyd urged the horses on, but they couldn’t pull out of the mud. Lloyd got down and began whipping the matched pair as hard as he could. The horses were jerking and making noises which in a human would have been screams. Suddenly, Lloyd was in the air, the whip dropping to the ground. The other hired hands ran toward the wagon, but by the time they got there, Lloyd was on the ground, gasping for air, and Stack was shouldering the wagon out of the mud.

It took Lloyd quite awhile to recover because Stack had grabbed him by the throat and lifted him until he passed out. His voice took on a rasp which it never lost.

After that experience Lloyd refused to have Stack sleep in the barn, so Mr. Ansen gave Stack a rig and had him stay at the Oleson House in town. After all he was a good worker. The next year and from then on it became a tradition, with the Olesons giving Stack a reduced rate.

Richard Flowers ran the feed and seed store in Menninger. He lived on the south side of town with his little, soft-spoken mouse of a wife and two children, a block away from the new Carver Cut-off of the Great Northern Railway and a block away from the Northern Pacific branch line.

Frances, known as Frankie to her school friends, was six. She was small for her age, so she took after her mother. She was blonde with blue eyes and had very pale skin. Her friend Lige Cockburn thought of her as being a little pixie.

Richard Flowers, Jr., or Dickie, was Lige’s age and size. He had brown eyes that could bore right into a person when he was angry, but which really set off the white part when he was scared. He was a rough-and-tumble kid, always up for a game of tag or ball. He liked to climb trees and sometimes get into fights, so his friends weren’t surprised when he showed up in school with bruises on his arms or neck.

The Flowers lived six blocks from the Cockburn house, but back then it wasn’t considered dangerous or unusual for an eight-year old to walk to a friend’s house after school and then walk, all alone, six blocks home for supper.

When Lige was at Dickie and Frankie’s, they’d play outside in the stable or the backyard or down by the railroad, but inside, Lige was only allowed to go as far as the kitchen because Mr. Flowers didn’t want dirt tracked into his living room.

Mrs. Flowers seemed to like it when Lige came over. She smiled a lot, but didn’t say very much. Frankie was shy at school, so she probably got it from her mother.

Mr. Flowers was rarely at home when Lige was over there. The one time in his life that Lige saw him for an extended period was when he sneaked out of the house when he was six and watched an illegal boxing match in the ice house down by the river in which a man had been killed. When the two men were hitting each other and the blood was flying, Lige noticed from his secret perch that Mr. Flowers was very excited and agitated, much more so than any of the other men.

Lige didn’t know anything was wrong in the Flowers’ house until early one spring when he told Dickie that the ice was breaking up on the Jacques River, and if they were lucky, they might see some ice floes, so after school they grabbed Frankie and walked across Lamborn to Lige’s house.

Ma, can I go to the river to see if the ice has gone out?

Yes, Lige, but you and your friends be careful now.

Yes, Ma.

And don’t be late for supper or I’ll feed it to the pigs.

The Cockburns didn’t have any pigs, but it was a standing joke in the family that anyone late for supper would make for happy pigs.

The three walked down the Salem Street hill, turned west on Gregory, went north on Glen Haven, and ended up on the Steel Bridge, which a year before been a covered bridge, but the wood had gotten so rotten that it had been torn off, leaving only the steel ribs of the superstructure.

Sure enough, as they looked through the railings, the ice floes were rushing downstream like icy white whales bumping and grinding into each other. The noise scared Frankie and she covered her ears for a little while. Dickie put his arm around her, and soon Lige saw a timid smile appear, her hands came down, and she started to enjoy the rushing ice as much as her brother and Lige did.

Dickie and Lige began to make up stories about how they could jump onto a floe and head downstream until they hit the Gulf of Mexico. Then they decided it would get too warm as they headed south, and the ice floe would start to melt and get smaller and smaller until they would be forced to swim for it, but by then they’d be in the Missouri or maybe even the Mississippi and maybe a mile from shore, and they might not make it.

Lige heard a little crying noise and tears were coming down Frankie’s face.

Dickie noticed, too. What’s wrong, Frankie?

I don’t want you to drown, or Lige, either.

Nobody’s gonna drown. It was just a game. Dickie wiped her face with the sleeve of his jacket.

I don’t like that game.

Well, we can play something else. He looked at Lige, who felt he had to come up with a quick idea.

I guess we could go to the park and swing. Would you like that, Frankie?

Yes.

So the three friends held hands and walked the four blocks to the park where they had great fun on the swings, the slide, the teeter-totter, and especially going down to the river’s edge and watching some more ice.

Lige was trying to think of all the states the ice, and then the water it made, would pass by before reaching the Gulf and how someday he’d like to visit all those states: North Dakota, South Dakota, Nebraska, Iowa… He heard that little cry… Missouri, Kansas…

What’s wrong, Frankie?

It’s getting dark, Dickie.

So?

So father will be mad. The tears gushed just like tiny ice floes.

Dickie and Lige each took one of Frankie’s hands and they walked out of the park.

Frankie was sobbing most of the way to Lige’s house, and when he said goodbye to Dickie, his friend’s eyes were wide and white. The brother and sister held hands all the way to the corner, then Lige went in and had a wonderful pork chop and mashed potato supper with his mother’s home-made corn bread and fresh sweet butter melting into it.

Dickie wasn’t in school the next day or the next, and when he came back on Monday, he didn’t want to play baseball during recess. He said his back was too sore. Also Lige saw a couple of big black bruises on his arms, so he knew something was not right, but what?

In addition to his feed and seed business, Richard Flowers had a small farming operation. That fall Stack went to work for him, staying, once again, in the Oleson House. Flowers liked the idea that Stack was a strong worker who never complained. Also, in rainy weather he could heft the sacks of feed and grain in Flowers’ warehouse behind his store on St. Paul Street.

A week after Stack moved into the Oleson, there was a fire. Some people suspected it was caused by Doc Blanchard, who was a morphine addict and thus was an easy target, but no one ever discovered the real origin of the blaze which started in the laundry room.

When the fire department arrived, some of the guests had grabbed fire extinguishers and were keeping the flames at bay, but thick smoke was rapidly filling the second and third floors. When the firemen subdued the fire, the laundry room was pretty well ruined and would have to be rebuilt. Because of the smoke, the rest of the hotel would be uninhabitable for a couple weeks.

Richard Flowers seemed keenly interested in the fire. He stood as close as he could and stared as the flames leaped out of the broken windows of the laundry room. Lige didn’t see it, but his friend Eddie Barton said Flowers was actually drooling. Lige didn’t believe him.

After the flames were extinguished, Flowers saw Stack on the sidewalk with a couple duffle bags. His face was shiny with soot and tears. Flowers told him he could stay in his stable and they walked up Villard.

That arrangement worked out well for Stack. Now he didn’t have to walk from the Oleson in the morning to Flowers’ stable, hitch the big chestnut to the rig, and drive to his work. Also, he found friends: Dickie liked him immediately and, after some hesitation, so did Frankie. After a week they wanted Stack to be allowed to eat with them, but their father put his foot down on that idea.

When Mr. Flowers wasn’t around, the kids would read to Stack from their school books. He liked that and liked to touch the pages, especially if there were pictures. Sometimes all three of them would walk to the railroad and watch the trains. Stack used his pocket knife to cut off some willow branches and showed Dickie and Frankie how to make a whistle. If doing things together and liking the people you’re doing them with makes you friends, then Stack had two friends, the first he’d ever had.

On his tenth night in the stable, Stack went to sleep with Sally, a rag doll that Frankie had given to him. Frankie said, Take very good care of Sally. I’ll get her in the morning. All right?

Stack just looked at Sally and then at Frankie.

"Will you take care of her?’

Stack stared.

If you will, nod your head.

Stack nodded.

Frankie gave him a hug and ran out of the stable.

Stack covered Sally with hay until just her face showed, then lay down beside her and went to sleep.

Sometime during the night Stack woke up. He thought he had heard Dickie scream. He sat up, waiting. A freight rumbled by, filling the night. When it was gone, Stack listened, but there was nothing to hear. He felt for Sally. She was there and then he was asleep again.

The morning sun brought in Saturday, but it was still a working day for the harvesters. Stack hitched up the rig and waited. Mr. Flowers had told his wife it was all right to give Stack breakfast: he needed one for all the work he had to do. Stack waited, knowing that on Saturdays Dickie and Frankie would bring him his food. Neither one appeared. Mrs. Flowers came to the stable instead, but after handing Stack the tray, left without a word. She appeared to have been crying.

Frankie didn’t come for Sally, so Stack made a little nest for the doll and drove out of the yard.

The Sabbath was a day of rest. Stack saw Mr. Flowers, his wife, and Frankie leave for church. Mr. Flowers was a Church Elder and a well-respected Christian man, so the family rarely missed a service. Stack knew that after Frankie got home, she would come to the stable to check on Sally, but when the family came home, Frankie went into the house and didn’t come out all day. Stack felt lonely.

The next day, however, he felt better: Dickie and Frankie brought him his breakfast and even stayed awhile, watching him eat. Finally, Frankie said, Dickie, we’d better go.

Dickie’s eyes got big and white. Yes, he whispered.

Frankie turned to Stack. You did such a good job watching Sally that I’ll leave her here again tonight. Would you like that?

Stack nodded. Frankie hugged him and ran out. He watched Dickie limp out of the stable.

On Wednesday Stack had been in the stable two weeks. The next day the Oleson House would reopen and he’d go back there.

Although Dickie was no longer limping when he and Frankie came to the stable to say good night, Stack was sad, remembering that Mr. Flowers had told him that would be his last night.

Dickie said good night, Frankie hugged him, and then the stable was quiet except for the sounds made by the big chestnut. Stack tucked Sally in and went to sleep.

When Stack awoke that night, he knew it was Dickie’s scream he had heard in his sleep. He opened the stable door and listened. There it was again, and there was another voice, deep and angry, and then another scream.

Stack closed the stable door and tried to hide in the hay, but the angry voice forced its way in with words that Stack knew men used when they were mad at someone or something. When Dickie screamed again, Stack got up, scattering hay like autumn leaves from a giant tree. He opened the door and strode to the house. He slept in his work clothes and boots, so his feet didn’t feel the stones on the gravel path.

The moon had reached full two nights before, so Stack was pushing his big black shadow as he neared the house. The backdoor was locked, so he kicked it in, and just as he did, another cry came from upstairs, followed by the deep voice, cursing.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Stack stood listening. At first nothing, but then a voice—Dickie’s. No, Papa, no, please no!

Shut up! followed by a whacking sound. Stack tried the door. It was unlocked. He opened it and looked in. By the moonlight he could see Dickie on the bed and his father over him with a leather belt. Dickie didn’t have any clothes on. Neither did Mr. Flowers.

Stack didn’t know what was going on, but he knew it was wrong. He was going to pull Mr. Flowers off when the man reared up and whipped Dickie viciously across the back. Dickie cried out and Stack jumped on the bed, grabbing Mr. Flowers.

The bed collapsed and Dickie scooted out the door.

The two men grappled on the floor. Flowers freed himself and kicked Stack in the belly. Stack grabbed his foot and Flowers was down. As they rolled around, Flowers sank his teeth into Stack’s arm. Stack grunted and haymakered a right into Flowers’ nose. The naked man stood up, and Stack pulled back and launched a fist intended for Flowers’ jaw, but it went low, smashing into his throat. Flowers tried to scream, but blood confused the sound.

Now that Dickie was safe, Stack was ready to leave. He turned for the door. Flowers picked up a heavy water pitcher from the chest of drawers and broke it across the back of Stack’s skull.

Stack turned, grabbed Flowers around the waist, and propelled him backward into the wall. Flowers crumpled to the floor.

Just as Stack made it to the door a second time, Flowers was up and on him again, this time with the handle of the pitcher which he stabbed into the side of Stack’s neck.

Stack grunted, put his hand to his neck, and saw blood. He brushed aside Flowers’ attempted defense, picked him up, and hurled him out the window.

Instinctively, Stack knew he had done a bad thing to do a good thing, but the bad stuck out in his mind. He ran down the stairs and outside where he jumped over the body of Flowers and slammed the stable door behind him. He whimpered his way into a burrow, pulled the hay over him, and waited, clutching Sally. His head and neck hurt.

Flowers was groaning when his wife found him. A piece of the window glass was sticking through his calf, and blood was flowing black in the moonlight. She called Dr. Lee.

While she was phoning, Dickie and Frankie had gotten dressed. They barely looked at their father as they headed for the stable.

Stack? Stack? Dickie was whispering.

A whimper from the hay.

Stack, where are you? Frankie implored.

The hay moved and Stack’s head emerged.

When they saw the blood, Dickie ran to the house and grabbed a clean dishcloth and some tape. Frankie and he did what they could for Stack, taping the dishcloth over the wound which had already begun to clot.

They heard a noise in the yard and when they looked outside, they saw that Doc Lee had arrived. He kneeled beside Flowers, said something, and Mrs. Flowers scurried into the house. Soon other men appeared, including Officer Chester Hagen. Carefully they picked Flowers up, placed him in Doc’s buggy, and Doc headed for the hospital on Tilden.

Officer Hagen was talking to Mrs. Flowers, who finally realized she didn’t know where her children were. She began calling them.

Dickie and Frankie knew Stack was in a lot of trouble.

Come with us. Dickie’s voice shook. They each took one of his hands. You have to leave. The police will be after you. They put his belongings into the duffle bags and went to the rear of the stable. Dickie looked out. The coast is clear. Stack stood in the doorway and the brother and sister each hugged a leg. Try to catch a train.

Frankie started to cry. I’ll never forget you, Stack. I’ll always love you.

Me, too.

Stack put a hand on each child’s head, then picked up his bags, and headed for the Northern Pacific tracks.

A minute later Officer Hagen appeared. Where’d he go?

We don’t know. Dickie kept his eyes level. Frankie was crying.

Did he hurt you, little girl?

No.

Well, we’ll find him and he’ll never hurt anyone again.

Frankie cried even louder.

Stack crossed the ditch, went up the NP right-of-way, and down the other side. He crossed the road and hid in some willows north of the rails of the new Carver Cut-off, waiting for a train.

Officer Hagen contacted the sheriff and the chief of police and they organized a posse, but decided to wait until daylight. The night had clouded up, darkening the landscape, and they knew Stack couldn’t get very far.

At dawn a train came down the Carver Cut-off, but it was a fast freight and barely slowed down. Stack left the willows and got on the right-of-way, where he moved with the train, looking for an open boxcar. Even if he had found one, he couldn’t have jumped on board: he was too slow.

A farmer came into the Tick-Tock Café, where the posse had gathered for breakfast, and told the men while he was driving in on the south road, he saw a big man standing on the tracks holding two bags and crying.

The posse dropped