The Odyssey of Danny Helm: Volume One

By Hill DeMent

Danny Helm was thirteen in the eighteen fifties. His mother died. His brother John mistreated him which was overlooked and called him Miss Puss. Danny did the house work. John took the balloon payment for the hillside farm in the Ozark Mountains and went to California and bought a goldmine. After a few years his father headed for California. The neighbor lady who had home schooled Danny and whose husband had died accompanied them. Danny was abandoned on a ranch in New Mexico where the owners had been murdered. Some wounded troopers took refuge in the barn. Danny removed bullets from them. The Commanding officer of Fort Summer asked Danny to field test a repeating rifle. Danny operated on some Tesuque Indians and was made a Tesuque. He met Becky Summer. She fell in love with him. He went back east to buy a donkey to start raising mules. He was wounded by Abolitionist and treated in Fort Larned. Becky went to bring him home and he confessed he loved her. She planned their wedding. John said that their father had been killed in a mine cave in. Danny and Becky went to California on their honeymoon, to give his father a proper burial. They found his paralyzed father tended to by a Russian. They hit the mother lode and became rich. They returned to the ranch. Danny was conscripted by the Pike Peakers as a surgeon. He was captured by the Southern Army at the battle of Glorieta Pass. He was left to die. When he was found he had lost his memory. He was summoned to Washington by President Lincoln to receive the Medal of Honor and the Presidential Medal. Becky took him to his old house and he recovered his memory. They went back home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Feb 19, 2007
• ISBN: 9781425195182

Hill DeMent

Hill DeMent is a retired teacher. He grew up in a small town in the middle of Missouri. He graduated from high school in nineteen forty six. He went to live with his aunt and uncle and worked in a hardware store in Red Fork, Okalahoma. He wanted to work his way through college but he soon found that he had to be a veteran to get a job near a college campus. He learned the government was still paying for the GI Bill so he joined the Army Air Force. He was in the Air Force in Alaska when the Korean War started as a heavy equipment mechanic. While he was in Alaska he took a course in mineralogy from the University of Alaska and became a member of The Alaskan Prospectors Society. After two years in Alaska he was rotated back to the lower forty eight. He was stationed at San Bernardino. He trained with a material recovery unit. Since he hadn’t had leave for over two years he was sent home for thirty days. On his return to San Bernardino he found his outfit had shipped out. It was suppose to go to France and was sent to the Gulf and boarded a ship. It took them through the Panama Canal and on to Korea. He was sent to another Air Base and put in charge of an upholstery shop. He received a letter from his material recovery outfit; they had sixty percent casualties in their field operations crew. That was the crew that he would have been put in charge of. He applied for early separation and it was granted. He was five days late enrolling in the Chanute, Kansas Junior college. From there he entered Pittsburg State University and earned a BS degree in Industrial Arts with a minor in science. Sputnik went up and no school wanted an Industrial Arts teacher, they wanted Science teachers. He started teaching Science and Arithmetic in a junior high. The National Science Foundation offered him stipends to go to summer school. He earned enough credits to receive an MS degree in Natural Science. It included courses in Chemistry, Physics, Biology, Geology, Astronomy and Meteorology. He didn’t want to give up on Industrial Arts so he earned an Education Specialist degree in Industrial Education. He taught Chemistry, Physics and Biology at the high school level and Biology at night at the junior college level. He has one patent. He retired from teaching in nineteen eighty eight He has written five novels. He liked the novels so well he decided to self-publish. His first novel was like a Tom Sawyer book: Fishing in the Good Old Days. Number two: The second novel is titled The Mysteries of Pyramids and Crystals Revealed. It could be classified as science fiction. Number three is science fiction, The Ice Age is Coming self published. Number four and five are historical novels: The Odyssey of Danny Helm and its sequel, The Epic of Danny Helm. He is working on an arithmetic text book. The main idea is to know when and why to multiply, divide, add or subtract from what to what.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

"Mike, don’t you dare die yet. Like the good friend you have become you’ve got to listen to the story of my life, like I listened to yours, okay? I heard you grunt again, so you must still be alive, and that grunt means yes. They think they left us here to die, but I know you are as stubborn as I am so we won’t do it. What did you say, Mike? Did you say ‘closer?’ No, I can’t move any closer to you right now. Besides, I want to save my strength so I can give that devil just one good kick. He’s worse than my brother. Man, oh man, I’d give anything for a cup of coffee and a piece of Rosa’s dried peach pie! I wonder what my beautiful Becky is doing. I never thought I would love anybody more than I did my mother, but I do. If you get out of this mess before I do, I want you to find my family like I told you I would find yours. Don’t tell Becky what happened to me. I want you to tell Wayne. If you tell Becky, she’ll get all upset and cry. If you tell Wayne, he’ll come after me. What did you say, Mike? Did you say ‘tell me?’ Okay, I’ll tell you about me, but first, I’ll have to rest. It’s hard for me to talk with my mouth so dry. Damn the flies. Damn the cockroaches and damn the rats. I can’t keep them off of me because of that bloody bandage pile. I’ve been thinking that if I weren’t so weak, I’d kill one of those rats and eat it. Of course, I’d share it with you! I tried the cockroaches, but I started puking and got the dry heaves. That made me weaker, so I gave up. It’s hard for me to believe these Texas Rebels can just throw a man away like he was a used bandage.

Can you believe this, Mike? It’s starting to rain a little. Open your mouth, Mike, and let in some of that precious water. Hey, I got a few drops, but damn it, it quit. Did you get any, Mike? I guess you did. I can still hear you grunt. Mike, I’m going to tell you about myself now. Mike! Mike! It’s all right, Mike. You don’t have to answer me. You’ve been a good friend and helper since we were captured by those rebels.

So let’s see … I have some good friends. My best one is Wayne. We got married on the same day. And then there was Colonel Summer. He introduced me to Henry. But Henry wasn’t a person, and I really didn’t like him very much. I don’t want to leave Mrs. Moore out, she tutored me, but then she turned against me. Did you hear that, Mike? I hear my mother calling me. It’s getting dark. She always does that when it starts getting dark. I took care of my mother when she was sick. She told me to always act like a good Christian. She told me to not blame my father for the way he acted. He feels betrayed by his churchgoing Christian kinfolk. I think they didn’t act like Christians, but I forgave them anyway. It’s always better to forgive and make friends than it is to hate. I hope you will always be my friend, Mike.

Everyone calls me Dr. Helm, but I’m really not a doctor, even though they made me be one. My name is Danny Helm. I have an Indian name too, but I can’t remember what it is. I have an Indian brother. His name is Six Feathers.

My real brother’s name is John. He hates me. Are you listening, Mike? We have to keep talking so we’ll know that we’re both still alive. Since it’s my turn, I’m going to finish telling you about myself. Here goes, Mike! My best recollections started when I was about ten or twelve years old. Before that, it’s kind of bleary.

I remember sitting in the hayloft of the old weather-beaten barn. Dad would say that it had holes in the roof and cracks in the walls big enough to throw a cat through. I lived on a hilly, rocky pig farm with my father and mean-spirited older brother. The farm was located in the Ozark Mountains in Missouri. It was just small patches of tillable land on hillsides and large groves of scrub oak. There wasn’t a straight row of corn on the place. We had to plow around the hills and have the rows to follow what the government man called the ‘contour’ of the hillsides. During a hard rain, sometimes the runoff would go straight down the hill and form a gulley. More land had to be cleared to keep up with the lost cropland. The soil wasn’t very rich, and the corn sapped it quickly. We had to leave a third of the land fallow in order to have a fair crop every year.

I could look out through a large crack and see the pig sties made of wired-together oak limbs. The farrowing sheds were made of small logs, with hay for a roof and hay for the beds, plus the sticks the sows would carry in when it was near their time. As I looked from crack to crack, I could see the old house where I had spent my boyhood every day and every night. I only went outside to the outhouse or to do the chores. It may have been a weather-beaten old shack by most standards, but it served our purpose. It was the only home I had ever known. I looked back on this simple way of life and wondered if how I was living was all there was to it. I sure hoped not!

My older brother, John, made my life miserable. That was why I exiled myself to the old barn. Our mother had died, and Dad retreated into some kind of shell. Her death didn’t make any sense. I thought that maybe she just went away for a while. Dad functioned without spirit or ambition, ignoring John’s treatment of me after Mom had left us. I am Daniel Junior, but they called me Danny. I tried to fight back when John was walloping me, but it usually made the situation worse. This last time was the worst of anything that he had ever done before.

It was a Saturday evening when I caught John robbing my chicken pen. He was putting some of my laying hens into a sack to take into town for beer money. I had regular egg customers. You see, I didn’t have any roosters around to take care of the hens. My customers, especially the women, liked the unfertilized eggs.

This was the first time that I really mounted an all-out attack on John. I was madder than heck to think that my laying hens would be traded for beer so he could get drunk, come home, and wool me around some more. You have to understand … that egg money was the lifeblood of my little world! It paid for flour, dried beans, sugar, and other staples that were a necessity to the operation of the household. My attack was foolish. It was like a mosquito attacking a hound dog. I smacked old John squarely in the mouth, splitting his lip. John had a very high threshold of pain. He looked surprised and then smiled as he put down the sack of pilfered hens. When I saw that twisted, blood-covered smirk on John’s face, I tried to mount a hasty retreat. I was confident that I could outrun my big brother.

We were as different as a greyhound and a bulldog. John was broad of shoulders and thick-chested. His legs were like tree stumps and just as sturdy. I, on the other hand, was, to be as kind as possible, gangly. My arms and legs were too long for my body. I had broad shoulders and narrow hips. With my unruly brown hair and big, bright, hazel, wide-set eyes, people said that I looked surprised by whatever I was looking at.

Luck had turned against me and in favor of John. I tripped over a rake that I had been using to clean out the henhouse. I no more than hit the ground when I felt like the roof had caved in on me. John had jumped on me like a toad on a June bug!

John started his torture a little differently this time. After he got me flat on my back, he sat astraddle of me, like he usually did, but then he did something new. He held my arms firmly at my sides with his knees and began slapping me on the side of my face. He alternated his slaps, first with one hand and then the other. My arms hadn’t recovered from his last roughing up, so I couldn’t fight back with much effort. I just closed my eyes and gritted my teeth. He then started his usual routine of tormenting me. He stretched my arms out, spread-eagled, and put his shinbones on my biceps. Using his full weight, he moved back and forth, rolling my biceps past their limit. I already had sore arms, and they screamed with pain, and so did I.

I squirmed with all my might and rolled my head from side to side, looking for help and trying my best to escape. My hope rose when I saw our father through the window in the living room. He lowered his newspaper and glanced our way when I screamed. Then he went back to reading his week-old paper, while John continued the gleeful torture of his little brother, me.

The next phase was not painful, but it was the most humiliating part of the torture. John put my aching, limp arms back next to my body, pinning them there with ease. He then held my head firmly between his hands, so I couldn’t escape the next aspect of John’s delight. He worked up a ball of spit with little difficulty. He then began gloating over his mother’s pet. He slowly let the spitball dangle on a thin thread of spit as it made its way toward a spot directly between my eyes. Then, at the moment my eyes crossed, John sucked the ball back up. Depending on the condition of his spit, John sometimes repeated the procedure several times until the thread of spit would break. Finally giving up, I just lay there, helpless, with my eyes closed tightly, guarding against the spit I knew would sooner or later land on my brow. When it happened, John would kiss me on the mouth with a slobbery kiss and then talk as if he were apologizing.

‘I’m sorry about that! I love you, Miss Puss!’ I lay there exhausted and helpless while John picked up the sack of my best hens and went on his way, whistling. All I could do was lie there with hen manure ground into my back and whimper a little bit.

My troubles really began when my mother left us a little over three years ago. My father and John worked hard and barely scratched out a living on the rocky hillside farm. They spent most of their time picking up rocks and digging out stumps, continually trying to clear enough land to grow corn for the hogs. Trying to keep ahead of the washing away of the topsoil was a full-time job. As it was, they barely raised enough corn to fatten our hogs for market. Along with the corn, the hog’s diet was supplemented with the abundant supply of acorns from the several oak groves.

After mother left us, Dad let me visit the country school for one day. While she was still with us, I had to stay home to help her around the house. She got real sick after I was born. Even though I took care of her as far back as I can remember, I think that Dad blames me for her sickness. The last three years that she was with us, I did all of the housework. Anyway, I came home excited about my visit to the school. I was proud to tell my father, John, and Mrs. Moore that the boys at school were going to teach me how to fatten the hogs real fast. They were going to show me how to pole hogs that Saturday evening. John was really he-hawing as he lost no time in putting me down.

‘You idiot, when you pole hogs, you stick a pole up their hind end and hold them up in the air so they can eat the acorns out of the trees.’ He laughed so hard that he held his sides and had a hard time getting his breath.

Mrs. Moore smiled as she said, ‘Good-bye,’ and headed for home.

Dad grinned bigger than I could ever remember.

My father was a fairly tall man. He was gaunt and cared little for his appearance—or other people, for that matter, except for his firstborn. His beard and hair were both streaked with gray, and he let them grow. And he avoided contact with other people. I overheard Mrs. Moore talking to herself one day. ‘Dan Helm is as sober as a judge,’ she said.

The three people that I knew best, two of whom I loved, were making fun of my ignorance. From that day on, I swore that I would never go to school again.

At that time, I felt embarrassed about my ignorance, but later on, I had a sense of pride in my duties and education. I had been responsible for running the house, along with other chores. That included cooking, housecleaning and laundry, plus taking care of the garden, tending to the chickens, and milking the cows. I got my education from our neighbor, Laura Moore.

Laura Moore was a distant cousin and lived just across the hollow. She was an attractive, well-groomed woman with long light brown hair and brown eyes. She was educated and in her early thirties. She delighted in teaching me. She didn’t have children of her own, so my education became very important to her. She spent many long evenings with me, teaching me reading, writing, and arithmetic, and gave me other information about the world.

She was amused and amazed at my intense attention during hog-butchering time. I was repeatedly scolded by my father, because I dawdled over the hogs when they were opened up and before the entrails were removed. I would study their position, size, and connections. My intense interest caused Mrs. Moore to send off for medical books for me to study. She had added medicine, exclusively for me, for the last six months that we lived on the farm.

Mrs. Moore had once been a schoolteacher. Then she married Mr. Moore, who was a well-to-do, elderly, retired, bottomland farmer. After her marriage, she devoted much of her time to helping her neighbors learn the techniques of living independently on an Ozark farm. She was happy to pass on these techniques to me. Cooking, canning, smoking bacon and hams, caring for chickens, churning butter, and many other ins and outs of rural living were on her list.

I was an eager student and accepted Mrs. Moore as a surrogate mother. I became particularly interested in information on food growing, preserving, and cooking. But when medicine was introduced to me, I lost interest in the other studies.

I was on the outs with Mrs. Moore for a while. At the beginning of our relationship, she was like an old mother hen. She always praised me and gave me little hugs. As time passed, I reached my growth spurt. She said that if I would try, I could be a handsome, intelligent young man in the near future. Mrs. Moore’s attitude toward me gradually changed, and when I got as nearly tall as her, she added kissing me on the cheek to her repertoire, which I accepted. The day she bear-hugged me and then kissed me firmly on the mouth caused me to rebel. I felt betrayed. A mother doesn’t do what she did to her son. I let her know in no uncertain terms that I didn’t like what she did and asked her not to come back. Besides, she had terrible bad breath!

Since it was getting dark, I decided that I had sulked enough. I climbed down from the hayloft, finished my chores, and said good night to Dad. I lay in bed wishing for a better life, and my wishes soon merged with my dreams. One dream was rooted in the stories that Mrs. Moore had told me about my parents.

My mother and father had come from good, well-to-do families that owned large, productive farms in Ohio. They were both raised in strict religious communities. They met at a church gathering and fell in love. When their secret rendezvous was discovered, she was confined to her home, and he was sent to live with a uncle miles away. As time passed, the truth of their trysts became evident when the signs of pregnancy became apparent.

Molly, my mother, was shipped off to live with some poor relatives in the hill country of Missouri. His family and the community shunned Dad for his sin. When his best friend told him about Molly’s plight, he ran away from his uncle’s house. He worked his way to Missouri as a farmhand. After a fruitless search, his luck changed when by habit and upbringing he attended a small country church. Much to his surprise, Molly sat down beside him. Much to her surprise, he put his arm across her shoulders! She turned to see who was beside her. When she saw that it was her beloved Danny, my dad, she gave out a head-turning squeal!

‘Hi, sweetheart,’ he whispered. She buried her head under his chin and started to sob. Her aunt and uncle were quick to look down their noses at them and just as quick to hustle the couple out of the church. They left behind a buzz that would make a beehive envious! Molly’s Aunt Maud was a large-boned, lanky woman, a little above average height. She had a firm grip on Molly’s arm and a determined look on her face. Uncle Mike was tall and gaunt. His large pointed nose caused him to look like he was cross-eyed. He had Dad by the arm with one hand and by the scruff of his neck with the other.

When they got a little way from the front door of the church, Dad stiffened. Uncle Mike felt the firmness of Dad’s muscles and released his grip. Molly wrenched her arm out of Aunt Maud’s grip and flung herself into Dad’s waiting arms. Aunt Maud stepped forward as if to renew her grip, but Uncle Mike stepped in between them. In my dream, I had put myself in Dad’s place. I woke up tangled up in the bedclothes and wet with sweat. As I lay there thinking about my dream, I was sure now that I would not follow in my dad’s footsteps. First, I didn’t know any girls, and second, I would never get married, because I might have a son like John.

I was startled for a second or two. I had heard John coming in the house and stumbling around. Sometimes, when he came home drunk, he would pull me out of bed and harass me for a while. This time, John staggered on by my room and flopped down on his own bed. I went back to an uneasy sleep and was awakened again by loud talk between John and Dad. I got dressed quickly and went into the kitchen just in time to see John going out of the door, carrying Dad’s old cardboard suitcase.

‘Where’s John going, Dad?’ I asked. My bruised arms still ached from the last so-called treatment from John. I couldn’t hide the relief in my voice as I watched my brother vanish down the road toward town. I turned to face Dad, waiting for an answer. He was holding a coffee cup up in front of his face with both hands and staring off into space. I repeated my question. ‘Dad, where’s John going?’ He set the coffee cup down and got up slowly and moved toward the door. He turned to me with tears in his eyes.

‘He said he was going to California with a friend.’ As Dad walked on out into the backyard, I just stood looking after him. I was stunned by what he had said. My thoughts were mixed, and at the moment, jumbled. I was frowning and trying to grin at the same time. I was happy that I would no longer have to endure the torture from my older brother. On the other hand, I felt sorry for Dad. John was the spark that kept my father going. The big question was: how were we going to survive now?

My life went from bad to worse. I was glad that I didn’t have to put up with any more treatments from John. I never dreamed that I would become a non person, one step lower than a slave. I worked from can to can’t seven days a week, rain or shine, heat or cold. Besides my usual chores, I had to do as much of John’s work in the fields as I could manage. Digging out stumps and picking up rocks was backbreaking work. The added work in the fields meant I had to gather the eggs and do the milking by lantern light.

Mrs. Moore mentioned to Dad that I was being worked into the ground. I had been able to keep up the pace for about a year. But even as I was losing my mental alertness and thirst for knowledge, my physical development was advancing rapidly. She had her husband ask his sharecroppers to help me and Dad with the harvest and the castration of the pigs. I did the cooking for the crew. I gave first aid when there was a slip of a knife or other accident. I paid no attention to the rest of the work going on. I was doing my things, being a cook and playing doctor.

Mrs. Moore was spending more and more time at our house. When her husband had a heart attack and died suddenly, she practically moved in with me and Dad. Dad ignored her obvious advancements, and I stayed away from her as much as I could. I was thankful for her help around the house, but I couldn’t stand her attitude toward me or Dad.

When a letter finally came from John, Dad perked up. He read the letter over and over. After staring off into space for a while, he finally put the letter down on the kitchen table, got up slowly, and walked out the door. I watched him for a few minutes. When it became obvious that he wasn’t coming back into the house for a while, I decided to read the letter.

The date was August 18, 1857. It said, ‘Dear Dad, I take pen in hand to let you know that I am all right.’ He spelled all right funny. It was a-l-r-i-t-e. He went to school, but he could never spell worth sour apples. Then he wrote, ‘My buddy and I went together and bought’ (spelled b-o-t-t) ‘a gold mine’ (spelled m-i-n-d). ‘When we struck gold, some men tried to run us off. My buddy was killed in the gunfight’ (spelled f-i-t-e). ‘Now I need someone to mind the mine. Tell Miss Puss I love her. Sincerely, your son, John.’ He still was calling me Miss Puss.

I had a pretty good idea what Dad was thinking. I knew there was a bond between Dad and John that I would never have. I wasn’t jealous. I could only feel sorry for Dad. I always thought that to have someone like John to love was like having a porcupine for a pet.

I had just finished washing the dishes when Dad came back into the house.

I’ve been thinking, sweet boy he said. Right away I knew what was coming. When Dad called me ‘sweet boy,’ there had to be something that I wouldn’t like. You know we’ve been working hard, and I think we need a vacation. Have you got any money?

No, I don’t. John took the thirty-eight dollars that I had. He sold off several of my hens, and I haven’t been able to sell enough eggs to set any money aside. How about you? You told me once you had 168 dollars saved up to buy a new wagon and a team of mules.

Well, John borrowed it. He said he would pay me back as soon as he could. I knew he was lying. John stole from Dad just like he stole from me. The conversation came to a close, and we were silent for a while.

I wasn’t surprised when Mrs. Moore knocked on the front door. I let her in. As she came through the door, she glanced at me and went on into the kitchen without saying a word. When she saw Dad, she spoke to him sternly. Dan!

Dad sat blurry-eyed. It was evident that he had been sipping out of his jug. Dan! she said again. He rolled his head and eyes, trying to focus in on the demanding voice. I heard you got a letter from your son John, all the way from California!

While Dad was trying to collect his discombobulated wits about himself, she saw the letter lying on the kitchen table and picked it up and started reading it. Dad managed to stand up, swaying a few times, and lunged forward. He snatched the letter from Mrs. Moore’s hands and almost shouted at her.

That’s none of your business, Laura! He was slurring his words a bit. Startled by his attitude and aggressive movement, she nearly fell over a chair backward. Getting himself under control and realizing he had acted unkindly, he steadied himself with one hand on the table. In a subdued tone, he said, I’m sorry, Laura. I don’t know what’s got into me.

I know one thing that’s got into you, Dan. It’s alcohol. And another thing that’s in you is self-pity. You treated John like he was a slave, and he got fed up and left you. Now you’re treating Danny worse than a slave. I’m surprised he hasn’t left you, too. Now sit down and listen to what I’ve got to say. I slipped into the kitchen and sat on the washtub stand so I could better hear what was going on.

You know that my husband died. Now I’m all alone. He left me with five sharecropper farms. His brother is giving me a hard time and wants me to deed the farms over to him. He’s never liked me, because he thought I married Charles for his money. That’s not true. I really loved Charles when we first got married. The thing that came between us was money. Money was all Charles ever talked about after he had his first heart attack. Dad looked like he was nodding off. He nearly fell out of his chair when Mrs. Moore slammed her hands down on the table and shouted, Dan, listen to me!

‘What do you want me to do? Feel sorry for you?" Dad sat up a little straighter in his chair and glanced over at me and winked.

No, I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. What I want is for you to listen to me. You and I were brought up in good families. We were educated and had good manners. Now the people I have to deal with are uneducated and believe a woman should stay at home, cook, do the washing, and have babies. I don’t want to be stuck around here anymore. While I was teaching and while Charles was alive, everyone treated me differently. Now, I’ve been proposed to several times, and the ladies are always trying to fix me up with a date. I want to get out of here and go with you to California.

Dad almost sobered up with that statement. And what makes you think that I’m going to California?

I know you, Laura answered matter-of-factly. I knew that as soon as you heard from John, you’d be on your way to where he’s at. Dad looked at me with pleading eyes as he spoke, Danny, I know I worked you hard, but I wanted to make enough money so we could go somewhere where you could have some friends your own age. You could go to Ohio and live with your grandparents. They have a nice farm and live close to a real nice little town. Or you could go with me to California.

Tears filled my eyes and spilled out, running down my cheeks. I was so perplexed I couldn’t speak. I never met my grandparents. Dad and John would go visit them after harvest and butchering while I stayed home and took care of things. Sometimes they would be gone up to three weeks. The only people I knew anymore were Dad and Mrs. Moore. I wouldn’t know how to act around anyone else. I knew John, of course, but I needed him back in my life like I needed a toothache.

Mrs. Moore butted in to the one-sided conversation. Dan, you never let me finish what I wanted to say. What I wanted to say was I’ve talked to lawyer Dickburr. He’s doing the paperwork for me now. I’m selling the home-place and all of the sharecropper farms. When we get to California, lawyer Dickburr will send the money to me there. I’ve always wanted to have a store, and now is my chance. Danny, if you want to help me open a store, I’ll treat you right. That way you won’t have to put up with John.

I wiped my eyes first with one sleeve and then the other and wound up wiping my nose on my forearms. I took a deep breath and shuddered slightly as I answered, I’ll go, but how are we going to get there? Our old wagon wouldn’t make it out of the county.

Mrs. Moore and I looked at Dad, who sat slack-jawed, staring at the table. When he realized that he was expected to answer, he blinked his eyes a couple of times and picked up the jug as if to take a drink. As he held the jug in front of his face, he looked toward a frowning Mrs. Moore. He changed his mind and set the jug back down on the floor. Then he put the corncob stopper in it and slid it back against the wall. Dad cleared his throat and answered. We’ll sell everything and buy us a wagon.

When he looked at me, I was shaking my head. Dad, old Buck has about had it. Jenny has been pulling most of the load. I don’t think he’ll last much longer. Jenny won’t, either, if we keep working her so hard.

This may sound pushy, Mrs. Moore said. But I’ve already got things planned out.

What do you mean? Dad asked.

I knew you would think it was pushy. But I knew you were going to California a long time before you did. I’ve already bought three wagons, five teams of mules, and I have three saddle horses with all the trappings. I’ve spent a lot of money, but I don’t care. I’ll have plenty when I get the money from the farms. I just want to leave this place. Don’t you think that’s presumptuous on your part, Dad said.

What does presumptuous mean, Dad?

It means that she thought that we were going to do something and done something about it before we had a chance to. Isn’t that right, Miss Schoolteacher?

Before Mrs. Moore could answer, I interjected. Dad, there’s a storm moving in; it looks bad out there.

Mrs. Moore went to the back door and looked out. It’s starting to rain,’ she said. Over across the hollow, it’s raining so hard you can’t see the trees." Dad went over and stood beside her. They stood close to each other as they watched the storm out through the door.

Don’t worry, Mrs. Moore, I put your horse and buggy in the shed.

Mrs. Moore turned and looked at me with a smile. She said, Thanks, turned back, and stood a little closer to Dad. They just stood there, looking out the door, not saying a word. I just sat still and watched them.

In a little while, over the sound of thunder and rain beating on the roof, I heard Dad speak to her. I guess you had better stay the night.

I wasn’t a bit surprised. I wasn’t even surprised at all when, late that night, I saw by the flashes of lightning, Mrs. Moore going down the hall from John’s old bedroom toward Dad’s. I knew then that we were going to California.

The past night’s rain and an early light frost helped to enhance the beauty of the Ozark Mountains. Due to a long dry spell, the trees were already showing a hint of their fall colors. The mules were a little frisky in the pasture. The chickens were walking slowly around on the north side of the chicken house. They were cocking their heads so as to see the new white stuff unfamiliar to them. I shivered a little as I tried to get the fire started in the pride of Mother’s cast-iron, oak-cook stove. When at last I started feeling the heat, I shivered a little more and felt gratified.

It was hard for me to believe that I would soon be parted from the only place that I had ever known. As I put the big, heavy skillet on the stove and lay in the slices of bacon, I speculated on my future.

When I thought of seeing John again, I shivered, but not from the cold. I was both excited and pensive about the trip to California. I knew it was west of us, but I didn’t know anything about what was in between. All I knew was that people could dig gold out of the ground. Comparing their ground with the ground around here, I couldn’t figure how they did it.

Dad came into the kitchen with a big smile on his face. Danny boy, is breakfast ready? I feel like I could eat the north end of a southbound skunk.

Where’s Mrs. Moore I asked.

Why are you asking me? I suppose she’s still in John’s bedroom.

I wonder if she’ll want some breakfast, too, I said. I thought, I guess I should keep their secret. Besides, I don’t know for sure what took place. I’ll let them think I’m dumb. They already think that anyway.

Mrs. Moore came into the kitchen. She, too, had a big smile on her face. Good morning everyone! I see the storm is over. I think I should be going home.

Don’t you want some breakfast first? I’ve got bacon and eggs and biscuits almost ready, and coffee is on the stove. Dad, will you get Mrs. Moore a cup of coffee? Dad almost jumped up and stumbled on his way to the cabinet and then fumbled around getting a cup. I had to smile to myself as I thought, I guess that proves my point"

I’m sorry Dad said. I guess I’ve forgotten how to treat company. Here, Laura, sit here at the table, and we’ll talk a while.

She sat down. Okay then it’s settled. We’re going to California together, right?

Dad looked at me. I was busy at the stove. He cleared his throat, and when that didn’t get my attention, he called to me. Danny boy, what do you think? Should we go to California or not?

I went about my tasks as if I hadn’t heard Dad speak to me. I dished up three plates of bacon and fried eggs and biscuits and set them on the table without meeting Dad’s eyes or Mrs. Moore’s. They both were watching me closely, waiting for my response. When I set the butter and molasses on the table, I sat down and looked at both of them, one at a time, slowly. They sat motionless, still waiting for me to speak. When I did, they were not prepared for my answer.

First, I know you two slept together last night. That’s all right with me, because Dad hasn’t been with a woman for a long time, and I know firsthand that Mrs. Moore needs a man. So, if we’re going to California together, there will be no more sneaking around.

Dad and Laura sat with their mouths open. I broke open a biscuit and put some butter on it and then smeared some molasses on top of that. Dad and Laura hadn’t noticed before that my voice had changed. I now sounded more like a man than a boy. And another thing, I will not be treated like I’m a kid anymore I started eating and then said between bites, Eat your breakfast before it gets cold.

Dad and Laura seemed shocked at this turn of events. They began mechanically eating the lukewarm eggs and bacon and glancing at me, waiting to see whatever I would do or say next.

Not another word was spoken until I got up from the table. And then it was me who spoke. Excuse me, please. I must start packing my things. Put your dishes in the dishpan there on the stove, and I’ll wash them later. I could overhear Dad and Laura talking to each other in hushed voices as they finished their breakfast.

Dan, what have you been doing with that boy?

I haven’t been doing anything but working him every day. Besides, you’re the one who has been educating him. It makes me wonder now just what kind of ideas you’ve put in his head.

Well, I can’t think of anything that I taught him that would make him act like he just did. But I can say one thing: he has something that you either don’t have or had it and lost it, and that’s fire. That boy has decided that he’s going to be a man, and I, for one, am not going to get in his way. He can pick up on something faster than anybody that I ever knew. I’m going home to pack. When you get ready, come on over to my house and get your team and wagon. The wagons and teams are ready to go as soon as you can hitch them up. I’ll see you when you get there. Good-bye, Dan!

Dad sat at the table staring out the door. He glanced over at his jug and started to get up in that direction. He changed his mind and said to his self, I guess I’d better get packed. You two might just go off to California without me! Heck fire, I can’t go yet. I’ve got to sell all of the hogs and the corn and let the bank know that they can buy the farm back.

Dad went into town to make the arrangements to carry out his plan. He left word at the bank for banker Puckett that he would come back to the bank in the afternoon. Mr. Puckett was off somewhere foreclosing on another farm. Dad made arrangements to sell the sows and pigs and this year’s corn crop. He also sold my hens to one of the sharecroppers. Dad told me later what happened.

Later that day, Dad got a bad taste in his mouth when the banker Puckett showed up around noon. He knew something was wrong.

Mr. Puckett never went to a farmer’s house except for one thing. Mr. Puckett was known for kicking people off their farms. Dad couldn’t think of any reason why he was coming to see him. He had sent last year’s crop-seed loan money and the six- month balloon payment on the farm to the bank with John. This year, he bought all of his seed with the crop loan so he didn’t owe anyone else.

Mr. Pickett got out of his buggy and walked stiff-legged up to Dan with his usual grim look. He stood close, face-to-face. He explained that the loans had not been paid. They were way past due. Dad said nothing, shrugged his shoulders, and with a ringing in his ears, limply sat down on the front porch step. He guessed at what had happened. John had not delivered the payment money. He understood now how John could buy a gold mine. He felt saddened at his conclusions.

Clearing his throat, Mr. Puckett said with a stern, forceful voice, Mr. Daniel Helm, I’m officially serving you with this notice that the note on your crop was due last Monday and the balloon payment on the farm is three months past due. This is an eviction notice. You’re not to sell anything, your hogs or your corn or anything that is not personal property. They will be sold to satisfy the crop loan and to pay on the farm loan. I will give you until Monday to get your belongings and to vacate the premises. The sheriff will be here Monday to see that you have vacated the farm. Do you understand?

Dad hung his head and replied with a dry mouth and teary eyes, I understand.

Mr. Puckett stood up straight, rolled his shoulders back, handed Dad the piece of paper, and spoke in his usual stern way, Very well! Then he turned and walked stiffly to his buggy, climbed in, and drove away at a trot without a backward glance.

Dad mulled over what he should do now. He was bewildered. For the first time, he was really glad to see Laura when she drove up in a new, large, Studebaker wagon pulled by two teams of big red Missouri mules with a saddle horse in tow. She climbed down, and with quick light steps, she was at Dan’s side before he stopped gawking at the beautiful four-up and wagon. She sat down at his side with a big grin. Well, what will you give me for my new rig? He turned his head toward her and felt peace. She was sitting so close that they were touching.

He looked back at the wagon and the perfectly matched mule teams. Right now I would give all I own, which is nothing.

What do you mean by that? she asked with a puzzled look. You have some equity in your farm and a pretty good corn crop and all of your hogs.

Banker Puckett just informed me that John didn’t take the payments to the bank, and the bank is foreclosing next Monday.

We’re in a mess then, Laura said with a frown. I spent all my cash buying the wagons and mules. I was counting on you to have enough cash to get us to California.

They sat there staring at the ground. I went out and made an announcement. Dinner is ready. Come and get it before I throw it over the fence and let the hogs eat it. Then I took time to take a good look at them, because they just sat there. What’s the matter with you two? I saw Laura drive up in that beautiful wagon. I thought we were almost ready to go. The hog buyer will be here late this afternoon, and the corn buyer will be here tomorrow. What’s the problem?

We’ll talk about it at the dinner table, Dad said.

I had a good meal prepared of roast pig, home-canned green beans, mashed potatoes, corn bread, and sweet potato pie. After Dad explained the situation, we all fell silent as we savored the meal.

While I dished up the sweet potato pie, Laura got the conversation started. Danny, do you understand our situation?

I think so.

Danny Boy, Dad asked, do you have any suggestions about what we can do?

Let me think about it while we eat our pie and have a cup of coffee. Dad and Laura kept their eyes on me, not saying a word. I was wondering why Dad still wanted to go to California to be with John after what John had done. After thinking about it for a while, I concluded that they deserved each other. When I calmly set down my empty coffee cup, they spoke almost in unison.

Well!’ I stood up and looked out of the kitchen door as if I was seeing the things that I was about to reveal. Looking but only seeing what was in my mind’s eye, I spoke to them. We have enough canned goods and condiments to last us through the winter. There are seven cured hams and thirteen slabs of cured bacon. We could probably dig a couple of hundred pounds of potatoes. I also have about ten pounds of beans. So, we’ll need very little money for food. We don’t have much ammunition for getting fresh meat, but we won’t need much. Now, I’ve taken care of my part for the trip, how about you two?"

I’ve bought three wagons, Laura said. ‘All I could get was one large one, a middle-sized one and one small one. I have five teams of mules and three saddle horses ready to go. My husband had a gun collection and lots of ammunition, so we can take whatever we need. I also have some foodstuffs that we can take. I just bought twenty-five pounds of dry bean that was on sale. My husband had lots of clothing that you two can have. Some of it has never been worn and is going to waste. There are boots and rain slickers and heavy winter clothing, and I know that I can make them fit you two. I have some medicine and bandages and medical books on how to treat illness and injuries that I bought for Danny’s education. I may think of other things that we might take with us. Now, Dan, it’s your turn."

Dad rolled his eyes around trying to come up with something that he could contribute. He looked at his jug as if thinking it would help if he had a drink. He finally gave that up for the moment. He turned, looked at Laura and me with a blank look. You’ll have to give me some time to think about this. I think I’ll go for a walk. After saying that, he went out the door, with Laura and me looking after him.

Let’s go over to my house and pack some things over there, Laura said.

‘That might be a good idea. It will give Dad time to figure out something.’

We went out into the yard, and I started to climb onto the wagon. Laura