Black Eye: A Battle to Survive

By Tom Marovich

In the 1930s, hard-working men kept the country alive, and the little town of Black Eye depended on one lumber mill to keep its community on its feet. Due to the lack of lumber orders, several times the mill came close to being shut down, but it seemed like each time there was no relief in sight, the mail would pick up an order and start sawing again.

When malaria hits Black Eye, Dr. Fred Baker runs out of antibiotics and he is getting run down himself. He phones and old friend in Minneapolis,

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Sep 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781682130261

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Tom Marovich

A Battle to Survive

Copyright © 2015 Tom Marovich

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

New York, NY

First originally published by Page Publishing, Inc. 2015

ISBN 978-1-68213-025-4 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-68213-026-1 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Prelude

And so the story goes. Back in 1806, the town started out with just a saloon and a blacksmith shop. There were a few rooms above the saloon for any drifters who may have wandered into the area.

One hot summer in July of 1807, an elderly peddler drifted in. The pots and pans that hung on the outside of his wagon made more noise than a tin factory.

What the hell is that? the saloon owner barked as he and a half-dozen other men went out the low-swinging doors.

They damn near rolled in the dirt with laughter as the elderly gentleman climbed down from the wagon seat to the ground and tried to brush the dust from his once-blue suit.

A rugged-looking fellow with a scrubby beard stood nose to nose with the peddler.

If’n ya ain’t got no chawin’ baccer er whisky in that thing, ya may’s well slap them nags that brung ya har ’n keep on’a goin’.

The peddler lifted his narrow-brimmed hat.

Afternoon, gents. My name is Terry Hacket, and I’m in need of a livery ’n a room. Got no whisky, but got a bit’a chawin’ baccer in the wagon.

The rugged-bearded man stepped back.

Well, peddler, I reckon that’ll make ya half a friend.

The saloon owner stepped up.

We ain’t got no livery stable. Just blacksmith. Got a empty room above the saloon. Ya kin park yer wagon out back ’n turn yer horses to graze. We’ll help gather ’em up when ya want ’em.

Anyway, the soul of the story is that the peddler tried to put his hands on the wrong gal. She gave him a shiner that lasted for two weeks. His black eye was the talk of the community, so the men in the saloon decided to call him Black Eye. The saloon owner named his saloon The Black Eye Saloon. Eventually, the town came to be known as Black Eye.

Even with all the teasing, the peddler stayed and opened himself a little mercantile store—the same one that Bob’s in yet today.

Black Eye was in the North Country, with a population of eighty-seven, in the 1930s. The little town of Black Eye battles the elements of nature—mostly blizzards—near starvation, sickness, and death. A drastic blizzard strikes the little town of Black Eye, and the residents get totally cut off from the outside world.

One man takes it upon his own shoulders to keep their little town from starving to death. His name is Jim Borden; he has a wife, Cathy, and two small children, Raymond and Charlien.

Chapter 1

The First Snow

At three in the morning, early one Saturday, Jim awakened and put his bare feet to the cold floor. Fire must be out, he thought to himself. He quickly crossed the cold floor to the living room.

A low flickering light of an oil lamp barely glowed from the center of his dining room table. The dim light of the flame was just bright enough to throw a shadow across the wood floor. Close to the south wall sat a wood-burning cookstove with warmers that set a foot and a half above the stove’s lids.

Near the north wall, Jim carefully placed his hand against a small wood-burning barrel stove that they used to keep out the brutal cold of winter. The side of the barrel stove was still warm to the touch. Jim opened the cast-iron door that was hinged to the front of the stove.

Within the round metal shield, a few embers still glowed like a deer’s eyes in the beam of a headlight. Jim placed a few dry pieces of kindling on top of the glowing embers and lightly blew into the small glow, and a flickering flame took hold. After waiting for just a few minutes, Jim then placed several larger pieces of dry wood on top of the flames. He closed the stove door and opened the slide draft below. The sound of the small roaring fire seemed to take some of the chill out of the cold room.

Now with socks on his feet, Jim walked over to the wood-burning cookstove. He took the coffee pot from the front lid and filled it with water, one dipper at a time from a water pail that they used to bring in water from an outside well. He then added two scoops of coffee grounds, which were kept on a row of shelves that supported the canned goods that Cathy put up after the harvest of their small garden.

With the coffee pot in one hand, Jim hefted an oak wooden chair from the dining table with his other hand. Then he quietly crossed the slow-warming room to the comfort of the barrel stove. After setting the coffee pot on top, Jim sat in the wooden chair and enjoyed the comfort of the heat that came from within the metal shield. The relaxing dim light of the oil lamp along with the crackling sound of the burning wood set Jim deep into thought.

Raymond is now nine; Charlien is seven. The two children slept in the same room, but in separate beds. With these thoughts, Jim realized the need for a larger house. While staring into the flickering light of the oil lamp, Jim’s thoughts wandered on. I work part-time at the sawmill, can’t afford a larger house. Hell, I can’t even afford to have our electric hooked up, or to put in an inside bathroom. My family deserves better, he thought.

Jim is a rough, rugged man, standing a little over six feet tall and weighing about one hundred eighty-five pounds. If backed into a corner, Jim would back down from no man; he’d fight like a grizzly. But his heart is about as tender as they come, especially when it comes to his family—his family is his life.

He wiped the tears from his cheeks and said to himself, Straighten up, old man. You can add another room on fer yer youngins. Damn right I can, one board at a time if I have to.

With those thoughts in mind, Jim closed his eyes and fell into total relaxation. He just about fell into a deep sleep, until he heard the sound of the percolating coffee and the smell of the morning brew.

Jim was more than ready to pour his first cup of the day. It had been twenty minutes since he set the pot on the top of the barrel stove, but for Jim, it seemed like an hour. When he got out of his chair to get himself a cup, his hot jeans rubbed against his leg. While rubbing it quickly with his right hand, he said to himself, Damn fool, much longer ’n you’da set yerself on fire. With that statement, he grinned. He knew that if Cathy would have seen him, she would have laughed at him and told him that even the kids are smart enough not to get too close to a hot stove.

With the room now warm, and not to set himself on fire, Jim put his chair back by the round oak table that stood just a few feet away from the wood-burning cookstove.

After pouring himself a cup of coffee, he sat in silence and thumbed through an old magazine in the dim flickering light of the oil lamp. At 5:00 a.m., Cathy entered the warm room, wearing an old worn-out heavy bathrobe and a pair of bedroom slippers that were just as good as her bathrobe.

Pour me a cup, will ya, Jim? she asked while she walked right past him on her way out to the outhouse. When Cathy came back in, her long brunette hair was covered with a white dusting of snow.

It was breaking day when Cathy joined him at the table for her first cup of coffee. After taking her first sip, she looked across the table at Jim.

You make a good cup of coffee, old man. What are you gonna do after church today?

Jim looked out the four-pane window that was set in the south wall of the room.

Well, sweetheart, it’s kinda lookin’ like church might be out of the question today. By the looks of this snow, we just might be in fer a good blizzard. So I reckon I’ll stockpile enough wood in the house to last a couple days and play with the kids.

With a devilish look in his eyes, Jim reached under the table and put his hand on Cathy’s bare knee.

I’ll play with you if you’ll let me, he told her.

Cathy slapped his hand and said, Behave yerself, it’s almost time for the kids to get up.

Jim winked at his lovely wife while removing his hand from her knee.

Maybe later, he commented.

Cathy looked directly into his eyes, Old man, am I gonna have to throw you out in the snow to cool ya off?

With that being said, Cathy went to their bedroom and got dressed for the day. While she was getting dressed, Jim got the teakettle of hot water from the top of the barrel stove and washed his hands and face. He slung the water out the back door, then refilled the washbasin for his lovely wife.

When Cathy came out of the bedroom, she was wearing ankle-high lace-up shoes, a blue-flowered waistline dress, and a brown barrette on each side of her head in her beautiful, long, brunette hair.

Jim let out a whistle.

You look perty ’nuff to take to a ball!

Cathy grinned. Well, thank you, dear, but that compliment ain’t gonna get me back in the bedroom.

Yer a hard woman, Mrs. Borden, Jim replied.

It seemed like he and Cathy were just meant to be. Any disagreements between them were always settled in a calm manner.

Cathy is a small, petite gal, standing five-foot-two and about one hundred ten pounds, with brunette hair that hung almost to her waist. She’s just as tenderhearted as Jim, and she rarely complains. She knew that he was a good man and that he was doing the very best that he could to provide for his family, considering the circumstances of the economy.

Without any complaints, Cathy gracefully accepted and was thankful for the roof over their heads and for the meals that she was able to set on the table. She always kept in mind that there were a lot of folks that were a lot worse off than they were. She was totally content with their little two-bedroom house that set on several acres of ground just on the outskirts of Black Eye.

Jim and Cathy had faith in the good Lord. They knew that eventually he would place a light at the end of the dark tunnel for all that seemed to be so much in the dark.

Just at full daybreak, still half-asleep, Raymond and Charlien came staggering out of their room. They immediately went over to absorb some of the heat from the wood-burning stove. After about ten minutes of the children soaking up the warmth, Jim’s voice crossed the room.

Look outside, kids, it’s snowing.

Both youngins ran over and looked out the four-pane window.

It’s snowing, it’s snowing! They both hollered at the same time.

What little it takes to sparkle the eyes of a youngin, Jim told his lovely wife.

It don’t take much, she replied.

After admiring the snowfall for a few minutes, Charlien whispered in Cathy’s ear.

Mommy, I gotta go potty!

Cathy put her hand against Charlien’s back and gave her a slight nudge.

Go put yer coat ’n boots on, sweetheart, ’n I’ll go with ya.

When they came back in, Charlien went to stand alongside of Jim.

Burr, it’s cold outside, Daddy!

Jim picked up his little girl and set her on his lap, wrapping his arms around her.

Yer warm, Daddy, Charlien told him.

Jim just squeezed her a little tighter.

Cathy took a swallow of her warm coffee, then set her cup down on the table.

I think I’m gonna make some biscuits for breakfast.

Good. I’m hungry, Jim commented as he set Charlien on Cathy’s lap. You keep her warm while I fire up the cookstove.

Cathy wrapped her arms around Charlien while Jim proceeded to build a bigger fire in the wood-burning cookstove.

Jim kept several arms full of smaller wood near one end of the wood-burning cookstove; the firewood that was split for the barrel stove was too large for the cookstove firebox.

He tore a couple pages from the magazine that he was thumbing through earlier, crumpled them up, and then placed them in the firebox. He then placed a couple pieces of dry kindling on top of the crumpled-up paper. After setting the paper on fire, he opened the slide draft. Within a few minutes, the cookstove started to warm up.

After about twenty minutes of the small roaring blaze, Cathy set Charlien on a chair by the table. Then she looked at the oven thermometer that hung on the oven rack within the oven. Almost three hundred degrees, getting close, she said quietly to herself.

She then got a large mixing bowl, a wooden mixing spoon, and all the ingredients she needed to make a large batch of biscuits and set them on the table.

Charlien picked up the wooden spoon.

Can I help you, Mommy? she asked.

Cathy looked at her little princess. Of course, you can help, sweetheart. Go wash your hands, then get me a couple bread pans off the shelf, and I’ll show you how to grease them.

Then Cathy looked at Raymond and said, You go wash your face ’n hands too.

Jim poured hot water in the washbasin, then added cold to it to cool it down. He then watched as they washed their hands and faces.

With clean hands, Charlien got two 8-by-12-inch bread pans from the shelf and set them on the table. She then climbed up on one of the kitchen chairs and got on her knees.

Mommy, I’m ready. My hands are clean. What do you want me to do?

Cathy opened the lard container and took Charlien’s right hand and dipped her fingers in the lard.

Yuck! What’s this stuff? Charlien asked. She made a face like she had just bitten into a sour ball.

Cathy smiled. It’s lard, sweetheart. I’m gonna show you how to grease the pans with it.

Cathy helped her little girl grease the first pan.

Now you do the same thing to the other one.

By the time Charlien got the second pan greased, Cathy had the biscuit dough mixed and started to form biscuits. Charlien watched as Cathy tore off small pieces of dough and formed them into nice round biscuits. With the bowl of dough between them and the second pan greased, Charlien started to shape her own biscuits.

Raymond stood close by and teased his little sister, That ain’t how you do it, they look funny. They won’t taste good.

Cathy noticed that her little girl was almost in tears, so she started making her biscuits in non-uniform shapes. Jim knew her reasoning behind it, so he started in.

Mommy’s making goofy biscuits, Mommy’s making goofy biscuits! He repeated it several times. Then he put an arm around Raymond.

Son, shall we throw ’em to the birds before or after they come out of the oven?

Let’s wait until after, Dad. They might not be too bad, Raymond replied.

When the biscuits were done and set on the table, Jim made sure that Raymond’s first biscuit was one that Charlien shaped and his second one was one that his mother shaped. He watched as Raymond devoured several biscuits like he hadn’t eaten for a week.

Jim looked across the table at Raymond and asked, Good, ain’t they, son?

Yeah, Dad, Raymond replied with his mouth full.

Jim pointed to Charlien. Good, now apologize to yer sister.

Raymond swallowed and looked at Charlien. I’m sorry I teased you, Charlien. Yer biscuits are better than Mom’s.

Cathy winked at Raymond. Nice goin’, son. The next biscuits I make for you will be raw.

They all laughed at Cathy’s little remark.

Raymond reached for another biscuit. I’m sorry, Mom, yers were good too.

Jim, I’d like to make a kettle of stew and some fresh bread today. Do ya think that you could make it to the market and get me some flour and a couple cakes of yeast?

Jim glanced out the window. The