Animosity

Prologue

My wife and I went on a road trip several years ago. Our first stop was in Killeen, Texas to visit my Uncle Nate, who is my mother’s ninety-seven year old brother. He lived in a nursing home that he didn’t like very much, which fit in nicely with his opinion about everything in general and getting old and the state of our nation’s health care system in particular. The first thing he wanted me to do was get him out of there for a while and take him over to Crabtree’s Emporium, an establishment that had been doing business in town for as long as anyone could remember. After arguing with the nursing home’s director and having to call his doctor for permission, we took him to Crabtree’s where we sat in some straight-backed chairs that were circled in the back of the store around an ancient potbellied stove.

I first come here with my daddy, Uncle Nate said, and joined a congregation of liars that had gathered ‘round this old stove of a winter's morn. And now here I am, older and more decrepit than any of them ever was. Don’t that beat all?

We smiled at his ramblings, and I asked if there was anything I could get him.

He scratched his chin and said, A cigar and cold beer would be nice.

I don’t think your doctor would approve of you doing that, I said.

He smiled at me and said, I know he wouldn’t. That’s why I’m askin’ you.

I figured I’d want him to do the same for me, so I asked if he'd like that in a glass.

Bottle would be fine, he said. Don’t get no can. I don’t drink beer out of a can.

What kind would you like?

Lone Star’s fine, long as it’s cold.

I brought back a Lone Star and a Roi-Tan cigar. He tipped the bottle up and took a drink, then he set it on the floor next to his chair. He paused to burp, then set about fiddling with the cigar. He took the cellophane wrapper off, stuck the end of it in his mouth, and licked it. Then he turned it around and licked the other end. After he’d gotten it the way he wanted, he bit the tip off and spit it on the floor.

Got a match? he asked.

I pulled out my butane lighter.

He shook his head. Need a wooden match.

This’ll do, I said.

He took the cigar out of his mouth. You got to light a cigar with a wooden match. It’s policy.

It took a minute to find one, but the good thing about being in a store like Crabtree’s is that you can find almost anything you want if you look hard enough.

I held the match up to his cigar while he got it going. Then he leaned back, put his feet up on a chair, and between sips of Lone Star, he began to reminisce. He’d been a Bell County Deputy Sheriff most of his life, and he’d known everyone who’d lived there for the past sixty years. As he talked, his eyes glazed over, his mind took flight, and he told us a story about some men who’d once lived in the area.

Harlan and Ellis

In the year of our Lord 1878:

Ivory soap went on sale for the first time.

Thomas Edison patented the gramophone.

The U.S. stopped minting the twenty-cent coin.

Two hundred six former slaves left Charleston, South Carolina aboard the ship Azor, to sail back to Africa.

The American Bar Association was founded.

The silver dollar became U.S. legal tender.

The Edison Electric Light Company was incorporated.

The first telephone was installed in the Executive Mansion.

Joseph Pulitzer began publishing The St. Louis Dispatch.

Chapter One

Mr. Burnett, do you think you could sell this mule for me?

Oscar Burnett was dozing in a chair leaning against the livery stable wall. Her speaking startled him and he twitched, which caused the front legs of his chair to drop to the ground. He straightened himself, pushed his hat up out of his eyes, and took half a minute to study the girl. She looked to be ten or eleven years old, standing there in the dust holding the mule’s rein in one hand and hanging on to a little boy with the other.

Ain’t you the Harper girl? he asked.

Yes sir. Caroline Harper.

Well Caroline, I’d best get your daddy’s permission ‘fore I do somethin’ like that.

He can’t give you his permission Mr. Burnett. He’s dead.

Oscar took his hat off and said, Well now, Caroline, I’m sorry to hear that. Your daddy was a good man. He truly was sorry, but he wasn’t surprised. It had long been a part of his philosophy that dying was a way of life out on the frontier.

Caroline teared up. Him and Mama and Wesley took sick and died of a fever. Me and Ellis is the only ones left.

You need someone to go out there and bury ‘em for you?

No sir. I done it myself.

Oscar realized pity was getting the best of him, but he couldn’t do much about it. Well now, Caroline, he said, I suppose I could buy that mule from you myself.

Thank you Mr. Burnett. How much you think he’s worth?

Maybe seven dollars.

You think that’s a fair price?

It’s as much as you’re gonna get in these parts.

She nodded, put her hand out, and Oscar took it. They shook and the deal was done. Oscar said, You leave that mule here with me and I’ll have your money for you in the mornin’. Then he took his hat off, scratched his head, and said, What you intend on doin’ now?

I don’t know, Mr. Burnett.

Well, if I can be of any help, you come and see me.

Thank you Mr. Burnett, I will.

Don’t mention it honey.

She walked off holding the little boy’s hand, and Oscar thought what a sad, brave little thing she was.

The livery stable sat fifty yards down wind of the main part of town. The children ran the distance holding their hats on their heads and took shelter from the wind on the leeward side of the Cash Mercantile building. A wooden sidewalk ran in front of it along the length of the main street, which didn’t have a name. It wasn’t more than a wide stretch of dirt with buildings on either side that no one had bothered to paint. The town was named Dotyville in honor of the man who’d built a trading post in that location some thirty years before. It lay half a mile north of the Leon River in Bell County, Texas, on the flatlands not far from the Chisholm Trail.

The children stepped up on the sidewalk and turned into the wind. They held their hats on with one hand and used the other to shield their eyes from the blowing dirt. Then a gust blew Ellis’ hat off, and Caroline had to chase it down and step on it to keep it from blowing all the way into Robertson County. She picked it up and put it back on his head, pulling it down snug. Then they stood there and watched a dust devil twist its way down the middle of the road.

Let’s get inside, she said and led her little brother into the Cash Mercantile.

Ed McGregor was standing behind the counter. He smiled and said, Blustery day out there.

Thought it was gonna blow us off our feet, Caroline said.

Can I help you with anything?

No sir. We just come in to get out of the wind.

"Your mama and daddy comin’ in?’

No sir, Caroline said, They can’t ‘cause they’re dead.

That took Ed by surprise. Good Lord child. You say they’re dead?

Yes sir.

How’d it happen?

They was struck down by a fever. I buried ‘em out back of the house and brought Ellis into town.

You have family you can go live with?

No sir.

Not an aunt or an uncle or some cousins?

No sir. I was hopin’ I could find some work here in town and we could take care of ourselves.

McGregor thought about that for a minute. He was fifty-six years old, and things were hard enough. He wasn’t about to take in two orphaned children. I’m sorry honey, but I don’t have a thing you could do.

Thank you anyway Mr. McGregor. I’ll just keep on lookin’.

There’s not many opportunities in a town this size. Maybe you’d be better off if you was to go live in an orphanage. There’s one over in Baytown.

Caroline pulled Ellis close to her. We ain’t gonna go live in no orphanage, she said.

You might have to, honey.

She grabbed Ellis by the arm and said, Come on, and drug him out into the wind. They walked across the road to Beecham’s Café, but they didn’t have any work for her there, either. The waitress, whose name was Nanny Price, took pity on them and said, You just sit down now and let me get you somethin’ to eat.

Thank you Mrs. Price, Caroline said, but we don’t have any money.

Never you mind about that. You just sit down and I’ll bring it out in a minute.

They sat down and Caroline nudged Ellis, Tell Mrs. Price thank you.

Thank you ma’am, Ellis said without taking his eyes off the floor.

Mrs. Price smiled at him and walked back to the kitchen.

When they’d finished eating, Caroline took Ellis outside and they looked up and down the street. The Dempsey Hotel seemed to hold the most promise. As they started across the street, Mrs. Whittle came out the front door carrying a bundle of laundry that was at the edge of her ability to handle. Just then, as if fate was waiting to intervene, a gust of wind whipped one of the sheets out of her grasp and sent it sailing down the road. Caroline ran after it, and when she brought it back she said, Let me help you with some of that, Mrs. Whittle.

Mrs. Whittle grunted and said, Thank you dear. She gave her some of the sheets to carry, and with Ellis following they walked to her house, which was three blocks away, at the edge of town.

When they got there, Mrs. Whittle said, Bring ‘em on in and back to the kitchen. Caroline followed her down the hall and dropped her load on top of a pile that lay next to the door to the back porch.

Thank you dear Mrs. Whittle said. I don’t think I could of run that sheet down with the load I was carryin’.

Your welcome ma’am.

Mrs. Whittle asked, Would you like a cup of tea?

Caroline didn’t say anything. She was too shy to answer, so Mrs. Whittle turned around, put kindling in the stove, and started a fire. Then they got to talking, and it wasn’t long before Caroline told her about her mama and daddy and little brother dying, and how she had to bury them all by herself, not knowing what to do next, except they weren’t going to go live in no orphanage.

I don’t blame you one bit, Mrs. Whittle said.

I thought I’d find some work here in town, and me and Ellis could take care of ourselves.

You poor thing. You got no one to take you in?

No ma’am.

Then you need to come stay here with me.

Caroline looked at her with skepticism.

I mean that. Mrs. Whittle got up, walked around the kitchen table, and put her arm around Caroline’s shoulder. I don’t have a family here no more. The children’s grown up and moved away, and Tommy, my late husband, has been gone for two years now. I could use the company, and you could help me with the laundry.

Caroline considered the offer and said, You mean it?

Of course I do.

All sorts of thoughts ran through her head: sadness, confusion, and a sense of helplessness. On top of it all was the embarrassment of needing to be helped.

I couldn’t pay you nothin’, Mrs. Whittle said, just feed you and give you a place to live.

That’d be fine Mrs. Whittle.

You and your brother could live in the back room. She stopped talking and gave Caroline a closer look. I’m sure a girl your age has done some washin’.

Yes ‘um. I helped my mama, and when she took sick I had to do it all by myself.

Well, this ain’t no palace I’m livin’ in, but I suspect you wasn’t lookin’ for one to begin with.

No ma’am.

Well then, welcome.

She got up again and gave both children a little hug, then sat back down and they drank their tea. Ellis didn’t want any, and after sitting a minute, he got up and spent the rest of the visit standing next to Caroline with his hand on her shoulder. When they’d finished, Mrs. Whittle put some more water on the stove and carried the laundry out on the back porch where she'd set up the washroom.

I’ll have to move all this indoors when winter comes, she said.

When the water got hot, Mrs. Whittle carried the kettle back to the washroom and looked over her shoulder at Caroline. Would you pour some of that laundry soap in the washtub?

Yes ‘um, Caroline said. She jumped up, grabbed the soap, and said, Ellis, get that stick over there and bring it here.

Ellis grabbed the stick that was leaning next to the door and took it over to the washtub. Caroline sprinkled some soap powder in while Mrs. Whittle poured the water in. Then she brought the laundry over and started putting it in the tub and said to Ellis, You take that stick young feller and push all this down in the water.

Ellis did what she said.

That’s right, Mrs. Whittle said, stir ‘em ‘round some while you’re doin’ it. She looked up at Caroline. I think y’all are gonna fit in right nice.

Her comment warmed Caroline and gave her enough confidence to ask, Mrs. Whittle, if we’re gonna move in here, you mind if we bring in some things from the farm?

I suppose not. What you got in mind?

I’m not certain. I’d like to go out and look around, see if there’s anything we’d like to keep.

I’m afraid I can’t help you there. I don’t have a wagon.

I wasn’t expectin’ you to, ma’am. I was gonna ask Mr. Burnett if he’d take us.

I’m sure he’d be glad to do it.

The next morning Caroline and Ellis walked back to the livery stable. Oscar saw them coming and dug in his pocket. Well there they are, he said, come to get their money. He gave her a half eagle and two dollars. There you are little lady, he said, don’t you lose that now.

I won’t, Caroline said and wrapped the money in her handkerchief and put it in her pocket.

Mr. Burnett?

Uh huh?

You said you’d help us if we needed it.

I did.

Well, we need your help.

What is it you want me to do?

I’d like you take me and Ellis out to the farm so we could take a look around and bring some of our things back to town.

You find a place to stay?

Yes sir. Mrs. Whittle took us in.

That was generous of her.

Yes sir, it was.

When you want to go?

One time’s as good as another.

"How ‘bout right now?

Caroline nodded. That’d be fine.

Well then, let me get the wagon hitched up.

Oscar hitched a team to the wagon that was sitting behind the stable and drove it around front. He motioned for Caroline and Ellis to come over and get in. Sit up here beside me, he said, reaching down and helping them up on the driver’s seat.

Ellis squirmed and turned around, looking into the bed of the wagon and tugged on Caroline’s sleeve.

Would you stop that and sit still? she hissed at him.

He pointed into the bed where a teenage boy was sitting. She looked up at Oscar and asked, Who’s that?

My youngest boy, Lowell.

What’s he doing here? She didn’t like the idea of someone she didn’t know going out to the farm.

I brought him along case there’s any liftin’ to do.

She thought about it, nodded, and they started off.

When they got to the farm, Caroline walked through the house crying. Then she went out back and sat under the buckthorn tree where she’d buried her family and cried some more. And though she’d never admit it, she was sad and afraid. In the meantime, Oscar, Ellis and Lowell sat on a bench out by the pump waiting for her to finish.

When she stopped crying, Oscar went over and sat beside her. You gonna take any of the furniture back to town?

I don’t believe so. Mrs. Whittle’s is so much nicer’n ours ever was.

None of the beds or anything?

No sir. I don’t believe we’re gonna do that.

She got up and went back into the house, taking her time going through things. There wasn’t much, a broach that’d been handed down to her mama, and a set of tortoise shell combs. She laughed at that. They wouldn’t be much use with her hair bobbed the way it was. But she brought them along anyway, figuring she might grow it out some day.

She walked to the shelf her daddy kept his personal belongings on and picked up his shaving mug. The brush was in it, and the straight razor lay next to it. It’d be a while before Ellis was old enough to use them, but God willing, the time would come. Those few things and their clothes were all she brought back, except for the quilts her mama’d made. They were the only pieces of bedding she hadn’t used to wrap their bodies in before she laid them in the ground.

As they walked back to the wagon, they came across a piece of wood their daddy had been whittling on. It was a horse, maybe three-quarters done. Ellis picked it up and put it in his pocket.

They hadn’t been back in town ten minutes before Sheriff Billups came calling. He walked up on Mrs. Whittle’s front porch and knocked on the door like he was there on official business. Mrs. Whittle answered.

Afternoon Nancy, the sheriff said. I understand you got the Harper children stayin’ here.

That’s right.

I heard their mama and daddy and one of the children died a few days back.

It was Wesley.

I’m sorry?

Wesley’s the name of the child that died.

I’ll make a note of that, the sheriff said. I’m gonna have to ride out there tomorrow to see that they’re properly buried. He waited for Mrs. Whittle to say something. When she didn’t, he went on. We got to decide what we’re gonna do with the children.

Mrs. Whittle puffed her chest out some and said, That’s already been decided.

And what would that be? the sheriff wanted to know.

They’re gonna stay here with me.

There’s an orphanage over in Baytown, Nancy. It’s not necessary for you take them in.

It’s what I want to do.

Well then, I’d say you were a mighty generous person.

Thank you, Ferdy. I don’t believe it’d be appropriate for us to talk about an orphanage in front of the children. They’ve had enough to cry about already.

How ‘bout if I just leave?

That’d probably be a good idea, but you’re welcome to come back some other time.

And so Caroline and Ellis Harper moved into town and began living with Mrs. Whittle. They missed their mama and daddy and brother something terrible. They cried themselves to sleep for the longest time, but eventually living there got to be normal.

Chapter Two

The Balcones Escarpment is an earthquake fault that runs from Del Rio to Waco. It passes four miles west of Dotyville, forming the boundary between the hill country and the plain running down to the Gulf of Mexico. The plain’s rich soil provides a perfect place to grow cotton, wheat, citrus fruit, and alfalfa. The hill country, on the other hand, is covered with a thin layer of topsoil that can only support trees, grass, and wild flowers; a perfect place to graze cattle. The end result was that Mother Nature, around Dotyville anyway, provided the means for cattlemen and farmers to live in close proximity without feeling the need to kill each other.

Bobby Bishop was riding along the road leading up the escarpment after being in town most of the afternoon. When he’d finished his business, he'd walked over to the barbershop where the regulars were discussing the up-coming gubernatorial election. He’d hopped into the middle of it to extol the virtues of Oran Roberts, the former president of the Texas Succession Convention, when Fuentes stuck his head through the door. Being a Mexican, Fuentes would never think of going in the barbershop, but Mrs. Bishop had told him to go find her husband, and that’s where he was.

Senor Bishop, he said meekly.

Bobby didn’t hear him because he was too busy talking.

Senor Bishop, Fuentes said a little louder.

Billy Carver, who was standing closest to the door, said, Bobby, there’s a Mexican over here wants to talk to you.

Tell him to go away, Bobby said.

I must speak to you Senor Bishop.

He don’t want to go away, Billy said.

Well then shoot him. Everyone laughed, figuring Bobby was joking.

You’ll have to do that yourself, Billy said, trying to add to the levity.

Bobby, who wasn’t wearing a sidearm, slapped his hand on his hip and acted surprised there wasn’t a pistol there. He feigned frustration, then he asked Fuentes, What do you want?

The Senora sent me to tell you to come home right away, Fuentes said apologetically.

Why?

Big trouble. Your little boy Georgie, he hurt bad.

What happened?

I only know to come get you.

Bobby said, God damn, and walked out of the barbershop, got on his horse, and rode home, home being the Bishop Cattle Ranch, thirty thousand acres located just above the escarpment. Bobby was a roughhewn, straightforward man who might have been a good father to his boys if he’d known any better. His intentions were good enough. He believed the boys had to be tough in order to survive out on the frontier, so that’s how he treated them. Toughen them up, which you oughtn’t to do with children that young. Their names were Andrew, Harlan, and George, ranging in age from eight to four years old, in that order. Bobby figured something serious must have happened, else Evie wouldn’t have sent Fuentes to find him. Those boys were the future, as frustrating as they were. They were his legacy and that of the great state of Texas.

There were a dozen men standing outside the ranch house when he rode up. Inside, Evie was crying, standing next to Lasiter, his ranch foreman. Behind them he could see Georgie laying on the dining room table. He walked over and confronted Lasiter.

What happened?

The boys was riding the hay wagon in from the field, Lasiter said. They was sittin‘ with their feet danglin’ off the edge when they hit a bump and Georgie fell off. The wagon run over him and crushed his spine, near as we could tell. He died ‘fore they got him halfway to the house.

Why the hell’d ya let ‘em ride on the wagon like that? Bobby asked, not quite believing his son was laying there on the table dead.

I wouldn’t have let ‘em Mr. Bishop if I’d a been there.

Who was drivin’?

Morales.

You tell Morales the next time I see him, I’m gonna shoot him.

It wadn’t his fault, Mr. Bishop.

You tell ‘em that anyway.

Bobby looked down at Andrew and Harlan. You boys done one piss poor job takin’ care a your brother.

I was sittin’ up on the seat next Morales, Andrew said.

Bobby looked at Harlan. And what’s your excuse?

Harlan was so scared he couldn’t think of one.

Georgie’s dead ‘cause of your carelessness, Bobby said. You’ll carry that shame to your grave. Now get upstairs and stay out of my sight.

The boys ran upstairs and cried until they fell asleep. They thought they’d helped kill their little brother. Their daddy’d said so.

In the year of our Lord 1888

The National Geographic Society was founded.

Casey at the Bat was published.

The Eastman Kodak Company was established.

The U.S. Department of Labor was created.

Fredrick Douglas was the first African-American to be nominated for president of the United States.

Phillip Pratt built the first electric automobile.

The revolving door was patented.

The Washington Monument was opened to the public.

The ballpoint pen was patented.

Chapter Three

As hard as Mrs. Whittle worked, she still made time to cook for the children and keep a tidy house. She listened when they had something to say, gave advice when they asked for it, and hugged them when they needed it. But as much as she gave, it wasn’t enough to keep their lives from lacking substance. They didn’t go to school; not a lot of children did, attendance being optional at that time. Caroline didn’t have a social life. She worked hard all day and was too tired to do anything fun when she got done, not that Dotyville had much to offer. She spent her evenings in her bedroom daydreaming, holding her mother’s broach up to the light so she could watch the reflections off the hyacinth carved in the onyx. She’d grown her hair out, and in the evenings she would brush it with one of Mrs. Whittle’s ancient silver handled hairbrushes. Then she’d pin it up with her mama’s tortoise shell combs while she hummed the tune to Away, Away, My Heart’s on Fire.

Ellis was just a tyke when they’d moved to town. Since then he hadn’t learned to do anything useful except