Autumn.
My joy at Cloe’s return caused me to forget that I were entirely naked. I called out a hulloa and she looked right at me.
MEED! Turning sideways to escape my shame. There were rebuke in her eyes but half a grin on her lips too. How the fashion has changed since I’ve been gone
I were stuck for manners so I only put hands over my nuptial bits for etiquette.
The man with the cut-glass face stood by smiling. Behind him a boatman were piling up bags and trunks. I could not say if the man in white grinned from embarrassment or amusement or if his face just sat that way – that he and the world shared a private comedy. In all cases he did not seem to mind my nakedness any more than you would mind a breeze.
Miss Inches Will you meet me to your friend?
Still turned sideways, Cloe chopped at the air, graceful and surly. There was no smile in her voice as she made manners.
Meed this is Mr Tod who were on the packet
The new man lifted his hat over his head. Tom to my friends and we are friends now Miss Inches
Cloe did not say whether they were friends only that Mr Tod this is Mr Meed Stiles my brother
He stepped forward and lifted his hat even higher. Mr Need, is it? he asked.
Meed with an M
He nodded uncertainly and pushed his hat higher again.
I did not have a hat to doff so I took a hand from my crotch and stuck it out for a shake. Unfortunately the hand were covered in pig mess.
Mr Tom Tod apprehended my soiled hand some before returning his own. I credit his character for being game. After we shook he held his right hand out from his body, like he would have it cut off once an axe were found.
As we made manners the boatman piled up the newcomer’s possessions. This Tom Tod had brung an entire personal circus of hatboxes and carpetbags and luggage. With his clean hand Tom reached into a pocket and fished out a quarter-eagle coin for the boatman.
Take my things to the Franklin House on Pearl-street
I am not a busybody. I do not like to count other folks’ money. But a quarter eagle were nearly a week’s wages. The porter took the coin like it were the very host, and Tom Tod went right back into his pocket. He fished out what looked to be a banknote and used it as a napkin on his soiled hand.
Permit me to see you home, Miss Inches or Cloe if I may be bold
You may not My brother will fetch me home, Mr Tod Cloe said. I wish you good fortune
I could find no better fortune than your company He tossed the soiled shinplaster to the ground.
I thank you but surely you must look to your affairs Good day
I would be a rascal if I did not escort you
The boatman edged up behind Tom Tod and collected the filthy money.
Lips pursed at the new arrival’s manners. Do what you like, Mr Tod I cannot hobble you
Cloe kindly gave me her shawl and I covered up. It were good of her – I do not know how Adam and Eve kept their fig leaves in place. Meanwhile this Tom Tod returned to his pockets again and come out with a bottle of scented water to pour on his hands.
As he rubbed on an improved smell, Tom asked me What kind of a name is Meed?
Short for Medium
And what kind of name is Medium?
Before I could say what kind, Tom Tod announced he could just taste the prospects in this place The west is ripe The Lord’s own garden for money getting
He liked to pose a question but did not seem to mind how folks answered. Miss Cloe had bolted ahead already and we went to a quick step. As we trotted Tom were always diving back into his pockets for some notion or another. First it were a pocket watch – then it were a cigar to bite between his teeth – then it were lucifer sticks for snikpf, setting the cigar burning.
Mixed in with the brisk pace and the pocket fishing and the cigar puffing he ran his mouth too.
On my travels I have seen pastures and purple valleys A country singing out for the plow For the factory For progress etsetra
I did not know how to reply – I did not know what travels he meant – it were hard in any condition to make conversation hurrying uphill in a diaper.
I have seen riches just asking for hunting Like pigeons All a man has to do is shoot
I had never known gold eagles to drop easy as pigeons.
And what feathered fortune do you stalk Mr Medium Stiles Apart from a suit of clothes?
Skilled as he were with hands and mouth Tom Tod did not bother much with ears. Even as I mumbled a reply I noticed his eyes pointed at Cloe up the hill.
From his stall Asa seen Cloe into the yard and he went to hopping with gladness. The whole homeplace soon joined – the seven young Stileses run out in their bedclothes to hug Cloe’s skirts. She had run off and returned before, but never for two months. The children had not seen their Cloe from the middle of July ’til this first day of autumn. A bit of sentiment come into the corner of her eyes at the embrace of the little ones.
From inside the barn I heard the sound of coffin-sawing pause and Mr Job said Praise be She is back
Mrs Tabitha come out of the kitchen with a smile on her face and a chicken in her hand. The chicken were not happy to see Cloe only because Tab had yanked its head off.
Then Mrs Tab seen my condition and the smile guttered some.
I will cook water for a bath
At the window of our attic I saw the top of Big’s head just down to his haggard eyes – aimed at Cloe – half hungry, half afraid.
I climbed up to the attic for clean britches and found the rest of Big, robed in blankets like a monk – hair hooded – knobbed knees sticking out. I were no Baltimore belle in my soiled shawl but I did not wish to trade conditions with him. I were relieved to see him awaken from sleep all the same.
Big’s face were hidden in shadow but I heard a grin in his voice at seeing my state.
You are used up, Meed
We make a pair
From inside the shroud came a mob of questions.
Who were that dandy making manners at the gate? Where did Cloe come back from? Did she not find the money I left her? You have got a powerful smell Where did you find her? Why are you dressed so? Is that s___ you are dipped in? Is my name cussed around town for my failed bridge?
Every incident wanted a bit of explaining, and as I put down answers Big paced the attic.
The dandy were named Tom Tod.
I could not say where Cloe had been but Tom Tod were from somewhere else. He were on the canal packet with Cloe.
I knew this because I met them at the river landing.
I were dressed this way because Cloe did not care to walk home with a naked person.
I were naked because I had fallen into a puddle of s___.
I had fell into a puddle of s___ because I were after the night pigs.
The mention of the night pigs froze Big.
Too early for talk of the pigs, Meed
I know, but you will be glad to hear it for once—
I went along with my story slow, and cut out the part about how I had wanted a feat of my own on account of envy. As for why I had come to be in the graveyard at night, I said that somehow I got lost and turned up at Monroe-street. Big did not question it. The rest I kept true, and made into a comedy of itching and angry owls and tumbling from trees, then a regular sermon about how I seen how night pigs are only regular pigs that we do not see right On account of the darkness I paused a moment for drama. You have got to mix different sentiments and styles in a tale, like cooking. We are only afraid of being afraid
At the end of my story, Big peeled the blanket back from his head – eyes wide as windows. Meed you got rid of the night pigs?
No, the night pigs are still there It is only that they are not devils Just regular pigs at night One of them licked my face sweet as a pup—
I were swallowed up by a joyful bear hug – Big were not worried about getting s___ on the blankets. A hand come out of the bedclothes and shook me by the hair tenderly.
In the middle of this tenderness I felt a snikpf of guilt. Big had told me he feared busting up the pigs might bust up his spirit, and I had done it anyway. I had not meant the gesture that way at all – I did not mean to bust up Big – only to have a feat of my own. I did not know just what I meant to do.
After the tumult of returns and greetings and washing-ups Mr Job said we had better get after work, and chased the flock to their chores. Job Jr and Johnny was old enough to help with coffins. Mrs Tab gone back to plucking. Jonah, Joe, and Josiah squired Cloe as she gone to unpack. Little Jom and Joy wandered in the yard under the eye of their uncle Asa.
After my bath, I gathered up the makings of my almanac from the attic and headed for Dog’s. All over Ohio and Cleveland folks gone to their work of a morning – preachers hunted souls and Philo made shoes and Ozias run his wagons and Dog made whiskey. All the world set to work, except Big, still in his blankets, watching out the attic window.
I were not a eighth mile gone when I heard Big hollering to wait. Still wrapped in blankets, on account of all his clothes being tattered, he were waving his own sheaf of papers. The shinplasters he had got for building his useless bridge – taken from Cloe’s bed. I did not know that she had ever seen them. If Big felt sorry to have his gift spurned, his face did not tell.
A broad paw grabbed up the back of my shirt.
Come with me to Handerson and Panderson’s, little brother
At Big’s direction, grasshopper Handerson dove into the jungle and brung out a handsome set of the latest readymade clothes. Big tossed some of his money on the counter and flung his blankets into the depths of the emporium. A leap into his new suit – he did cut a style in the looking glass. The shine even crept back into his hair some.
Handerson examined Big’s banknotes and took on a sheeped look. YOUR MONEY IS NO GOOD, BIG
Big took this to mean the merchants was making him a present. Mr Handerson I am terrible obliged These britches will always hold a kind thought for you
NO NO, WE ARE NOT MAKING YOU A GIFT I MEAN YOUR MONEY IS SPOILED IT IS NOT GOOD
Big stared at the greensuited merchant without malice or understanding. My money is spoiled, he repeated like it were a school lesson.
EVERY LAST ONE OF THESE BANKS HAVE GONE BUST, Handerson explained. THEIR NOTES ARE NOT WORTH THE PRINTER’S INK YOU WILL HAVE TO GET OUT OF THOSE CLOTHES IF YOU WOULD
Big did not quarrel. His pride had bumped its ass considerably, and promptly stepped out of the pants. Brother help me find my blankets again
Panderson hollered from somewhere in the deeps of the emporium. LET HIM HAVE THE CLOTHES, HANDERSON I HAVE GOT A PROPOSITION
The advertisement were modest as such matters gone. TAKE IT FROM BIG SON IF HANDERSON HASN’T GOT IT, PANDERSON DOES!! spelled in cheerful red on the backside of Big’s new shirt. All the SONs was writ out in larger letters. As we walked to Dog’s, Big judged he would never see his own back anyhow, and so had the better of the swap. The fact that his money were worthless did not seem to bother him much, although he said some cross words about Mayor Frawley.
In the thin light of the grocery Big looked at my rumpled papers with pride and fear mixed together. This were the first he had seen of my labors.
You are making an almanac out of me? He whispered it like secrets.
Yes I have collected stories out of folks I had not much considered whether Big minded being in a book, although the idea did suit his vanity.
What all have you got in there?
I greased my answer some. Your feats and comic adventures mostly I did not mention the various demises.
Big watched the papers intently – like they was racing roaches or a hand of cards.
What happens in the end?
Our family time ended when Mr Tom Tod busted through the door of the grocery in the company of none other than Mayor Frawley. The newcomer were changed into a suit the color of cider and stunk of toilet water to sting your eyes. His hands were busy slicing at a peach with a pearl-handled penknife.
For his part Mayor Frawley was holding his greasy hat and jawing that this foolishness you hear about bridges will pass Ohio city is destined to be the greater of the two cities—
Frawley! My brother threw the name like a brick.
The mayor put on a show for Mr Tom Tod. He sniffed some like he did not quite remember the name of this large, angry citizen what greeted him.
Yes Hulloa Ah Big yes good to see you returned Now Mr Tod as I were saying what this place needs more than bridges is investm—
Frawley
Beg patience Big I am conversing with Mr Tod
The money you paid me for that bridge is useless
The money were sound when I paid it to you it is only as useless as your bridge
A good squabble were wasted without an audience – this one were witnessed by Dog sat on his stool – a sleeping Barse Fraley – myself – the cats of the grocery – the many ancient weapons hung from the wall – and by Tom Tod, whose whole face seemed to light up at the prospect of soured tempers.
You knowed that money were hollow Frawley said Big.
I knew nothing
Dog screeched from his perch that this were the first honest thing you ever said Frawley
As Big and the mayor gone back and forth over whose wrong were worse, Tom sat down next to me on the bench.
Mr Meed, said Tom, his smile like soft wax. Who is your compatriot?
It is my brother Big
Tom chucked his peach, though it had plenty of good flesh left. So this is the famous Big Son