Get Comfortable or Get Shot

My parents were right. We arrived in Chicago six hours later. I didn’t think it would be possible, but when my parents set their minds to something, there is little they can’t accomplish.

I was still feeling quite sour because when I glanced at my pocket watch, I saw that the Sheriff Graham show had already started. And I was stuck hundreds of miles away. I had been told by the other children at school that this would likely be the last of his shows, since the sheriff was set to retire soon. Great. Just great.

We landed the Baron Estate in the Exposition Fairgrounds of Chicago, and through the windows I could see the ooohing and ahhhing faces of the crowd that had gathered. They ooohed, and then they ahhhed, all at the same time, as though they had practiced it the night before. They were really quite good at it.

There were many fantastic inventions already parked on the fairgrounds. There was a railroad car that was fitted with giant flapping wings, which frequently rose up into the air and belched a dark cloud from its smokestack before landing. There was a large wooden ship with metal wheels on the side that was drawn by two dozen miserable looking buffalo—though now that I think about it, I can’t remember the last time I saw a happy buffalo, can you?

Not all of the transportation devices brought by the inventors were large, though. At the far end of the grounds I saw a little, two-seated device with a propeller fastened to the top. Beside the propeller device was a little wheeled glider that could barely fit one tiny person in the driver’s seat. To the left of us was a strange invention that looked like a combination between an electric bicycle and a fish. And a funny looking man with a large hat had parked a wagon filled with bananas to the right of us, though he might not have been participating in the race.

On second thought, he was probably just selling bananas.

“Now what?” I asked my parents.

They both yawned and stretched. Aunt Dorcas, who was now hobbling around on crutches and complaining about her cracked knee to anyone who would listen, told me that my parents hadn’t slept much in the past few weeks. Their minds were completely focused on transforming the Baron Estate for the national race.

I noticed that she was wearing a nifty, new hat that said “FIRST MATE” across the front.

I’ll admit it. I was a bit jealous of the nifty hat.

“Alright, now it’s time for sleep,” said my father. “The contest doesn’t begin until noon tomorrow. I’d like to get at least 3,114 winks before then. Sharon?”

“I agree,” M yawned. “If I don’t sleep soon, I’m going to fall asleep while standing u—”

She was unable to finish her sentence before falling asleep. She often fell asleep while standing. Once I saw her fall asleep while making a cheese sandwich, pulling the bread over her shoulders as though it were a blanket. P threw M over his shoulder as he made his way to their bedroom at the other end of the house.

“Are you going to sleep too?” I asked Aunt Dorcas.

“Certainly not,” she griped, wincing as she favored her sore knee. “I’ve probably shattered every bone in my knee. I’m disfigured for life. I’ll never be the same again. I will feel this terrible pain for the next thirty-seven-and-a-half years. I’m probably bleeding from the inside. Does it look like I’m bleeding from the inside?”

“No.”

“Well . . . you’re clearly not a doctor!” she cried rottenly, before hobbling away.

I was alone. Everyone had gone to their rooms, leaving me with nothing to do. Since I was in a new city, it made sense that I should do a bit of exploring. I took Magnus by the reins and led him out the front door.

The moment I stepped outside, I was surrounded by a large crowd of reporters who began to ask me questions.

“Hey kid, is this your invention?” a man with a notepad called.

“How did you get your house to float?”

“Can you make my house float too?”

“Is it floating or is it flying? There’s a big difference, you know.”

“What’re you going to do with the money if you win it?”

“Why do you keep your horse inside?”

“Is Hortense’s Tooth Powder your favorite brand of tooth powder?”

“Is this the first thing you’ve ever invented?”

“Who’s your favorite inventor?”

“Is it safe to fly a house across the world?”

“What happens if someone tries to send you mail?”

It wasn’t just reporters who were interested in the Baron Estate. The other inventors looked fascinated by it as well. They peppered me with questions about the science behind the flying house.

“It’s steam powered, isn’t it?” an inventor wearing goggles and a long white coat asked me.

“Errr, it’s coal powered,” I told him.

“What is the airspeed velocity?” another asked.

“Uhhh . . . yes?”

“How do you steer it?”

“With a steering wheel.”

“Has anyone seen my hat?” a hatless man asked. “I left it on the ground right there an hour ago.”

He pointed towards the Baron Estate.

“Umm, it must have blown away,” I told him.

The questions kept coming, most of which I couldn’t answer or understand, and so I did what I imagined Sheriff Graham would have done if he had been in my situation. I hopped on my horse and ordered the crowd of reporters and inventors to part and let me pass.

To my surprise, they did.

Huh. I guess I should try ordering people around more often, I thought.

I rode out of the fairgrounds and began to trot down the city street. I had never been to Chicago before. Heck, I had only been out of Arizona Territory once in my life, and that’s when I was born, so I don’t really remember it too well. I was amazed at how many people there were, moving up and down the busy streets and walking in and out of beautiful, tall buildings, which made me feel very small and insignificant.

As I rode, I felt my stomach begin to rumble. I hadn’t eaten since last night, and I was feeling quite hungry. There was food back at home in the pantry, but I didn’t feel like going back just yet. I had a bit of money in my pocket, so when I found what looked to be a little restaurant, I tied Magnus’s reigns to a hitching post on the corner and went inside.

It was busy with crowds of people laughing, singing, and dancing. There was a man playing a funny song on a piano in the corner. Most of the people were sitting on stools in front of a long wooden counter at the other side of the room. There was an empty stool at the end of the counter, so I hopped up onto it and cleared my throat. A gruff-looking man appeared from behind the counter. He had the largest mustache I had ever seen. It looked like he’d glued two beaver tails to his face.

I leaned forward. Upon closer inspection, I realized that he had glued two beaver tails to his face.

“Whadda ya want?” he asked me from beneath his beavery mustache.

“I’m hungry,” I told him.

“Well, so am I. What do you want me to do about it, kid?”

He glared at me, pulling a fork from his apron and using it to slowly comb his giant mustache. I noticed that there were several people staring at me. It took me a moment to realize that there weren’t any other kids in there.

“Isn’t this a restaurant?” I asked meekly.

“The kid thinks this is a restaurant!” one of the men beside me chuckled as he took a large swig from his drink.

“This is a saloon,” the falsely mustachioed man told me as he put his fork back into his pocket. “It’s for grownups only. No kids allowed. Scram!”

“Yeah, scram, kid!” a man beside me echoed.

“Go back to Mommy and Daddy!” another called out.

“Come back when you don’t wear diapers no more!”

Soon, everyone was laughing at me.

I could feel my face turning bright red. I slid off the stool and prepared to slink out of the saloon in shame when, suddenly, I heard a girl’s voice cry out.

“Hey! Wait!”

I heard the voice, but I couldn’t see the voice’s owner because she was standing behind the bar, and she appeared to be incredibly short. The mustachioed man looked down and frowned. At least I assumed he frowned. It was kind of hard to tell because of the giant mustache.

“Yes, sweetheart?” he said, leaning down.

A small hand reached up and grabbed one tail of his fake mustache, yanking him down to the ground. The man cried out in pain as he fell. Everyone in the saloon laughed.

“The boy is hungry,” the little voice from behind the counter said. “Make him a cheese sandwich.”

“Buh sweeharp,” the mustachioed man slurred, his voice sounding strange since his mustache was being pulled, “we duh hab buch cheese! Oww! Ohhh-oww!”

The little hand yanked on the glued mustache even harder.

“Make him a cheese sandwich, or I’ll tell Ma you’re combing your fake, ratty mustache with one of her good forks again.”

“Bine! Bine! I’ll bake buh boy a cheese sammich immbebiabely! Immbebiabely!” the man cried, and then the little hand let his beaver tail go.

As the man quickly scurried into the back room to make the cheese sandwich, the little girl hopped onto the counter. Though she was barely over three feet tall, I could tell we were about the same age. She was dressed like one of Sheriff Graham’s deputies, in dirty boots, a work shirt, and a vest. She smiled at me brightly from beneath a neat-looking cowboy hat which sat on top of her thick, blonde curls.

“I hate to see any kid go hungry,” she told me, “even though you look like you’ve never missed a meal in your life.”

She pointed at my stomach and laughed. I looked down at my belly and frowned.

Alright, I’m a little heavy. So what? It’s not a crime. It’s just that I really love food, and I really hate exercise. You would hate exercise too if you were as clumsy as I am. Every time I try to exercise, I end up stumbling into a snake’s nest or tumbling down a rocky hill or falling into a well. I’ve fallen into so many wells that my father actually invented a specific type of machine to pull me out of them. He’s gotten a lot of use out of that machine.

“That’s not a very polite thing to say,” I told her.

She scrunched up her face in confusion.

“Why not? It’s true. You’re chubby. I’m short. The man sitting next to you is bald. That woman is wearing more makeup than a circus clown. And that guy over there has a ridiculous amount of hair growing out of his nose. There’s nothing impolite about saying any of those things. It’s just the truth.”

“She’s right!” said the man with the hairy nostrils as he burst into tears. “It’s the awful truth!”

He ran out of the saloon with his hairy nose buried in his hands. Two of his friends ran after him, trying to console him about his nose hairs.

“I’m Iris,” the girl told me, “but everyone calls me Shorty. What’s your name, chubs?”

Chubs. What an awful nickname, I thought. Then again, the kids at school call me Weirdo Waldo, so I suppose it could be worse.

“My name is W.B.,” I said to her. “It’s nice to meet you, Shorty.”

“What does W.B. stand for? Wide Butt?” Shorty asked and then giggled at her joke.

My face turned bright red. The mustachioed man walked up to me carrying my cheese sandwich. He didn’t speak as he served me. He was still massaging the side of his glued mustache that Shorty had stretched. I stared at the sandwich, then at my belly, and no longer felt certain that I wanted to eat.

“It actually stands for Waldo Baron,” I said quietly. “You know what? I think I lost my appetite. Thanks anyway, Shorty.”

I hopped off my stool and started to walk out of the bar, wishing that I had never gone in there in the first place. But before I could cross the doorway, Shorty rushed over and stood in my way. She was so small that she barely came up to my belly button, but I could tell by the look on her little face that if I were to try to push her out of the way, I’d be in for quite a surprise. Some people just look tough, and she was one of those people. In her hand she held my cheese sandwich.

“I hurt your feelings?” she asked, looking confused.

I shrugged my shoulders.

“I’m sorry, W.B.,” she said. “I didn’t mean to. That’s just the way everyone talks around here. Everyone makes fun of everyone. That’s what we do with people we like. Take the sandwich. I’m sorry for hurting your feelings.”

She held out the sandwich to me.

I still didn’t appreciate being called Wide Butt, but I did appreciate that she was trying to be nice.

“Thanks,” I told her as I accepted the sandwich, “but I should get going. I don’t want to worry my parents. If they wake up and notice I’m gone they might be upset.”

“Where’re your folks?” Shorty asked.

“They’re asleep in their flying house,” I told her, and then I realized how odd that probably sounded.

Shorty raised one of her eyebrows.

“Excuse me?”

I explained to her that my parents were inventors who had turned our home into a giant flying machine, and that we were in Chicago to take part in the race around the country. Shorty seemed pretty impressed by that.

“That’s amazing, W.B., a nationwide race! Wow. Why don’t you look more excited about it? You have the same expression on your face that Pa does when Ma makes him clean a dead rat from the attic.”

I was going to tell her about the Sheriff Graham show that I was missing back at home, but then I happened to glance outside and saw that Magnus was no longer at the hitching post.

“Where’s my horse?”

Shorty turned and looked out the window.

“Was that your horse? The grey one with the funny looking saddle?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Oh, someone stole that horse. I watched it happen while everyone in the saloon was laughing at you. Hey, want me to walk you home?”

Shorty and I split the cheese sandwich as we made the trip back to the Baron Estate. While we walked, Shorty told me about her parents, how they had recently moved to Chicago from Virginia, how she had a dream of one day owning a large ranch where she would train horses, how her mother was a great cook, how her father spent all of his time gluing animal tails to his face because he couldn’t grow a real mustache, and how they all lived together in a little apartment over the saloon.

I tried to listen to her, but all I could think about was my parents and how furious they would be to learn that Magnus had been stolen. Magnus was an important part of the family. In fact, he was a more important part of the family than Aunt Dorcas. Magnus was much more useful around the house. And he rarely sang.

The walk was long, but since I had company, I didn’t really mind. We reached the Exposition Fairgrounds after night had fallen. Most of the crowd had left. The inventors were all sleeping inside their inventions. The banana man was buried in his banana cart. Shorty walked me to the door of the Baron Estate and blushed when I invited her in for a cup of tea.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” she said. “I have to get home. If I’m not there to help out with supper, Ma will get mad. But good luck with your race. It should be really exciting. I hope you have a great time.”

She punched me on the shoulder, but it was a friendly sort of punch.

“Thanks,” I said.

I tried to punch her back on the shoulder but missed, toppling over the front steps of the Baron Estate and landing headfirst in a hedge. After Shorty finished laughing—she laughed for a good fifteen minutes—she helped me out of the hedge and wished me goodnight.

“I’ll come by tomorrow to see you off!” she called over her shoulder as she jogged down the street. “Goodnight, Wide Butt!”

I couldn’t help but smile as I quietly opened the door. All of the lights were off, so I took a kerosene lantern from the table and lit it. I took a step forward and gasped.

There was a stranger seated on the sofa.

She was a beautiful woman with curly, black hair. On her head, she wore a dark cowboy hat with a red rose tucked into the band. She was dressed all in black, except for her boots, which were bright red. There was a big smile on her face.

“Hi there,” she greeted me. “How’re you doing?”

“Good,” I said slowly. “And you?”

“Pretty well, thank you. Why don’t you get comfortable? Take a load off. Have a seat, kid.”

I walked over to my father’s rocking chair across from the sofa, but I didn’t sit down. The cheese sandwich that I had split with Shorty was suddenly churning in my stomach. Something was wrong. My parents wouldn’t just invite some random stranger into our home. And speaking of my parents, where were they? I looked around the room and couldn’t see M or P anywhere.

“Who are you?” I finally asked.

“My name is Rose,” she said, “Rose Blackwood. I hope you don’t mind, but I looked in your room and saw a bunch of those silly novels about that famous sheriff in Pitchfork, so I’m sure that you know all about my family. Let me tell you that I’m much prettier and nicer in real life.”

The cheese sandwich that was churning in my belly started to bounce like dried corn in a hot skillet. I was more frightened than I’d ever been before. Suddenly I had one of those “out of body experiences” where my soul slipped out of my body and floated up to the ceiling. My soul noticed an open window and tried to make a break for it, but I caught it before it could get away. If I was going to be stuck in such a dangerous situation, then my cowardly soul was going to have to be stuck in it too.

Of course I had heard of her.

Rose Blackwood was Benedict Blackwood’s little sister.

According to the Sheriff Graham stories that I had read, she was nearly as nasty as her older brother. I heard she once made a goldfish cry. By yelling at it.

Rose raised her right hand, which I could see was holding a little black pistol. I’d never had a pistol pointed at me before. Most people haven’t, I suppose. Let me tell you, it’s not particularly pleasant. In fact, it was so horrible that it made my upset stomach feel even worse.

Before I could stop myself, I belched.

And it was loud.

In fact, it was louder than I had ever belched before. It sounded like an angry troll trapped in a cave, and it lasted almost an entire minute. When I was finished, I blushed and excused myself. I could feel my face turning pink. Rose looked at me and frowned.

“Poor thing. Do you have a tummy ache?” she asked sympathetically.

I nodded my head.

“You should rest,” she told me. “Why don’t you sit down in that chair and get comfortable?”

She motioned for me to sit in the rocking chair. I tried to sit, but I was still so frightened that my legs didn’t want to listen to me. I continued to stand there and stare at her. I couldn’t believe that the sister of the most dangerous man in America was in my living room. If I wasn’t so scared, I would have been excited. In fact, I might have even asked her for her autograph.

“Let me make this a little clearer for you, kid,” Rose said after a moment. “Get comfortable or get shot.”