Billy Don't. William OSB Baker
the street, the sidewalk led toward the small covered front porch which appeared as a hastily added afterthought to the house design. On each side of the walk, the cracked and barren earth resembled a dried lake bed. The yard was devoid of vegetation except for a single struggling cactus whose split and discolored palms told of the abuse it had suffered from pointed sticks and sharp fingernails of the neighborhood children.
"Billy, don't". The words would haunt Billy.
Four steps encased by wooden stoops led from the sidewalk to the small porch serving as a cover for the front door. The stoops, being of proper height and width, made comfortable seats where on warm evenings the neighborhood children gathered. The hollow insides of the enclosed stoops gave a resounding thud-thud-thud to the swinging heels of the children who sat there.
"Your soul will turn black, Billy." Again, the words of Mrs. Blair.
From the front porch the cement walkway led around the south side of the house, alongside the small vegetable garden between the Blair's and Baxter's homes. From there, it continued across the sloping yard before joining a large cement area in the rear of the house connected to the cellar, the woodshed, and a set of wooden stairs leading to the back porch.
The cement area was where Mr. Blair split wood, dressed chickens and made ice cream in the hand-cranked freezer. Under the large living room window, over-looking the cemented area, were the cellar doors which folded down on the cold cellar where Mrs. Blair stored her potatoes, apples and preserves. It was a dark damp place where the spiders and salamanders lived.
"The Devil lives in you, Billy." Again, Mrs. Blair.
The slope of the land fell dramatically from the front to the rear of the house giving the back porch an elevated viewing of the nearly flat back yard. From the porch a quick glance brought into view the lower end of the gravel driveway, the large two-story garage, referred to as the barn, the chicken yard with its coops, the grape arbor in which sat Mr. Blair's pedal operated sharpening wheel, the larger vegetable garden and a view into neighboring yards.
"God can see you, Billy." Could he ever escape from the words of Mrs. Blair.
The pathway from the back porch, through the washroom and into the kitchen was cluttered with bulky clothing hanging on the wall, large wash tubs stacked on the floor, and a hand-cranked wringer washing machine. A large table, with an oil cloth cover, and a four burner gas stove, complete with an oven, occupied the kitchen.
The pantry was in the rear of the house with a window above the sink overlooking the back yard. In the short hallway leading from the kitchen to the living room was the door to the pantry, and across from it the closet in where sat a manually operated gas hot water tank. When lit and forgotten, It had a propensity for turning into a steam boiler and scaring everyone with its rumbling and banging of pipes, as though it were ready to blow itself apart.
"God does not like you, Billy." Again, the words of Mrs. Blair
The south side of the first floor was divided into two rooms. The living room with its large pot bellied stove, and the sitting parlor, a forbidden sanctuary, shut off from the living room by a large oak sliding door. Entrance to the Blair house was by either the front or back door. No rules existed except that doors were not to be left standing open nor slammed shut. Although entrance was unrestricted, the route to the living room was mandated to be by way of the kitchen. The sitting parlor was "not a thoroughfare”.
"Stay out of there, Billy."
The route to the second floor started next to the telephone mounted on the front wall of the entrance hallway, adjacent to the front door, where the wallpaper had been picked away by idle fingers. The bare plaster served as a scratch pad for not-to-be-forgotten numbers. Two stairs, then a landing, a turn to the right, up eleven stairs where, "May I", was played on rainy days, alongside the open-railed banister allowing for inquisitive glances into the sanctuary of the sitting parlor, then another landing and five more stairs to the second floor.
"What are you doing up there, Billy?"
Of the Blair's nine children, only three remained at home. Ralph, no longer a child at age 25, had the bedroom to the right and above the entrance hallway. Straight ahead was the second bedroom shared by Beth and one of the Blair's daughters, Sarah, age 14. Mrs. Blair's bedroom, shared by her youngest child, Eugene, age 12, as well as Randolph and Billy was diagonally to the left and over the living room. It had a view overlooking Allendale District where at night the bright lights of the Allendale Theatre sign could be seen. In his learning process Billy would notice the Allendale Theatre spelling of "theatre" was different from his taught spelling of "theater". The explanation given him was that "theatre" was the English spelling of the word. The single bathroom, located on the second floor above the kitchen, was at the foot of the stairway leading to the attic. Under the enclosed stairway was Billy's closet, an unlighted, cobwebbed place with orange crates set one on top of the other which served as Billy's dresser.
Billy was to stay at the Blair's for seven years.
David Baxter lived next door to the Blair', and was to become Billy's best friend. Together the boys would climb trees, walk back-line fences, play rubber gun wars and string tin cans on heavy thread between their bedroom windows in a futile effort to maintain constant communication, and to be each other's alibi whenever one was needed.
David lived with his mother and grandmother. His father had left the family without warning and had not made his whereabouts known. Bax, as Billy came to call his friend, would often, in a moment of silence, look at Billy and ask, "Wonder where my Dad is?" A common bond developed between the two due to the disappearance of Bax's father and Billy's lonesomeness for his own father.
Conversations during their idle moments, perhaps while sitting on the curb tossing pebbles across the street, frequently brought out memories of experiences shared with their fathers. Fishing for Billy, hunting for Bax.
Shortly after Billy had arrived at the Blair’s, Mrs. Blair and David's mother sat visiting on the front porch stoop watching the two boys playing in the street. "My goodness, those boys could be brothers." Mrs. Blair observed. "Yes, they do look a lot alike. David seems to be a bit taller and a little heavier than Billy. Of course he is three months older," remarked David's mother, and his father was such a huge man." "Yes. He certainly was that. Don't suppose you have heard from him?" "No. Not a word. It's been so long now I really don't want to hear from him. Its all behind me now." She paused, letting go a large sigh. "Sooner forgotten, the better." She returned to the comparison of the two boys. "Billy's red hair is gorgeous. I just love the way it waves row after row." Rhetorically, she asked, "Why is it that boys have naturally curly hair and girls have straight hair?"
"Do you suppose it's his red hair which gives Billy his violent temper?" offered Mrs. Blair.
"Oh, I don't think so. David's hair is brown and he has no shortage of temper. What color are Billy's eyes? David's are blue."
"His are blue. Blue as the sky. His mother says Billy takes after his father who is of Irish extraction with red hair, blue eyes, ruddy complexion and a fierce temper. Billy go it all, I'm afraid."
"He is quite a scrapper, isn't he?"
"Oh my, yes. You know, Mrs. Baxter, the Devil has gotten control of that boy. I'm sure God sees it all and will ..... "
David's mother interrupted, "You will excuse me, but I must get home." She knew from prior happenings that Mrs. Blair was about to launch into one of her God-fearing evangelistic sermons, and she had no desire to sit out another one. She rose and walked away toward her house thinking about the boys, pleased they seemed to be becoming close friends, yet worried about the influence Billy might have on David. She passed the low, well-trimmed green hedge bordering the Baxter's front yard which held beautiful roses and a plush lawn where the neighbor children were allowed to run the D-shaped sprinkler on hot summer days. Preparing to enter her walkway she noticed Mr. Blair approaching from High Street carrying his lunch box. She stopped, waiting for Mr. Blair to close the distance between them. "Good evening, Mr. Blair."
"Ev'ning." He reached up and tipped the wide brim hat he customarily wore.
"Mrs.