Billy Don't. William OSB Baker
"I guess I could do that. What is your name, and where do you live?" .
"My name is Billy. Well, really, William Munroe. I live up there." He pointed across the street to the Lyon Avenue hill.
"And where did you get this, and where are you going with it?"
Billy explained how he picked up greens for the chickens from the markets on Mondays and that he was on his way home.
"You don't expect to pull this load up that hill, do you, Billy?"
"I have to. I usually go round the other way to Brookdale, but I don't have the time today. My Dad is coming to see me." The officer listened with interest as Billy explained how he did not live with his father. When Billy finished, the officer made a motion toward a nearby driveway.
"Pull your wagon up to that driveway, and I'll help you get across the street."
Billy complied, being particularly careful not to let the wagon tip over. The policeman stood in the center of the street prepared to stop traffic as he motioned Billy across the street, and then followed him to the opposite curb, where he lifted the rear of the wagon as Billy pulled on the yoke, raising the wagon onto the sidewalk.
"Would you accept some help getting up the hill?" Billy was elated by the offer.
"Yeah, sure.... ah," embarrassingly, he corrected himself, "I mean, yes."
"Good." He took the handle from Billy's hand. "You push." Billy was all smiles, and the warm feeling he had known when the dead policeman pushed his wagon again filled his mood. Cautiously, Billy asked, "Did you know the policeman who was killed?"
"Yes, I did. He was a fine officer. He lived on your street. Did you know him?"
"Yes." Billy had replied with his head down between his extended arms as he pushed on the back of the loaded wagon. He straightened and told the story of how he had come to know the dead policeman. This time the telling was easy. It was now a set of facts ..... no emotion, no feeling. It was strange, thought Billy. It was as though the experience belonged to another person. With Billy again pushing, they reached the crest of the steepest part of the hill.
The Policeman placed the wagon handle up against the gunny sacks, “Think you can make it from here?”
"I think so. Thank you. Much obliged." Billy had often heard Mr. Blair use the phrase, "much obliged" and he used it now, thinking it sounded grown up.
"You're welcome. Next time take a smaller load and you won't have such a problem." He placed his hands in the small of his back, bending backwards to ease the tightened muscles. It had been a hard pull. "Have a good time with your Dad."
"I will. Bye." Billy took hold of the handle, leaned forward with both arms extended backwards, his hands holding tight to the handle. He pulled hard. It was heavy. He pulled harder. Then with the help of a starting push from the friendly policeman, the wagon slowly began to roll. The officer watched as Billy's progress gradually increased. Satisfied that he could pull the load, the officer turned to walk back down the hill to his beat. "Nice kid," he thought, "but what a temper. Probably gets him into a lot of trouble."
Step by step, Billy worked his way up the ever-decreasing slope with the pulling becoming easier as he approached the crown of Lyon Avenue.
"Hurry up, Billy. Daddy is here" It was his sister Beth running-in his direction.
"Gee, you sure got a big load." She went to the rear of the wagon to help push. "How did you get this up the hill?"
"A policeman helped me." Billy chose to keep the details to himself, and Beth didn't think anything unusual about a policeman helping Billy. "Daddy brought us some candy. He has some for you." Billy was still not certain his Aunt Rae had caught him stealing the candy bar, and he chose to not mention he had had a candy bar or that Aunt Rae had bought it for him. Billy's hand hurt from the sharp edge of the wagon handle digging into his palm. He was tired, his muscles burned with fatigue, and he was emotionally drained.
Passing the hedge in front of the Baxter's house he straightened up, released his grip on the handle and switched hands. He looked across the Blair's front yard, beyond the cactus plant, to where his Dad sat on the front porch stoop holding Randolph in his lap. Happiness raced into Billy's tired body. He forgot about the sore hands and the burning muscles. He increased his stride, hurrying to close the distance separating him from a joyous reunion with his Dad, the one he loved.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"Hi there, Bozo." It was the way he greeted his son, a nickname used to convey a special value, an especially felt relationship.
"Hi, Dad." It was always "Dad" with Billy, never "Daddy."
Billy moved between his father's legs, reaching round his waist, and gaining a hold to pull himself tightly against his sitting father. He placed his head against his father's chest. "I love you, Dad. And I miss you."
"I love you too, Bozo. And oh boy, do I ever miss all of you." He reached out for Beth and Randolph, folding them into his arms. He lowered his head, fighting back the emotion which was engulfing him, and silently gave divine thanks for his three beautiful children, and the time they were to share together.
"I'm sorry I wasn't back when you got here" Billy visualized how he would have greeted his Dad by waiting on the stoop until he saw him coming up the sidewalk, running to join him, and having his Dad place his hand on his head, saying, "I'll use you as my cane." His Monday chore had cheated him out of his simple pleasure.
"Heck, I'm glad you got that load home. Aunt Rae told me you were hauling greens for the chickens." His Dad never referred to relatives by their hereditary titles. Aunt Rae was Aunt Rae, Uncle Bud was Bud, cousin Rae Ellen was Ellen, and Grandmother Munroe was Mother.
"Looks like you did yourself proud. Quite a load for your little wagon." Billy wondered if Aunt Rae had told his Dad about the candy bar. Since nothing was said, he guessed not.
"Billy." Mrs. Blair had stepped out onto the porch. "Pull your wagon round to the chicken yard gate and get your clothes changed. Your father is waiting on you." Partially turning to return to the house, she cast a frowning glance at Billy's father, and said, "Hello, Mr. Munroe." The words were cold and harsh.
He responded, his voice being without emotion, "Hello, Mrs. Blair."
Mrs. Blair returned to the house, closing the door behind her.
Dad returned to the children, "1 have something in this bag for you. Can you guess what it is?"
"Candy," replied Billy, remembering Beth's comment.
"Right you are, Bozo. But, what kind?" His Dad wanted to continue the guessing game, sure that Billy would have the correct answer.
Billy considered the question for a moment before replying. Then his words exploded. "Black jelly beans." He knew they were his Dad's favorite and on their trips from Carmel they always shared a bag of black jelly beans.
"Right again. Didn't think you'd miss that one." He handed the bag to Billy. "Have a couple now and save the rest for the show."
Billy dug into the small bag for two of the largest beans, then held them up to show his Dad before plopping them into his mouth. Between his chews he asked his sister, "What kind a candy did you get?" And, at the same time, he reached to peer into the bag she was holding. Beth pulled away. The bag tore, spilling the tinfoil wrapped candy kisses onto the sidewalk.
"Darn you Billy. You pick them up."
"1 didn't do anything. You pulled the bag. You pick 'em up."
Dad laughed. "No harm done. They are all wrapped. It was a weak bag anyway. Both of you pick up the candy, and we'll go next door to see Mrs. Baxter for a minute or two. Then we'll go to the show.”
The two children picked up the candy kisses, putting them back in the torn bag. "Bozo, you take the wagon round back, change your clothes, and come over to the Baxter's. Okay?"
"Okay, Dad." He stuffed his candy