Authors: Donis Casey
All Men Fear Me (19 page)
“We are surrounded on all sides by enemies.”
âV. Lenin, 1901
The whole town of Boynton was in quite a state after the Liberty Sing. Alafair had no idea what was going to happen now. Only weeks earlier much of the county had been dead set against getting involved in a European war. Then one little riot and suddenly the whole community was wild with patriotism and looking for spies and traitors under every bush.
At first, someone who said that he didn't look forward to America being in a shooting war, or someone who skipped buying a war stamp one week, might have his front door egged in the middle of the night. Or a lady who said she wished her boy hadn't joined up so quickly may have found a fresh cow pat on her doorstep. When Mrs. Schneberg's victory garden was ripped up yet again, she caught the miscreants in the act. She was a feisty old dame, so she grabbed up a broomstick and went after them, but it was too late. She couldn't identify any of them.
People were afraid to say what was on their minds. And not just because their neighbors might look at them askance. One could end up in Federal prison for talking against the war. Or lose his livelihood, or at the very least expect all his friends to shun him and his family, either out of conviction or fear.
Mr. Eichelberger's corn crib was burned down. Mr. Kritchel north of town found a dead cat down his well. The only things the victims had in common was a German-sounding name. Eichelberger hadn't seen the ruffians. Kritchel got a glimpse but the night was dark. There had been five or six of them on horseback, but he couldn't tell who they were because they were all wearing black robes and hoods.
Scott had a pretty good idea who was behind all the mischief, but at the moment he did not have enough evidence to arrest anyone. After inspecting the damage at Eichelberger's place, he paced the office floor, his face so red that Trent feared he might have a stroke right then and there. “It's bad enough that we have to fight the Huns, Trent. Why do these idiots think we need to fight little old ladies and old men with feebleminded sons who never bothered anybody? I want to catch them vandals so bad I can taste it.”
“There is no fear in love;
but perfect love casteth out fear.”
â1 John 4:18
Trenton Calder paused at the door and adjusted his collar, though it didn't need adjusting. He was feeling as nervous as a maiden in a mining camp. Shaw Tucker was sitting at the kitchen table, and Alafair was bustling around from stove to cabinet to table, serving her husband cornbread and butter and refilling his coffee mug. Shaw smiled when he saw who had come in, but the smile dropped away when he gauged the look on Trent's face. His eyes narrowed and he put his cup on the table.
“Sit yourself down, Trent,” he said. “Mama, get this boy something to wet his whistle.”
Trent sat down opposite him and thanked Alafair when she brought him a glass of something. He wasn't paying much attention to anything but the look on Shaw's face. Amused.
Shaw had been through this with four daughters before Ruth. He could smell the flop sweat on a prospective son-in-law from a mile away.
Trent decided to jump right in with both feet. “Mr. Tucker, I'd like your permission to ask Ruth to marry me.”
Alafair made a little noise and Shaw turned to look at her. They stared at one another for about an hour, by Trent's reckoning, before she walked over to stand behind Shaw's chair.
“I suppose you think that surprises me, son,” Shaw said. “I assume Ruth is open to the notion.”
“Yes, sir, she is.”
Shaw leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table. “What are your plans?”
He didn't have to explain to Trent what plans he meant. There was a war going on. “Well, sir, my number came up, all right, but I'll be joining the Navy, if they'll have me. I know Ruth and me can't be married until I come back for good. I'd never ask her to saddle herself with a cripple or end up a widow before she's twenty.”
“You and Ruth have talked about this, about what it really means for you to be going off to war?”
“Yes, sir. She says she don't mind waiting for me.”
Alafair had placed her hand on her husband's shoulder. Trent couldn't tell if she was kindly disposed toward the idea or not. His mouth was so dry that he feared he would never be able to spit again.
Shaw wasn't finished with his interrogation. “What do you intend to do after the war, if you manage to come back all in one piece?”
“I'm thinking I might stay in law enforcement, sir. Maybe get on at the Muskogee Police Department. Might even study to be a lawyer eventually. It all depends on how things are after we win the war.”
Shaw's mouth twitched at this show of bravado. “Well, Trent, Miz Tucker informed me some months ago that this was going to happen, so I've had time to gird my loins. We've pondered the idea at some length and come to the conclusion that having you in the family wouldn't be the worst thing that ever happened.”
Trent flung himself across the table to grab his hand, and Shaw laughed. “No need to pump my arm off. Now go find Ruth and start making your arrangements, because I expect she's out there on the porch about to bust.”
Alafair hadn't said a word during the entire conversation, but she couldn't keep quiet one more second. “Trenton Calder, it's about time, is all I can say! I was afraid I was going to run out of daughters before one of them fell for you.”
Trent leaped to his feet and reached for her hand as well, but she pulled him in for a hug before he ran to find Ruth.
“Well, Shaw,” she said, “looks like we're going to have some redheaded grandchildren.”
“I kind of wish they had waited a while longer, though, honey. I'd hate to see Ruth get a broken heart if something happens to him.”
“It's too late to worry about that. Whether they're betrothed or not, she's already in love with him.”
“I notice that you're mighty pleased about it.”
“Well, I am. I've had a soft spot for that boy since he was knee-high. Only problem is, now I have one more boy to worry about getting killed in the war.”
“Tidal Wave of Patriotism Arouses City's
Business Men to Action.”
âThe Daily Oklahoman
, June 8, 1917
Eric Bent caught Dutch Leonard before he was able to punch the time clock on Monday morning. “Mr. Ober wants a word with you, Dutch. He asked me to send you over as soon as you got in.”
Dutch sighed. He had been expecting something like this. “Is this because of what I said at the Liberty Sing on Friday? He planning to dock me?”
Bent shook his head. “I really don't know, Dutch. He just asked me to send you up before you punched in.”
Dutch wasn't encouraged by the look of sympathy on Bent's face. “Well, this don't sound good.”
Bent didn't disagree with him. “Go on up, then. I'll hold on to your lunch pail if you want. You can put it in your locker after you clock in.”
Mr. Ober's office was located over the machine shop, up a long flight of stairs on the outside of the building. As he climbed, he couldn't keep the image of a scaffold out of his head. He knocked and entered without waiting for an invitation.
Mr. Ober stood when he recognized who had come in. “Dutch Leonard,” he said, “are you the one who has been undermining the machinery here at the plant and causing work stoppages?”
Dutch drew back like he had been slapped. “Well, don't beat around the bush, Mr. Ober. I ain't no sneak nor killer, either.”
Ober was not convinced. “Are you or are you not with the I.W.W. or the Working Class Union?”
“Is this because of what I said to Mr. Clover the other night? Now you've decided I'm a Wobblie? What if I was?”
“I won't have unionists stirring up trouble here at the brick works, Leonard. You're not a bad worker, but there are plenty of men looking for war work who aren't eligible for the military. I'll let you stay on the job if you'll swear to me right now that you renounce all ties to unionism and renew your loyalty oath.”
Dutch said nothing for a long minute. Frank Ober was generally a fair man who treated his employees well. But he was a businessman and a capitalist. He probably treated his dogs well, too.
“Mr. Ober, I ain't a member of the W.C.U. I am a wage earner. I am a card-carrying member of the Industrial Workers of the World, and I won't renounce the right of workers to bargain collectively.”
Ober's face flushed. “Who else at this plant is a unionist?”
Dutch wasn't about to get his fellow workers fired. “If they want to make themselves known to you, that's up to them.”
Ober came around his desk so fast that Dutch was alarmed, but the manager simply opened the door. “You can collect your pay from the paymaster. Don't ever set foot on this property again. If I find out that you're trying to recruit my workers into the I.W.W. or any other damn socialist organization I'll see that you're arrested and thrown in Leavenworth for twenty years.”
***
Old Nick was sitting under a tree outside the main gate to the brick plant when Dutch Leonard came out.
Nick tipped his derby and gave the man a smile. “Howdy. You're Dutch Leonard, ain't you? Call me Nick. I was impressed by what you did the other night at the Masonic Hall, when everybody went to whaling on each other.”
Dutch's forehead wrinkled. There was something familiar about the man. Had he seen the stranger at the Liberty Sing? Somehow Dutch thought so, though he couldn't say why. Nor could he bring to mind which side of the brouhaha the man had been on. Nick stood up and walked toward him. He seemed friendly enough, but Dutch took a step back, just in case.
Nick smiled. “That was some shindy, wasn't it? My punching hand is pretty sore today, though.”
Dutch snorted and resumed walking. Nick fell in beside him. “It took a heap of guts to call that pinhead out, to my way of thinking. I don't know if I'd have had the brass to do it.”
“Yeah, well, fat lot of good it did me. I spent two days in the hoosegow for it, and I just got fired for my convictions.”
“You're joshing me. You mean to say that things have got so bad that a man can lose his livelihood for speaking his mind at a public meeting?”
“Reckon so. Ober has got it in his head that I had something to do with the machinery breakdowns just because I'm agin' the draft.”
“He thinks you're the saboteur everybody's been talking about lately?”
“Well, I told him I ain't. But it don't matter. He'll be sorry. They'll all be sorry.”
“There's plenty anti-war folks around here that are against conscription. I figure that the socialists will be taking matters into their own hands directly.”
“You got that right.”
“So you ain't the one who's been throwing wrenches into the works back at the plant?
“Whoever is slowing down the work has got my vote, though I don't hold with throat-slitting.”
Nick shrugged. “Could be that Avey fellow just hung around with the wrong sort. Hung around. Get it?” Nick laughed at his own joke. “Anyway, I wouldn't mind teaching Ober a lesson myself, you know. A man shouldn't be able to tell his workers what to think.”
Dutch shot Nick a suspicious glance. “What do you have against Ober?”
“Same thing I have against all capitalists.”
Dutch stopped walking. “Are you a socialist?”
Nick hung an arm over Dutch's shoulder. “Listen, brother, I know which way the wind is blowing. You can bet that Ober is aiming to turn you over to the sheriff for sedition. You know the layout of the plant and the best way to delay that brick shipment from going out. How'd you like to get back at Ober and help me advance the socialist cause all at once? You might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.”
“They ain't nothing I'd like better, and I do know a way to get onto the property without being seen. But it'd be hard to get away with. Ober has guards all over the place nowadays.”
Nick made a dismissive noise. “I don't care how many guards he's got. They can't be everywhere at once. I got a couple of ideas for mischief, and nobody would ever know it was us.”
Who is this man, Dutch thought? Is he trying to trap me? Still, revenging himself on Ober and Cooper and the rest of that pack of capitalist overlords appealed to him greatly. “Tell you what, you buy me a beer and we'll talk about it.”
Department of Justice
Washington, D.C.
April 6, 1917
TO ALL UNITED STATES ATTORNEYS AND MARSHALS:
Dear Sir:
You are hereby directed to give full publicity to the following statement:
No German alien enemy in this country, who has not hitherto been implicated in plots against the interests of the United States, need have any fear of action by the department of justice so long as he observes the following warnings:
Obey the law; keep your mouth shut.
Respectfully,
T.W. GREGORY
Attorney General.
Life was good for Mary and Kurt Lukenbach. They were in love, they had adopted a beautiful daughter, and they were making money hand over fist, what with Kurt's new business of raising and butchering hogs and selling the meat to the U.S. Army as well as to local markets.
Until the war broke out, the only shadow on their happiness had been that after almost two years of marriage, no more children had blessed their union, and if anybody was made for motherhood, it was Mary. But her mother had told her that babies came along on their own time and it was no use to worry. And so she didn't. She had her darling Judy, and loved having her cousin Chase constantly running in and out of the house and tailing Kurt like a faithful dog. Worry didn't suit Mary's sunny ways, in any event.
She ladled pancake batter into the skillet and watched with pleasure as it spread out to cover the bottom. Not for Mary were skimpy little cakes that would fit two or three to a pan. If it wasn't as big as the bottom of the skillet, it wasn't worth bothering with. She eyed the cake as bubbles began to form in the batter, and started counting. Her father insisted that a pancake was not ready to flip until exactly twenty bubbles had formed over the top. Not one more or one less. It was a pretty good rule of thumb, Mary had discovered, and besides, she enjoyed the game of counting bubbles. As she was growing up it had been a source of hilarity for the kids to huddle over the skillet, turner at the ready, trying desperately to flip the pancake at exactly twenty bubbles.
The memory made her smile. They never made it in time.
A pair of long arms slid around her middle, causing her to start. She laughed and leaned back on Kurt's shoulder. “You made me lose count!”
“It's okay,” he said into her ear. “Me and Chase will be happy to eat pancakes even with twenty-five bubbles.” Chase appeared around the side of Kurt's leg, grinning with pleasure at having surprised Mary.
“Well, sit down, then, boys, and pour yourselves a glass of milk. These flapjacks will be ready in a few minutes, and you want to eat them while they're hot. How are the sows this morning?” Two of their breeding sows had recently given birth to big litters of piglets.
Kurt released her reluctantly. Her soft form was warm and sweet on a cool morning. “Little babies are eating greedy like swines. The Hampshire sow was upset, walking up and down her sty, complaining. All the piglets were squealing like mad, wanting to nurse.” He surveyed the breakfast table before he sat down. “There is no bacon this morning?”
“No, it's Meatless Tuesday, honey. I'll fry you up a couple of eggs if you want something savory to go with your hotcakes.”
“All right, that's good.” He tickled Judy's nose before he sat down next to her highchair, and was rewarded with a silvery giggle. He picked up the crockery pitcher of fresh milk from the table and poured a tall glass for himself and one for Chase. “It is silly, though, this meatless day, for us. Meat we have plenty of.”
Mary set a tall stack of wheel-sized pancakes in front of him. “Those are the rules. We got to save as much of your meat as we can for the troops, now.” She retrieved a bottle of sorghum from the cabinet and handed it to Kurt, who set it aside while he slathered butter over the top of each cake, starting from the bottom of the pile and going up.
Mary watched in satisfaction as he finished by pouring half the sorghum over his cakes and the other half over Chase's. She took a couple of eggs from the bowl on the windowsill and poured a quarter inch of fat from her grease jar into the skillet for frying. Kurt was six feet and three inches tall, and he only weighed one hundred and seventy-five pounds on days when he carried rocks in his pockets. As far as his wife was concerned, the more fat and calories he consumed, the better.
“You lads going into town today?” she asked, as the eggs sizzled.
Kurt swallowed a syrupy mouthful before he answered. “I'm needing hog feed. I will take the wagon in later, after morning chores. Carlon Welsh and couple other boys will help me load up pigs for the train to the hog auction in Muskogee tomorrow.”
“Can I go feed the chickens?” Chase interrupted.
Mary gave the boy a half-serious glare. “Chase Kemp, I do declare! What did you do? Dump them pancakes on the floor?”
Chase was indignant. “Of course not! I ate them up.”
“You'll give yourself the belly ache,” Kurt warned.
“I'm sorry,” Chase said, not sorry at all. “But they were real good, Cousin Mary. I couldn't stop eating them up! Now can I go?”
He was laying it on a bit thick, but Mary knew that feeding the chickens was Chase's favorite chore, so she was inclined to forgive his overly enthusiastic praise of her cooking. She made a shooing motion with the pancake turner. “All right, off with you, then. Go out the front and leave the door open. It's going to be hot today.”
Kurt and Mary's bedroom had two doors, one directly into the kitchen and the other into the parlor. Normally, they came straight into the kitchen without passing through the parlor when they got up, and Kurt left out the back door to feed the animals while Mary made breakfast. Neither had used the front door that morning.
Chase sped off and Mary bent over to wipe syrup off of Judy's face. She was about to make some comment to Kurt when a horrified shriek from Chase caused her to jerk upright and Judy to emit a startled wail.
Kurt stood so quickly that his chair clattered over onto the floor. “Chase!
Was ist los?”
Chase streaked back into the kitchen as quickly as he had streaked out. He made a flying leap into Kurt's arms and waved at the front door.
Mary lifted Judy out of the highchair. “What is it, Chase?”
“Show me,” Kurt said. But Chase dug his face into Kurt's shoulder and made incoherent whimpering noises.
Kurt frowned and put the boy down before walking into the parlor to investigate. The front door was about half-way open into the room. He had only taken a few steps into the room before he could tell that something definitely was not right. There was a smear of something dark across the white face of the door.
Mary stood where she was in the kitchen for half a minute, patting a trembling Chase on the back and waiting for Kurt to come back in and tell her it was nothing.
When he didn't, she placed Chase firmly in a chair and ordered him to watch Judy. Then she took a breath and went to see for herself.
Kurt was standing on the porch with his hands on his hips staring at the front of the house. His face was so red that she rushed toward him in fear that he had taken ill.
He seized her wrist and drew her under his arm, and as her body turned toward the house, she saw what had turned his normally placid expression so thunderous.
One of the newborn piglets had been skewered to the wall with one of Kurt's own trimming knives. Its throat was cut, and written in its blood across the door were the words DIE HEINE. TRATORS GIT HUNG. KNITES OF LIBERTY was scrawled in coal on the porch floor, beneath her feet.
Mary's hands flew up to press her temples. Neither spoke for a long time. This was an occurrence so foreign to Mary's experience that she was finding it hard to believe her own eyes. When she finally made a move toward the poor crucified piglet, Kurt stopped her.
“No, leave it.” His voice was low when he spoke. “Honey, damp your stove and get the children, now. We are going to see Sheriff Tucker.”
“But Carlon will be here directly. He'll see this and wonder where we are and think something has happened to us. We'll leave him a note on the back screen. Yes, he always goes around back when he first gets here.” Even as she said it, Mary realized she sounded ridiculously fussy.
Kurt looked down at her. His tone was surprisingly gentle. “Get your coat,
Leibling
.”
Mary picked her way through the gore to follow him back into the house, still feeling dazed. She knew Kurt was exactly right to go to the sheriff, but all she could think was that she wished her mother and father were here.