The 2nd Farmer
Copyright© 2023 by Adam.F
Chapter 3
I had arrived in my home county after catching a ride from a teamster travelling north from where I’d been attending the Benton School in St. Louis, I had been called into the headmasters and was told they hadn’t received my tuition for the coming semester or any correspondence from my parents.
“We’re sorry to see you go, you’ve been an exemplary student during your time with us. I realize that things were a bit ‘rocky’ for you when you enrolled, coming from the ‘frontier’ and your lack of formal education, I want you to know that I have been pleasantly surprised at how you have excelled and grown as a person.”
“We at the Benton school have the greatest admiration for your achievements here and have written a letter of recommendation should you wish to pursue furthering your education.”
With a letter of recommendation, a $10 gold piece, and my belongings in the same framed pack I had arrived with, I was politely ‘shown the door’.
That framed pack was the start of my early troubles at the school, most of the students lived locally, but several of us came from other areas. I was given my pack frame by the Osage tribe that were friendly to my family, I had grown up with the kids of the tribe, and my father was on good terms with their Chief.
I’m pretty sure Pa helped the tribe with their trading, everyone knew the tribes paid a lot more for their goods than the white man did, and Pa was always a ‘fair’ man, I think it always rankled him to see folks taken advantage of, even the ‘Redskins’.
When Ma and Pa told me they were sending all the way to St. Louis for school, to say I was unhappy would be an understatement, as a matter of fact I packed a few things and ran away that night. Two days later I was cooking a fish when my father sat down across the fire from me. He looked at me with a slight grin and asked, “have you calmed down enough for us to talk about this?”
I sullenly looked across at him, “yes sir, but how did you find me so fast, I used all of the things I’d been taught to not leave a trail.”
He got a big grin on his face, “I didn’t find you, he did.” And he looked to his left and leaning against the tree next to me was one of my Osage friend’s dad. He tapped me on the arm with his ‘coup stick’.
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