Foreword:

This is a series of short, to longer stories, that will cover twenty or so years of the life of Bobby Dalton, a young man who, while he grew up in a way that might seem foreign to those of us in this day and age, wasn’t at all bizarre in his own day and age. Life was both more simple, and much more complex back then, than it is nowadays. His story starts when he was two years old. Because of the nature of his experience, the stories will start with relatively short accounts of what happened to him, but will get longer as they proceed, and more characters are introduced into his life. What this means is that the first story may seem short and incomplete, when read. Have patience. More ... much more ... will be revealed as each story progresses. The stories MUST be read in order, or the reader will become hopelessly lost and confused.

Prologue

Bobby was two, in 1951, when his father went off to fight in a “police action” that would eventually be called the Korean war. Bobby didn’t know that, of course. He was only two. He barely knew his name. Remembering “Mamma” was not a problem, because she was still there, on the farm, where they lived. “Dada” was a concept that grew mistier, and less firm, as months turned into years, and the face that went with that name also became misty and vague.

There was another male face, as time went on. He was called “Joe” by Mamma, and he had a big smile and strong hands. While Bobby didn’t know why Joe was there, or from whence he came, Joe sometimes played with him, and told the most amazing stories.

Bobby had no way of knowing that Joe was one of the last of a dying breed of men who, in earlier years, had been called Hoboes. He went from farm to farm, looking for work, at least enough to entitle him to a meal, and perhaps, if he was lucky, a place to get out of the weather for the night. Bobby wouldn’t have cared that Joe was nineteen years old, and had been classified as “feeble-minded” by the doctors who examined the thousands of recruits who were sent to a far off peninsula, where death stalked every street, valley and hill. Those doctors decided that Joe wasn’t suitable for Army life, and turned him away. Bobby wouldn’t have understood that when Joe’s father died, in another far off place, across an ocean so vast that Bobby wouldn’t have been able to conceive of it, Joe’s mother had decided she was no longer able to care for him. She abandoned him at a train station, where he thought he was waiting to take a train to see his grandparents. Joe sat, not knowing which train to get on, until someone came and chased him away with a stick.

Joe’s mother had taken him to the big city, where the train depot was, and, when he was chased away from there, he hid for a while, not knowing what to do. Knowing he was supposed to get on a train, he waited until night time, and climbed up into a car that was empty. When the train started up, he rode, until he was found, and beaten again, this time with fists and a short, black, flat thing that hurt a great deal when it hit his head.

That was how Joe ended up in the middle of the country, far away from his home on the Eastern Seaboard.

Joe, however, wasn’t nearly as “feeble-minded” as the doctors had thought. True, he did have significant problems with math, and had been almost unable to remember the things teachers wanted him to remember in subjects like History, English and the like. He had no talent for those things.

What he did have a talent for was understanding how things worked ... and why they stopped working. Machinery was something he just understood. All he had to do was examine it, and he could learn to work it or, if it didn’t work anymore, he could puzzle out what it would take to make it work again. With half the adult male population off fighting a war, when Joe landed in the heartland of the American Midwest farming region, he was a very welcome man indeed. Men were needed for helping with the work.

And, as it turned out, his personality, which was quiet, sweet, and honest, made him welcome for other reasons. In addition to understanding what made machinery tick, he understood what made women tick too.

None of this was within the realm of interest for Bobby, though. He just loved it when Joe stayed overnight, in Mamma’s bedroom, and was there in the morning, eating breakfast with them. Sometimes he stayed for weeks, helping with the planting, or harvest. Sometimes all he did was fix things and tell stories to Bobby, who watched him fix things.

As “Dada’s” face grew mistier, a new thing happened. Bobby had to stay with Mable, one of Mamma’s friends, while Mamma went away for a few days, and came back with a brand new little sister for Bobby. Bobby was fascinated with the little pink thing, which was so loud, and took so much of Mamma’s time. But then, a few weeks later, Joe was there, to let him tag along while things got done that Mamma didn’t have time for, because of that new baby. Bobby was only four, but he tried to help Joe as much as possible.

Time passed, and Joe went away for a while. The new baby, whose name he now knew was “Mary” began crawling all over the place. She was more fun, because now she would play with Bobby, and sit and listen as he told her stories that Joe had told him. Mamma started putting her to bed with him, which was nice, because Mamma came in during the night to feed Mary, and talked to Bobby while she did that. Sometimes he told her Joe’s stories too, and she laughed.

More time passed. Sometimes Joe was there, and sometimes he wasn’t. There came a time when he stayed a long time, and was there when Mamma made a big chocolate cake for Bobby’s fourth birthday. Mary made a mess with her piece, but Bobby didn’t care, because he got to eat all he wanted, while Joe and Mamma sat and grinned at him. Joe even gave him a bath, and put him and Mary to bed. He forgot to bring Bobby’s glass of water, though, and Bobby had to get up and get it himself. He laughed when he saw Joe giving Mamma a bath too, right in the bathtub with her. They splashed more water around than even Mary did.

The next time Mamma went away to find a new baby, from wherever she went to find them, Joe stayed with Bobby and Mary while she was gone. He must have done a good job of watching after them, at least from Bobby’s perspective, because when she came home, with a new baby sister all bundled up, she kissed Joe a lot, while he looked at the new baby too. Bobby thought it was a lot of fuss to make over a new baby. Babies were too loud, and took up too much of Mamma’s time. Bobby could take care of Mary now, at least, sometimes.

Bobby thought other people made a lot of fuss over his new sister, whose name was hard to say. Mamma called her “Florence”, but all Bobby could manage was “Flo”. Even Mable, Mamma’s friend, came over. She had a new baby too, and they spent a lot of time comparing them, and letting Joe hold both of them. Mable was happy with Joe too, for some reason, and kissed him a lot too.

Joe stayed for several weeks, helping out, and taking Bobby to the fields to weed them. Usually Bobby just played, while Joe and Mamma did all the work, but Joe said he was getting to be a big boy now, and could help his mamma out.

Joe left for a while, but came back when it was harvest time. Mamma was glad to see him. It was obvious in the way she kissed him. He left again, after the harvest was done.

More time passed, and Joe was there again, for Bobby’s fifth birthday party. He gave Bobby a hand-carved make-believe pistol, just like The Lone Ranger had on the little black and white TV that Joe found somewhere and hooked up in their house. Bobby helped him put up the big silver antenna on the roof of the house, but he could only help from the ground, because Joe wouldn’t let him climb the ladder to the roof.

Things seemed to be perfect, from Bobby’s perspective, now that Joe was back, staying all day, and sleeping in Mamma’s bedroom again. The three of them worked in the fields, while the babies played, or slept, under the big oak tree nearby. Part of Bobby’s job was to keep an eye on them, while Joe and Mamma did most of the real work.

Joe stayed a long time that time too, watching, with Bobby, as Mamma’s belly got all big again, like it had been before she went and brought Flo home from the hospital.

Then one day Mamma cried a lot, and sent Joe away. She cried for a week, until another man came to the house and shouted at her. He called himself “Daddy” to Bobby, but Bobby didn’t like him. He shouted all the time, and even hit Mamma once. Bobby shot at him then, with his Lone Ranger pistol, and Daddy hit Bobby too. Mamma screamed at the man then, and threw one of her special plates at him. It broke, and Mamma cried again, screaming “What was I supposed to do?!“

The man named “Daddy” only stayed a day or two, sleeping on the couch in the parlor, and then left, and Mamma cried again, until Bobby hugged her, and said, “I’ll go find Joe. He’ll make everything all right again.”

She wouldn’t let him go, but she stopped crying. It wasn’t until it was almost time, according to Mamma, for her to go to the hospital again, and bring home another baby, that Joe showed back up again.

Mamma cried then too, but Bobby could tell she was happy anyway.

It took a little time, perhaps some months, but, eventually, after Mamma brought him home another sister, this one named “Beverly”, Bobby decided that it was worth being hit by “Daddy”. That was because when Joe came back this time, he stayed until Bobby’s tenth birthday party. Oh, it was true that Joe went off on trips, but he was only gone for a month or two, and always came back.

Mamma seemed to feel the need to go pick him up another sister about once a year, even though Bobby told her more than once that he had enough sisters. When he was six, Mamma brought home Linda. When he was seven, she brought home Suzie. The next year, when he was almost nine, and Mamma’s belly had already swelled up again, Bobby asked her to name this one Betty. She laughed and asked him how come, and he said it was because he knew it would be another sister. She laughed some more, hugged him, and said she loved her little man, and that he could never be replaced by another boy.

Later, when Mamma came in the house with a new baby girl, Bobby just folded his arms and nodded. Then Joe brought in another baby girl.

Two at once!

It just wasn’t fair, and Bobby told his Mamma that. She held him, and said she’d give up getting new babies, if that would make him happy. He reminded her she was a couple of years late, and she laughed and kissed him.

Life was hard for Bobby, even though he wouldn’t have said that. He didn’t know the difference. He was the man of the house, when Joe wasn’t there, which wasn’t often, these days. He worked the fields, and went to school, and took care of his sisters, helping Mamma with all the things that needed doing.

He was happiest when Joe was there. He didn’t mind the work, but when Joe was there to help him, it went so much faster. Besides, Joe always had another story to tell, or was ready to teach Bobby how to fix something else. By the time he was fifteen, Bobby could fix anything that needed fixing, whether Joe was there to help him or not.

Mamma did stop having babies, and Joe started going away more often, and for longer trips. Whenever he was gone, Mamma’s friends came over to visit frequently. Now, besides Mable, Mamma had other friends who came over too. Violet and Beatrice were common visitors. That’s because their husbands had left them too, after the war was over. They didn’t talk about that anymore, when they came over. Both of them had lived on farms too, but didn’t anymore. Now they lived in town, and had jobs. Violet had three daughters, about the same ages as Flo, Bev and Linda. Beatrice had a daughter and a son, who were Mary and Flo’s ages respectively. There were other women who gathered on Friday nights at the farm, all of them with children in the same age ranges as Bobby’s sisters. All of them were either war widows, or divorced from soldiers who were in the war. Bobby never gave it much thought. He heard Joe’s name brought up a lot, and those women did a lot of giggling and sighing whenever that happened. Bobby never gave that much thought either.

On Bobby’s fifteenth birthday, Joe showed up, and said he was staying for a while. Bobby got almost two more years with Joe, working side by side, and talking about life and places Joe had been, but Bobby had never seen. Those were his fifteenth and most of his sixteenth years, and Joe lived with them the whole time, only disappearing for a week at a time, once every other month or so. He’d say it was time to make his rounds, and Mamma would beg him to stay. She seemed to think it was dangerous, whatever he was going off to do, but he always smiled that shy, quiet smile of his, and said he had obligations. Bobby hadn’t learned that word in school yet. Bobby listened as Joe quietly said, “People depend on me.”

That was the last time Bobby ever saw Joe alive. When he came in from mowing hay, about a week later, Mamma was crying.

“Joe’s dead,” she sobbed.

A man had shot Joe with a shotgun, and killed Bobby’s best friend.

The late sixties - The Beginning

Bobby stopped at the pump to draw out a bucket of water to wash up in. They had running water in the house, now, but it made the sink a mess when he washed up there, so he took care of that outside. Mary, his oldest sister, tossed him a towel when he walked in the back door. She knew his habits. She was cooking dinner while Mamma rested in the other room. Mary had taken over supper, full time, to let Mamma rest from working in the fields alongside Bobby all day.

Supper was a noisy affair, what with seven girls all trying to talk at the same time. Mamma sat and listned to them, smiling a lot. She got up to get more cornbread from the oven, and ruffled her son’s hair.

“Harvest will be done soon,” she said, easing herself back into her chair. “We’ll finally be able to take it easy for a spell.”

“You promised to show me how to make a dress!” chirped Susie, who was eleven, now.

“Me too!” shouted Matilda, who was a year younger.

Bobby ignored the chatter, and concentrated on eating. There was a book he wanted to read. He’d borrowed it on the recommendation of Tilly Johnson, a woman he’d met at the library, in town. It was called Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea. Mrs. Johnson, who insisted on being called Tilly, had waxed poetic about how wonderful the story was, and how exciting it would be for an almost eighteen year old boy. She was twenty-two, and Bobby had very vague memories of her in school, when he was in the eighth grade, and she seemed all grown up as a senior. He knew her story, of course. Everyone in town did. She’d been married, the day after graduation, to Jake Johnson, who had left a week later to go off and make his fortune in the mines up in Montana. Things had gone fine for two years, and then there had been a horrible accident. Jake was in a wheel chair, and missing an arm now. He wasn’t quite right in the head either. Most folks said it would have been a blessing to them both if he’d have died in the mine.

Now, two years after he’d come back, his disability paid the bills, but nobody ever saw him out and about. Tilly went out, and talked to people, but Jake just sat at home. Tilly owned the book, and he’d followed her to her house to get it, at her insistence. He’d seen Jake, in his chair, but the man hadn’t said anything to him. Bobby felt funny, being in the room with the man, who looked at him, but said nothing, even when Bobby said, “Howdy.”

Now that harvest was almost over, maybe he could tackle that book. Tilly had said to keep it as long as he needed to, but he didn’t want to keep it too long. If it was good, he’d probably read it in a day or two, based on the size of it, and then he could return it.

The next week went from sunup to sundown, with Mamma, Mary, Flo and Bev, in Bobby’s family, and five other adults, from other farms, all working to get the wheat brought in. Five families had banded together to buy a combine, and they went from field to field. Mary, at sixteen, drove one truck to take the grain to the elevator, which was only five miles away. Mrs Haskins, who was married to Flloyd Haskins, drove the other, and they were kept busy. Others took water to whoever was operating the combine, which was usually either Bobby or Flloyd. Lunch was served on shifts, so that whoever wasn’t busy could eat, and then take over for whoever was busy, so they could eat too.

Then, at last, the work was finished, and it was time for the ice cream social at the Methodist church on Broad street, in town. Pretty much the whole town turned out for that. There were fifteen churns there, with kids cranking them until they couldn’t make the crank turn any more. Then the men took over and finished it off. There was music, and dancing, and everyone was relaxed and happy. There was even a carload of boys from the next town over who showed up and begged some ice cream, before trying to spark some of the girls.

Tilly was there, without Jake. People tried not to make it obvious, but they felt sorry for the poor woman. She was in the prime of her life, and saddled with a cripple. That she loved him anyway, everybody knew. That was why she was admired, as often as she was thought to be foolish for sticking with him. But divorce wasn’t yet acceptable in that part of the country. Mamma, and her divorced friends pretty much hung out together, along with the other women who had birthed Joe’s children. That was pretty much common knowledge then too, though nobody ever actually talked about it. There were just two groups of ladies, and they didn’t mix all that much.

Bobby hadn’t learned about that until after Joe was killed by a jealous husband. During her mourning, Mamma had confessed all her “indiscretions” as she called them, to Bobby, while he held her and rocked her as she bawled, something terrible. She’d cried when Daddy had gone away, but she was devastated when Joe was killed.

Community values are funny things, sometimes. The children - there were suspected to be some fifteen of Joe’s get in town - were treated just like all other children. While the adults might stick their noses up at the women who had dallied with Joe, it wasn’t thought to be right that the children should suffer. That led to some odd situations, in which Joe’s children played with other children, whose mothers wouldn’t speak to each other, voluntarily, at least not in social situations.

The mothers of Joe’s children, by and large, were an unrepentant lot. They didn’t flaunt it, but they didn’t feel bad about it either. They had all been in love with Joe, at one time or another. He had helped them, while their men were away, for whatever reason. He had been there when they were lonely, or sad, or frightened. He hadn’t seduced them, except to just be himself, calm, thoughtful, supportive, and sensitive to their needs. If anything, they had seduced him, not that it took much. Joe could tell when a woman was in heat, and he knew what to do to cool her off. Bobby’s mother had been the leader of the pack, so to speak and, over time, the women who had a secret they couldn’t keep, because their bulging bellies shouted that secret to the world, identified each other and formed a band of sisters.

There had been some trouble in the past, at gatherings like this. Whether it was the 4th of July, or Labor day, or the end of harvest festivities, which included Halloween, the sisterhood all gathered and ignored the dark looks and sharp tongues of the other women. The trouble had been when a man had asked one of them to dance. He was a new teller in the bank, fresh out of college, and didn’t know the lay of the land.

Or, maybe he did, and just assumed that any woman who had lain with Joe might just be loose enough to lie with him too.

In any case, it started other men to asking for dances, and the “decent” women revolted.

Now, the members of the sisterhood danced with each other at the ice cream social they knew they weren’t welcome at, but felt like they owned, just as much as all the rest.

There was trouble looming on the horizon too. The eldest of Joe’s children were closing in on eighteen, and that was closing in on courting age ... and marriage thoughts. While Joe’s children weren’t ostrasized when they were younger, no mother wanted her son or daughter to be interested in one, even if the parentage of the young man or woman wasn’t proven.

That was the problem with Joe’s progeny. While all of Bobby’s sisters were light haired, so was Mamma. Quite a number of Joe’s suspected bastard daughters had blond hair, or brown, and some of it was curly, and some straight. Joe, himself, had kept his hair cut in a burr in the summer time, and few people saw him when it was grown out in the winter. Bobby, of course, knew what his hair looked like long and reddish brown, but a lot of other people didn’t. When he wasn’t living at Bobby’s house, Joe tended to wander, and in cold weather, he wandered south.

So, there was no defining characteristic of Joe’s whelps, and many a woman had joined the sisterhood, while proclaiming loudly that what people thought about her children was poppycock.

This was not to say that no one had any truck with the sisters. There was also a middle ground kind of group, both men and women, who treated them with respect and dignity. The gossips in town tended to suspect these people ... the men of seeking favors ... and the women, some of whom had children of the right ages ... of not getting caught.

This was Bobby’s world, in his late teens. He was tarred with the same brush that tarred his mother. While he had interests in girls his age, it was not, for the most part, returned. He was tainted, even though he was clearly not Joe’s son.

It was, therefore, not at all surprising that, like Joe had done in the winter, when there was little to do on the farm, that Bobby began to wander, to see the world outside the farm, and try to find some of the things that Joe had described to him. He didn’t wander far. He was needed too much on the farm, but he did get out and about a lot more than he had as a younger man.

Bobby’s first foray into Joe’s world began close at home. It began, in fact, when he returned Twenty-Thousand Leagues Under The Sea to Tilly Johnson.

Tilly answered the door in an old apron that was stained and wet, and with a harried look that bespoke frustration.

“Oh,” she said, wiping the frown off her face when she saw who was at the door. “Hi, Bobby. Please pardon my appearance. My sink is stopped up, and nothing I do makes any difference.”

Bobby put the book on a sideboard and proceeded to unclog Tilly’s stopped-up sink. It was a mixture of hair and grease, and he had to disassemble the P trap under the sink, and then fish out the grease clogs further down, while Tilly boiled water at his request. He came out from under the sink filthy, but, as Tilly poured boiling water into the sink, and saw the whirlpool that told her it was working well again, she was so happy she hugged him.