The Architecture of the Arkansas Ozarks - Donald Harington [56]
One summer Saturday afternoon, when all the Ingledews were enjoying one of their annual shopping or swapping trips into Jasper, Benjamin saw a little crowd assembled on a corner of the courthouse square, and, joining them, saw them clustered around a man whom we might refer to as Newton County’s first and only itinerant “travel agent.” This man, Charlie Fancher, was offering, for the rather lavish sum of $50, to “book passage” on a wagon train that was departing soon for Californy. He painted a more glowing picture of Californy than Uncle Noah had, extolling its excellent climate and its picturesque mountains and its view of the ocean. No one in Newton County had ever seen an ocean or could even imagine seeing that much water in one place. They listened in awe to the travel agent, but when he got around to mentioning the price, $50, they began, one by one, to drift away, until only Benjamin was left standing with the travel agent.
“Shitepoke town,” the agent grumbled, not necessarily to Benjamin. “I shoulda knowed better than git lost way back up here in these hills.” Then he noticed Benjamin and said, “Kid, you aint happenin to have fifty dollars layin around loose, have ye?”
“Nossir,” Benjamin declared. “Fifteen, twenty, is the most I could ever hope to lay hands on. But I’d be right glad to work it off. I could drive a wagon and help tend the teams.”
“Hmmm,” the agent said, and sized him up. “You any good with a rifle?”
“I kin knock a squirrel off a tree limb from ten hats off.”
“Hats?” the agent said.
Benjamin explained that unit of measure to the agent, who calculated it and then said, “Well, okay, kid. You’re on. Let’s go. Let’s git out of this shitepoke town.”
“Let me say goodbye to my folks,” Benjamin requested.
“Cut it short,” the agent said.
Benjamin’s folks were scattered around the village. He had to hunt them up individually, and explain to each of them what he was going to do, and deafen himself to their protests and tears. His younger brother Isaac begged to go with him, but Benjamin told him he would send for him in a couple of years when Isaac was older. His little sisters Rachel and Lucinda grabbed his arms and said they wouldn’t let him go, and he had to tear his shirt getting loose from them. His mother reminded him that his sixteenth birthday was coming up soon, and she had wanted to make it special for him. He said he was powerful sorry. His father Jacob said, “What if I was to say you caint go?” “You’d have to tie me up,” Benjamin averred. Jacob drew back his fist as if to smite Benjamin, but Benjamin did not cower nor flinch. Jacob dropped his arm. “Paw,” Benjamin protested, “I’ll come home soon as I git rich.” Jacob snorted and said, “There aint no place for a rich man in this country.” But when Jacob saw that he could not dissuade Benjamin, he gave Benjamin his horse and then shook hands with him and wished him luck.
Noah was the last of his folks that Benjamin could find, and when Benjamin told him what he was doing, Noah moaned and faulted himself for having mentioned Californy to him in the first place. Benjamin pointed out that even if Noah hadn’t mentioned it, he would still have heard about it from this man Charlie Fancher that he was going with. “Shitfire, let Fancher show hisself,” Noah declared. “I’ll shred him up with my bare hands.” But Benjamin clapped his uncle on the shoulder and said, “Goodbye, Uncle Noey. And thanks fer all them candy apples,” and then he mounted the horse his father had given him and went