While the Locust Slept. Peter Razor

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СКАЧАТЬ in the woods, milk half the cows by hand, pump water, and perform other chores. When he couldn’t afford a hired man or labor-saving equipment, a smiling benefactor—the State of Minnesota—answered his prayers.

      I had completed eight grades plus kindergarten at the State School and three weeks at Owatonna High. Tomorrow, I would go to Houston High—maybe. Already, I was beginning to expect nothing until it happened.

      It hadn’t been quite three days, but it seemed an eternity. We finished milking and were in the house by seven Monday morning. I washed at the basin, went upstairs, and changed into school clothes. I would attend school without a bath since C-8.

      “Youse to wash once a month in a tub in center of the kitchen floor,” Emma had said.

      “S’hard heating water on a wood fire,” John had said.

      Emma set a bowl of oatmeal and glass of milk on the table for me. “Be quiet so’s you don’t wake baby Mary after school,” Emma warned. “She’s at the Bensons’. She be home tonight.”

      “Okay,” I said, trying not to seem confused. A baby girl? “Is there someone I have to see at Houston High?” I asked, standing, ready to leave for school. I raised a cautious glance into John’s face.

      “Be home fifteen minutes after you leaves bus,” John said, his voice matter-of-fact, and that ended talk of school.

      I stood and said, “See you tonight.” There was no reply. I shut the door behind me, walked swiftly to the gravel road and, breathing easier, began the mile walk to the highway.

      The bluffs broke as I rounded the last bend and the road thrust into the Root River valley on its last two hundred yards to the highway junction.

      A call came from behind. I twisted without stopping to see a tall, yellow-topped boy hurrying to catch me.

      “Hi, there,” he repeated.

      “Hi,” I replied, looking up at him, and a smile warmed my face. Walking backward until the boy came abreast, we walked together toward the highway.

      “I’m Ed … Hanson,” the boy said, offering his hand.

      “Pete … Razor,” I said, eagerly shaking his hand. “I’m staying at—”

      “Schaulses’,” Ed interrupted, “I know. You just got there. How’s it going, anyhow?”

      “Can’t say. They don’t talk much except farm stuff. Got to get used to it all, I guess.”

      “We live on the table across the creek,” Ed said.

      “Farm?” I murmured.

      “Yeah,” Ed said, looking me over. “Just enough to get by. How old are you? I’m sixteen.”

      “Fifteen,” I said.

      Ed pointed at two boys arriving from a farm, which could be seen on the highway not far from the junction. “Hey, the Busch boys,” he said, pointing. “I’ll introduce you in the Cracker Box.”

      “Cracker box?”

      “Made out of plywood and junk,” Ed said.

      The bus appeared. It really was plywood and looked like a large cracker box, with windows and a small cracker box attached to the front.

      “Sure rattles,” I said. “Is it safe?”

      “Guess so,” Ed said. He pointed as the bus approached. “Lots of horses under the hood. Gets us to school every day.”

      Horsepower, I thought. “How many, four, maybe six or so?” I imagined teams of State School draft horses pulling the bus.

      “Maybe 150. Dunno for sure,” he said. “It’s a Ford V-8 and Sam really gives it the gas.”

      The bus slowed, turned onto the gravel road, backed up, pointed toward Houston and opened its door.

      Sam had a broad smile. I couldn’t help myself and smiled at the ground. Sam greeted everyone as they entered, but held his arm out to stop me.

      “Good morning. You must be the new boy I was told to look for,” he said. “I’m Sam. I’ll wait five minutes for those walking from the hills, ten minutes during bad weather.”

      Sam clearly meant business, but his talk wasn’t threatening, and his smile never faded.

      Most students hardly noticed me as they entered the bus that first day, and I ignored the few stares as Ed introduced me to the Busch brothers. Lyle, also a freshman, was a muscular boy, shorter than me with brown hair. Tom was in seventh grade, thin with dark brown hair, and looked to be growing taller than Lyle. They wore good clothes and sported healthy smiles.

      “We’re from an orphanage, too,” Lyle said. “East of here. I’m fifteen, Tom’s thirteen. We live with the Bensons.”

      “Hey, we’re the same age,” I said. “What kind of orphanage were you at?”

      “Big church orphanage.”

      “Must be a lot of orphans around,” I said.

      “We had thirty to forty kids,” Lyle said.

      “Mine has about 250 now, but used to have 500 or so,” I said, suddenly realizing the State School was a very large place.

      “Wow!” Lyle said. “That’s an army. How’d things go with so many kids?”

      “With paddles and radiator brushes for starters,” I said.

      Ed whistled, then let the subject drop.

      “Mrs. Benson is John’s sister, isn’t she?” he asked.

      “Yeah,” Lyle agreed. “She signed so John could get you. I guess his two sisters from Caledonia signed, too.”

      I looked out the window as the bus pulled up to a newer school building. So that’s how they got me.

      Ed walked with me into the school and pointed at a door. “That’s the office,” he said. “Just walk up to the counter like you own the place and you’ll get faster service.” We waved each other off as I entered the office, where I waited until the secretary approached the counter.

      “Good morning, young man,” the secretary said. “Haven’t seen you before. Coming to school or just visiting?”

      “Supposed to register for school,” I mumbled, leaning on the counter.

      She smiled, “I might guess the same. Name and grade?”

      “Peter Razor, ninth grade … “

      “Oh, darn, I hate when things are too easy,” she said with a sly smile while reaching under the counter. “Looks like you’re already registered.”

      I frowned, chewing my lower lip.

      “Yes, sir! We’re expecting СКАЧАТЬ