Jebediah Bilodeauby
John Knapp |
Chapter 1
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Chapter 1 - An Unexpected Visitor
I remember that Friday as if it were yesterday; one of those lazy afternoons in late August; the year, 2005. Back then we called it ought-five.
It was a peculiar day. A brownish-gray dust was all over the orchard, the house, everywhere; dust that arrived about a week earlier with the winds coming in on the fringe of Katrina. Here in Georgia, we missed the actual hurricane but we had a massive deluge of rain that last week, followed by those hot, dry winds that blew the dust everywhere. Soon it was muggy again; very still, very quiet; one of those days when you felt something was going to happen.
I was tired, dirty, and sticky. My shirt clung to my body everywhere it touched. I’d finished feeding Pappy’s chickens so I decided to steal a much needed nap in his rocking-chair on the front veranda. That chair was absolutely taboo when he was home, but he was away and I’d worked hard doing my chores.
Four days earlier, young Marly came running down from Brown’s General Store up in Coopersville, bringing this message. Pappy jumped in the flatbed and stormed out of the yard, up Dinkins Road and away, not telling me anything except, “Don’t fergit to feed ’n water them chickens. Lots o’ water. It’s real hot.” Nothing more did he say, like where he was going, or when he was coming back. He went so fast he even forgot to take young Marly back to Brown’s, but that was okay. She and I were friends and played on the same volley-ball team. Don’t know why I called her ‘young Marly’ – she was the same age as me.
I heard nothing...until that Friday. Half asleep in Pappy’s chair, I was suddenly disturbed by a rumbling noise, looked up and saw a large dust-ball rolling down Dinkins Road, travelling like the wind. I could tell by the sound it was the flatbed, and Pappy always drove like he was being chased by a horde of locusts. It was time to get out of that chair. Not three minutes later, the flatbed came to a screeching halt in a cloud of dust about two feet from where I stood.
That truck! That weather-beaten flatbed was a relic; an ancient Ford from the last century; probably twice as old as me. It was Pappy’s pride, and he kept it purring like a kitten.
The dust quickly settled and out of the driver’s side jumped Pappy, spry as a new colt. Then, more slowly from the passenger side, down stepped this scarecrow of a boy. Long, thin, skinny as a bean-pole; eyes open wide, like big round saucers; spitting image of a frightened cat. Like me, he was just a kid.
I know I shouldn’t have prejudged him but I couldn’t help it. That was my first impression. All he did was stand there in the dust beside the truck, not moving, staring down at me with what looked like a sneer on his face. Where was his friendly smile?
Pappy sauntered over, pulled his wrinkled, old fedora down nearly covering his left eye. With his face no more than two inches from mine and lips drawn taught, he squinted and said, “Z’at you I seen in my rockin’ chair, Son?” Nothing wrong with his eyesight. Before I could answer, “This here’s yer cousin. Best make friends. He’ll be bunkin’ with us a spell.”
Pappy jumped back in the truck and tore off at full speed as usual – even for that hundred feet going around the side of the house where he parked. ‘Cousin’ and I stood there in the dust, staring at each other under the hot sun.
We spent what seemed like the next twenty minutes, both saying nothing. He stood still; head twisting as I slowly wandered around him. I looked him up and down, checked him out. He scowled. Or maybe just squinted in the sun but I thought he scowled. He didn’t like what he saw. I could tell. And I didn’t like what I saw.
The fingers of his right hand were tangled around a cord leading up to a lumpy, old duffel-bag hanging from his shoulder. A toke-sack was tied to his belt and his left hand gripped a small accordion. He was wearing what looked like one of those pro-baseball team shirts. It was basically white with thin grey stripes – pretty clean too. On top of his stack of light brown curls balanced a baseball cap, visor pulled down over his right ear. Guess he thought that cap made him a cool dude. Yeah, okay. I thought the cap was cool. Probably was meant to go with his shirt. They both had the logo of the Chicago White Sox.
His jeans were a joke. They were faded – I mean, really faded – old faded – full of holes and about four inches too short for those long, skinny legs. Popping out well below his jeans, was this magnificent pair of shiny, black leather boots. Those boots made him look ridiculous. He was a clown standing on a pair of stilts, and I could hardly hold back my smirk.
Nope! I didn’t like what I saw.
I know my actions were a touch aggressive and unfriendly, but let’s face it; he was standing there, doing nothing, saying nothing. And he was slowly getting angry. I could see it in his dumb-looking, big, blue eyes.
Probably, I should have been the one to speak first but I didn’t. Why should I? Eventually he got up the nerve, sighed audibly, and with a disgusted look, said, “So what’s your name, Kid?” Aggressive? Definitely!
“Caleb! Caleb Jackson,” I replied, belligerently. “What’s yours?” Okay. So I drawled it out with a bit of a sneer of my own.
“Jebediah Bilodeau. That’s Je-Be-Di-Ah Bi-Lo-Deau!” He said it calmly, with a bored look, without a smile.
“Why’d you pronounce it real slow like that?”
“Because nobody gets it right.”
I grunted. “Guess I’ll call you ‘Cousin Jeb’.”
I was getting braver, my voice getting louder. “I’m fifteen and a half. How old are you?”
“Seventeen, in October.”
Me, even louder, a touch too belligerent perhaps, “Yeah? If you’re just sixteen, how come you’re so tall? What are you – seven foot?”
As my speaking was getting louder, Cousin Jeb was staying fairly calm and that was really upsetting me.
“Don’t know why I’m so tall. For some reason, I started growing again about six months ago. Must run in my family genes, I guess. Pa’s quite tall, but Ma’s an average height.”
A pause, possibly waiting for me to respond, but I didn’t. He was beginning to boil and I liked that.
After a long pause, he zinged me. “So if you’re fifteen, how come you’re such a runt, Kid?”
I just about exploded.
“What? I ain’t no runt! I’m five foot egg’xac’ly and nearly the tallest kid in my class. If I could see that fer up, I’d guess you was a hair over seven foot. But you ain’t nothin’ but skin and bones. Reckon I could turn you on yer head if I’d a mind.” I thought that would set him straight.
A long period of silence, accompanied by the soft plop of his duffel-bag dropping to the dust, told me that I’d gone too far. A soft, barely audible hiss, came from Jeb, “You want to try?”
My heart was racing, and suddenly those skinny arms looked full of muscles. He was flexing his fists and I was getting scared. “Slowly, slowly now, Caleb. But don’t let him see you’re frightened.” It was time to back pedal.
“Huh? Try? Well...not now...maybe later.” Rethinking my attitude, I asked, “How come Pappy brought you here? Where’s your home?”
Jeb stooped, picked up his duffel again and said, “I don’t have a home...anymore. I come from about twenty miles west of N’Orlins and I’m here because your Pappy brought me here. Ma and Pa were killed by Katrina when that big wave came right over the Bayou.”
“What? Jeez, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” I paused again, and noticed how clean his hands and fingernails were, compared to mine. You notice odd things when you’re tense.
“New Orleans? What’s it like?” I said it more pleasantly, with a tiny smile on my face. I was squinting in the sun, not sneering.
“It’s just another big city. And it’s not New Orleans, the way you said it. It’s N’Orlins. That’s how we pronounce it on the Bayou.”
“N’Orlins, huh? How come you don’t say y’all? You Cajun? You my real cousin?”
“Yeah, I guess I’m Cajun. Not everyone in Louisiana says y’all. Your mother and my Pa were sister and brother so that’s why you and I are cousins. And the hurricane didn’t get me because I was up in Baton Rouge when it hit.”
“What’ya doin’ up there?”
“The White Sox ball team sponsors a camp in the summer for kids who show promise. I have a pretty good pitching arm. Pa bought me these new boots and sent me up to Baton. By the time I got back it was all over; our home on top of the Bayou, completely gone – no sign of Pa or Ma. All I had was these old clothes, and all I could find was this beat-up old squeeze-box of Pa’s. It was lying in the mud where our home had once been.”
“Cousin Jeb, I feel real bad. I shouldn’t have needled you like that. My Mammy died when Hurricane Erin came through here a few years ago. I was only four and don’t hardly remember Mammy now, ‘cept sometimes at night I dream about her. Everyone said it was the hurricane that took her but Pappy told me later that she really died of heartbreak. He said that Mammy grew up in a big city and she couldn’t get used to the slow life here in Coopersville. Reckon that big city was New Orleans, I mean N’Orlins. As I said, I’m real sorry I rattled you.”
“That’s okay, Kid.”
“It looks like you’re goin’ to be here for quite a while. C’mon. Let me show you around and get you settled a bit. I hear Pappy in the house bangin’ and sawin’ and stuff. Wonder what he’s doin’.”
Then I remembered the boots.
“Oh yeah. About them fabulous boots. I ain’t never seen nothin’ so pretty. But there’s folks here in Coopersville that’d cut your legs off at the knees just to get at them boots. You’d best find a good hidin’ spot and don’t tell a soul you got them. We’ll find an old pair of Pappy’s shoes that’ll probably fit you okay.”
We crossed the dusty yard and every few steps Jeb stopped to wipe the odd, invisible speck of dust off his boots. I don’t know why, the dust didn’t really cling to them for some reason.
Inside the house, he stopped and took a long look around. There wasn’t much to look at. We didn’t have separate rooms except for two bedrooms and a bathroom. The rest was one big room. Jeb saw a couple of easy chairs and a sofa in one corner, with an old fashioned TV nearby – at least it was color. Behind us, a couple of windows looked out on the front veranda; windows that were still framed by some gray, grubby curtains that hadn’t been washed since Mammy died.
My old guitar, missing three strings, was still hanging on the wall. Our big, round table and chairs sat in the middle of the room where we ate all our meals. Straight ahead, looking north, under the long strip of windows at the back, was our kitchen – fridge on one side, big old wood burning stove on the other, sink and cupboards and stuff in the middle. We cooked on that stove and it also kept us warm in the winter if we needed it. Off to the left were the two bedrooms and bathroom. Through the kitchen was the door out back. That was it. Small but comfortable.
“Jeb! Over here’s my bedroom. Guess it’s our bedroom now. And here’s where Pappy’s doin’ all his bangin’. What’s goin’ on Pappy?”
Pappy puffed away, “You’s in the upper bunk now Caleb. Gotta extend this lower one to fit Cousin Jeb. How tall are ya Jeb? Quit growin’ yet?”
“I’m six foot five, Pappy. And I sure hope I’m done. Somebody here thinks I’m seven foot and nothing but skin and bones. Wants to ‘turn me on my head,’ I think he said.”
I winced, “Aww! I didn’t mean it. I was angry.”
Pappy sometimes didn’t hear too well and muttered to himself, “What’ll I use fer a mattress? Where’ll I git blankets that long?”
I watched Jeb as he unpacked his duffel-bag. “You ain’t got much stuff – a few clothes and that toke-sack. What’s in there?”
“That’s private, Kid. I don’t want anybody looking in my toke-sack. All of my clothes, except for a couple of old jeans and a shirt, disappeared in the wave that destroyed our home. This is all I have.”
Jeb stopped and turned to look at me. “Where in the world are we, Kid? I’m sure we’re still in the States, but I slept most of the way up from N’Orlins, and all I know is we headed east.”
“Okay, Jeb. Tuck those boots away somewhere and put on these shoes – they’re Pappy’s. I’ll take you out back and show you around the farm. Then we’ll go up to Coopersville and meet some of my friends.”
“Does that mean you and I are going to be friends?”
“I reckon we are. I’d like that.”
“Me, too!”
As we headed out the kitchen door onto our back porch, we both smiled at each other – for the first time.
It was a peculiar day. A brownish-gray dust was all over the orchard, the house, everywhere; dust that arrived about a week earlier with the winds coming in on the fringe of Katrina. Here in Georgia, we missed the actual hurricane but we had a massive deluge of rain that last week, followed by those hot, dry winds that blew the dust everywhere. Soon it was muggy again; very still, very quiet; one of those days when you felt something was going to happen.
I was tired, dirty, and sticky. My shirt clung to my body everywhere it touched. I’d finished feeding Pappy’s chickens so I decided to steal a much needed nap in his rocking-chair on the front veranda. That chair was absolutely taboo when he was home, but he was away and I’d worked hard doing my chores.
Four days earlier, young Marly came running down from Brown’s General Store up in Coopersville, bringing this message. Pappy jumped in the flatbed and stormed out of the yard, up Dinkins Road and away, not telling me anything except, “Don’t fergit to feed ’n water them chickens. Lots o’ water. It’s real hot.” Nothing more did he say, like where he was going, or when he was coming back. He went so fast he even forgot to take young Marly back to Brown’s, but that was okay. She and I were friends and played on the same volley-ball team. Don’t know why I called her ‘young Marly’ – she was the same age as me.
I heard nothing...until that Friday. Half asleep in Pappy’s chair, I was suddenly disturbed by a rumbling noise, looked up and saw a large dust-ball rolling down Dinkins Road, travelling like the wind. I could tell by the sound it was the flatbed, and Pappy always drove like he was being chased by a horde of locusts. It was time to get out of that chair. Not three minutes later, the flatbed came to a screeching halt in a cloud of dust about two feet from where I stood.
That truck! That weather-beaten flatbed was a relic; an ancient Ford from the last century; probably twice as old as me. It was Pappy’s pride, and he kept it purring like a kitten.
The dust quickly settled and out of the driver’s side jumped Pappy, spry as a new colt. Then, more slowly from the passenger side, down stepped this scarecrow of a boy. Long, thin, skinny as a bean-pole; eyes open wide, like big round saucers; spitting image of a frightened cat. Like me, he was just a kid.
I know I shouldn’t have prejudged him but I couldn’t help it. That was my first impression. All he did was stand there in the dust beside the truck, not moving, staring down at me with what looked like a sneer on his face. Where was his friendly smile?
Pappy sauntered over, pulled his wrinkled, old fedora down nearly covering his left eye. With his face no more than two inches from mine and lips drawn taught, he squinted and said, “Z’at you I seen in my rockin’ chair, Son?” Nothing wrong with his eyesight. Before I could answer, “This here’s yer cousin. Best make friends. He’ll be bunkin’ with us a spell.”
Pappy jumped back in the truck and tore off at full speed as usual – even for that hundred feet going around the side of the house where he parked. ‘Cousin’ and I stood there in the dust, staring at each other under the hot sun.
We spent what seemed like the next twenty minutes, both saying nothing. He stood still; head twisting as I slowly wandered around him. I looked him up and down, checked him out. He scowled. Or maybe just squinted in the sun but I thought he scowled. He didn’t like what he saw. I could tell. And I didn’t like what I saw.
The fingers of his right hand were tangled around a cord leading up to a lumpy, old duffel-bag hanging from his shoulder. A toke-sack was tied to his belt and his left hand gripped a small accordion. He was wearing what looked like one of those pro-baseball team shirts. It was basically white with thin grey stripes – pretty clean too. On top of his stack of light brown curls balanced a baseball cap, visor pulled down over his right ear. Guess he thought that cap made him a cool dude. Yeah, okay. I thought the cap was cool. Probably was meant to go with his shirt. They both had the logo of the Chicago White Sox.
His jeans were a joke. They were faded – I mean, really faded – old faded – full of holes and about four inches too short for those long, skinny legs. Popping out well below his jeans, was this magnificent pair of shiny, black leather boots. Those boots made him look ridiculous. He was a clown standing on a pair of stilts, and I could hardly hold back my smirk.
Nope! I didn’t like what I saw.
I know my actions were a touch aggressive and unfriendly, but let’s face it; he was standing there, doing nothing, saying nothing. And he was slowly getting angry. I could see it in his dumb-looking, big, blue eyes.
Probably, I should have been the one to speak first but I didn’t. Why should I? Eventually he got up the nerve, sighed audibly, and with a disgusted look, said, “So what’s your name, Kid?” Aggressive? Definitely!
“Caleb! Caleb Jackson,” I replied, belligerently. “What’s yours?” Okay. So I drawled it out with a bit of a sneer of my own.
“Jebediah Bilodeau. That’s Je-Be-Di-Ah Bi-Lo-Deau!” He said it calmly, with a bored look, without a smile.
“Why’d you pronounce it real slow like that?”
“Because nobody gets it right.”
I grunted. “Guess I’ll call you ‘Cousin Jeb’.”
I was getting braver, my voice getting louder. “I’m fifteen and a half. How old are you?”
“Seventeen, in October.”
Me, even louder, a touch too belligerent perhaps, “Yeah? If you’re just sixteen, how come you’re so tall? What are you – seven foot?”
As my speaking was getting louder, Cousin Jeb was staying fairly calm and that was really upsetting me.
“Don’t know why I’m so tall. For some reason, I started growing again about six months ago. Must run in my family genes, I guess. Pa’s quite tall, but Ma’s an average height.”
A pause, possibly waiting for me to respond, but I didn’t. He was beginning to boil and I liked that.
After a long pause, he zinged me. “So if you’re fifteen, how come you’re such a runt, Kid?”
I just about exploded.
“What? I ain’t no runt! I’m five foot egg’xac’ly and nearly the tallest kid in my class. If I could see that fer up, I’d guess you was a hair over seven foot. But you ain’t nothin’ but skin and bones. Reckon I could turn you on yer head if I’d a mind.” I thought that would set him straight.
A long period of silence, accompanied by the soft plop of his duffel-bag dropping to the dust, told me that I’d gone too far. A soft, barely audible hiss, came from Jeb, “You want to try?”
My heart was racing, and suddenly those skinny arms looked full of muscles. He was flexing his fists and I was getting scared. “Slowly, slowly now, Caleb. But don’t let him see you’re frightened.” It was time to back pedal.
“Huh? Try? Well...not now...maybe later.” Rethinking my attitude, I asked, “How come Pappy brought you here? Where’s your home?”
Jeb stooped, picked up his duffel again and said, “I don’t have a home...anymore. I come from about twenty miles west of N’Orlins and I’m here because your Pappy brought me here. Ma and Pa were killed by Katrina when that big wave came right over the Bayou.”
“What? Jeez, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” I paused again, and noticed how clean his hands and fingernails were, compared to mine. You notice odd things when you’re tense.
“New Orleans? What’s it like?” I said it more pleasantly, with a tiny smile on my face. I was squinting in the sun, not sneering.
“It’s just another big city. And it’s not New Orleans, the way you said it. It’s N’Orlins. That’s how we pronounce it on the Bayou.”
“N’Orlins, huh? How come you don’t say y’all? You Cajun? You my real cousin?”
“Yeah, I guess I’m Cajun. Not everyone in Louisiana says y’all. Your mother and my Pa were sister and brother so that’s why you and I are cousins. And the hurricane didn’t get me because I was up in Baton Rouge when it hit.”
“What’ya doin’ up there?”
“The White Sox ball team sponsors a camp in the summer for kids who show promise. I have a pretty good pitching arm. Pa bought me these new boots and sent me up to Baton. By the time I got back it was all over; our home on top of the Bayou, completely gone – no sign of Pa or Ma. All I had was these old clothes, and all I could find was this beat-up old squeeze-box of Pa’s. It was lying in the mud where our home had once been.”
“Cousin Jeb, I feel real bad. I shouldn’t have needled you like that. My Mammy died when Hurricane Erin came through here a few years ago. I was only four and don’t hardly remember Mammy now, ‘cept sometimes at night I dream about her. Everyone said it was the hurricane that took her but Pappy told me later that she really died of heartbreak. He said that Mammy grew up in a big city and she couldn’t get used to the slow life here in Coopersville. Reckon that big city was New Orleans, I mean N’Orlins. As I said, I’m real sorry I rattled you.”
“That’s okay, Kid.”
“It looks like you’re goin’ to be here for quite a while. C’mon. Let me show you around and get you settled a bit. I hear Pappy in the house bangin’ and sawin’ and stuff. Wonder what he’s doin’.”
Then I remembered the boots.
“Oh yeah. About them fabulous boots. I ain’t never seen nothin’ so pretty. But there’s folks here in Coopersville that’d cut your legs off at the knees just to get at them boots. You’d best find a good hidin’ spot and don’t tell a soul you got them. We’ll find an old pair of Pappy’s shoes that’ll probably fit you okay.”
We crossed the dusty yard and every few steps Jeb stopped to wipe the odd, invisible speck of dust off his boots. I don’t know why, the dust didn’t really cling to them for some reason.
Inside the house, he stopped and took a long look around. There wasn’t much to look at. We didn’t have separate rooms except for two bedrooms and a bathroom. The rest was one big room. Jeb saw a couple of easy chairs and a sofa in one corner, with an old fashioned TV nearby – at least it was color. Behind us, a couple of windows looked out on the front veranda; windows that were still framed by some gray, grubby curtains that hadn’t been washed since Mammy died.
My old guitar, missing three strings, was still hanging on the wall. Our big, round table and chairs sat in the middle of the room where we ate all our meals. Straight ahead, looking north, under the long strip of windows at the back, was our kitchen – fridge on one side, big old wood burning stove on the other, sink and cupboards and stuff in the middle. We cooked on that stove and it also kept us warm in the winter if we needed it. Off to the left were the two bedrooms and bathroom. Through the kitchen was the door out back. That was it. Small but comfortable.
“Jeb! Over here’s my bedroom. Guess it’s our bedroom now. And here’s where Pappy’s doin’ all his bangin’. What’s goin’ on Pappy?”
Pappy puffed away, “You’s in the upper bunk now Caleb. Gotta extend this lower one to fit Cousin Jeb. How tall are ya Jeb? Quit growin’ yet?”
“I’m six foot five, Pappy. And I sure hope I’m done. Somebody here thinks I’m seven foot and nothing but skin and bones. Wants to ‘turn me on my head,’ I think he said.”
I winced, “Aww! I didn’t mean it. I was angry.”
Pappy sometimes didn’t hear too well and muttered to himself, “What’ll I use fer a mattress? Where’ll I git blankets that long?”
I watched Jeb as he unpacked his duffel-bag. “You ain’t got much stuff – a few clothes and that toke-sack. What’s in there?”
“That’s private, Kid. I don’t want anybody looking in my toke-sack. All of my clothes, except for a couple of old jeans and a shirt, disappeared in the wave that destroyed our home. This is all I have.”
Jeb stopped and turned to look at me. “Where in the world are we, Kid? I’m sure we’re still in the States, but I slept most of the way up from N’Orlins, and all I know is we headed east.”
“Okay, Jeb. Tuck those boots away somewhere and put on these shoes – they’re Pappy’s. I’ll take you out back and show you around the farm. Then we’ll go up to Coopersville and meet some of my friends.”
“Does that mean you and I are going to be friends?”
“I reckon we are. I’d like that.”
“Me, too!”
As we headed out the kitchen door onto our back porch, we both smiled at each other – for the first time.
