The Private Journals of Isaiah Watts

By: Nicholas Hall
(© 2020 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

nhall@tickiestories.us

Chapter 2
The Early Years

“Here’s the name and address of an older cousin of mine on my mother’s side. Her married name is Saunders She’ll get you in contact with others of my people. We keep in contact by mail. She sends the letter to Mrs. Romano, up the road, so your Pa doesn’t find out and snoop. I can get ahold of you or you can get ahold of me through my cousin, Grandma Watts told Daddy.”

(The Private Journals of Isaiah Watts) 

Hearing his father’s plaintive, unanswered, begging, cursing, pleas for help coming from the barn did little to soften David’s heart or cause him to hesitate in his steady walk to the house. Entering, he found his mother and four brothers standing, waiting, anxious looks in their faces, worried more for his welfare rather than the shouts from their father and husband.

David offered nothing in way of explanation or description of what occurred in the barn to cause such an uproar. Instead he walked to the bedroom he shared with his brothers, rummaged around in the closet, and found a sturdy canvas bag with a drawstring closure. He filled it with his clothing and other personal items, grabbed his jacket and hat, tossed the bag over his shoulder and returned to the kitchen where the others waited.

“I’m leaving, Ma,” he announced. “I didn’t kill him although I should’ve.”

Dorothea remained silent, although did nod her head understandingly. She wondered, once she discovered it, how long David would take the abuse and what would be her husband’s consequences.

David kissed and hugged each of this brothers, told them to listen to their mother, how much he loved them, and he’d keep in touch. Hugging Benjamin the tightest of all, he charged him with protecting his brothers.

“I warned the son-of-a-bitch if I heard he fucked any of you again,” David whispered in Ben’s ear, “I’d come back and pin his cock and balls to the barn floor.”

Evidently he didn’t say it softly enough since his pronouncement produced a snicker from young Zach.

“Don’t worry, David,” Ben said confidently, “we’ll run him off first. Ma and I can handle the farm.”

Dorothea hugged her oldest son tightly, told him how much she loved him, understood why he was leaving, and slipped a ten dollar gold piece in his hand. David was curious where she might have gotten it, but didn’t ask. Dorothea gave him a couple of pieces of paper; one with the name of a cousin in Burlington and the other a short note asking they help him find work.

“Here’s the name and address of an older cousin of mine on my mother’s side. Her married name is Saunders She’ll get you in contact with others of my people. We keep in contact by mail. She sends the letter to Mrs. Russo, up the road, so your Pa doesn’t find out and snoop. I can get ahold of you or you can get ahold of me through my cousin.”

David nodded his understanding and walked out the door into the evening dusk. He wondered, as he approached Decker’s Corner, if his father ever pulled the fork free of the floor and his foot or if his mother finally did it for him.

“Serve the old fucker right if she’d wait until morning,” he mused aloud.

Fortunately for him a delivery wagon just delivered a load of goods to Decker’s Store and was returning to Muscatine some three hours away by horse and wagon. David hitched a ride, knowing he could catch a train to Burlington from there.

David sat patiently on the bench in the depot waiting room. The train he’d purchased his ticket for left early the next morning and he had no place to stay except the lobby of the depot. The station agent cast a dubious, pre-cautionary look at the young lad who presented a ten dollar gold piece for the purchase of a train ticket to Burlington. At first, watching the boy pocket his change and secure his ticket in his hand, he considered summoning a city police officer, but when quizzing the lad concerning his trip, was satisfied he wasn’t a runaway, but on his way to visit a relative, and decided the lad was harmless. Still, he decided to sort of watch after the lad during the night since it appeared he had no place else to go.

There was also that niggling thought creeping into the back of his mind relative to where the boy came from – Decker’s Corner. Decker’s Corner resident’s reputation was known throughout the area and the station agent had no desire to piss someone off from there. Butting his nose into their business wouldn’t be advantageous and perhaps on the dangerous side.

“Nope, rather be safe than sorry,” he muttered to himself, glancing toward the very handsome boy resting on the bench, canvas travel bag secured between his legs.

For just a moment, just a fleeting moment, the agent considered succumbing to his desire and, instead of the boy’s legs wrapped around the bag, he’d prefer they be wrapped around his hips instead as he plowed a new furrow in the boy’s asshole. Just the thought made him as hard as a steel rail, but thinking the boy might not be amenable to such a tryst and stick him with a knife instead, caused the agent to retreat to a back room, whip out his cock, and relieve himself.

“Better my own cock in my own hand,” he whispered as he wiped himself clean of the white, thick spooge on his hand and cock, “than have it tacked to a post somewhere.”

The station agent was wise in his choice. David did have a knife; sharp, used for gutting critters and cleaning fish, tucked under his left arm pit in a leather scabbard, held in place by a canvas strap secured around his neck and hidden beneath his shirt and bib overalls. With no belt, it was the best place to hide it. Some guys tucked their knives inside the waist band of their underwear, but David didn’t wear any. He could use his knife well and true if necessary.

David dozed off and on during the short night, heard the train whistle, and was waiting on the platform when the passenger train pulled in, engine snorting, puffing smoke, and spewing steam from the vents on the engine. The conductor placed the little step stool in front of one of the entrances to a passenger car, helped the ones de-training off, and waited for instructions from the engineer, before shouting “All aboard” and signaled David, the only one on the platform, to come forward. Canvas bag on the seat next to him, David presented his ticket to be punched when the conductor walked by, settled down for the long ride to Burlington.

David arrived in Burlington hot, tired, and hungry. Reluctant to spend any of what was left over from the ten dollar gold piece for a meal, he decided to wait until later. Inquiring of the station agent where the Saunders residence was and finding it was some distance from the city, he got directions and decided to walk. Taking public transportation would cost money and it was money David thought he might need.

The agent noticed David’s hesitation and resignation. He figured the lad was going to walk the long distance

“Of course,” he said off-handedly, “you could just walk down to Saunders’ office off on the stockyard’s siding,” and pointed in the general direction.

David rewarded the advice with a bright smile and with a spring in his step, canvas bag over his shoulder, left the depot and followed the siding he’d been directed to. The stock yards and a small collection of buildings was not that far away.

There was one building, with doors to three separate entrances. The wooden frame building located near the siding had several stock pens to the side and rear. Several small sheds near the yards appeared to hold equipment and perhaps feed. The office building had signs near the three entrances, indicating one was the office was a livestock buyer and seller, another a land agent, and a third announced, “Abram Saunders’- Horses, Mules, Bought and Sold.” David opened the door to this entrance and stepped in.

The office was not well lighted, contained two desks, a small table with chairs, several filing cabinets, and a parlor stove. On the wall was a telephone and on a small table near it was telegraph key and receiver. Behind one of the desks a young man was working on some papers. The young man was bronzed from outdoor work, dressed in denim shirt and pants, wearing western style boots, and was absorbed in his work, evidently not noticing or caring who entered the office.

David stood, waiting for some sign his presence was noticed, and when nothing happened, cleared his throat with a cough, bringing the young man’s head up from his work, and his eyes latched on David.

“Mr. Saunders?” David asked confidently.

The young man looked at him, began a careful scrutinizing him, checking him over from top to bottom and back up again.

“Nope! I work for him. What can I help you with?”

Matt Turner didn’t identify himself beyond being an employee, but was polite, business-like, remaining somewhat detached or distant as he surveyed the rough-dressed, extremely good-looking, but slight of build, lad standing in the middle of the office floor asking for his uncle. Bib overalls, shirt a little big, obviously hand-me-down, and light jacket, patched, but relatively clean, leather work shoes normally worn by farm boys, canvas bag held in one hand, hat in the other, bespoke of someone who probably didn’t come from the best of families or one of those with at least moderate income. A poor boy at best, perhaps a runaway. Matt wasn’t too certain what the boy wanted or if he just needed to be run out the door.

David took a deep breath, determined to speak his piece before his courage died.

“I’m David Watts and my Ma told me to see Mr. Saunders when I came to town to see if he could help me. His wife and my Ma are cousins. Ma was a Turner before she married Pa.”

Matt Turner stood up, smiled warmly, and stepped around from behind the desk, realizing David Watts, whose mother was a Turner, probably was a cousin suffering from hard times, and deserved a more welcoming greetings from him. If he was indeed a cousin and having a tough go of it, the ways of his people bade him and the family to offer him what assistance they could.

“I’m Matt Turner, his nephew.”

David almost pissed himself, knowing he was with relatives.

“I have letter here from Ma to Mr. Saunders, if you can tell me where I can find him.”

“He’s at the house. If you’ll take a seat and wait until I finish up, I’ll take you out there.”

As an afterthought, Matt asked, “You hungry? Aunt Rose packed me a big lunch and there’s an extra sandwich left and an apple if you want it,” and put a paper sack on the desk top.

Did he want it? David was careful not to leap forward and grab it, but said, “Thanks; I ain’t had nothing to eat since yesterday noon,” lifted the lunch bag from the desk and carried it and his canvas bag over to the table. He set the lunch bag on the table, canvas bag on the floor, and pulled up a chair to eat.

“There’s water in the jug on the other desk,” Matt said as he continued to work.

Matt finished the paper work he’d been engaged in, filed it in a filing cabinet, grabbed his jacket and cowboy hat from the coat rack, locked the front door from the inside, waved at David to join him, and, with David stuffing the last bite of sandwich into his mouth, headed out the back door of the office. He locked it and led David to a buckboard, the bed loaded with items all covered with a canvas tarp, hitched to a team of horses, seemingly impatient to leave.

“Toss your bag somewhere in back where it won’t fall out and climb up on the seat,” Matt instructed as he hefted himself up on the buckboard.

David quickly did as he was told, settled himself on the wooden seat next to Matt, and relaxed, somewhat, as Matt gave the reins a flick and they started the journey to the Saunders’ house.

“You’re lucky I was in the office. I stopped by to take care of a couple of things Uncle Abram wanted done, otherwise I’d not have stopped and the office would’ve been closed.”

David merely nodded, relieved, but not commenting.

“Uncle Abram and Aunt Rose wanted some things from town and that’s why I came in.”

David just nodded again, uncertain if he was to comment or not.

Matt maneuvered the wagon through some of the streets of the city heading for the outskirts, dodging other rigs, riders, and a few motor vehicles.

“Noisy bastards aren’t they?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“How old are you anyway, David?”

“Fourteen.”

“School?”

“Finished the eighth grade.”

The rest of the journey to the Saunders place was made in silence. Matt figured David just wasn’t the talkative type, didn’t want to answer any questions, or had some secrets to hide he didn’t want others to know about.

It was almost dark when they arrived at the Saunders house. It was a nice two story home setting on some forty to sixty acres of ground, David figured. There were several large pastures holding horses, mules, and a few cows and steers. Two barns, a small smithy shop, a chicken house, hog pen, a couple of corrals, and a smaller building looking very much like a bunk house,  made up the rest of the visible property. A windmill for pumping water to an elevated water tank, similar to those found along railroad tracks to furnish water to train engines, stood in the middle of the farm yard.

Two men, both younger than Matt, but older than David came from one of the barns and a man and woman stepped from the house to the porch when they rode up in the wagon.

“That’s Uncle Abram and Aunt Rose,” Matt announced, stopping the team. “Take your bag and head up on to the porch to meet them.”

David jumped down, grabbed his bag, and headed up the steps to the porch.

The man and woman, both older than his Ma and Pa looked at him as if trying to determine who he was and why he was here.  David solved the riddle for them by saying,

“Mr. Saunders, I’m David Watts and my Ma, Dorothea Watts sent me to you and gave me this note for you,” handing over the letter.

Saunders sort of nodded, accepted the letter and opened it.

“So you’re Dorothea’s oldest boy are you?” Rose asked.

“Yes, Mam.”

“What brings you here to us?”

Abram interrupted. “It says here she hopes we can help you find some work. It also says you had a falling out with your Pa. Care to tell me about it?”

David sort of shuffled his feet and thought best just say what happened and get it over with. If they tossed him out on his ass, so be it.

“I pinned his foot to the barn floor with a pitch fork. I should’ve gutted him like fish.”

“Oh, my,” he heard Rose say softly.

To be continued...

Posted: 12/10/2021