Growing up a Larabee by Anne Tolar

Growing up a Larabee

Young Larabee Series

Anne Tolar

Rating: PG-13: some language, corporal punishment, what some would see as child abuse

7/18/2009

It's been a long time since I posted something to my Young Larabee series. This is a prequel, when Chris was about 6 years old. RELUCTANT COWBOY WILL BE FINISHED. Hope you enjoy. Anne

Part of the Young Larabee series, before WORTH IT ALL, Chris at age 6. Also before NO WAY HOME.

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The little red-blonde boy sat on a fence in Wheatland, Indiana, next to his father's wagon, watching the hard-working man work his wheat crop. The little boy was trying hard to change his father's mind, "Pa...I wanna go! You told Frankie and Mitch you'd take me next time you went out hunting. I'm old enough...I'll do it right, Pa. Please let me go."

"Boy, I took you on that last deer hunt Mitch and I went on, and you scared off two prize bucks! Cause of you, we came back near empty handed for our winter larder."

"But, Pa! I know better now. I'll remember not to step on stuff. I won't talk none, or sneeze. I won't go yelling at Rascal, neither...even if he does bite my butt. Let me go...please."

"You're just a sprout, John Christopher. You're just a little young yet. I think maybe we'll wait til next season."

"But, Pa..."

"John Christopher, you just hush up now. I've said no, and I mean no. This is a boar hunt boy, and the particular pig we're hunting's got a real mean streak. He's already gored Scamp...don't know that that pup of mine will ever be ready to go after a boar again."

"He'll be ready and so will Rascal! We'll see to that. Like you say, getting over a problem's just a matter of wanting to do it. I'll see to Rascal myself, Mitch'll help me. You said Rascal's got the makings of a good hunter. If I get him ready, can we both go? Go this time?"

"You're like boots in a bog, boy. I said no. You ask me again, keep pestering me about this, we just may have to visit the woodshed."

"Why you wanna go there, Pa? I filled Ma's woodbox already! We need more? Frankie and Mitch done both said to hope I never had to go to the woodshed with you for nothing but Ma's wood. What they mean, Pa? Why you wanna go now?"

"Cause you're being a DARN PEST, boy, and that's not all. You been being a royal pest when I'm gone, too. What's this I hear from your sister? Elizabeth said she told you not to go climbing up in that hayloft. She thinks it's too high up. You're only six, boy. But she said you did it anyway, minute your ma and I left for the stock sale. Did you do it?"

"Well..."

"Tell truth, John Christopher. Man always tells the truth."

"Yes, sir. But Elizabeth was telling a whopper. AW! It's the gospel truth, Pa." He rubbed his little arm where his father's big hand had landed. He had felt that lots of times, but he wasn't ready for his father's next demand.

"Woodshed, now, boy." The tall man gripped the boy's arm and pulled him off the fence, walking him toward the small brown building behind their house where the boy always went to fetch wood.

"No, Pa...honest. I went up there, but she sent me. Honest."

"These lies are going to bring you a world of hurt, son. You got to learn to tell me the truth, and you got to learn to respect your sister."

"Rulebook?! Damn, Pa! AW!" The boy got jerked around, then backed up from the first small but surprising slap he felt. A Larabee boy might cuss, but never at or in front of his Pa. "Mitch says I need to plum stay out of her way! Said she's a gold-plated hussy! AW! PA...DON'T!" He pulled back hard after the second still small blow found his mouth.

"Shut it, John Christopher, and shut if NOW. Mitch don't need to teach you such talk, and he's had his own run ins with Liz, so don't you take his talk much to heart. Now, woodshed."

"Pa...please..." He wanted to run, but Pa had his arm in full grip now. His purpose showed clearly, even to the child. The youngest Larabee boy knew to trust his older brothers when it came to understanding things about their father. Something told him that the woodshed wasn't some place he wanted to go with the now red-faced man, but his pulling was making the man's face redder. Mitch said he better watch for such. John Christopher stopped pulling before they arrived.

"You only been here with me once before, John Christopher, and that time I just talked while we got your Ma some splits. I just think you need to pay a little closer attention to what I say. What I'm gonna do to you ought to get your attention pretty good. Be a man, son. I ain't gonna hurt ya...not much. Now, like I say, you be a man, strip them britches. Let's get this done."

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He thought his mother, Ester Larabee, was coming to soothe him again. She had checked on him after his father sent him to the room he shared with his brother Mitch to "think" about his 'sins'. She had come and rubbed some salve into the numerous red whelps on his very thin very blistered cheeks. He hissed at them all, but he didn't cry...he knew better than to cry from even earlier in his young life.

She was really coming to finish his punishment. This had been his first true whipping, and he was very young, but Ester knew her husband's rules from long years of dealing with her older sons. According to Franklin John Larabee, a bad boy child, bad enough to face a whipping, needed a very good cleaning out. She approached him, lifted his small, pale face in her hands, and talked to him straight, "Do you know what comes next, John Christopher?"

"Next? He's gonna hit me more? No, Ma...don't let him." His lips trembled, and his eyes suddenly shone.

"No, son. He's through with the belt, but he wants you cleansed."

"Cleansed? I have to take a bath? Before Saturday?"

"Not exactly. I'm talking about cleaning you out inside."

"WHAT'S THAT? HOW'S HE GONNA DO THAT, MA?"

"Your father has told me to prepare you and give you Milk and Molasses."

"I got to drink something? Ma, Lizzie makes me drink stuff, and it always makes me puke!"

"That's the kind of fib that gets you in this much trouble, young man."

"It isn't a fib, Ma. Don't you remember, when you and Pa went to the last sale? You remember I puked SO MUCH?"

"Yes, you were certainly sick...but when you steal and eat two whole cream pies, that's not an unusual result."

"I didn't take the pies, MA. Lizzie made me eat em both!"

"Now, John Christopher. Why would Elizabeth do that to you? You're always stealing pies. I've caught you myself twice. I dosed you good last time...now stop this, and get ready to take your punishment."

"How much I got to drink the Milk stuff, Ma?"

"This isn't something you drink. It's a medicine I put in an enema, and according to your father's rules, you have to take the whole thing in and then hold it for a little while."

"Hold it? Take it in? I don't understand."

"Do you remember how your father washed out that horse that had gone down?"

"Uh...OH, MA! That big ole pail of hot water? No, Ma...Please."

"It certainly won't be that much, John Christopher. Just a few cups of milk and about as much molasses. You just be a man. It will be over very soon, I promise."

"That ole horse tried to kick Pa when he done that to him. I don't want that, Ma. It scares me, bad."

"Your brothers took their punishment like men. Now, you're old enough to realize that things you do that break your father's rules will illicit serious consequences. Today, he's allowing me to give you the punishment, but fairly soon, you'll face taking all your punishments from your father. The Milk and Molasses is not the worst thing that can happen to you at all. Now, prepare yourself. Get very quiet, remove your clothes, and get on the bed on your hands and knees. Stay that way until I come back so we can get this over with as quickly as possible. Then, when you've had time to rest, you can come downstairs and apologize to your father and say goodnight."

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Straight from the fields, 14-year-old Mitch Larabee came into his bedroom, throwing his hat onto the proper peg. He noticed small clothing draped over a chair at the end of the other bed. His little brother, generally all boy and mostly full of mischief, lay quiet on his side on his bed, turned away, unclothed, but covered with a blanket. "Hey, Kid. What you doing? You ducking chores? Pa's gonna make ya pay if you don't get the work done by sundown. Kid?" He heard the little boy moan, saw him roll into himself.

His voice was a pitiful whisper, "No more...Mitch. Please...I didn't mean break rules. I didn't steal the pies. Please make it stop."

The elder brother stepped quickly to the far wall beside the small bed and pulled the thin bodied child up in his arms. John Christopher looked solidly in the face of his most-days hero and then he began to cry. "It...it...hurts!"

"What hurts, John Christopher? Tell me. Have you told Ma you hurt?"

"Uh-uh-uh-huh. She knows! She knows it hurts! She made me take it...take it all." The boy began to hiccup and shake in his brother's arms. Something hard happened to the boy just then. He clawed at Mitch's arm, held to his stomach, and immediately began to convulse harder.

"Easy, boy. You just stay here. I'll go get Pa. We'll find out what's got this going on. You be still.'

"NO!"

"What's this, boy? What's going on with you?"

"Don't mean to break Pa's rules, Mitch. I didn't steal Lizzie's pies. An..an..oh... oohh...please don't tell Pa I wasn't a man...don't let him know I cried! Please..."

"Oh, hell, boy. What you got yourself into? What's Rulebook up to now?"

The little body continued to shake, raising his trembling hand to wipe his tear-streaked eyes. "She told Pa I disobeyed her about the hayloft. I didn't go up there except she told me to go, Mitch. She told me to go get her some of the eggs that crazy hen left up top. An...an...and she told em I stole pies. I didn't Mitch...she made me eat two whole pies...made me puke so bad...but she told Ma and Pa that I stole em."

"And they believed Rulebook?" The little boy just nodded, hiccupping and shivering as his brother held him closer. "Ah, hell, Kid. Here we go again. I've gotta tell you something, boy. You're a little young for this..."

"Pa said I was too young to go hunting with you this time. I asked three times. I told him you'd help me get Rascal ready."

"Three times? You asked our Pa three times to go hunting? Him telling you 'no' all the time?"

The little boy nodded, "I promised I wouldn't scare off no game this time. I promised I'd be good."

"Don't matter what you promised, Kid. You poked at it three times with Pa telling you 'no.' You got to learn that fast. When Franklin John Larabee tells one of his sons 'no,' that son best stop pestering that man, and I mean fast. He plum hates pestering. What'd he do to you?"

"Beat my butt. Beat it hard."

"How many strokes?" Mitch eased the boy to the bed and inspected the blistered and swollen cheeks.

"Counted ten before he quit."

"Damn. My first, Frank's first, weren't more than five."

"An...an..."

"More? He punished you more?" He rolled his little brother back into his arms.

"Ma give me Milk and 'lasses...said Pa sent her to do it."

"Ah, hell. John Christopher, it's still up there in your little tummy, ain't it."

"Uh-huh. It burned, Mitch, and my stomach's been hurtin' every minute since. She wouldn't let me let it go...stuck somethin' hard up me to make it stay...made all that hot stuff stay in SO LONG! Told me I best not make much noise at all or she'd have to call Pa. When Ma finally let me go, it started making my gut plain crazy. Kept burning and oozing. Mitch, it hurt me so bad. It STILL hurts."

"I know that hurts, boy. I can tell from looking at ya that your butts scorched and your gut's swollen and tight. Sorry to tell ya, but that hellish stuff most likely gonna hurt til sometime tomorrow, but you hang on...then it ought to get easier. You just got to ride it through. You been down to say you're sorry yet? Don't forget that part."

"Do I have to, Mitch? I didn't steal the pies, and Lizzie sent me to the hayloft. I didn't do nothing', Honest!"

"Now, you listen to me, little boy. Knowing Rulebook, I believe you, but, listen, maybe you didn't do those things, but you said yourself you were pestering the stew out of Pa. Right?"

"Uh...huh...I guess."

"You know. Now, I want you to listen. You and I both know you don't get nothin' near the whippings Ma and Pa both threaten you with. Right? Neither did Frank and me, but John Christopher, you're a damn little hardheaded devil and you damn well know it."

The little face broke into a well-known grin and stayed there til the next cramp hit his little gut.

"See, you know it full well. Well, you just kinda look on this as you takin' one for all the old skunky stuff you have done. Makes it a little easier to take. Trust me. I know. It's gonna hurt whenever it comes, but Pa's not that mean. You'll pretty much come out ahead on the score. But, boy, listen to me! You listen hard. You get yourself in hand, now, and learn this lesson. You take what comes your way...take it like a man. You listen and learn. You're a smart little pest. You can learn to be good...to buy yourself some good feelings with Pa. You don't you'll wake up one day and find out you're one sorry bastard that you were such a mischief maker. You hear me, John Christopher?"

"Yeah. I hear. Mitch, why's Rulebook so damn mean?"

"Hell if I know. She's got sneaky, devious, and down right cussedness in every bone in her body. Just like Frank and me, you, little brother, got to learn to avoid her whenever you can, and when you can't avoid her, you either do what she says without backtalk and devilment or be willing to pay the price for being a scamp. No other way. Pa loves you, boy, but I figure she's his first and he loves her more. Trust me, Milk and Molasses ain't the worst Pa knows to do when you break his rules, but I ain't gonna worry you with the rest just now. That's just my way of thinking, but whether he loves her more or not, the outcome's still the same."

"Outcome?"

"She tells some shit about one of us boys, no question, our butt gets beat til it's black and blue."

"You too?"

"You bet. Now, I know you hurt and you're more than embarrassed about what Ma made you do, but you just got to take it like a man. You get yourself up, pull on those clothes, and you go downstairs and apologize to Pa."

"What's 'pologize, Mitch?"

"Say you're sorry."

"I AIN'T SORRY! I AIN'T DONE NOTHING!"

"That matter?"

"Huh?"

"Think. You don't get this finished, you be a little hothead, you'll get another piece of hell tomorrow. Now, you just SAY you're sorry. What you're really saying is you hate that he's angry with you...say the words. Say 'em, then come back up here and let's see if we can't find something to calm down your gut. I'll show you some things you'll need to know down the line. It's early, Kid, but you best listen and learn. First thing, when you apologize, you sound real sincere, but don't let it make you sound smart-mouthed or angry or whinny. You do it right, Pa'll get to feeling a little guilty, and you'll buy yourself a little more time til the next time."

"Next time?"

"Bet on it. You've had your first whipping and cleansing. He won't think anything about doing it to you again. Went on for years for me, but I've finally got it down to maybe two or three real whippings a year, and I got Milk and Molasses out of my life a couple years ago. Lots of stuff just ain't worth risking consequences like THAT. Don't mean his rules don't call for more, just means I try real hard to be smart enough to keep him pleased enough with me to avoid that stuff. You better start learning now, boy. You've had your first real beating today, John Chris, and that puts you about two years ahead of my first; about three ahead of Frank's. You're in the process of handling your first feel of the pure-D hell of Milk and Molasses. You may have shed a tear or two, but you've been pretty darn strong for a little guy...proud of you. Now, what Frank told me when I took my first hell, I'm telling you. Get smart, Kid. Stay tough...be a man. It'll pay off in the long run, cause if you can take what Franklin John Larabee dishes out, you'll be able to take just about every hell that ever comes your way."

"Honest?"

"I'm betting it's true for you, boy. You're gonna be something. Anyway, there ain't no man grows up tougher than a Larabee. Now, get up...get dressed...wash that face. You hold yourself straight up and proud...let's go see Pa."

End

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