BILLY HARGRAVE
A SHORT STORY BY RICHARD SWAIN
Billy Hargrave was shivering uncontrollably. He stomped his feet on the pavement while squeezing his arms around the rain soaked jacket. At such times of trial, and this was a testing moment, he would loudly hum the melody of a song from years of being dropped off for Sunday School. Car lights appeared on the horizon, and he stepped further out onto the road and stretched out a hand like a stop sign. Lumbering closer was an old Winnebago, appearing to be on its last legs. It stopped. Steam hissed from the engine compartment, and after a moment, a grizzled old man pushed open the passenger door and yelled above the falling rain, “Get in.”
At the sight of his passenger, he pulled off the road and turned off the ignition. “Son, we need to get you out of those wet clothes, or you will catch your death of cold.” As the man spoke, an unseen dog barked so loud, Billy sprang from his seat and banged his head on the ceiling. “Whoa young man, he won’t hurt you, it’s just Shep wanting to say hello.” “Dogs don’t seem to like me,” said Billy, gathering his senses. “Shep likes anybody I take kindly to, so you are among friends. Muddy Brown is my name, what’s yours?” “Billy Hargrave, sir, and thank you for stopping. I was getting a little panicked with the dark and the rain.” “Don’t sir me, I’m sir to no one, just Muddy.”
Wrapped in a heavy wool blanket, and fortified from wolfing down a steaming bowl of soup and three slices of bread, Billy returned to the shotgun seat as they moved back onto the highway. Muddy glanced to his right. “Young man, I need to know if you are in trouble? Anyone looking for you, and be honest, tell me your age?” “I’m almost sixteen, and no one misses me, if that is your question. In the backpack is my birth certificate, if you don’t believe me. I also have a learner’s permit and three hundred dollars. I earned every cent on my own.” The old man snorted through his nose. “Listen, son, no more talking about your money to anybody. Best people think you haven’t two nickels to rub together, and let’s get something straight, I’ll trust your word until you prove me wrong.”
After several hours, they turned off on a gravel road and eventually pulled into an opening between a clump of trees and parked. It was pitch black, except for a few scattered small lights and vague silhouettes giving no definition. Muddy turned on an interior light and converted the dinette into a bed. Handing the boy a sleeping bag, he pointed out the closet bathroom and said they would talk in the morning. As soon as Billy snuggled into the bag, Shep jumped up and curled against his legs.
The smell of coffee and fried bacon was a wake up call. As he shifted his body, the dog jumped off and went to the door. Muddy let him out and kept the door open. A fresh morning breeze entered, along with the smell of citrus. Looking out his side window, Billy saw the vast orange grove with other RV’s and campers
crowded in open spaces. Taught how to restore the dinette, he set the table for breakfast.
The young man experienced a moment of peacefulness. A deep-seated happiness, even if for a moment. Just breakfast with someone who showed him kindness, a dog who could be a companion, and fragrant, crisp air. They ate in silence, looking up from time to time with a nod or smile. After washing the dishes, Muddy beckoned the youngster outside. “Have you ever performed Tai chi?” Billy looked mystified. Muddy spoke of the Chinese martial art as shadowboxing for health and meditation. Turning on a CD player, he spoke, “The music is Clair de Lune by Debussy. Imitate my arm and leg movements.” The next twenty minutes were a balm to ten years of loneliness, anxiety, and fear.
They positioned two lawn chairs looking out to trees loaded with blossoms and neighbors busy with morning activities. Muddy’s well worn baseball hat read “Retired, not expired.” Looking over to his companion, “Son, I know where I’m headed. Tell me your plans?” Billy would not turn to the side, but spoke slowly as he gazed upward, staring at the billowing white cumulus clouds. “My mind is as blank as those clouds above, and just as weightless. Past is past, and what lies ahead I cannot say. If I can just stay with you for a little while, I would be so ever grateful.” The old man stood, moved his chair to face the youngster, and sat back down. “If this old bucket of bolts will hold together, I am driving back home to die. It would be my honor to have you as my companion for as long as it suits you. If we both make it to St. Landry Parish, I have a daughter and husband that would welcome you and shower you with Louisiana hospitality.”
Muddy had a bookshelf in the RV and they broached the subject of education. Billy had finished his second year of high school and expressed his desire to finish when an opportunity might open. Looking over the selection, he picked Treasure Island, and within hours he was Jim Hawkins, taking the helm of the Hispaniola. In the early afternoon, Muddy suggested Billy take Shep for a walk or run around the orchard, and handed him a leash. The twosome ran down the road until Billy thought his lungs would explode. They would sit and rest, run again, sometimes through the grove and around campsites. Sitting with his back against a large oak tree and stroking the back of the eighty pound mixed Shepard, Billy heard a violent argument erupt nearby. A sound he knew too well jarred his mind. It was the sound of a fist hitting a body. He jumped up and ran toward the commotion. A man stood holding the arms of a tall skinny boy, shaking him while screaming curses. As Billy neared, the man looked his way and shouted a threat to stay away. The next moment, he slapped the boy across the face and sent him tumbling backward. Billy screamed, “Leave him alone or I will sic my dog on you!” Shep suddenly bared his teeth and growled menacingly, pulling Billy toward the man. The boy dug his heels in the soft dirt to hold the dog back as Shep tried to jump forward. The man stepped back and walked away, looking several times at the fallen boy while pointing a finger.
The boy sat up, founds his glasses, and looked to see if they were intact. Tears had mixed with dirt on his face, and he used his shirtsleeve as a towel to wipe the forming mud. Billy walked over and knelt down. Shep sat looking at the stranger. “If that was your father, I know how much it hurts,” spoke Billy. “My father would beat me for no good reason.” With those words, the boy looked away, trying to gather his composure. Billy stood, pulled two oranges off the tree, and sat down with his legs crossed before him. Handing over an orange, he spoke, “My name is Billy and this here dog is Shep.” “My name is Frank West, and you want to be careful. My father has a gun in our camper, and he would shoot your dog if you stood up to him again.” Frank peeled his orange, but dropped it in his lap, and continued. “That was brave of you, seriously foolish, but brave, thank you.” They ate their oranges in silence, looking down, looking around, but avoiding further eye contact.
Frank stood and dusted off his shirt and pants. Shep came over and sniffed his leg, and the boy stroked the back of his neck. “This is a swell dog you have. Wish I had a dog.” “Shep belongs to my friend Muddy, we’re traveling together. Muddy must be sick because he is going home to die.” “What ails him?” “I was afraid to ask. Truth is, we just met last night.” “Are you a runaway?” asked Frank. Billy stood and pulled Shep to his side. “I don’t see it that way. It’s just what I need to do.” Frank put his hands in his front pockets and spoke to the ground, “I’d runaway if I could. Sometimes I feel sick to my stomach just thinking of another day. I’ll be honest, I have even prayed I wouldn’t wake up in the morning, how’s that for being a crazy eighteen-year-old.” “Eighteen, I guessed you were my age,” said Billy. “Heck, eighteen, you can do what you want. I bet Muddy would let you join us. I sleep on a dinette bed and there is room for both of us.” Frank looked up and smiled. “You’re sure a nice guy. Thanks for the offer.” The two boys stood for a few moments, and with nothing more to say, exchanged a goodbye wave and parted in different directions.
Shep’s barking at the door woke Muddy. Grabbing a flashlight, he scanned the outdoor area. Someone was standing by the lawn chairs, looking toward the light. He shook Billy awake. “Look outside and tell me if this is the boy you met up with yesterday?” Billy jumped off the bed and peered out the window. “Yep, that’s Frank. Can we let him in?”
The two boys sat on the dinette bed with legs dangling down toward the aisleway. Muddy was at the stovetop, heating coffee and warming biscuits planned for the morning. Frank had shed his knit hat, jacket and shoes. A loaded backpack sat in the driver’s seat. “I’ve been walking around for two hours trying to hear your dog bark. I almost gave up.” Muddy could still see the bruise on the boy’s cheek. “My father said that if you would take me, it would probably be the best for both of us. He has been under a lot of pressure since my mother died. A depression set in and led to his job loss. Sometimes the anger just boils over. I know he feels bad when he takes it out on me.” Muddy was nervous about anger and guns, and said they would move out before sunlight.
Frank sat in the shotgun seat and Billy at the dinette. Frank broached the subject of illness and related the comment Billy had shared. Muddy said they had diagnosed him with lung cancer and gave him six months. He warned the boys about smoking and then threw in excessive alcohol as a bonus. Billy told Frank about Tai Chi, and the boys were eager to have a session at their next stop. “We’ll take our time on the road,” said Muddy. “I’m thinking this old bus and I have about the same life expectancy.”
Late morning, Muddy called out, “Who wants a cheeseburger, fries, and a coke?” The cheer made it a unanimous decision, and they pulled off at a roadside diner. Taking many glances, they found an open table at the back. The food hit the spot, and as they were leaving, Muddy inquired if there were any campgrounds in the vicinity. The server wrote out a name and address on a napkin. Ten minutes back on the road, and a siren and flashing red lights caused all heads to look back. Muddy pulled over. A Florida State Trooper, hidden behind dark glasses with his hand on his holster, approached the driver's side, and ordered everyone outside with identification. Muddy spoke to the boys, “Just let me do the talking.”
As Muddy spoke, the trooper put up his hand for silence as he took the ID’s and walked back to his car. He reached in his window, pulled out the mike and begun talking. From time to time, he would look over at the trio and then back to perhaps a computer inside. Finally, walking like he was John Wayne, he returned. “An old black man traveling in a wreck with two young white boys gets a lot of tongues wagging in this part of our state.” Muddy was ready to answer, but Billy jumped in. “No Sir, no problem with us. This here is Mr. Brown, owner of Brown & Daughter Farms in Louisiana. He has one of the finest crawfish farms in the state. They also grow and mill rice. You may know that is a terrific combination. They have hired my friend Frank and me, as business has been so good. If you were ever coming our way, we would sure like to show you around.” This caught the trooper off guard, and he looked down to the ID’s, shuffling them around, before handing them back. “I also have responsibility for road safety, and your tires are a little concerning. We may need to have your RV towed in for a safety inspection. The towing fee is $200 or you could settle up now for $100 and have it checked on your own.” Again Billy jumped in first. “Thank you Sir, we need to get to the farm as soon as possible. Let me get the fee and we will be on our way.” Opening his backpack, Billy counted out five $20 bills and, walking past the glare of Muddy, settled with the trooper.
Muddy would not pull back on the road until the trooper drove off. Turning back to Billy, he spoke. “I don’t know if I should laugh, scream, or cry. First, that bastard should burn in hell. Second, I owe you $100, and do not argue that point. Third, you have the gift of gab young man, what a storyteller. Have you been going through my drawers?” “No way Muddy, there was a newspaper article about your farm in my Treasure Island book. I mean your Treasure Island book.” Muddy laughed and shook his head. “Son, that book is yours, and you and Frank have jobs waiting at the farm if you are open to hard work.” Frank gave a cheer with double thumbs up as they drove over to the campground.
Shep’s barking stirred the boys. He jumped his front paws onto the dinette bed and barked again, this time right by Billy’s ear. “Hey, what’s wrong, do you want to go out?” Rather than go to the door, he went back to Muddy’s bed and barked a third time. Billy jumped off and shook Frank. “Something’s wrong with Muddy.” His eyes were wide open and his mouth was moving, but they heard no sound. Drool was on his chin and nightshirt, and his right hand resting on his chest was twitching. Billy leaned his ear against the man’s mouth. “Muddy, what’s wrong with you, what do we do?” Frank said he thought Muddy had a stroke. He said his mother looked the same before she died. Muddy slowly turned his head back and forth and mouthed the word no. He tried to rise, but was unable. “Do you want to sit up?” He showed yes with head movement. The two boys grabbed hold of an underarm and pulled him over to the one lounge chair. Some color was returning to his face, and breathing improved. Now he could whisper words that Billy could understand. “You two need to do the driving and straight to the farm without stopping. I feel my time is near.” He explained with effort how the Interstate 10 West would take them across the Florida Panhandle, touch the southern tip of Alabama, before bringing them into Louisiana. Ten hours with one stop for gas should get you there. “I need a glass of water,” was his one request.
The two boys took Shep outside for his business. “I have driven nothing in my life,” said Frank. “Can you get us there?” “I will get us there or die trying,” was the answer. At this, both boys first stared at each other with serious looks, then broke out laughing and shook each other’s shoulders. “For Muddy and to the Farm” was the rallying cry!
A cushion for his bottom, and one for the back, had Billy propped up sufficiently in the driver’s seat. Frank took on the role as navigator with a map in his lap. Both boys looked back to Muddy with grins and thumbs up. The old man gave a nod and smile, and the Winnebago lurched forward. Soon Billy was singing his Sunday school songs with vigor, and Frank doing his best with the chorus. Frank would periodically go back to check on Muddy, and often came back with instructions, like slow down or the RV will overheat.
The fuel gauge and Billy’s stomach were approaching empty at the same time. He pulled off the interstate with a sign showing gas and food. Frank filled the tank as Billy checked with Muddy on his condition. A large orange juice and two glazed donuts would suit him just fine, was the response. They moved the RV over to the truck parking, and the boys went inside the restaurant to order food. Billy returned first, and after handing Muddy his drink and donuts, sat at the dinette to eat his sandwiches. After ten minutes, they were both looking out the window for Frank. “Maybe he went to the restroom,” said Muddy. “Perhaps you
should check for him just to make sure he is okay.” Billy stepped outside to find Frank sitting on the ground with his back resting against the front wheel. His sandwiches still wrapped at his side. Billy sat next to him and drew his knees back toward his chest. Both sat in silence, looking across the busy freeway with a brown hill on the horizon. After a few minutes, Frank turned to his new friend. “I sure wish I could go with you and Muddy. I really do, but I’m afraid for my dad. I’m all he has.” Billy found solace at moments like this by looking up before speaking. “If that’s how you feel, I say your dad is one lucky man to have a son like you. That’s all I can say.”
Frank promised Muddy he would come to the farm if things did not work out. Before he left, he sat with Shep rubbing the back of his neck and snuggled his head against the side of the dog’s head. He stood off to the side, waving both hands as Billy pulled back on the road. Three horn honks were the last goodbye.
It was dark when Billy turned down the dirt road. A small billboard with two overhanging lights illuminated “BROWN & DAUGHTER FARM”. Below the name was the picture of a steaming plate of crawfish served on a heaping mound of rice. Below the plate in black letters, “NO ONE BEATS OUR QUALITY, SERVICE AND PRICE.” Muddy had Billy park the RV by the side of a large barn structure. Turning on the interior lights, Billy asked, “What do we do now?” Muddy said to open the door to let Shep out. “The family will be here shortly. The RV engine noise will be like an old alarm clock sounding off.” Sure enough, house lights turned on, first upstairs, and soon after, downstairs, back porch, and then the whole courtyard was brightly lit.
Hanna Brown Johnson sat by Muddy’s bed in the downstairs bedroom. She kept fussing over her father’s blankets to make sure he stayed warm. Her husband Ben was opening the cottage that was Muddy’s place before he set off on his wanderlust travels a year earlier. Shep came inside and immediately laid down, making it clear he wanted to stay with Billy. Placing his enormous arm around Billy’s shoulders, he thanked him for bringing their father home safely.
Not able to have children, Hanna and Ben found Billy a breath of fresh air. Each morning, Ben would show Billy another aspect of their farm business, and the young man exhibited a natural eagerness to learn and apply the teaching. They bought a wheelchair for Muddy, and often it was Billy who wanted to push him around the farm and explain the latest work he and Ben were accomplishing. One evening during dinnertime, he mentioned a dirty rice recipe his grandmother taught him before she passed. They insisted he cook for them the following evening, and Hanna made sure all the ingredients were on hand.
The centerpiece was one pound of cooked Brown & Daughter crawfish tail meat, and two cups of Brown & Daughter rice. It was then Billy’s artful blending of butter, green bell pepper, celery, yellow onion, garlic, salt, cayenne pepper, paprika, seafood stock, fresh lemon and parsley. There was no need to offer pretend compliments to the young chef, as all three insisted they had tasted no better, and this in the capital of Southern Louisiana Creole cooking.
Initially, Friday night became “Billy night” for the foursome. After several months, Hanna started inviting neighbors or key customers to join the expanding table. With her encouragement, Billy started experimenting in the large kitchen. The next headliner was the B&D Crawfish Beignet. Here, along with the central ingredients, was a fresh tarragon added to the mayonnaise, and a certain sharp cheddar cheese that spoke to the young chef. The B&D Crawfish Bisque rounded out the star trio, and this time the special touch was a Worcestershire sauce with white balsamic vinegar, scented with the essence of pomegranate.
Muddy was busy working on design, and Ben and Billy were in charge of the reconfiguration. It took four months of labor, sandwiched around normal farm maintenance before opening day. Muddy insisted no advertising was necessary as word of mouth was spreading quickly. The last step was paving the driveway from the road into the newly paved courtyard. At the entrance, across from the billboard, was a large pad for parking spaces and the now stationary Winnebago. The body of the RV sat on a raised concrete foundation. A ramp at the rear allowed Muddy to be wheeled up into the new state-of-the-art kitchen. The last touch was the neon sign atop the RV that announced BILLY HARGRAVE’S B&D TO GO.
The Daily World released the story on his sixteenth birthday. A new challenge to John Folse, Alon Shaya, and other leading Creole chefs, a new star is on the horizon. A young man, once lost and alone, now blessed with family and acceptance.
RICHARD SWAIN
A SHORT STORY BY RICHARD SWAIN
Billy Hargrave was shivering uncontrollably. He stomped his feet on the pavement while squeezing his arms around the rain soaked jacket. At such times of trial, and this was a testing moment, he would loudly hum the melody of a song from years of being dropped off for Sunday School. Car lights appeared on the horizon, and he stepped further out onto the road and stretched out a hand like a stop sign. Lumbering closer was an old Winnebago, appearing to be on its last legs. It stopped. Steam hissed from the engine compartment, and after a moment, a grizzled old man pushed open the passenger door and yelled above the falling rain, “Get in.”
At the sight of his passenger, he pulled off the road and turned off the ignition. “Son, we need to get you out of those wet clothes, or you will catch your death of cold.” As the man spoke, an unseen dog barked so loud, Billy sprang from his seat and banged his head on the ceiling. “Whoa young man, he won’t hurt you, it’s just Shep wanting to say hello.” “Dogs don’t seem to like me,” said Billy, gathering his senses. “Shep likes anybody I take kindly to, so you are among friends. Muddy Brown is my name, what’s yours?” “Billy Hargrave, sir, and thank you for stopping. I was getting a little panicked with the dark and the rain.” “Don’t sir me, I’m sir to no one, just Muddy.”
Wrapped in a heavy wool blanket, and fortified from wolfing down a steaming bowl of soup and three slices of bread, Billy returned to the shotgun seat as they moved back onto the highway. Muddy glanced to his right. “Young man, I need to know if you are in trouble? Anyone looking for you, and be honest, tell me your age?” “I’m almost sixteen, and no one misses me, if that is your question. In the backpack is my birth certificate, if you don’t believe me. I also have a learner’s permit and three hundred dollars. I earned every cent on my own.” The old man snorted through his nose. “Listen, son, no more talking about your money to anybody. Best people think you haven’t two nickels to rub together, and let’s get something straight, I’ll trust your word until you prove me wrong.”
After several hours, they turned off on a gravel road and eventually pulled into an opening between a clump of trees and parked. It was pitch black, except for a few scattered small lights and vague silhouettes giving no definition. Muddy turned on an interior light and converted the dinette into a bed. Handing the boy a sleeping bag, he pointed out the closet bathroom and said they would talk in the morning. As soon as Billy snuggled into the bag, Shep jumped up and curled against his legs.
The smell of coffee and fried bacon was a wake up call. As he shifted his body, the dog jumped off and went to the door. Muddy let him out and kept the door open. A fresh morning breeze entered, along with the smell of citrus. Looking out his side window, Billy saw the vast orange grove with other RV’s and campers
crowded in open spaces. Taught how to restore the dinette, he set the table for breakfast.
The young man experienced a moment of peacefulness. A deep-seated happiness, even if for a moment. Just breakfast with someone who showed him kindness, a dog who could be a companion, and fragrant, crisp air. They ate in silence, looking up from time to time with a nod or smile. After washing the dishes, Muddy beckoned the youngster outside. “Have you ever performed Tai chi?” Billy looked mystified. Muddy spoke of the Chinese martial art as shadowboxing for health and meditation. Turning on a CD player, he spoke, “The music is Clair de Lune by Debussy. Imitate my arm and leg movements.” The next twenty minutes were a balm to ten years of loneliness, anxiety, and fear.
They positioned two lawn chairs looking out to trees loaded with blossoms and neighbors busy with morning activities. Muddy’s well worn baseball hat read “Retired, not expired.” Looking over to his companion, “Son, I know where I’m headed. Tell me your plans?” Billy would not turn to the side, but spoke slowly as he gazed upward, staring at the billowing white cumulus clouds. “My mind is as blank as those clouds above, and just as weightless. Past is past, and what lies ahead I cannot say. If I can just stay with you for a little while, I would be so ever grateful.” The old man stood, moved his chair to face the youngster, and sat back down. “If this old bucket of bolts will hold together, I am driving back home to die. It would be my honor to have you as my companion for as long as it suits you. If we both make it to St. Landry Parish, I have a daughter and husband that would welcome you and shower you with Louisiana hospitality.”
Muddy had a bookshelf in the RV and they broached the subject of education. Billy had finished his second year of high school and expressed his desire to finish when an opportunity might open. Looking over the selection, he picked Treasure Island, and within hours he was Jim Hawkins, taking the helm of the Hispaniola. In the early afternoon, Muddy suggested Billy take Shep for a walk or run around the orchard, and handed him a leash. The twosome ran down the road until Billy thought his lungs would explode. They would sit and rest, run again, sometimes through the grove and around campsites. Sitting with his back against a large oak tree and stroking the back of the eighty pound mixed Shepard, Billy heard a violent argument erupt nearby. A sound he knew too well jarred his mind. It was the sound of a fist hitting a body. He jumped up and ran toward the commotion. A man stood holding the arms of a tall skinny boy, shaking him while screaming curses. As Billy neared, the man looked his way and shouted a threat to stay away. The next moment, he slapped the boy across the face and sent him tumbling backward. Billy screamed, “Leave him alone or I will sic my dog on you!” Shep suddenly bared his teeth and growled menacingly, pulling Billy toward the man. The boy dug his heels in the soft dirt to hold the dog back as Shep tried to jump forward. The man stepped back and walked away, looking several times at the fallen boy while pointing a finger.
The boy sat up, founds his glasses, and looked to see if they were intact. Tears had mixed with dirt on his face, and he used his shirtsleeve as a towel to wipe the forming mud. Billy walked over and knelt down. Shep sat looking at the stranger. “If that was your father, I know how much it hurts,” spoke Billy. “My father would beat me for no good reason.” With those words, the boy looked away, trying to gather his composure. Billy stood, pulled two oranges off the tree, and sat down with his legs crossed before him. Handing over an orange, he spoke, “My name is Billy and this here dog is Shep.” “My name is Frank West, and you want to be careful. My father has a gun in our camper, and he would shoot your dog if you stood up to him again.” Frank peeled his orange, but dropped it in his lap, and continued. “That was brave of you, seriously foolish, but brave, thank you.” They ate their oranges in silence, looking down, looking around, but avoiding further eye contact.
Frank stood and dusted off his shirt and pants. Shep came over and sniffed his leg, and the boy stroked the back of his neck. “This is a swell dog you have. Wish I had a dog.” “Shep belongs to my friend Muddy, we’re traveling together. Muddy must be sick because he is going home to die.” “What ails him?” “I was afraid to ask. Truth is, we just met last night.” “Are you a runaway?” asked Frank. Billy stood and pulled Shep to his side. “I don’t see it that way. It’s just what I need to do.” Frank put his hands in his front pockets and spoke to the ground, “I’d runaway if I could. Sometimes I feel sick to my stomach just thinking of another day. I’ll be honest, I have even prayed I wouldn’t wake up in the morning, how’s that for being a crazy eighteen-year-old.” “Eighteen, I guessed you were my age,” said Billy. “Heck, eighteen, you can do what you want. I bet Muddy would let you join us. I sleep on a dinette bed and there is room for both of us.” Frank looked up and smiled. “You’re sure a nice guy. Thanks for the offer.” The two boys stood for a few moments, and with nothing more to say, exchanged a goodbye wave and parted in different directions.
Shep’s barking at the door woke Muddy. Grabbing a flashlight, he scanned the outdoor area. Someone was standing by the lawn chairs, looking toward the light. He shook Billy awake. “Look outside and tell me if this is the boy you met up with yesterday?” Billy jumped off the bed and peered out the window. “Yep, that’s Frank. Can we let him in?”
The two boys sat on the dinette bed with legs dangling down toward the aisleway. Muddy was at the stovetop, heating coffee and warming biscuits planned for the morning. Frank had shed his knit hat, jacket and shoes. A loaded backpack sat in the driver’s seat. “I’ve been walking around for two hours trying to hear your dog bark. I almost gave up.” Muddy could still see the bruise on the boy’s cheek. “My father said that if you would take me, it would probably be the best for both of us. He has been under a lot of pressure since my mother died. A depression set in and led to his job loss. Sometimes the anger just boils over. I know he feels bad when he takes it out on me.” Muddy was nervous about anger and guns, and said they would move out before sunlight.
Frank sat in the shotgun seat and Billy at the dinette. Frank broached the subject of illness and related the comment Billy had shared. Muddy said they had diagnosed him with lung cancer and gave him six months. He warned the boys about smoking and then threw in excessive alcohol as a bonus. Billy told Frank about Tai Chi, and the boys were eager to have a session at their next stop. “We’ll take our time on the road,” said Muddy. “I’m thinking this old bus and I have about the same life expectancy.”
Late morning, Muddy called out, “Who wants a cheeseburger, fries, and a coke?” The cheer made it a unanimous decision, and they pulled off at a roadside diner. Taking many glances, they found an open table at the back. The food hit the spot, and as they were leaving, Muddy inquired if there were any campgrounds in the vicinity. The server wrote out a name and address on a napkin. Ten minutes back on the road, and a siren and flashing red lights caused all heads to look back. Muddy pulled over. A Florida State Trooper, hidden behind dark glasses with his hand on his holster, approached the driver's side, and ordered everyone outside with identification. Muddy spoke to the boys, “Just let me do the talking.”
As Muddy spoke, the trooper put up his hand for silence as he took the ID’s and walked back to his car. He reached in his window, pulled out the mike and begun talking. From time to time, he would look over at the trio and then back to perhaps a computer inside. Finally, walking like he was John Wayne, he returned. “An old black man traveling in a wreck with two young white boys gets a lot of tongues wagging in this part of our state.” Muddy was ready to answer, but Billy jumped in. “No Sir, no problem with us. This here is Mr. Brown, owner of Brown & Daughter Farms in Louisiana. He has one of the finest crawfish farms in the state. They also grow and mill rice. You may know that is a terrific combination. They have hired my friend Frank and me, as business has been so good. If you were ever coming our way, we would sure like to show you around.” This caught the trooper off guard, and he looked down to the ID’s, shuffling them around, before handing them back. “I also have responsibility for road safety, and your tires are a little concerning. We may need to have your RV towed in for a safety inspection. The towing fee is $200 or you could settle up now for $100 and have it checked on your own.” Again Billy jumped in first. “Thank you Sir, we need to get to the farm as soon as possible. Let me get the fee and we will be on our way.” Opening his backpack, Billy counted out five $20 bills and, walking past the glare of Muddy, settled with the trooper.
Muddy would not pull back on the road until the trooper drove off. Turning back to Billy, he spoke. “I don’t know if I should laugh, scream, or cry. First, that bastard should burn in hell. Second, I owe you $100, and do not argue that point. Third, you have the gift of gab young man, what a storyteller. Have you been going through my drawers?” “No way Muddy, there was a newspaper article about your farm in my Treasure Island book. I mean your Treasure Island book.” Muddy laughed and shook his head. “Son, that book is yours, and you and Frank have jobs waiting at the farm if you are open to hard work.” Frank gave a cheer with double thumbs up as they drove over to the campground.
Shep’s barking stirred the boys. He jumped his front paws onto the dinette bed and barked again, this time right by Billy’s ear. “Hey, what’s wrong, do you want to go out?” Rather than go to the door, he went back to Muddy’s bed and barked a third time. Billy jumped off and shook Frank. “Something’s wrong with Muddy.” His eyes were wide open and his mouth was moving, but they heard no sound. Drool was on his chin and nightshirt, and his right hand resting on his chest was twitching. Billy leaned his ear against the man’s mouth. “Muddy, what’s wrong with you, what do we do?” Frank said he thought Muddy had a stroke. He said his mother looked the same before she died. Muddy slowly turned his head back and forth and mouthed the word no. He tried to rise, but was unable. “Do you want to sit up?” He showed yes with head movement. The two boys grabbed hold of an underarm and pulled him over to the one lounge chair. Some color was returning to his face, and breathing improved. Now he could whisper words that Billy could understand. “You two need to do the driving and straight to the farm without stopping. I feel my time is near.” He explained with effort how the Interstate 10 West would take them across the Florida Panhandle, touch the southern tip of Alabama, before bringing them into Louisiana. Ten hours with one stop for gas should get you there. “I need a glass of water,” was his one request.
The two boys took Shep outside for his business. “I have driven nothing in my life,” said Frank. “Can you get us there?” “I will get us there or die trying,” was the answer. At this, both boys first stared at each other with serious looks, then broke out laughing and shook each other’s shoulders. “For Muddy and to the Farm” was the rallying cry!
A cushion for his bottom, and one for the back, had Billy propped up sufficiently in the driver’s seat. Frank took on the role as navigator with a map in his lap. Both boys looked back to Muddy with grins and thumbs up. The old man gave a nod and smile, and the Winnebago lurched forward. Soon Billy was singing his Sunday school songs with vigor, and Frank doing his best with the chorus. Frank would periodically go back to check on Muddy, and often came back with instructions, like slow down or the RV will overheat.
The fuel gauge and Billy’s stomach were approaching empty at the same time. He pulled off the interstate with a sign showing gas and food. Frank filled the tank as Billy checked with Muddy on his condition. A large orange juice and two glazed donuts would suit him just fine, was the response. They moved the RV over to the truck parking, and the boys went inside the restaurant to order food. Billy returned first, and after handing Muddy his drink and donuts, sat at the dinette to eat his sandwiches. After ten minutes, they were both looking out the window for Frank. “Maybe he went to the restroom,” said Muddy. “Perhaps you
should check for him just to make sure he is okay.” Billy stepped outside to find Frank sitting on the ground with his back resting against the front wheel. His sandwiches still wrapped at his side. Billy sat next to him and drew his knees back toward his chest. Both sat in silence, looking across the busy freeway with a brown hill on the horizon. After a few minutes, Frank turned to his new friend. “I sure wish I could go with you and Muddy. I really do, but I’m afraid for my dad. I’m all he has.” Billy found solace at moments like this by looking up before speaking. “If that’s how you feel, I say your dad is one lucky man to have a son like you. That’s all I can say.”
Frank promised Muddy he would come to the farm if things did not work out. Before he left, he sat with Shep rubbing the back of his neck and snuggled his head against the side of the dog’s head. He stood off to the side, waving both hands as Billy pulled back on the road. Three horn honks were the last goodbye.
It was dark when Billy turned down the dirt road. A small billboard with two overhanging lights illuminated “BROWN & DAUGHTER FARM”. Below the name was the picture of a steaming plate of crawfish served on a heaping mound of rice. Below the plate in black letters, “NO ONE BEATS OUR QUALITY, SERVICE AND PRICE.” Muddy had Billy park the RV by the side of a large barn structure. Turning on the interior lights, Billy asked, “What do we do now?” Muddy said to open the door to let Shep out. “The family will be here shortly. The RV engine noise will be like an old alarm clock sounding off.” Sure enough, house lights turned on, first upstairs, and soon after, downstairs, back porch, and then the whole courtyard was brightly lit.
Hanna Brown Johnson sat by Muddy’s bed in the downstairs bedroom. She kept fussing over her father’s blankets to make sure he stayed warm. Her husband Ben was opening the cottage that was Muddy’s place before he set off on his wanderlust travels a year earlier. Shep came inside and immediately laid down, making it clear he wanted to stay with Billy. Placing his enormous arm around Billy’s shoulders, he thanked him for bringing their father home safely.
Not able to have children, Hanna and Ben found Billy a breath of fresh air. Each morning, Ben would show Billy another aspect of their farm business, and the young man exhibited a natural eagerness to learn and apply the teaching. They bought a wheelchair for Muddy, and often it was Billy who wanted to push him around the farm and explain the latest work he and Ben were accomplishing. One evening during dinnertime, he mentioned a dirty rice recipe his grandmother taught him before she passed. They insisted he cook for them the following evening, and Hanna made sure all the ingredients were on hand.
The centerpiece was one pound of cooked Brown & Daughter crawfish tail meat, and two cups of Brown & Daughter rice. It was then Billy’s artful blending of butter, green bell pepper, celery, yellow onion, garlic, salt, cayenne pepper, paprika, seafood stock, fresh lemon and parsley. There was no need to offer pretend compliments to the young chef, as all three insisted they had tasted no better, and this in the capital of Southern Louisiana Creole cooking.
Initially, Friday night became “Billy night” for the foursome. After several months, Hanna started inviting neighbors or key customers to join the expanding table. With her encouragement, Billy started experimenting in the large kitchen. The next headliner was the B&D Crawfish Beignet. Here, along with the central ingredients, was a fresh tarragon added to the mayonnaise, and a certain sharp cheddar cheese that spoke to the young chef. The B&D Crawfish Bisque rounded out the star trio, and this time the special touch was a Worcestershire sauce with white balsamic vinegar, scented with the essence of pomegranate.
Muddy was busy working on design, and Ben and Billy were in charge of the reconfiguration. It took four months of labor, sandwiched around normal farm maintenance before opening day. Muddy insisted no advertising was necessary as word of mouth was spreading quickly. The last step was paving the driveway from the road into the newly paved courtyard. At the entrance, across from the billboard, was a large pad for parking spaces and the now stationary Winnebago. The body of the RV sat on a raised concrete foundation. A ramp at the rear allowed Muddy to be wheeled up into the new state-of-the-art kitchen. The last touch was the neon sign atop the RV that announced BILLY HARGRAVE’S B&D TO GO.
The Daily World released the story on his sixteenth birthday. A new challenge to John Folse, Alon Shaya, and other leading Creole chefs, a new star is on the horizon. A young man, once lost and alone, now blessed with family and acceptance.
RICHARD SWAIN