Flying Clean

Flying Clean Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Harry Desmond had made an immediate impression upon me, though it was an ambivalent one. He had seemed a hurried man, an impatient man, but at the same time, he seemed so utterly composed at all times that he must have been more patient than I gave him credit for. His stature was one of a man who had worked- and worked hard- on his farm for all of his life, he was built with tight, solid muscles over all of his frame, though he was going soft in the midsection with middle age and beer. Although his physical appearance was an intimidating one, there was a tiredness about him- a sagging of the soul, rather than the shoulders, a ghost of almost sadness which haunted his every expression. As I have told you before, Harry Desmond was observant; in fact, in the coming months it seemed less and less a blasphemy to say that he was omniscient as the Lord. Although Desmond seemed tired, he proved quite often to be more alert than I knew.

When Harry Desmond gave me a job, I said Yes, sir and set about the task. I never asked him for payment and I never complained and after the first week, I knew that the employment would be an ongoing one. I was given blankets and my own soaps to use at the river each night. I was given a list of daily tasks to perform before beginning my larger projects. Once the Ford's engine was back to life, I was informed that the roofs needed re-shingling, the well-house needed new masonry- the very things I had first noticed, of course- and I accepted the jobs diligently. I was also told I would be digging a new well, but this was to be done later in the year. Desmond had told me one day that he would be paying me for every task performed- that my smaller daily chores were in return for meals and the hay loft- and that Desmond would keep the money in his box until I was ready to leave. "When it comes time for you to move on," he had said, "just let me know, and it's yours. Keep up the good work and I just might throw in a little extra, too." Also, Desmond had promised that if I wanted to go into town one evening a week he would give me three dollars from the box to use as I wished. All in all, it was a very comfortable deal- I knew I had easily two months' work lined up and Desmond would be regulating my spending. By the time summer turned to fall, I could surely take my money to California and go to work for Uncle Herbert.

Over the first week of my employment at the Desmond farm, I learned that Harry Desmond had sired quite a few children. John Desmond was the oldest- and was, in fact, the young man I had spied while bathing that first night. I saw very little of John during my time at the farm; he spent much of his time in the back few acres, tending the fields. He was a quiet, but intelligent young man and I took an immediate liking to him, although he always seemed a little far away. Of all the Desmond children, he was the only one that had gone to school. He had been pulled out of school to work in the fields when the oldest child, Harry Jr. had gotten sick and died eight years before. John had taken Junior's place in the fields. That spring, John was seventeen, the same age as I was.

Sam Desmond was the second oldest child- and easily the most dimwitted of the Desmond children. He was just a year younger than John, but seemed no more than a child at times. He spent most of his time hassling the pigs and chickens while Harry and Marjory's backs were turned, tending to them while under his parents' supervision. Knowing what I know now of Harry Desmond's omniscience, I'm sure he was aware of Sam's foolishness, though I rarely saw him chastise the boy.

After Sam came Susan Desmond, but I saw her not even once during my first week on the Desmond farm. Through Sam's half-wit conversations with me as I worked on the barn roof, I discerned that she was fifteen and under heavy training from Mrs. Desmond. Sam had told me that she was learning to mother, a thought which puzzled me more than a little, but I later learned that she was being taught to be a good homemaker.

The next Desmond was Dirk Desmond, born the same year as Susan, but they were not twins. Dirk was a gorilla of a fifteen year old, with huge corded muscles wrapping around his arms, chest, and shoulders. His abdomen was narrow but as solid as stone and his legs were like tree trunks. I most often saw Dirk out in the fields with Noxie, the cow, shoving his great shoulder under her gut and pushing her forward when she grew too stubborn to pull the plow. While I roofed the barn, Dirk often stood below, casually tossing eighty pound bundles of shingles fifteen feet into the air to land beside me as I worked. Although I feared his aim would be off and I would be horribly injured, he always seemed to be on his mark. Dirk Desmond seemed every bit as intelligent as John, though he had never gone to school. Dirk's intelligence was different somehow, even scary at times. There was a sinister gleam in Dirk's blue eyes that set my teeth on edge whenever his gaze fell upon me. During those first weeks, I did my best to stay out of his way.