The Orphans' Nine Commandments

Chapter 4

q4Q When we arrived, the darkened house and drawn blinds made us apprehensive. Will fumbled in his pockets for his keys. Not finding them, he rang the bell. After a long delay, Helen cracked the door enough to let us in.We struggled through the half-opened door, shutting it quietly behind us. Obviously, skulduggery was afoot. Helen ushered us down the hall and through the swinging door into the kitchen where she fixed a pot of coffee, lit a Lucky, and told of being surprised by a visit from the sheriff. It seemed Mr. Wheeler had accused Helen of threatening him over the beating he had given me. The sheriff had delivered a warning on that bit of business along with a summons for Will and Helen to appear before Judge Christison, the very judge Momma had used to sign me into my guardian’s care. Now having lived with the Minters for over nine months, I realized we three were in the same hellish boat. Helen faced threats from the sheriff and the judge. Will’s money was running thin from his oil-field fire, and I was sitting on the edge of a cliff, hoping not to lose this loving home. When Helen and Will returned from their meeting with the 36 judge, I felt uneasy. Seeing my worried face, Helen shrugged my concerns aside, assuring me she could resolve any problem that might arise. “Don’t worry, Will’s brother will help him sink another well. And I’ll find a way to keep your Mr. Wheeler at bay. A few dollars will make him smile.” She assured me I would be her boy forever and ever. Helen treated me as if I were something rare and special. She now called me Bill Minter in honor of Will. “If times get better, you’ll become our adopted son.” The following day, Uncle Paul arrived unannounced and brought me a pal named Tippy, a street dog with black hair and a white tip on his tail. Helen wrinkled her nose. “Your mutt smells to high heaven.” I picked up my new friend, dashed into the bathroom, filled the tub, and jumped in with Tippy. I scrubbed, rinsed, and dried him with one of Helen’s towels. That evening, my bed partner curled up under my blanket. Helen joined in celebrating the arrival of Tippy. She threw her arms around me and mentioned a new word which captured my imagination. “I have arranged for you to receive an allowance of seven cents a week.” I had a penny a day, but one penny had to be set aside each week for St. Luke’s Methodist Church. This new situation gave me the freedom to shop, forget my troubles with the court, and enjoy Helen’s buoyant spirit. During the Depression, a dime or a quarter seemed like a fortune. I never understood Helen’s generous nature, because Momma never gave me an allowance. One day I rushed into the music room and sat down at the piano in high glee to plunk out the one song Helen had taught me upon Tippy’s arrival, “I Dropped my Doggie in the Dirt,” which was played with the index finger of each hand, but ended with full-knuckle acoustics. (We always said “Doggie” for Dolly and I didn’t know it was anything else until years later.) 37 Helen threw up her hands with a “whoopee,” and we danced a jig side by side while Tippy circled us, snapping at our heels. I felt the spirit of liberation. I let my pennies accumulate during that first week while I basked in Helen’s wondrous personality. This southern lady, born in an oil patch, was worldly and wickedly funny. She shared spicy stories with her neighbors, prayed to the Lord regularly, kept a blue revolver handy, played the piano and sang a varied repertoire, and loved me without reservation. Who wouldn’t be happy? And I was, unless I overheard conversations concerning judges, lawyers, guardians, orphanages, or missing mothers. It was then I remembered Mr. Wheeler’s sneaky smile. My heart thundered as I felt that trouble might come. And surely no one but Helen would want to adopt me. If I heard Mr. Wheeler’s name, I crawled under the grand piano, hugged Tippy between my knees, and clamped my hands over my ears, wishing I was deaf...