SEVEN
By: Debbi K. and Nancy W.
Ezra had watched as tow-headed Willie Lahr gather up the piñata candy hand-over-fist. He was about 12, older than the other children, so it hardly seemed fair when he managed to grab more than anyone else. Once the kids finished grabbing the candy, however, the boy began to carefully mete out his share to some of the smaller children.
Sometimes, Ezra reflected, being the best wasn't the best to be. . . .
HOW YOU PLAY THE GAME
"Pugnacious. . . p-u-g-n-a-c-i-o-u-s."
Ezra's opponent spelled out the word and Ezra waited for his turn. It was just the two of them, again.
Ezra stared at the competition in abject annoyance. Chester Hoyt was a Negro, and this was the only school he ever went to that let a Negro go to school with white folks. The very idea was absurd. His Uncle Percival had said so.
Chester thought he was so smart, but Ezra was smarter than him. They were both in 4th grade, but Chester was nine and Ezra was only seven. He was supposed to be in 2nd grade, but he was too smart for all that baby stuff. So there.
The prize for winning the spell down was a shiny, gold spelling medal that hung from a blue velvet ribbon. It had a clasp on it so the winner could wear it on his lapel and everyone would know he was the best speller in 4th grade. Ezra wanted it, and he was going to have it.
Mr. Beauchamp, the headmaster, looked at him and give him the next word – "perspicacity".
Easy! "P-e-r-s-p-a-c-a-c-i-t-y," Ezra spelled out.
"I'm sorry, Master Standish, that's incorrect."
Ezra clenched his fists in anger. The spell-down was two rounds out of three. So far, he had won a round, and so had Chester. If Chester could spell "perspicacity" and the next word, he'd win. It wasn't fair!
"P-e-r-s-p-i-c-i-t-y," Chester rattled off the letters.
Ezra hated him. Who did he think he was?
"That's correct," Mr. Beauchamp said. He looked through the speller for the next word.
'Make it a real hard one,' Ezra thought.
"Hmmmmm. Let's see . . . ah . . . here's one . . . 'pulchritude'."
Ezra looked on with satisfaction as Chester's face fell. Although, truth be told, Ezra had no idea how to spell that word either.
Chester hesitated a long, long time, like maybe he was going to give up. Then, the unthinkable happened . . . .
"P-u-l-c-h-r-i-t-u-d-e." Chester was not so confident this time, but Ezra knew immediately from the look on Mr. Beauchamp's face that he'd gotten it right. Mr. Beauchamp wasn't pleased. He didn't like Chester, either.
Mr. Beauchamp peered over his glasses at Chester. "How did you know that word?" he asked him, his voice stern.
"It's in the Bible, sir," Chester replied. "I can spell most words that are in the Bible."
"Indeed," Mr. Beauchamp said, tapping his pencil against his knee. "Well, I think since you boys are both so good, we ought to make it more of a contest. Instead of two out of three, it will be the best of five."
The rest of the class groaned, because they would all be forced to participate in the next two rounds.
Ezra knew that -they- knew that only Chester had prayer of beating him.
Sure enough, two rounds later, it was Chester and Ezra -- again. Ezra had won round four, so they were tied two to two.
Ezra's word was 'reticent' and he stomped his foot on the floor when Mr. Beauchamp told him he'd spelled it wrong.
"That will do, Master Standish," Mr. Beauchamp scolded him.
But, if Chester got it right, and then spelled the next word . . . .
"R-e-t-i-c-e-n-t," Chester spelled the word easily.
Mr. Beauchamp looked over his glasses again, but didn't say anything. He looked through the speller until he found a new word.
Smiling, he said, "Rhythm."
Ezra had no idea how to spell that, but the letters just rolled right out of Chester's mouth, "R-h-y-t-h-m."
Mr. Beauchamp slammed the speller closed. Ezra thought he was going to declare Chester the winner, but instead he said, "My, my, this has been so exciting, I think we might have to continue tomorrow."
Chester looked confused. Ezra was confused. But if Mr. Beauchamp wasn't declaring a winner, then he still had a chance. . . .
And so the spelldown continued onto the next day. Mysteriously, Mr. Beauchamp kept changing the rules, so the contest was still going on the next afternoon. Even though by that time, Chester had won ten rounds and Ezra had won only four. Then, mystifyingly, Mr. Beauchamp declared all previous rounds be scratched, and decided that whoever won round fifteen would get the spelling medal.
Ezra had already begun to accept the annoying possibility that Chester was a better speller than he was, but now Mr. Beauchamp was saying all the other rounds didn't count. Ezra only had to win this one and the spelling medal would be his. Something about that didn't seem quite right, but . . . Mr. Beauchamp was a teacher, so he should know how to pick the best speller.
The round went as all the others had, with everyone in the class being eliminated except for Ezra and Chester.
Mr. Beauchamp gave Chester his word, 'idylls.'
Ezra's heart began to pound in his chest. He knew that word. His Uncle Percival had a book called "Idylls of the King."
"I-d-o-l-s?" Chester spelled it like it was a question.
"That is incorrect," Mr. Beauchamp said, then nodded at Ezra.
Ezra spelled the word easily, and waited for nervously for the next one. He knew it would probably be really hard. . . .
"Paper."
Ezra looked at Mr. Beauchamp, confused. Surely that wasn't his word.
"That's not fair!" Chester protested, and got a ruler across his knuckles for his trouble.
The blow even made Ezra wince. Uncertain what Mr. Beauchamp was up to, he hesitantly spelled out, "P-a-p-e-r."
Mr. Beauchamp rose to his feet and shook Ezra's hand. "Congratulations, Master Standish," he smiled and then pinned the medal to Ezra's lapel. Then he lead the class in a round of applause for the Champion Speller.
Ezra wanted that medal, and he beamed with pride. Chester returned to his desk at the back of the class with tears in his eyes. Ezra didn't care. He was the best. He had the medal to prove it.
So why didn't it feel good?
Though he was ashamed to admit it, a dozen years would pass before Ezra would understand what had really happened that day between two small boys with intelligence well beyond their years. And a teacher who could only see fit to acknowledge those gifts in one of them.
After a short time, the medal had tarnished and revealed itself to be brass, not gold. He'd never worn it, although he still had it. A reminder not of the five rounds he'd won in that spell down, but of the ten he had lost. A reminder that sometimes - no matter what his mother said - winning wasn't everything.
After the booty from the piñata had been gathered up by gleeful little hands, Mary collected the children together for lemonade and cake. JD volunteered to take down the remains of the ruptured piñata, but the rope holding it got hung up in the branches of the tree, and he couldn't reach it. He jumped up two or three times, but still couldn't get it.
"You're short," Ethan Potter was quick to observe.
JD laughed. "Yep, reckon I am... but you're shorter."
"I'm just a kid. You're a grown up."
JD laughed again, taking another stab at the jammed rope. "'Bout time someone noticed." He felt someone tugging at his pants leg and looked down into a pair of big brown eyes in a little brown face.
"Senor JD, if you put me on your shoulders, I can reach it."
JD smiled. Elias Romero was Billy's age, but he was a tiny little thing, a whole head shorter than the Travis boy. JD lifted him easily, and his small hands deftly untangled the rope.
"I coulda done that," Ethan said.
"Prob'ly," JD said, "but we've done just fine." He ruffled Elias's black hair and the boy beamed at him before returning to the others.
Sometimes, "little" wasn't so bad. . . .
THE MEASURE OF A MAN
Mrs. Ellsworth's screech of terror had brought the entire household running. JD had been in the carriage house several yards from the main residence when he'd heard it. He knew something awful had to have happened, because Mrs. Ellsworth was the lady of the house, and she never screamed like that. She didn't even yell at the servants the way her husband did.
When JD came running up and saw what all the commotion was about, it took his breath away. The adults around him were shouting orders and scurrying about in confusion, but all he could do was stand there and wonder how the dickens little Master Alexander had ended up where he was.
Alexander was the Ellsworths' youngest child and their only boy, so that made him special. Or so said his ma. He was the 'hair of the fortune family' or something like that. He was just a little baby, not even big enough to walk or talk yet. JD thought he was cute, but he wasn't supposed to talk to him or touch him, ever. Mrs. Ellsworth had told all the servant kids so.
As JD listened to the grown-ups' panicked conversation, he was able to figure out that Alexander was supposed to be taking a nap, but instead he had climbed out of his crib and crawled out the window.
JD could barely see him. The baby was three stories up and sitting on a little wooden ledge that held a flower box in the summer. He was just sitting there, waving at everyone below him, while his nanny tried to reach him from the window.
Several of the servants had found a tarp in the carriage house and were trying to position it. So if Alexander fell, he'd fall into it instead of hitting the ground, but even JD could see that wasn't going to work. Alexander was right over the entrance to the house. If he fell, he'd hit the angled roof over the foyer and he would probably die.
The ledge he was on would never support the weight of an adult, or even a large child, but JD wasn't very big. The other stable boys pointed that out every chance they got. He was seven, and the Ellsworths' daughter, Patricia, who was only four, was bigger than he was. The ledge wouldn't break with him on it.
JD ran over to Mrs. Ellsworth. She looked like a marble statue she was so white. Mr. Ellsworth was with her, and he was screaming that someone was going to pay. He scared JD, so he patted Mrs. Ellsworth's elbow gently to get her attention.
She looked down at him. "NOT NOW, you little. . . ." She didn't finish, she just pushed JD aside and knocked him down, which caught Mr. Ellsworth's attention. He looked down at JD and raised his hand like he was going to hit him.
JD put up his arm to ward off the blow, and quickly said, "I can get him down!"
"JD! NO!" His mama came running over and picked him up off the ground. "Please, sir, he didn't mean anything by it. . . ." She curtsied before her employer.
JD didn't think Mr. Ellsworth even heard her. He grabbed JD from her arms and ran into the house with him while his mama screamed and started to cry. JD wished he could tell her it would be okay, but before he knew it, Mr. Ellsworth was running up the stairs with him.
He kept running until they were in the nursery, and then Mr. Ellsworth stopped by the window and set him down on the floor. Alexander's nanny looked at Mr. Ellsworth and then down at JD.
Her hands went to her mouth like she wanted to scream, too, but Mr. Ellsworth pushed her aside and leaned out the window. He carefully tested the ledge. Then, he yanked down the drapery cords and began to tie them together. As he worked, he spoke to JD. "Johnny . . . that's your name, isn't it?"
JD nodded.
"Johnny, listen to me very carefully. I'm going to help you out this window. I want you to crawl to Alex and tie this around him and make a knot. Do you know how to tie a knot?"
That was a dumb question! JD even knew how to tie his shoes! He wasn't a baby! But, he only nodded a 'yes'.
"Keep your eyes on Alex, Johnny. Don't look down, do you understand me?"
JD nodded, but Mr. Ellsworth shook him and said, "Do you?"
"Yes, sir!"
He handed JD the makeshift rope, then picked him up and put him out onto the ledge. The wood gave slightly under his weight, but JD wasn't afraid. He got down on his hands and knees and started crawling slowly towards Alexander.
The baby turned. When he saw JD, he squealed, giggling and clapping his fat, little hands together.
"Hi, baby," JD cooed. "Nice baby. Stay right there and wait for me. Nice baby. We're gonna play a game . . . see?" JD held up the scrap of drapery cord as he reader Alexander. "I'm gonna wrap this around. . . like this. . . ." He kept talking as his small fingers struggled to make a tight enough knot. "Now, you gotta come with me, okay?" JD crawled backwards hoping Alexander would follow him. But the baby just laughed and said a bunch of baby things that didn't make any sense.
JD knew hew as going to have to bring the baby back to with him. The only way to do that was to hold him with arm while he tried to crawl backwards. Carefully, he wrapped his left arm around Alexander and then caught a whiff of an unmistakable odor. Alexander's soggy diaper was full of poop! ICK!
JD had gotten poop on himself before, in the stables, so he supposed it wasn't really that different. He pulled Alexander close, poopy diaper and all. Then slowly edged his way back tot the window. The dumb baby wanted to stay where he was, though, and tried to wiggle out of his arms. So JD had to hold him real tight, which made Alexander mad.
The heir apparent was crying and red in the face by the time Mr. Ellsworth reached down to grabbed him out of JD's hands. He pulled the baby to his chest.
JD guessed he didn't know he was getting poop all over his fancy suit. He crawled back in through the window. Without waiting for Mr. Ellsworth to excuse him, he ran out of the room and back down the stairs to let his ma know his was okay. He didn't like it when she cried.
He passed Mrs. Ellsworth, who was on her way up, but they didn't say anything to each other. When he burst through the front door, he expected only his mama would still be there now that the excitement was over. To his surprise, all of the servants were still there. And then to his even greater surprise, they began to applaud and cheer as he ran to his mama.
She scooped him up into her arms to hug and kiss him, while everyone else patted him on the back and said stuff like, "Well done, Johnny boy!"
That evening, Mr. Ellsworth had come to the servants quarters. He had a fancy pink bedspread with dark pink and white roses on it. He gave it to JD's mama and told her that Mrs. Ellsworth wanted her to have it. For JD, he had a checkerboard, a bag of marbles, and a whole dollar. JD's mama said he didn't need to be paid for what he had done, but JD was glad when Mr. Ellsworth insisted they keep the gifts. He also told JD that from then on he was Alexander's special protector and he expected JD to watch out for him . . . .
JD stood back watching Billy and his friends. He absently patted the letter in his vest pocket. It was from Alexander, who was now fourteen. He smiled. It was always good to be someone's hero.
