Wedding Guest - William Jenkins

“Black mail I suppose; an honest man paying through the nose for some of the capers of his youth.” 

~ Robert Louis Stevenson

His name was Archibald Elias Crowninshield, descendant of John Casper Crowninshield who, in 1688, bought land near Spring Pond, married Elizabeth Allen and began siring the Crowninshields of Boston, a family boasting throughout the decades successful seafarers, enterprising entrepreneurs and celebrated contributors in the literary world. 

Archie Crowninshield, unfortunately, demonstrated early on no hints of achieving any of the aforementioned.

His name was Phineas Hubert Paugherd, headmaster of Wilbraham Academy, Boston’s prestigious institution for young boys. The Paugherd lineage begat generation after generation of strict headmasters determined to mold their impressionable students with a somewhat fair but always firm hand and the more-than-occasional caning.

Headmaster Phinney Paugherd, unfortunately for some, demonstrated early on in his career the continuation of well-established Paugherd discipline outlined in the aforementioned.

And then there was young Scott Garrett Lancer whose grandfather’s expectations were for his grandson to fulfill the duties that all children in the Garrett legacy had endured, including the proper addressing of domestic help as they scurried about from room to room. Unfortunately, Scotty Lancer suffered from the challenging affliction of name recollection, haunting him early on in the thirteen years he’d walked the earth. Adding to his dilemma: the turnover of stewards, maids and valets in the Garrett household being more frequent than customers patronizing Mrs. Lake’s brothel on Endicott. At least that was Scott’s good guess when discussing the matter with his best friend George MacCallister over a sarsaparilla. 

Luckily, Winnie suggested a strategy

“Ah, ScottyGarrett, when ye be meetin’ someone for the first time, listen to their name and look at their face. Then bless ‘em with an imaginary name yer noggin’ can remember so to help yer mouth say their real name.”

It worked. Mr. Snyder, who occasionally drove the Garrett carriage, was knighted Sir Snot Drip Snyder due to the man’s ever-present cold. Funny-smelling Mrs. Chambers, a maid, received the prestigious title of Madame Chamber Pot. 

Yes, success had been sweet until the day Scott failed to make the name correction between his brain and mouth. The result: vocally hailing to his face Wilbraham Academy’s Headmaster Phineas Hubert Paugherd as Headmaster Pighead. 

Returning to his classroom studies from Paugherd’s stinging reprimand, Scott took solace in briefly drawing a pig dressed in the attire of a headmaster’s cap and gown. Although the artistic act didn’t assist in more comfortable sitting, it did give the illustrator brief satisfaction of defiance. Ripping the page from his journal, Scott wadded up Headmaster Pighead and tossed him in the room’s waste-paper basket.

Unfortunately, the aforementioned incident had taken place under the watchful eye of classmate Archibald Elias Crowninshield, thus setting the stage for Scott’s first taste of being blackmailed.

*********

“Hand it over, Archie.”

Scott stared at his crumpled masterpiece depicting Wilbraham Academy’s headmaster as a gowned swine, resurrected from the trash bin and now in the possession of a student one step from expulsion for poor grades.

“Not a chance, Lancer. This is getting framed so old Phinney can admire it hanging on the wall during my next room inspection. Would you mind signing it for me? Oh wait. Not necessary.” Archie flipped over the paper. “Latin verse in your chicken scratch is on the back. Its value just doubled.”

“I’m not worried. Your stupidity will get the first Crowninshield ass kicked out of Wilbraham before the next room inspection.”

“Calling me stupid? Well, at least I know where my father is.”

Clenching his fist, Scott wanted nothing more than to punch Archie’s taunting smirk along with his yellow teeth down his throat. However, the outcome would ultimately be hearing Paugherd’s infamous words.

“Do you know what travels faster than a ray of light, young man? Bad news. Your grandfather will be arriving shortly.”

“How many Liberty coppers do you want for the drawing, Archie?” Scott crossed his fingers in hopes that Crowninshield’s price was no more than covering a quick visit to the penny candy counter.

“Pity.” Archie’s lopsided frown oozed insincerity. “Just like a Garrett; swindlers to the core. I’m going to ignore your ignorance that I can be bought out for a pittance.”

Scott felt his fists reclenching while his brain calculated the degree of his grandfather’s disapproval considering his grandson’s thrown punch would be defending Garrett honor. 

Sensing a bloody nose might be in his immediate future, Archie changed course. “However, you do have one quality I admire, Lancer. Your way with words. Let’s say we make a deal. You compose Paugherd’s next few assigned essays for me so I can continue my education at this fine establishment and I’ll return your drawing. No hard feelings.”

“Deal? That’s no damn deal, Crowninshield. That’s blackmailing, you dumb ass.” 

“Like I said, Lancer. You do have a way with words.”

********

“Hand it over, Jenkins.” 

Scott glowered at the dime novel Will Jenkins had pulled from his coat pocket as if performing a two-bit vaudeville magic trick. 

“Well, I was hoping for an autograph from the author Lance. So, who would like to go first?” Will rolled up his paper possession to use as a pointer. “J? Or S?” 

Johnny’s head cocked with a suggestion. “How’s ‘bout I go first in signin’ your lip with my fist.”

“You wouldn’t hit a man wearing glasses.”

“Never stopped me in the past.”

“I see.” Jenkins’ displayed moue expressed mocked-annoyance as he tucked away Showdown at Apple Pie Gulch. “My apologies, John. Bad timing. Perhaps later… after the lovely bride cuts the first piece of cake.”

Scott rolled his eyes at the prospect of both men thrashing into a three-tired wedding cake. “Look, Will. We never intended for it to make print.” 

“Ah, but it did.”

“The tale was a lark spurred on by Jelly’s apple brandy to pass an afternoon.”

“A lark?” Jenkins snorted laugh rejected the word. “Hardly. It’s a publication filled with suggestive innuendos, insults and violence. My God, man, you had my father shot!”

“It’s fiction. Nothing personal.”

The brother’s dime novel reappeared as Will turned to an ear-marked page and cleared his throat. “Gossip didn’t bother Crawfish much unless it was spilling out of the mouth of Doctor Simon Jarkins or- ” A dramatic oratorical pause was taken. “The yapping puss of his pud-pulling spawn, Winston.”

“All right. Mostly fiction.” Scott grinned. It couldn’t be helped.

“Oh, by all means Lancer, laugh it up.” Jenkins shook his head in dismay. “Gentlemen, I think we’re forgetting the real victim here if this sordid tale becomes public fodder; the dear Widow Patterson for being portrayed as an apple-peeling harlot.”

“Bullshit.” Johnny leaned in. “We never wrote that.”

Will’s shifted stance countered. “Reader’s interpretation.”

“Ain’t our problem the Green River mayor’s thinkin’ wallows in the run-off from an outhouse.” Johnny’s grin mirrored his older brother’s. “That’s how your pappy raised you, Jenkins?” 

“At least my pappy was around to raise me.”

“Ah, dammit, Will! Shut-up!” Visions of Kinsey’s wedding turning into a bar room brawl ricocheted through Scott’s head. “I certainly can't introduce you to the Stanfords with Johnny holding all your teeth.”

“Wait. So you’ll do it? Introductions? An endorsement?” Although his inflection relayed humbled surprise, Jenkins eyes glinted with political greed.

“And you, sir? You’ll hold up your end of this blackmailing bargain?”

“Sure. Sure. The copy of your literary folly will be relinquished. But only after our nice howdy-dos with old Leland.” Removing his glasses and slipping them into a vest pocket, Jenkins turned to the younger Lancer. “Say, maybe you and I can pick up our conversation where we left off another day.”

Johnny’s Cheshire grin widened. “Be my pleasure, Will.”

“Yanno, it just occurred to me, John. We do have one thing in common.” Dipping his chin, Jenkins lowered his voice. “We both wish we were standing in Seth Westcott’s shoes right now.”

Johnny’s eyes narrowed in step with his dissolving smile as he watched Will Jenkins stroll away. “Can’t believe I heard you agree t’put in a good word for that sonavabitch.”

“Good word?” Scott cocked a brow in disagreement. “Listener’s interpretation.”

“Yeah, well how are you so damn sure he’ll hand over that story?”

“Because, little brother… ” Scott rested a palm on Johnny’s shoulder while donning the wistful mien of a man reliving a fond memory. “Long ago, I had the honor to eventually witness the first Crowninshield ass kicked out of Wilbraham Academy.”