The Ransom of Ezra Pyne

One of the first stories I remember my grandmother telling me was how Ezra Pyne had been so small when he was born, that he fit into a shoebox.

I knew he'd been a frail child, slightly built and breakable looking with pale, translucent skin and deep set, hollow-ish dark eyes. While the rest of us raised havoc with our childhoods, Ezra watched from the sidelines, never far from his mother's watchful eyes and worried admonitions.

Ezra, stay out of the sun, she would remind him endlessly, Ezra, don't run, don't go near that dog, don't cut through the strawberry patch. Ezra, don't pick up those shells, you'll cut yourself.

Don't play in the ditch, Ezra, don't forget your nap, stay where I can see you. Be careful you don't get a splinter, Ezra, watch where you're walking. Don't handle that cat, how did you get this bruise, don't go barefoot, let someone else bait your hook, time to go, Ezra, come away from the water, it's time to go.

Sheltered and overprotected to the point of being suffocated, Ezra fought back as best he could, wavering between resistance and retreat. As often as he shook off his mother's well meant hovering, he snatched it back.

Boy don't know whether he's comin' or goin', Nana sighed, Ain't no wonder he's taken to drink.

Likely come to a bad end if'n he don't cut them apron strings, Aunt Pearl said sadly, Cain't drink that away.

I notice it don't keep him from tryin', Miz Clara remarked dryly, Makes me want to shake some sense into him.

Independence is a hard enough fought battle for a happy, healthy child, the women all agreed, but for a sickly one living in the shadows, it's all uphill and a treacherous climb. Defeated and reeled back in at every turn, the frail child had grown into an angry young man and the angry young man into a dark and solitary figure who spent his days alone and brooding in a booth in the canteen. How and where he spent his nights, no one knew. He was thin to the point of emaciated, silent as a grave, grimly unapproachable. He shunned company and people had learned to let him be but he hadn't counted upon Miss Hilda and her friendship with his mother.

I find myself in need of assistance, young man, she announced with a sharp rap of her riding crop that rattled his glass right off the table and sent the cracked plastic ashtray flying, And you appear to have considerable time at your disposal.  Come with me, if you please, Mr. Pyne.  We shall soon put you to rights.

Ezra, bleary-eyed and confused at this unexpected assault, gave her a wary look but didn't move except to draw circles in his spilled Molson's.  Hilda cleared her throat impatiently and none too gently lifted his chin with her crop until he was forced to look at her.

Come, come, Mr. Pyne, she snapped, Midday drunkenness is hardly a virtue in one so young!  I have need of a groundskeeper and you have significent need of gainful employment.  A fair day's wages for a fair day's work, I always say.

When he still made no effort to move, she leaned in closer, wrinkled her nose at the fumes, and firmly took hold of his shirt collar.

Perhaps, Mr. Pyne, we all heard her say with an iron-like coldness, I have failed to make myself clear.  I do not approve of soddeness and sloth and self-pity.  They are not enviable qualities and will not be rewarded here or in the afterlife.  You will accompany me of your own accord or rest assured, I will not hesitate to drag you out by your whiskey drenched heels!

Ezra blinked, shook his head, tried to focus.

Silence, Mr. Pyne, Hilda said briskly, implies consent.  On your feet or on the floor, young man.  I leave it to you.

Miz Elliott, one of the Albright boys called cautiously, Miz Elliott, ma'am, he's been here since yesterday mornin', I ain't sure he kin stand never mind walk.

That being the case, sir, then please have the goodness to convey him to my automobile, Hilda ordered, if he protests, you may restrain him and if he protests further, you may confine him to the boot for the journey.

Whatever you say, Miz Elliott, someone snickered, He ain't likely to notice nohow.

It wasn't, needless to say, something that could be kept quiet and the entire village knew about it by sundown, including my grandmother who paled when she heard.  

You were there? she demanded, roughly shaking me as if the truth would fly out from between my shoulder blades, You saw it happen?  Hilda kidnapped the boy?

Now, Alice, my Uncle Shad said mildly, kidnapping is a harsh word, it was more like.......

An abduction?? my grandmother howled, A hostage taking?? What exactly was it more like, Shadrach??

It were more like a relocation, Uncle Willie assured her, For the boy's own good.

Wild eyed and alarmingly red in the face, Nana threw up her hands in disbelief.  Well, now, she shouted at the calmly defiant old men, don't that jist make all the difference!!  

Alice, mind your blood pressure, Uncle Shad said helpfully and she snatched the nearest thing she could lay hands on - a fringed "We Love Digby, N.S." throw pillow - and pitched it at him violently.  Shad ducked and the pillow hit the shelf behind him with such force that it rocked the old ship's clock mechanism into a premature chiming which, in turn, startled the dogs who began a chorus of protest with Lady running frantic figure eights around Shad and Willie and Fritz trotting off to the sunporch with the pillow securely between his teeth.  Between the shouting, chiming, barking and general mayhem, no one heard the knocking on the back door and no one noticed that Aunt Pearl and Aunt Vi had arrived, bearing sponge cake and sun brewed lemonade for the Ladies Sewing Circle.  At first, the two women froze, then Fritz appeared, generously lathered in stuffing with pillow fringe draped in and around his muzzle.  Pearl and Vi began to laugh, Shad and Willie followed suit, and finally my grandmother - outmanned and outgunned, so it seemed - joined in.

Ezra Pyne woke up two days later in the small room next to the stable, hungover and smelling hay and horse manure, but more clear headed than he'd been in years.  He spent the remainder of the summer planting, mulching, weeding, seeding, and flower tending for Miz Hilda and became so proficient at gardening that in September, Miz Clara took him on to help with the maintenance of the cemetery.  It wasn't enough to turn his life around but it did give him one good season of dignity and a little peace of mind.