referred to him as âthat ferret-faced little grocery boy.â He stated his intention to shoot Blackie Penn, but was dissuaded without too much exertion on the part of his friends.
Three months before the wedding, in April of 1939, William told Jenny that Jimmy would have to change his name. It had bothered him for some time, although he had not before then mentioned it. But the idea of a child he was expected to rear carrying the name of James Blackford Penn the Fifth was more than should be borne, he felt.
Perhaps he wouldnât have been so adamant if he and Jimmy had gotten along better. But William Beauchamp was a bachelor who had never spent much time with four-year-old boys, and it seemed to him that this one must be worse than most. Jimmy whined too much, and it was his opinion that the boy had been spoiled. And part of being spoiled was being allowed to go around flaunting a name like James Blackford Penn the Fifth.
Jenny was 22. She already had lost much of her good looks, and a combination of depression and the starchy food on the OâNeil table had led to her gaining five more pounds since leaving Pennâs Castle. She did not feel the tingle for William Beauchamp that she had for James Penn; she had not yet let him do much more than kiss her, and she awaited her wedding night with some anxiety.
Jenny had lost her confidence, the belief she had blithely worn so recently like a protective layer of skin, that life would be good to her. She knew (and if she didnât know, her mother and father were there to remind her) that William Beauchamp well might be her best remaining opportunity. To refuse to change Jimmyâs name would be to refuse William, and refusing William was a gamble she was unwilling to take.
On May 15, 1938, James Blackford Penn the Fifth became James OâNeil Beauchamp. And it was decided, by William, that he would be called Neil.
The boy was first confused, then angry. He soon determined that the isolation from his father stemmed from this new name, which deprived him of toys and cake and long afternoons in a house far removed from either the OâNeilsâ farm or the new, no-nonsense, two-rooms-up, two-rooms-down dwelling William had built that year for his new wife.
âNot Neil! Not Neil!â he would scream. âJimmy! Not Neil!â
It would make William furious, and he beat the boy for the first time two weeks before the wedding. He took him for a walk, just the two of them. Jenny, following orders, waited back at the house into which she soon would be moving.
They went out the kitchen door into the dirt and discarded lumber behind the house, then across Back Street and down a little path into the woods. William did not hold his hand as his mother did. Instead, he put the boy in front of him and more or less herded him down the path until they came to a tulip tree stump. There, William told him to sit.
Three times he ordered him to say his name was Neil. Three times the boy refused, after which William Beauchamp broke a switch from a forsythia bush, grabbed the child by the collar and hit him on the rump and legs with it until he was forced, through his tears, to give up his name.
It was not the end of the rebellion; there were other skirmishes. When Neil Beauchamp started school two years later, the teacher came by late in the afternoon of the first day and told William and Jenny that their son refused to answer to his name, insisted that he was Jimmy Penn, James Blackford Penn the Fifth, to be exact.
William wanted to beat him again, had already taken his belt off, but Jenny, four months pregnant with Millie, prevailed. She took her son into the bedroom and spent half an hour explaining to him that he must, once and for all time, understand that he was the son of William Beauchamp, not James Penn.
âDonât you think your daddy would have come and got you if he wanted you?â she asked the boy. âHeâs got all that money. Him
Three months before the wedding, in April of 1939, William told Jenny that Jimmy would have to change his name. It had bothered him for some time, although he had not before then mentioned it. But the idea of a child he was expected to rear carrying the name of James Blackford Penn the Fifth was more than should be borne, he felt.
Perhaps he wouldnât have been so adamant if he and Jimmy had gotten along better. But William Beauchamp was a bachelor who had never spent much time with four-year-old boys, and it seemed to him that this one must be worse than most. Jimmy whined too much, and it was his opinion that the boy had been spoiled. And part of being spoiled was being allowed to go around flaunting a name like James Blackford Penn the Fifth.
Jenny was 22. She already had lost much of her good looks, and a combination of depression and the starchy food on the OâNeil table had led to her gaining five more pounds since leaving Pennâs Castle. She did not feel the tingle for William Beauchamp that she had for James Penn; she had not yet let him do much more than kiss her, and she awaited her wedding night with some anxiety.
Jenny had lost her confidence, the belief she had blithely worn so recently like a protective layer of skin, that life would be good to her. She knew (and if she didnât know, her mother and father were there to remind her) that William Beauchamp well might be her best remaining opportunity. To refuse to change Jimmyâs name would be to refuse William, and refusing William was a gamble she was unwilling to take.
On May 15, 1938, James Blackford Penn the Fifth became James OâNeil Beauchamp. And it was decided, by William, that he would be called Neil.
The boy was first confused, then angry. He soon determined that the isolation from his father stemmed from this new name, which deprived him of toys and cake and long afternoons in a house far removed from either the OâNeilsâ farm or the new, no-nonsense, two-rooms-up, two-rooms-down dwelling William had built that year for his new wife.
âNot Neil! Not Neil!â he would scream. âJimmy! Not Neil!â
It would make William furious, and he beat the boy for the first time two weeks before the wedding. He took him for a walk, just the two of them. Jenny, following orders, waited back at the house into which she soon would be moving.
They went out the kitchen door into the dirt and discarded lumber behind the house, then across Back Street and down a little path into the woods. William did not hold his hand as his mother did. Instead, he put the boy in front of him and more or less herded him down the path until they came to a tulip tree stump. There, William told him to sit.
Three times he ordered him to say his name was Neil. Three times the boy refused, after which William Beauchamp broke a switch from a forsythia bush, grabbed the child by the collar and hit him on the rump and legs with it until he was forced, through his tears, to give up his name.
It was not the end of the rebellion; there were other skirmishes. When Neil Beauchamp started school two years later, the teacher came by late in the afternoon of the first day and told William and Jenny that their son refused to answer to his name, insisted that he was Jimmy Penn, James Blackford Penn the Fifth, to be exact.
William wanted to beat him again, had already taken his belt off, but Jenny, four months pregnant with Millie, prevailed. She took her son into the bedroom and spent half an hour explaining to him that he must, once and for all time, understand that he was the son of William Beauchamp, not James Penn.
âDonât you think your daddy would have come and got you if he wanted you?â she asked the boy. âHeâs got all that money. Him
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