“All in due time, Mr. Hennessy.”
Buck pulled himself up and headed to his wagon in a topsy-turvy hobble, then looked down from the buckboard for one parting comment: “You've turning out to a be a decent man , Jesse McCann...but prove it by explaining to that sweetheart of yours just why you left her in the lurch without a word.”
“I'm sure she's forgotten by now,” Jesse replied. “Annie's a sensible woman.”
Buck gave a giddy-up to his mules and hooted with laughter: “How well do you know women, boy? You've got a rude revelation ahead!”
Feeling the effects of the long day and night, Jesse returned to the hotel to sleep. There was a dull, raw ache from the slash delivered by Lorena's whip, and his legs felt wobbly. When finally in his room, he sat staring numbly into the deserted street below. A few lazy snowflakes floated down to the muddy street and melted, wasting the master plan of unique symmetry that no eye would see. ..and a life can be gone before its mission is met!
What was he to do about the situation that had begun when he was nine years old, the dream of a little boy who had aspired to find his papa ? He had waited for years for that moment when he would look into his father's eyes and know him. Nothing had been the way he had imagined. Suddenly, salty tears trickled down to burn the cut on his cheek, as he , the man, grieved for the loss of the boy's dream. Tomorrow he would go to the Wyatts' house, and one way or the other, end his long journey toward justice, if nothing else. He slept, and the old dream of the faceless, unknown entity was gone.
The next morning, Jesse cleaned up, shaved, and put on his best clothes before heading to the dining hall. Looking at himself in the mirror, he saw a young man with good and regular features, a full head of Kessler blond hair and his father's blue eyes. His father's stamp was upon him, even without acknowledgment that he had come from the man's loins. He had filled out from hard work to a physical form that was presentable enough. Armed with that boost in confidence, he went down to breakfast where Annie was bustling about waiting on customers. She flashed him a quick look, gave him a curt “I'll take your order in a minute,” and moved on. Shot down by one little woman. His new-found self esteem deflated like a half penny balloon. How right Buck was...after all.
The dining room was crowded with lumberjacks, fueling up for a new day in the woods. Although many ate what the mill cook dished out at the campsite, others preferred the hotel fare, especially the traditional cat-head biscuits and saw mill gravy which was a staple at every meal. Annie kept it rolling out of the kitchen, doing her best to keep up with the voracious appetites of men who did hard physical labor. She came by Jesse's table at last, poured his coffee, and avoided his gaze entirely. “What'll you have today?”
“Let's see...how about a smile...for starters?” Ah, now that was smooth.
No response, just a blank stare directed at the red slash on his cheek.
“What's wrong, Annie,” he asked, in the way of all clueless men.
“Nothing,” came the reply in the way of all women who expect men to stew over what they should already know.
Just like that, the conversation ended, at least for awhile. He was not finished but decided to bide his time. Placing aside all thoughts of his love-life or lack thereof, Jesse finished up with breakfast and rode to the Wyatt's house, a big brick two story with white columns that stood in stark contrast to the humble cottages and rustic farmhouses around it. No minister's pay built that. The house shouted Morgan money, because, by a fateful toss of the dice, Lorena was born into privilege; and her papa gave her every material thing her husband could not. As it sometimes goes, rich and powerful men create narcissistic monsters from the cradle on up.
The front door swung open as he approached, and there stood Lorena smiling sweetly, morphing into the role of amiable preacher's wife and devoted mother: “Come in Mr. McCann. The menfolk are waiting for you in Elias' study.” She swept an arm grandly toward a cavernous room filled with religious symbols and paintings and bookshelves that reached the ceiling. A family bible lay open on an ornate wooden stand, and exotic pots of ferns and ivies sat beneath floor to ceiling windows. The filtered soft winter light fell across a red oak floor lacquered against the wear and tear of active children. The home was a far cry from the one in which he grew up, the house which was now left to him. It was his first taste of opulence.
Brother Wyatt and Reese Morgan sat on an overstuffed velvet divan, and Jesse seated himself in an arm chair opposite the two men. Lorena excused herself to tend to “womanly duties” as she called it, causing Jesse to wryly speculate as to whether those “duties” included more burnings or starting another log avalanche down the Big Muddy. Did anyone ever keep tabs on the woman?
“Mr McCann, it has come to my attention...” Mr. Morgan began “...that you confronted my daughter...in the street...about the true identity of her husband here...this man whom you claim is your father.”
“I confronted no one,” Jesse replied. “I certainly would not confront your daughter... nor any other woman, but I can imagine where you got that information.”
“Do you also deny that you asked around town about my son-in-law...since your first day in Morgans Bluff?”
“I do not deny that.”
“Mr. McCann, what proof do you have that this man is not Elias Wyatt but your father Clinton McCann?”
At that, Jesse reached into his pocket and handed Morgan his mother's locket, the only personal item he took from the house after her death. All the records in the county would not connect McCann to Wyatt. But there was the locket, and the images therein. He now understood why he kept it. On the inside of the locket were cut out photographs of Clint and Kate on the day of their marriage. As fate would have it, in this particular photograph, Clint sported a beard and mustache similar to the one he now wore; and even after twenty years, the similarity was unmistakable. On the back of the locket was engraved the couple's names, the date of their marriage, and the initials of the jeweler's engraver.
Morgan handed the locket to his son-in-law, who turned round-eyed and red above that stiff and tight clerical collar. The preacher was speechless for once, except to curse profoundly under his breath. “Has your mother sent you here? Tell me.”
“She did not! You should know, whether you care or not, that mama is buried back in Mt. Mission and finally out of her misery. She believed you were dead and she remarried years ago... making both of you bigamists....you by choice, she by ignorance of the facts...due your conspiring with that detective years ago.”
Morgan glared at his son-in law with disdain; but Jesse could see that Morgan was not stunned by the big revelation. He had known the truth at some point after the birth of his grandchildren, and it was too late to correct the situation. Reese Morgan had done his homework after being tipped off by the man who recognized Clint. The cunning tycoon had feigned ignorance and had covered up, in the same way he handled all messy and bad business.
Now Morgan had himself a big problem, and that problem was Jesse McCann.
“What is it you want?” Morgan asked Jesse.
“I want payment in full on my grandmother's show horse...the golden Palomino... the one that this man stole when he left Mt. Mission.”
“Or else....?”
“Or else... the elders of your church will learn that their beloved preacher and father of your seven grandchildren is a bigamist and a horse thief. They will know that it was your own daughter...and her paid “cohort” Domingo... who set the fire that burned out three families ….shall I continue?”
Although Jesse almost held his breath in anticipation, both men were stricken dumb.
After a few moments of silence, the preacher found his voice first, though his words sounded choked and garbled like those of a drowning man: “You...my firstborn son... would do such a hurtful thing?”
“I...your one legitimate offspring will do just that...if it chaps every harelip in China.”
Morgan was staring at Jesse intently, as if trying to understand a c
omplex and interesting puzzle.
“I will repay my son-in law's debt,” Morgan said. “If you have any other requirements... speak now.”
“Two more conditions. Send some of your mill hands to rebuild the homes that were burned down...using lumber from your mill...and reroute the proposed railroad tracks down through the hills...away from Shanty Town.”
“You... young man... drive a hard bargain,” said Morgan with a sardonic smile. “Perhaps I can accommodate you. I'll give it thought. Stop by my office in back of the Mercantile tomorrow, and you'll have your answer.”
His mission now almost completed, Jesse stood and looked both men in the eye: “Good day gentlemen. It's been a pleasure doing business.”
XVI: An Uneasy Peace
After his meeting at the Wyatt House, Jesse went to his work station along the Big Muddy. Domingo was nowhere in sight, and the logs were unloaded in a safe and orderly release. The river was high enough for a current to carry the logs, giving Jesse time to reflect, and there was much to consider: tomorrow he would have answers to his ultimatums to Reese Morgan. His head ached from considering the consequences of his bravado.
Then there was Annie. He knew he should explain everything from the beginning and rehearsed it in his mind over and over. How would he tell her about her Aunt Lorena? How could he tell her the truth about her beloved minister? The man had baptized her, as a child, in that very river upon whose banks he stood. How could he help her understand that the people she loved and trusted were criminals hiding behind a facade of respectability? How would he break the news that Brother Elias Wyatt was actually his own father Clinton McCann? The least believable revelation would be about Lorena, that she tried to have Jesse maimed or killed to protect the family secrets and had Jared Morgan, Annie's father away, causing him to flee to the secret Native Village, leaving Annie to believe he had abandoned her.
The Wyatts were a match made in Hell and all the more dangerous because they were masters of deceit. Lorena compared unfavorably to his mother Kate who had been honest and straightforward without an ounce of pretense in her.
How could a man love a woman like Kate and then love a woman like Lorena? Or was the man even capable of love?
By the same token, Jesse could not understand what had held Mr. Baumgartner together with his mother in a union devoid of affection. He wondered if sometimes love was too much to bear, too intense for day to day existence. Perhaps the faint of heart chose unions of convenience and mediocrity, because love terrified them. He had reached the conclusion that his parents had done that very thing. His father had married into the Morgan family for money and position; and his mother married Mr. Baumgartner out of loneliness and desperation.
I am not like my father or mother. I must have all or nothing. I must have Annie or no one.
Jesse figured he had resolved all these matters by quitting time that day. The logs reached the end of the line, as the circular saw buzzed through to one after the other, creating the raw planks of wood. There were no more logs in the river for him to drive. So Jesse walked to Buck's office to fetch Belle and turn in the rifle that he had carried while guarding the camp. He now knew he could not kill without extreme circumstances; and Buck knew it as well. He no longer feared Tahsha. He revered her.
He found Buck at his desk, head on chest, snoring loudly. His empty pant leg was pinned behind the remaining stump, and the half burned prosthetic lay on the floor in the corner.
“Mr. Hennessy. I'm sorry to disturb your nap.”
Buck's eyes flashed open, and when he spoke, the words came out muffled as if his mouth were wrapped in cotton: “Wasn't nappin'...just sayin' my prayers, son. What's on your mind?”
Jesse handed him the rifle.“ You'll need to hire another wolf hunter. I was lousy at the job. In fact, I don't believe I could kill Tahsha..or any other wolf. I haven't the heart for it.”
“Well now...it's not the job for you....but makes you no less of a man than any other and a better one for it.”
“I also wanted to tell you I'll be late tomorrow. I have business in town.”
Buck gave him a wink and a smirk. “Monkey business?”
“No...serious business, Mr. Hennessy...very serious.”
“You wouldn't happen to be meetin' with Reese Morgan, now would you?”
Jesse shifted from one foot to another. “Afraid I can't talk about it.”
“Old Buck here knows more of what goes on in this town than people think. Just remember to keep your senses about you, Jess. You're dealin' with devils.”
After leaving the office, Jesse rode over Dead Man's Bridge past Shanty Town and was surprised to see mill hands stacking lumber and clearing burned debris. Apparently Morgan had already fulfilled one of his requests, and soon the people of Shanty Town would no longer be homeless. The sight of their progress lifted Jesse's spirits, and he was in a better mood when he entered town. There, along the boardwalks, the old men who could no longer cut trees or haul logs, sat chewing tobacco and waiting for something to happen; they watched Jesse intently; and he wondered if it was simple curiosity or extreme distrust.
Before taking his evening meal at the hotel, he stopped into Percy's. He had battled his conscience over having himself a drink, and the need to unwind trumped the scruples of his upbringing. He figured he could allow himself just one. The tavern was almost empty still, and he was glad of it, since the loggers grew loud and bawdy when they got a few under their belts. Mr. Percy poured him some red-eye and then ignored him. The same old man was at his usual place at the bar with a death grip on a bottle; and he lifted his head to see who was there. “I'll be doggoned. It's the greenhorn from West Texas...though I'd hardly know it. You've changed. Tell me...did you ever find your papa?”
“No not in any real sense...”
“What's that you say, son?”
“No sir, I'm no longer looking for my father.”
Mr. Percy stood with his back to them, studiously wiping glass after glass. Jesse watched as beads of sweat popped out on his balding head. A strange sense of foreboding settled over Jesse, and he decided it was time to leave. He polished off his drink , and as he left, Mr. Percy turned and called after him: “ No need to leave, Jess. Stay and have another.”
“No sir. I think I've just about had enough,” he answered. “The atmosphere is a bit heavy in here today.”
He needed rest in the worst way, but he slept fitfully and awoke before sun-up. It was the day of reckoning at last. He dressed carefully and went into town without having breakfast. He had suddenly lost his appetite; besides he could not yet face Annie with the truth he knew she would demand. Main Street was empty when he arrived at the Mercantile building and went around back to knock on the door to Morgan's office.
“Come in, McCann. Make yourself comfortable.”
Morgan sat in an oversized leather chair behind a massive desk that displayed framed photographs of a pale woman with large sad eyes, a woman Jesse knew had to be Morgan's reclusive wife and mother of Lorena. Morgan wasted no time and got right to the point: “Tell me what you think your grandmother's horse was worth.”
Jesse knew the man already had the number in his head. “Give me your figure, sir, and we can go from there.”
The corners of Morgan's mouth turned up in a tight half smile. “You'd make a decent businessman, McCann. Your abilities are wasted pushing logs. Alright then...I'm prepared to offer you ten thousand in hard cash, no scrip. A good portion of that would be twenty years' interest... or retribution if you will.. .for the theft of the horse.”
Jesse had not expected such a large sum. His mind was spinning .
Take only what is right, and not a penny more. Think what Mama would do. But yet...think of the good that could be done if the money is divided amongst the family back home? Think of Uncle Adam and the cousins. Think of yourself. Think of Grandmama Kessler and the grief she endured until the day she died. Retribution. That's what it is. Take it before the man changes his mind.
>
“We have a deal,” Jesse replied at last.
Morgan opened a safe behind him and pulled out cash, lots and lots of greenbacks, counting them out slowly, lovingly. He placed the ten thousand in a bank bag and handed it over. It was more money than Jesse had ever seen.
“McCann..one more thing,” said Morgan. “Mr. Hennessy has given me notice of his retirement. Guess he's tired of hobbling about on one leg and won't hear of replacing the wooden one damaged in the fire. He says it pained him .The mill owes the man much, considering the injury he sustained as a young lumberjack. He will be provided for; but we both agree he needs to step down. Consider filling his place. I'll talk to you again soon.”
“Alright...and the railroad?” Jesse asked. “What about the placement of the tracks?”
“My first obligation is to make good business decisions regardless of personal matters. The thing is... by the time all these folks are taken to court and their land seized it would be more expensive than taking the more difficult route for the rail. It would bring all progress to a halt. I'll meet with the railroad men about bringing the rails around through the hills instead. Now forget the railroad for a moment. I want to explain something to you, although I don't know why I feel the need.”
Morgan bit the tip off a cigar and slid it back and forth between his fingers unlit. “I'm afraid Mrs. Morgan and I ruined Lorena. She was our only child you see? I always wanted a son, but my wife was too frail to give me another child...a weak woman in her motherly duties. She was not cut out for either child bearing or rearing...and I? I tended to the growth of my mills and neglected the molding of my daughter's character. We gave Lorena everything her heart desired...except what she really needed. Had it not been for Minna raising our granddaughter, Annie might have turned out like her aunt. Same blood to a degree. Minna was the difference...and it was she who gave me Jared, my only son.”
Jesse merely nodded. He sensed that he was a sounding board for the man's ruminations and felt no inclination or need to comment. Instead he shook hands and tucked the money bag under his arm.
Jesse McCann: The Journey (The McCann Family Saga Book 1) Page 8