A Place in the Sun

by Michael Phillips

  But the worst rumors had to do not with Almeda’s past, but with her present. They said that the baby she was carrying was not a Hollister at all.

  Franklin Royce, of course, never appeared as the author of the rumors surrounding Almeda. He remained too skillfully concealed behind the scenes for anyone to suspect that he was doing anything other than expressing mild curiosity at the tale as it had been told to him by others.

  When the whisper first awoke it was merely the hint that the former Mrs. Parrish had not been a Parrish at all in Boston. In its later stages was added the idea that her former name—however well hidden she had kept her past—was one that all Boston knew. Furthermore, it was said that whatever she had done, although no one could say of a certainty what exactly it was, it was enough to have barred her from the society of respected people. She had escaped the East on a steamer, leaving more than one broken heart behind her—some even said a child. On the boat she fell in with the late Mr. Parrish. The evil gossip reached its culmination with the final suggestion having to do with Pa and her present predicament—something about the chickens of her past coming back to roost. Or, more aptly, the roosters.

  We went about our business as usual. Not many people came in to the freight office, and neither Almeda nor I thought much about the occasional peculiar looks on the faces of those people we saw. Whether Marcus or Mr. Ashton had heard anything, I don’t know. They acted normal. It did seem activity in town was quieter than usual toward the end of that week. But still we remained in the dark about the talk that was spreading from mouth to mouth.

  Sunday came, and we all went to church. The service was quiet and somber. Afterward nobody came up and greeted Pa or Almeda, but just walked off silently in the direction of their horses and wagons. It was eerie and uncomfortable, but still we suspected nothing. We all figured it was a result of the scare Mr. Royce had put into everyone the week before. But the fact that some of his best friends had seemed to avoid him and hadn’t come over at least to shake his hand got Pa pretty agitated during the ride home.

  All that day none of the whispers and lies and gossip reached the ears of the Hollister and Parrish and Belle clan out where we lived on the edge of Miracle Springs Creek.

  Early Monday morning, a buggy drove up carrying Rev. Rutledge and Miss Stansberry. They came to the door while we were eating breakfast. Both wore serious expressions.

  “We just heard,” said the minister.

  “Heard what?” said Pa, rising to invite them in with a smile.

  “One of the children who came early to school was talking,” he went on. “That’s how Harriet heard. She put one of the older children in charge, then came right to me. We drove out here immediately. Believe me, Drummond, Almeda . . .” he glanced at them both as he spoke, still very seriously. “Believe me, I don’t believe a word of it. What can we do to help?”

  Pa glanced around dumbfounded, then let out a good-natured laugh. “Avery,” he said. “I don’t have the slightest notion what you’re talking about!”

  “Almeda?” said Rev. Rutledge.

  “It’s the truth, Avery. What is it that’s got the two of you so worked up and so glum?”

  “You really don’t know,” said Miss Stansberry, almost in amazement. “Oh, you poor dear!”

  “Drummond, we have to have a serious talk,” said Rev. Rutledge. “What we have to discuss has to be talked about alone.”

  Pa gave me and Zack a nod. “You heard the Reverend,” he said. “Go on . . . git.” We silently obeyed, but curious beyond belief.

  We heard nothing from inside for probably ten minutes. Then the door of the house was thrown open and out exploded Pa, his face red, his eyes flaming. I’d never seen any man, much less Pa, so filled with anger!

  “Drummond, please!” called out Almeda, coming through the door after him. “Please . . . wait!”

  “There ain’t nothing to discuss, nothing to wait for!” Pa shot back as he strode to the barn. “It’s clear enough what I gotta do!”

  “We don’t know it was him.”

  “’Course we do, woman! You told me yourself what he said. No one but him knows anything about Boston. It was him, and you know it!”

  Pa was inside the barn, already throwing a saddle over his favorite and fastest horse. Almeda followed him inside.

  “At least let me go talk to him first,” she pleaded.

  “Time for talking’s over, Almeda. A man’s gotta protect his own, and now I reckon it’s my turn to do just that.”

  “Drummond, please . . . don’t do something you’ll regret!”

  “I won’t take my gun with me, if that’s what you mean.” He was cinching up the straps already.

  “Drummond,” said Almeda, more softly now, putting her hand on his arm and trying to calm him down. “I can live through this. You don’t have to defend me to that evil man. The Lord has healed and restored and remade me. And I am at peace in his love, and yours. I don’t care what people say, or even what they think. Drummond, don’t you see? I know that God loves me just for who I am—past, present, and future. And I know that you love me in just the same way. That’s all I need.”

  Pa seemed to flinch for just a moment in his determination. Then he said, “I understand that, Almeda. And I’m thankful for what God’s done. But sometimes a man’s got to stand up for truth, and stand up and defend maybe his own reputation, or maybe his wife’s. And even if it don’t matter to you, it matters to me what the people of this town think. That man’s got no right to say dishonoring things about my wife, or about any woman! And I aim to show this town that he can’t get away with it without answering to me! I’m sorry, but I just ain’t gonna be talked out of this. I gotta do what’s right!”

  Pa pulled himself up in the saddle, then paused again and glanced around where all the rest of us were watching and listening, in fear and worry, having no idea what was happening.

  “Zack, Corrie,” Pa said after a couple of seconds, “you two come with me. At least having my own kids around might keep me from killing the scum!”

  In an instant Zack and I were throwing saddles on our horses, and in less than two minutes we galloped out of the barn, chasing Pa down the road toward town.

  Chapter 11

  Fighting Mad

  Zack and I never did catch up with Pa. By the time we rode into the middle of town, we were just in time to see him dismounting in front of the bank.

  We galloped up, jumped off our horses, and ran inside after him. The bank had only been open a few minutes, so there were several early-morning customers inside. By the time we got through the door, Pa was already in Mr. Royce’s office. His voice was loud enough that you could hear it through the whole building. Everyone else’s business had ceased, and they stood stock-still with wide open eyes, listening to the argument going on in the next room.

  “Look, Royce,” Pa was saying, “I never had much liking for you. But I figured maybe that’s just the way bankers were. So I kept my distance and held my peace. But now you’ve gone too far!”

  “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” replied the banker, keeping his calm.

  “I ain’t ashamed to tell you to your face, I think you’re a liar!”

  “Careful, Mr. Hollister. Those are strong words.”

  “Not too strong for the likes of a man who’s so afraid of losing an election to a woman that he’d drag her reputation through the mud and spread lies about her. Only the lowest kind of man with no sense of shame would do a thing as vile as that!”

  “I tell you, Mr. Hollister, I don’t know what you’re referring to. I confess I have heard some rumors lately that—”

  “Heard them?” exploded Pa. “You started them!”

  Slowly Zack and I inched our way toward the open door of the office. I was terrified! I think Pa forgot us after telling us to come with him.

  “Accusations, especially false ones, can cost a candidate an election, Mr. Hollister. You would do well to guard your tongue,
or your wife will suffer even worse consequences on election day than she has already suffered because of her past reputation.”

  He still sat calmly behind his big desk, almost with a look of humor in his expression. Pa was standing, leaning over the desk at him. If Mr. Royce was afraid, he didn’t show it. He looked as if he had expected the confrontation, and was glad other townspeople were hearing it.

  “I ain’t said a false word yet!” exclaimed Pa. “Do you deny to my face that you’ve been talking about Almeda and making up this gossip about her life before she got here?”

  “I do.”

  “Then I tell you again, you’re a blamed liar!” Pa’s voice was loud and his face was still red.

  “Look, Mr. Hollister,” said the banker. His eyes squinted and his voice lost whatever humor it might have had. “I’ve taken about all of your ranting accusations I’m going to take. Now unless you want me to send for Sheriff Rafferty and have you locked up for harassment, you had better leave.”

  “Simon, lock me up?” roared Pa.

  “You and I both know there are worse charges that could be brought against you. When I am mayor, I may find myself compelled to have the sheriff look into your past more carefully.”

  “Simon knows all about my past! And you ain’t gonna be mayor of this town, Royce, you scoundrel. Not while I have anything to say about it! Any low-life who’d try to hurt a woman to make himself look good ain’t the kind of man who’s good enough for anything but—”

  “Your wife doesn’t have a reputation worth protecting, Hollister!” interrupted the banker, finally getting angry himself. He half rose out of his chair. “You know as well as I do that everything that’s being said about her is true. If you don’t, and you married her thinking she’s the unspoiled preacher-woman she pretends to be, then you’re a bigger fool than I took you for!”

  “Do you dare to tell me to my face that my wife—”

  “Your wife is nothing but a harlot, Hollister! Anybody in Boston could tell you—”

  But his words were unwisely spoken. Before another sound was out of his mouth, Pa had shoved the banker’s desk aside. He took two steps around it, and the next instant his fist went crashing into the white face of Franklin Royce.

  Stunned, Royce staggered backward. Losing his balance, he fell over his own chair and toppled backward onto the floor.

  Quickly he started to scramble up. But seeing Pa standing over him, fist still clenched, trembling with righteous anger in defense of the woman he loved, apparently made Royce think better of it.

  Then Royce noticed the blood flowing from his nose and around the side of his mouth.

  “You’ll pay for this, Hollister,” he seethed through clenched teeth while his hand sought a handkerchief to stop the blood.

  “Your threats don’t mean nothing to me,” said Pa. “You do what you think you can to me, Royce. Do it like a man, face to face—if you got guts enough! But if I hear of you speaking another word against my wife, I tell you, you’ll answer to me! And next time I don’t aim to be so gentle!”

  He turned and strode with huge quick steps out of the office, hardly looking at us, but saying as he passed, “Come on, kids, let’s get out of this scoundrel’s hole!”

  We followed Pa to the door, while the customers and two clerks watched in shocked silence.

  Mr. Royce came running to his office door, a handkerchief to his nose and mouth, and shrieked after us, “You’re through, Hollister—you hear me? You’re through! You’ll regret this day as long as you live!”

  But Pa didn’t even slow down, only slammed the door behind us with a crash.

  Chapter 12

  Repercussions

  All Pa said on the way home was, “I’m sorry you kids had to see that . . . but maybe your being there kept me from doing worse.”

  About halfway back, we met Rev. Rutledge and Miss Stansberry. Pa stopped, and the minister drew in his reins.

  “I’m obliged to the two of you for coming and telling us,” Pa said. “I’m afraid you wouldn’t approve of what I done, Reverend.”

  “I understand, Drummond,” he replied.

  “Well, I’m thankful we got you two for friends,” Pa added, tipping his hat, and then moving on.

  When we got home, Almeda’s eyes were red. I knew she’d been crying. Pa kissed her, then put his arms around her and the two of them just stood in each other’s embrace for a long time. Nothing more about the incident was said that day.

  Almeda considered whether to go into town at all, now that we all understood why folks had been behaving so strangely.

  “We gotta face this thing head on,” said Pa. “You go into the office—I’ll go with you if you like. We gotta go on with our business and show folks we ain’t concerned about Royce and his rumors. We’ll go around to people one at a time and tell ’em to pay no attention to what they hear, that it’s all a pack of lies drummed up to make you look bad before the election.”

  “You know I couldn’t do that,” Almeda replied softly, looking Pa directly in the eyes. “But you’re right—it’s best we go on with our lives as usual. Corrie and I will go into the office.”

  “You want me to go into town with you for the day?”

  “No, I’ll be all right. I’ll do my best to put on a brave face.”

  In the four years I’d known Almeda, I’d never seen her quite like this. Her voice was soft and tired, without its usual enthusiasm and confidence. It was easy to see this was really a blow to her, and that she might not get over it so quickly. All day long her eyes remained red, though I never saw her cry again. I guess the tears stayed inside.

  By the time we walked into the Parrish Mine and Freight office two hours later the whole town was stirred up all over again by news of what Pa had done to Mr. Royce. Old widow Robinson had been in the bank at the time and had heard every word. And that was enough to insure that within an hour, every man, woman, and child for ten miles around knew about it! The widow’s reputation for spreading information certainly proved itself true. Franklin Royce himself never appeared for two days after that, so the news had to have come through someone else who was present, and most bets were on Mrs. Robinson. In all likelihood, she was the one Royce had used to plant the rumors about Almeda. He probably told her in hushed tones, making her promise to keep it to herself, no doubt saying that he’d assured the person he’d heard it from that he would say nothing to anybody.

  Suddenly the first rumor was old news, and began to take a back seat to steadily exaggerating tales of what Pa had done. At first it was just that he had given the banker a good sound thrashing. Then mention was made of sounds of violence, angry threats yelled back and forth, sounds of scuffling and furniture being broken, and even blood, along with vows to get even. All in all, the story as Marcus Weber said he’d heard it was a considerably wilder affair than what Zack and I actually witnessed with our own eyes.

  But it did manage to lessen the impact of what had been circulating about Almeda. Even though they feared him, not too many people liked Franklin Royce much. I think the incident was talked about so much because everybody was secretly pleased to see Royce get his due for once.

  Yet they were afraid too, for Pa and Almeda. If Franklin Royce promised to get even, they said with serious expressions, he was not one to make empty threats. As for the election, who could tell now? Royce was a dangerous opponent, and they sure wouldn’t want to have crossed him! They wished someone else could be mayor, but they had to admit, with Royce as an enemy, the prospects didn’t look too good for the Hollisters.

  With Almeda, the distance and silence and curious looks turned into sympathy. Pa silenced the gossip once and for all, and nobody was inclined to spread the rumors any further and run the risk of Pa finding out. Whether folks believed what they’d heard—and after what Pa did, I think most figured Royce had made it all up—they didn’t show it, and talk now centered around Pa.

  When Mr. Royce began to be seen around town again, he kept his
distance. However, he continued his subtle tactics both to make sure people voted for him, and to pressure Almeda into capitulating. By the end of the week, the sign across the street was done, and there was activity inside the place, as well as some merchandise displayed in the shop windows. Almeda muttered a time or two, “Where can he have gotten that stuff so quickly?” But there seemed to be no question about it—he had it, and was going to open a business to compete with Parrish Mine and Freight. And obviously his intent was not merely to compete, but to drive her out of business. A second paper soon appeared in the window: “Mining, ranching, farming tools, supplies, and equipment at the least expensive prices north of Sacramento. Shipping and freight services also available.”

  That same week, whispers of a new kind arose. If Franklin Royce did not become Miracle Springs’ next mayor, it was said that he would be forced to review all outstanding loans, and would more than likely be compelled to call a good many of them due. As much as they respected Pa for standing up for his wife’s honor, and as little as they cared for Royce, most of the men were agreed that they just couldn’t take the chance of having what had happened to Pat Shaw happening to them. They had to vote for Royce. They just didn’t have any other choice.

  To make matters worse, Pa got an official-looking letter from some government office in Sacramento saying that the title to his land was being challenged in court by an anonymous plaintiff, and that investigators would be contacting him shortly for additional information.

  “Well, if that don’t just about do it!” said Pa, throwing the letter down and storming about the room. “The man’s not gonna stop till he’s ground us into the dirt and got our land and our business and everything!”

  He walked angrily out of the house. Almeda picked up the letter and read it, then showed it to the rest of us.

  “I think we’d better pray for your father,” she said softly. We all sat down and took hands, while Almeda prayed out loud for Pa, for the claim, for Mr. Royce, and for God’s purpose to be accomplished through all these things that were happening to us. “And show us what you want us to do, Lord,” she concluded. “Make it plain, and give us the strength and courage to do it—whether we’re to give in, or whether we’re to stand up and fight for what we think is right. Help us not to act in our own wisdom, but to depend on you to show us what you want.”