A Million Tears (The Tears Series)

by Paul Henke

  ‘But why, Da?’ asked Dai

  Evan tousled his hair. ‘I’ll tell you one day son.’

  ‘But where will you and Mam be?’ Sion asked, putting his arms around Meg’s legs, panic in his voice. ‘Aren’t you coming too?’

  ‘Of course we are,’ Meg knelt by his side. ‘Of course we are. We’ll be coming through a different entrance with John.’

  ‘The captain?’ asked Sion.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Evan. ‘Now listen, you don’t have to be worried. When you get through the gate, wait there and Mam will come and get you.’ Evan had a thought. ‘We’ll be about fifteen minutes after you so here, Dai,’ he handed his watch to his son. ‘If we aren’t there after a quarter of an hour, wait another quarter. After that come back to the ship.’ Because we won’t be going anywhere, he thought.

  Dai was speechless and Sion looked at the watch with big eyes. Dai clicked open the solid gold cover and gazed at the Roman numerals. Evan had inherited it from his grandfather some ten years earlier, complete with its gold chain. Seeing it now was all Evan’s sons needed to have their confidence restored.

  ‘Come on, let’s go for a last cup of tea before we go ashore,’ suggested Meg.

  Uncle James was already in the saloon. ‘I always drink tea when I’m nervous,’ he said, ‘and this morning I’ve had eight cups already.’

  An hour later the passengers began to disembark.

  ‘Away you go, boys,’ said Evan. ‘And don’t forget what I told you, right, Dai? Sion, you do as Dai tells you , there’s a good boy. And we’ll see you shortly.’

  They both nodded, hesitant about leaving the ship.

  ‘You’ve got my watch safe?’ Reassured they went down the gangway quickly and onto American soil, disappearing through the doorway into the customs shed.

  Evan slipped a Steward’s white coat on over his grey suit. Meg went below to change.

  Evan helped Uncle James to walk down the gangway as though each step would be the old man’s last. He helped Uncle James to stand and lean against the rail; he returned on board for the wheelchair Buchanan had supplied; took it down to the end of the gangplank and settled Uncle James in it, a blanket over his legs. The chair had belonged to an elderly man coming to visit his son in America with his wife. He had died the day before they had landed.

  Meg returned, wearing an ill fitting nurse’s uniform, one of many uniforms kept for the fancy dress parties sometimes held on board.

  They all waited nervously at the foot of the gangway for the captain. It was a few minutes before he arrived; they kept their heads bent and backs to the ship in case they were recognised.

  ‘Sorry. I had a wee problem to sort out. It’s okay now so follow me.’ Instead of going the way the rest of the passengers had gone, Buchanan led them to a side door, the door the ship’s personnel went through, down a short corridor and through a screened-off part of the hall. Here, only a customs officer and no immigration personnel waited.

  The customs officer looked up inquiringly as they appeared, Meg pushing the chair and Evan walking by Uncle James’ side. Buchanan was recognised and the custom’s officer got to his feet, more out of politeness than for any official reason.

  Meg’s heart missed a beat.

  ‘Hullo,’ said Buchanan with a beaming smile, ‘Dick isn’t it?’ He shook the official’s hand and waved the others past him.

  ‘Michael, sir,’ replied the man woodenly.

  ‘Oh, silly of me, of course, I remember now. I’m just taking one of my older Stewards into the hospital,’ he lowered his voice. ‘Poor fellow collapsed this morning.’ He turned to Evan, hesitating near the door. ‘Come on, doctor, what are you waiting for?’ he asked irritably.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ replied Evan, hurrying through the door, following Meg.

  ‘The trouble with the doctors on any ship,’ said Buchanan in a conspiratorial tone, ‘is that they’re so damned inefficient. I wouldn’t trust this blighter further than I could throw him, that’s why I have to go with them. That blasted nurse isn’t much better either. Know what I mean?’

  ‘I sure do, sir. Mind you, with a face like that who wants efficiency? I bet she looks after the doctor all right.’

  Buchanan smiled and hurried away. Outside Meg had already gone to find the boys and would take a cab to the hotel. The three men trundled down the road for a few minutes, waved down an American type hansom and the three of them climbed inside. They tied the chair on the back and set off for the nearest hospital where they paid off the cabbie.

  ‘A contribution to the place,’ said Buchanan, ‘provided nobody steals it first.’ He put the chair neatly against the wall next to the entrance.

  A few minutes later they were on their way again. This time Evan was able to relax and take in his surroundings. The buildings were bigger than he had imagined, the streets wider and full of horse-drawn carriages, and everywhere was bustle. The excitement of the place took hold of him and doubts he had about the wisdom of pulling up roots and coming to America suddenly left him.

  It was said to be the land of opportunity, and by God he was going to look for his. Everything was looking good, and would stay that way if they managed to get out of New York without being stopped by the police. He had finally made up his mind where they were going and what they were going to do.

  ‘You know it’s just as well we came ashore the way we did,’ said Uncle James suddenly. ‘I never had a passport.’

  18

  They took the train from New York that evening. John Buchanan saw them off; the farewell was a sad one. He extracted a promise from Meg that as soon as they were settled she would write. The money repaid by the purser enabled them to take seats in the second class section instead of in the rear in third where it was packed and the aisles were jammed with families en route for Pittsburgh and the mines. They settled down as well as they could on the hard seats for the two day journey; the first stage to their destination.

  They spent a fitful night, the train stopping and starting at various stations along the line. Newark and Reading were behind them when dawn broke. The day, like the land, stretched interminably before them. They played word games, even Uncle James joining in, watched the scenery unfold and often commented on how few towns or villages they saw.

  At long last Pittsburgh came into view. Evan was disappointed though not surprised that the capital of American mining was as smoke ridden, dirty and ugly as the towns back in South Wales.

  The station was big and crowded, people bustled back and forth, loads of goods were pulled and pushed around the platforms. The noise of talking, laughing and weeping, intermingled with the sounds of the trains made it another Bedlam. With relief they found their train, transferred their trunks, and an hour later were on the way to St. Louis, four days away – if all went well.

  After the mountains of Pittsburgh they were on a plain that seemed never-ending. Meg had replenished her stock of food at Pittsburgh; hot water boiled on the stove situated at one end of each carriage ensured they could drink plenty of tea and coffee, a drink Evan in particular had come to like. They passed mile after mile of wheat growing areas and occasionally large herds of cattle.

  Meg noticed that the further west they went the more men she saw wearing guns, and soon the exception was the man without one. Evan was beginning to wish that he too, was armed. Then he grinned ruefully and thought he was more likely to shoot his foot off than hit anybody else with it.

  After Indianapolis they passed through Terre Haute and a day later they were at their final destination – St Louis – the gateway to the West. Their fatigue fell from them like a discarded coat when they stepped down from the train.

  ‘First, we need a boarding house and a bath,’ announced Meg, watching the boys anxiously as they wandered off to look at a group of cowboys sitting astride their horses half way along the train.

  Evan felt excitement course through him. Much of the journey had been taken up with making plans. Buchanan had given Evan the nam
e of a local banker and when he was asked if he knew all the bankers in America, Buchanan had grinned and replied: ‘Only the useful ones, Evan, only the useful ones.’

  ‘Remember,’ he had said, ‘but shit baffles brains every time. You have to have the correct approach. If he thinks he’s dealing with a poor man then you won’t get anywhere. If he thinks you’re rich then he’ll fall over himself to give you money. And whatever interest he asks for argue until you get it down to six percent per annum on a loan of three years and one percent per month on a short loan.’

  They had talked a great deal about finance during the latter part of the voyage. What Evan had learned had excited him more than he cared to admit.

  Meg called the boys and they ran back to help with the luggage. Evan eventually managed to hire a buckboard and soon they were entering the sprawling town. The roads were just dirt tracks, rutted and packed by wagon wheels and horses’ hooves. The buildings were mostly wooden, but important places like the banks, some hotels, the opera house and an occasional private house were built of brick. All the old wooden houses were being torn down and new brick buildings erected in their place. There were people everywhere, the men armed with low slung guns, the women wearing gay bonnets or carrying gaudy parasols.

  It was the beginning of April. The sky was cloudless and blue, the slight breeze refreshing. The boys sat on the back of the buckboard, their legs dangling over the end, while the other three walked, glad of the exercise.

  Behind the main street they found what they were looking for. A small boarding house, clean and willing to take a family for as long as they wanted. The rent was ten dollars a week paid in advance.

  For the next few days they wandered round the town, getting their bearings and familiarising themselves with the place. The boys went their own way. Meg had worried about them at first but, as Evan pointed out, she could not keep them tied to her apron strings.

  The town was situated where the Mississippi and Missouri rivers met. From there the boats and barges went north to Minneapolis on the Mississippi and west to Kansas City on the Missouri. The main stream of the Mississippi ran south to New Orleans in the state of Louisiana, fed by dozens of main tributaries and hundreds of smaller ones. Trade, up and down the rivers, was booming and Evan intended to have a part of that trade soon – very soon.

  A week after they had arrived Evan and Meg were sitting on the back porch after supper enjoying the cool, cloudless, star bright night. The bamboo seats were uncomfortable and worn but neither of them noticed.

  ‘I think the day after tomorrow I’d better start,’ Evan broke the peaceful silence between them.

  Meg looked at him sharply. ‘I suppose so,’ she leaned back with a sigh. ‘I only hope you know what you’re doing.’ Before he could protest she continued. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. No, it’s a good idea. It’s a huge gamble but, with just a little luck it might pay off.’ Suddenly she chuckled. ‘I’ve got faith in you, boyo,’ she leaned over and kissed him, her voice dropping to a whisper. ‘All the faith in the world. But I can’t help being nervous about it. That’s only natural, after all.’

  ‘I know how you feel love, believe me. Beneath this calm exterior is a stomach that’s churning like a bag of butterflies and a heart that’s beating like . . . like . . . I don’t know what,’ he finished lamely.

  The door onto the porch swung open and the landlord came out. Without a glance in their direction he made his way through the back yard and out through the gate. He was on his way to the local saloon, where he went every night.

  Evan chuckled. ‘With a wife like his it’s no wonder he drinks so much.’

  ‘Oh, Evan,’ Meg laughed. ‘that’s very unkind. Shall we go to bed? I know it squeaks but I have an idea. Come on.’

  The boys had gone to bed much earlier and Uncle James was out, looking at the night life of the town. When Meg had protested, worried about the danger, he had replied, ‘Meg, I’m an old man. I’ve hardly been out of the valleys all my life and now here I am on the biggest adventure . . . no . . . A bigger adventure than I ever imagined, even in my wildest dreams. I’m grateful to you and Evan. The trouble is I’m not likely to be here long enough to enjoy it all. So I’m going to make the most of it. Don’t worry, I’ll only be looking. When you’ve had as much practice as I have it becomes easy to make a beer last all evening. I won’t be late,’ had been his parting words.

  Meg and Evan were glad of their early night.

  Evan waited for the train to stop, saw some of the passengers disembarking and walked out of the front of the station as though he had just arrived. He wore his best suit, a leather holdall in his hand and a western style hat on his head. The clothes he wore helped to establish him as a businessman, a successful businessman at that. He walked down the main street to the Lucky River, the best hotel in town.

  He went through the large double doors, crossed the carpeted hall to the reception desk and waited nervously for the clerk to finish dealing with some new arrivals. The place was opulent in every sense of the word. Evan had eleven hundred dollars in his pocket, most of the money they had left. John Buchanan had told him that he must create the right impression; from the hotel room to the leather bag.

  With sweating palms and hammering heart he said to the clerk, ‘My name’s Griffiths. I sent a telegram two days ago reserving a room for two nights,’ he lied.

  The clerk checked his register. ‘I’m sorry sir, we don’t seem to have your booking. However, we’ve just had a cancellation and can give you a single room. Unfortunately, it’s in the back. All our best rooms are taken. Will that be suitable, sir?’

  ‘That’s a nuisance, but I suppose it’ll have to do,’ Evan resumed his role. ‘Have my bag sent up and tell me where the First Bank of Mississippi is situated, please.’

  Walking towards the town centre Evan thought that it had been easy enough to fool a hotel clerk, but what about a bank manager?

  He nodded to the armed guard standing just inside the door. Along the left, running most of the length of the building was the counter behind which, protected by metal bars, were the tellers. At the far end of the room to the right was a partitioned off area in which sat an assistant manager. Behind him were two doors. The one on the left was to the manager in charge of loans, the other to the bank’s general manager. Evan wanted to get through the door on the left.

  There was nobody with the assistant manager and when Evan reached the thigh high swing door he removed his hat and waited politely for the man to look up. He did so a moment or two later and seeing the prosperous looking Evan, got to his feet, stepped around his desk and opened the gate for him, holding out his hand.

  Evan never did catch the man’s name, though he made sure the assistant manager got his own correct. He sat in the chair indicated. Over a month had passed since Evan had been working down the mine and by now his hands were clean and Meg had filed his nails neatly. Though they were still hard they no longer looked like the hands of a labourer.

  ‘Can I help you, sir?’

  Perhaps it was the words or the way in which the man spoke but immediately Evan was put at ease.

  ‘I hope so. My name is Evan Matthew Griffiths and I recently arrived from Wales on the SS Cardiff.’ The man clearly did not recognise his name and with a sinking feeling Evan thought he could not have received John Buchanan’s letter. ‘A friend of mine, Captain John Buchanan, wrote to Mr Andrew Fforest on my behalf. He suggested in the letter that it might be of mutual benefit if we met and discuss a few things . . . Ideas, look you,’ Evan cursed himself for letting the ‘look you’ slip out. ‘It seems you haven’t . . .’

  ‘Excuse me, sir. When is the letter likely to have arrived?’

  The question took Evan by surprise. ‘Oh, let me see. Sometime last week I should think. I left New York then and I’ve spent the last week or so checking other towns between here and there.’

  ‘That’ll explain it, sir. I was off last week with a severe chill. I’ll ju
st check and see if anything did arrive.’ The assistant manager skimmed through the correspondence files and said, ‘Yes, I think this is it. Evan Matthew Griffiths. Right?’

  Evan nodded. Good old John, he thought. We owe him so much.

  The man opened the file and sat at his desk. Evan could see it contained only a single letter on the bottom of which somebody had scribbled in green ink. The man quickly read it through and looked up with a broad smile.

  ‘Welcome to the First Bank, sir. I’m afraid Mr Fforest is busy at the moment but will see you as soon as possible. In the meantime sir, would you like a cup of coffee?’

  Evan controlled his elation with difficulty. It was as John said it would be if all had gone well. Evan managed to nod casually and in a controlled voice replied, ‘Yes. Thank you.’

  The assistant manager beckoned to one of the tellers and asked for two coffees. Now it was the assistant manager who was nervous, convinced that Evan was going to be an important customer.

  Their coffee came and they sipped in silence for a few moments until a faint but distinct buzzer sounded.

  ‘Would you excuse me, sir, for just a moment?’ he went through the door on the left.

  The assistant manager returned, saying, ‘Mr Griffiths, if you would step this way please.’

  Evan followed him into an office dominated by a desk next to the window. A chair stood in front of the desk, another against the wall, an ornate cabinet filled the furthest corner and in the opposite wall was Fforest’s private entrance.

  Fforest, the manager Evan now faced, was a squat, broad shouldered man in his early fifties. His hair was thinning and his waistcoat strained across his big belly.

  ‘I’m right pleased to meet you, Mr Griffiths. And how is my old friend John Buchanan? Thank you Fred, that will be all.’