Chapter 31
An Unexpected Caller on a More Unexpected Errand
It was the middle of the following week when Mr. Royce the banker came out to the house for a call none of us would ever forget. Christopher was more like his old self again by then, though I could tell the O’Flaridy incident was still weighing on his confidence.
Mr. Royce came mostly to see Pa, but when he found out that Christopher was there too, he asked if he could talk to both of them together. It was obviously intended to be a talk between men, so Christopher and Pa took Mr. Royce into our little bunkhouse home, and I went into the big house.
Christopher told me about it that evening.
“I’ve been needing to talk to you for a long time, Mr. Hollister,” Mr. Royce began.
“Please, Franklin,” Pa stopped him. “I thought we were past those formalities a long time ago. You gotta call me Drum.”
“All right, er . . . Drum,” replied Mr. Royce. “I’ll try.” He paused to clear his throat nervously. Christopher said he’d never seen a man so nervous, which, the way I’d known Mr. Royce from years past, really was unusual. I could hardly imagine it even though Christopher was telling me every detail.
“Go on . . . go on, Franklin,” Pa tried to encourage him. “You’re among friends here.”
Mr. Royce nodded his head, then did his best to get what he’d come for out of his mouth.
“I suppose I knew this day would have to come sooner or later, Hollis—, er . . . uh, Drum. You and I’ve had our differences over the years—”
“Long time ago, Franklin,” interrupted Pa again. “No hard feelin’s on my end, that’s for sure, and I can tell you the same’s true for Almeda, and that’s a fact.”
“I believe you, Drum. It is because I know what you say is true that I’m here. You’re a man of your word. Everyone knows that, and, it may surprise you to learn, I know it too.”
Pa nodded in grateful acknowledgment but did not reply.
“You see, I’ve been watching you, Drummond Hollister,” Mr. Royce continued. “I’ve been watching you all these years without even knowing I was watching you. Somehow, even in the midst of some pretty rough differences we had, I knew you bore me no malice. You got angry with me a time or two, but I deserved it. You gave me a pretty sound thrashing that day in my office. But I deserved worse than the bloody nose and bruised jaw you gave me. Yours was the right kind of anger for a man to have, but mine was purely selfish. Even when you went into business against me, down inside—though I was furious at you—I knew you were only doing it to help people whose needs I was too selfish to see.”
I couldn’t believe what Christopher was telling me! Franklin Royce, the slick and shrewd banker, was the last person I ever expected to be saying such things!
“I resented you, Drummond. I resented your beating me in the mayor’s election, I resented how you saved your friends from my foreclosures, I resented that everyone looked up to you, I resented that Miracle Springs’ most beautiful woman fell in love with you, and I resented your success and reputation in the high political circles of Sacramento. Most of all, I resented the simple fact that everyone liked you, while I know they didn’t like me.”
“Aw, you’re being too hard on yourself, Franklin,” said Pa. “Folks maybe don’t show it like they should, but they like you just like—”
“That’s another thing I know about you, Drummond,” interrupted Mr. Royce this time. “You’re a terrible liar. You once called me a liar, and you were speaking the truth. But you’re too honest a man for it yourself. I doubt if you could tell a lie if you had to, so let me continue before you attempt to go any further with the one you just started.”
Pa was quiet. Christopher watched both men, almost wondering why he was there with them. Yet it was wonderful to behold at the same time, and he never thought of leaving.
“I’m ashamed to say all this,” Mr. Royce continued, “but I’m finally beginning to see some things clearly that I should have seen years ago. The main thing I am seeing is the very thing that’s been right in front of my eyes all this time, but which I was too blinded by resentment and my own pride and anger to see. That is the simple fact that you, Drummond Hollister, are a good and unselfish man.”
Even as the words were coming out of his mouth, Christopher said that Mr. Royce could tell that Pa was getting ready to interrupt him again. So he put up his hands before Pa could say a word and kept right on talking.
“I know, I know,” he said, “that you’re no saint and that you’ve had troubles with the law and that you spent some years doing things you probably wish you hadn’t. But that doesn’t take anything away from the fact that ever since I’ve known you at least, you’ve been trying to do good to your neighbor, and that even includes me. You’d have done anything for me in a second if I’d have let you, wouldn’t you have?”
“’Course I would, Franklin,” replied Pa, softly and seriously. He was deeply moved by what Mr. Royce was saying.
“Now I knew that when you and your kids got back together, and when the Rev. Rutledge came, and then when you and Almeda got married, I knew you were spending more time in the church. There was talk about town about Hollister ‘gettin’ religion,’ but inside I scoffed at it. I knew what you were up to. I knew that it was all just a ploy to get your hands on Almeda’s money. Even after you invited me to your home for Christmas dinner that year, though it became civil between us, down inside I still resented you.
“Do you see . . . do you see what a snake I’ve been, and why I had to come talk to you? Like I said, I was watching—watching it all. I was watching to see, secretly hoping you’d go out and get drunk or be found with another woman or get caught with your hand in the till of the Mine and Freight Company. I wanted people to see that you were a phony and a hypocrite.”
Mr. Royce stopped and looked away, obviously full of emotion.
“I am ashamed of myself for saying so, but that is how I felt. But you disappointed me, Drummond. Because you weren’t a phony. Whatever kind of religion you found, it was obviously real and important to you. I could see you were a different kind of person than I was. Oh, I went to church like all the other respectable citizens of Miracle Springs. I had to. I am a businessman and must watch my reputation. I must be upstanding in people’s eyes.
“So I sat in church with you and the others. But you were different. You were a man of an entirely different sort of character than me. You did the kind of things the Reverend talked about, and the sort of things your son-in-law’s been speaking of these last few Sundays.”
He glanced over at Christopher as he said this, then back.
“You really did put other people ahead of yourself,” he said, again to Pa. “You were kind, you were humble and gracious. As I said, I knew you’d do anything for me if I’d have given you the chance.
“All these years you have been a burr under my saddle, Drum Hollister. How many times I wished you’d move to Sacramento so I could be done with you! You were the constant reminder that I was not the man I should be. You were self-content, to all appearances happy and at peace with yourself and the people around you. I, on the other hand, was bitter, angry, selfish.” He paused briefly, then added, “I don’t mind telling you . . . I was lonely too.
“What kind of life is that! Can any man or woman be happy in such a miserable state?
“Of course not. I have money and all it can buy. I am probably the richest man for a hundred miles. But no one would mistake me for a happy man. I am nothing but a proud old selfish miser. I am getting older and grayer and richer by the day . . . but there is no happiness, no inward contentment to go along with it.”
A long pause followed. Christopher said the emotion in our little bunkhouse was thicker than he’d ever experienced between three men.
“Not long ago it dawned on me,” Mr. Royce went on, “that you were the man you were, free from all these miseries that hounded me. And I began to ask myself why you were free from them, a
nd I began to realize it was because you had forgiven me. You truly treated me like a brother would treat a brother, and I knew you meant it. I tried to put you out of business. All the evil I tried to bring upon you—my God! I am mortified to admit it now!—but, Drum . . . surely you cannot have forgotten, I tried to have you killed!
“And yet . . . and yet,” sighed Mr. Royce, calming and suddenly speaking very softly and shaking his head back and forth as if the very thought was still too much for him to comprehend, “ . . . and yet, in spite of all that, I knew you bore me no ill will. You cast the deciding vote that kept Finchwood out of Miracle Springs back in the fifties. I knew in your heart there was nothing but love toward me.
“Ah, that knowledge burned in my soul, Drummond. It has burned in my soul till this very day. I knew I had to get it out, take the red-hot coal out of my heart and get rid of it. I knew I had somehow to make things right with you. But I didn’t know how. I did not know what to do. I did not know how to replace the bitterness with forgiveness.”
He stopped, drew in a breath, then glanced toward Christopher.
“Until this son-in-law of yours got up and took the pulpit the second or third week after the church made him pastor. I had already been stirred up plenty from what you told of your own history the week before that, young man,” he said to Christopher. “But then on that day I’m talking about, you plunged a knife straight into me. I remember the exact words. They have burned themselves into my brain since. ‘When your duty,’ you said, ‘becomes clear, waste not a second. Where is the first opportunity to do that thing? Go, then, and do it without delay. Then, and only then, will life spring up and blossom within you.’
“I knew my duty,” Mr. Royce went on, talking again to Pa, “if I was to be a man and cease being this sniveling coward that I had let myself become, was to come and talk to you, Drummond. I had known it for some time, but even after young Braxton here said what he said, I couldn’t bring myself to come immediately as he said. I’ve waited far too long. I should have done it that same week, but I just couldn’t get up the courage. But then these last three nights I’ve hardly slept a wink, and I knew God was telling me I couldn’t put it off any longer. But at last here I am—perhaps not ‘without delay,’ yet I am here nevertheless, prepared to do my duty, which I now see plainly enough.”
He stopped and looked down at the floor. Both Pa and Christopher, Christopher told me, were bursting with love for the poor man, agonizing to see what he was having to endure at the hand of his conscience, yet unwilling to intrude in the holy moment.
“I was so aware, Corrie,” Christopher said later, “of the purifying scalpel in the Father’s hands, cutting through the thick crusts of self to make a door where he might himself enter and dwell with the dear man for the rest of eternity. Your father and I dared not speak. We had to allow God to carry out his own work.”
After a few moments Mr. Royce looked up, then gazed straight into Pa’s face and spoke again, this time in a tone of determination and resolve.
“So this is what I have come to say to you, Drummond Hollister,” he said. “I want to tell you that I know now why you have the respect of your friends and the citizens of this community—it is because you are an upright and honest man. More than that, you are a good and unselfish man. You live your religion, and I want to acknowledge that to your face.”
Pa nodded his gratefulness for Mr. Royce’s words.
“You could have ruined me if such had been your intent,” he went on. “When you helped out Douglas and Shaw when I tried to foreclose, every person in this community would have left my bank if you’d told them to. You could have opened your own bank, like you were talking about, and you’d be sitting where I am today. You could have run me out of town and everyone would have cheered.
“But you didn’t. You didn’t even let Finchwood bring his bank in here. I’ll never forget that speech you made at the town council meeting back in ’57. I’m sure you remember it?”
Pa nodded.
“Both you and Almeda voted in my favor. I had done all I could to ruin you both, and yet you sided with me. You talked that night about what being a Christian meant to you, and I suppose that was the first time it began to dawn on me that something was going on with you that I didn’t understand. You talked about loyalty and friendship and doing good to our neighbors. I was grateful, of course, but down deep it made me even more resentful. Everyone looked up to you even more after that night. You were a bigger man than I was, and everyone knew it.
“I could never admit it, but the people chose the best man for mayor. You did good for Miracle Springs. I would only have sought good for myself. The town owes you a debt of gratitude . . . and so do I.
“So that is the second thing I want to say to you. Even though far too much time has passed since I should have said it, I’m saying it now—thank you, Hollister. I did you wrong, and you returned nothing but good to me. You were everything a friend and neighbor ought to be, though I deserved none of it.
“Then the third thing I’ve got to say is just this—I’m sorry for what I’ve done. I’m giving you my apology too for thinking wrong things about you and holding these grudges for so long.
“So I’m giving you my hand now,” he said, holding out his hand toward Pa. “I know we’ve shaken hands before, but this time I’m giving you my hand in thanks and apology, and to say that I respect you as a man and a Christian . . . and that from now on I want to be your friend.”
The two men shook hands.
Christopher said Pa’s eyes had tears in them.
Chapter 32
Penetrating Words
The two men talked a little, Pa trying to say the kinds of things that would put Mr. Royce at ease and assure him that what he’d said was true, that Pa had forgiven him and that there were no hard feelings whatever on his side.
“Just when I was beginning to feel downright awkward about being there with them,” Christopher told me later, “Mr. Royce started talking again . . . this time to me.”
“There is something else I would like to tell you—both of you,” he said, “and I have you to thank for this, Mr. Braxton—”
“Please . . . Christopher,” said Christopher. “If I won’t let Drum call me Reverend I certainly cannot allow you to call me mister.”
All three laughed, and it seemed to help Mr. Royce feel more relaxed, because Christopher said he then began to share even more freely.
“Thank you, uh . . . Christopher—that is very kind of you. I will appreciate your returning the kindness.”
Christopher nodded. “But what could you possibly have to thank me for, Franklin?” he asked.
“For the sermons you’ve been preaching since becoming our pastor.”
“I appreciate your encouragement. All young pastors wonder what their people are thinking.”
“I can assure you that this is one member of your congregation that has been listening to every word you’ve said. I would like to tell you about it, if you don’t mind, because it will serve as preface for a question I must ask you both.”
“Of course,” Christopher answered. “I am eager to hear your story.”
Mr. Royce glanced over at Pa with a questioning expression.
“You bet, Franklin—go on ahead. We’ve got all day.”
“It may just take that long,” laughed the banker, a bit nervously. He wasn’t too used to doing much laughing.
“I told you,” he went on, again turning toward Christopher, “that your words on that one particular Sunday pierced me deeply, especially those last March about going and doing what you knew you had to do as your Christian duty.
“Everything you said penetrated so deeply. You spoke so warmly and personally about God. You spoke about living as a Christian with such force, I knew it was all the world to you and that nothing else mattered so much to you as that. You spoke about what you called Christlikeness with such longing, it was clear that to you there could be no higher goal to be attai
ned in all the universe. And you spoke of denial and sacrifice as if they were the highest pinnacles to which a man or woman might hope to strive.
“Imagine my reaction. Me—be like Jesus! Franklin Royce, wealthy banker—deny himself . . . be a servant!
“The very thoughts seemed absurd.
“All my life I have subscribed to precisely those tenets you spoke of as indicating what men ordinarily believe: Get all you can . . . raise yourself up . . . possess. I have lived by the creed which says that greatness is measured by being served and that the first are first, not the last.
“Yet all the while, I considered myself a respectable ‘Christian’ man. I went to church and believed in God, didn’t I? And while maybe I wasn’t what is called as good as the next man, I was probably better than a few of them, and certainly was no murderer.
“Your words, however, brought me up short and caused me to look at myself, perhaps for the first time in my life, straight in the eye. ‘If you are a Christian, Franklin Royce,’ a little voice inside me kept saying as I sat there, ‘then why is not a single one of these things the young Braxton fellow is talking about evident in your life?’
“I had never considered the first element of the kind of practical Christianity you spoke of. That I was a son of God, and that he could be a personal Father to me—never had such thoughts come within a hundred miles of my consciousness through all my years of churchgoing. That I owed obedience to him, that I ought to be poring through the Bible that sits in one of my bookcases at home—for all practical purposes like new, though I have had it for thirty years—for daily instructions about how to order my life—had someone said such things to me a year ago, I would have dismissed them out of hand. I probably would have burst out laughing at the words.
“‘This Braxton fellow is a radical,’ another little voice said in the other side of my brain, ‘by his own admission. The people in his previous church knew what they were doing when they threw him out. You may safely ignore these firebrand notions of his just as comfortably as you have ignored every other preacher you have heard.’
A New Beginning Page 15