by Sara Luck
“Just guess. Sunday is September sixteenth.” Phoebe smiled.
“Oh, yes. Mexican Independence Day. But it’s only Wednesday. Has the fiesta started already?”
“No, but the community was a little late getting organized, so Trinidad’s putting a volunteer band together. He says they have to practice.”
“Hah. They won’t be back next week either. You should get someone else to work for you beside those two old men.”
Phoebe looked down.
“Oh, Phoebe, I’m sorry. It’s just that there’s so much work to be done, and you can’t do it all by yourself. How many birds do you have now?”
“I have six pairs of full-grown birds and about forty feather birds. And this’ll be my third hatching this year, so if all my eggs survive, including the ones that are in the nests, I should have close to eighty young chicks.”
“I had no idea you had that many. Mr. Prinsen’s going to want to buy some of those chicks.”
“What do you think he’s paying?”
“I think he’ll pay twenty-five dollars per bird. But you can ask him yourself. That’s why I’m here. Mr. Prinsen is having a water meeting tomorrow evening and he wants you to come.”
“I can’t do that, Gwen. What would I do with Will?”
“Bring him along. Hannah and Adeline love to play with him. They think he’s a doll.”
“I’m not a doll; I’m a boy.”
“Of course you’re a boy, Will, but you remember Hannah and Adeline. They’re big girls now, and I’ll bet they’ll have some root beer,” Gwen said. “They may even want to bake some cookies if they had somebody to help them.”
“I know how. Mama lets me help her. I can do it.”
Phoebe rolled her eyes. “You’ve left me no choice, Gwen. What time does this meeting start?”
“Be there at seven.”
Phoebe laughed. “That’s late. I’ll try to keep my eyes open.”
“Phoebe Sloan, you’re twenty-four years old. You need to get away from this place more often. Other people have fun, have you forgotten?”
“Maybe it’s because I spend so much time with Trinidad and Cornello. They go to bed as soon as the blackbirds take over the nests.”
“You don’t really mean they go to bed at five o’clock!”
“Well, maybe that is a bit of an exaggeration, but we don’t see much of them after I serve supper.”
“You just wait, my friend. I’m going to see that all of that is changed. I have a big surprise for you.”
“No, no, no—no matchmaking.”
“Well, I have to admit Baron Goldwater wasn’t right for you, but I’ll find someone you’ll like. I promise.”
“Gwen, please don’t do that. I don’t have time. I have too much to do.”
“We’ll see.” Gwen untied her horse. “Don’t forget, Will, my girls need you to help with the cookies tomorrow night. You make your mama come, all right?”
“I will.” The little boy went back to his toys.
• • •
“What time will your people be arriving?” Christian asked as he helped Yhomas move extra chairs into the parlor.
“I’ve said seven, but out here, everyone is on their own time.”
“When they start arriving, I’ll go out and see how July is getting along.”
“No, no. I’d like you to stay. With all the experience you’ve had in the shadow of the Colossus, you might be able to offer a suggestion or two.”
“The Colossus—I haven’t heard Rhodes called that in a long time.”
“You call Marie ‘Mrs. Van Koopmans’, but it’s just ‘Rhodes’ for your employer.”
“Former employer. Rhodes and I aren’t exactly on the best of terms right now. That’s one of the reasons I came to America.”
“Well, then, there’s no reason you have to hurry back to Cape Town, now, is there?”
• • •
When Phoebe and Will arrived at the Prinsen home that evening, they were met by Andy Patterson, who was supervising those parking the visitors’ vehicles. One part of Prinsen’s side yard had been turned into a parking lot, and it was filled with conveyances of all kinds.
“Good evenin’, Miz Sloan,” Andy said as Phoebe arrived in her buggy.
“Hello, Mr. Patterson.” Phoebe passed over the reins as she stepped to the ground. She reached back to help Will.
“I can get down myself, Mama.” Will jumped down. “Do you think my friends are here yet? We’re going to make cookies!” Will started to run toward the house.
“Will, wait!” Phoebe called. “You can’t go into someone’s house unless they tell you we can come in.”
“I don’t reckon he’s much of a problem, seein’ as how folks are comin’ and goin’ this whole evenin’ long,” Andy said.
“Nevertheless, Will has to learn some manners.” Phoebe then said to Will, “You wait right there, young man.”
Will stopped and waited until his mother caught up with him. Reluctantly, he let her take his hand.
“Phoebe,” Katie Prinsen said as she opened the door. “I’m so glad you could join us.”
“Where are Hannah and Adeline?” Will asked. “We’re going to make cookies.”
“Oh, yes, I’ve heard about that. Do you think you’ll have enough to share? If this meeting lasts a long time, I’ll bet these men will like a cookie later on.”
“Oh, dear,” Phoebe said. “Are there no other women?”
“I expect a couple more ladies, but you’re the only woman landowner, I believe. The meeting is convening in the parlor, so why don’t you go on in while I take Will to the girls.”
When Phoebe stepped into the parlor, she saw at least two dozen others. She recognized most of the farmers and ranchers and several of the businessmen in town. The Salt River Valley had four ostrich farmers, but Prinsen and Phoebe were the only two now present.
“Mrs. Sloan, it’s so good of you to come,” Yhomas Prinsen said as he came to greet her. “I believe you know most of the people here.” He took in the room with a sweep of his arm.
“Yes, I think I know every . . .” Phoebe stopped as she saw a man whom she clearly didn’t recognize. Slightly taller than most, he had ash-brown hair and blue eyes and was wearing brown jodhpurs tucked into high boots, a silk shirt with a string tie, but no vest. He was one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen.
No, handsome wasn’t the right word. She equated handsome with some drawing-room dandy with slicked-down hair and well-defined features. This man was much more masculine than that. He had broad shoulders and a narrow waist, and she wondered what he’d look like without his shirt.
What was she thinking? Phoebe felt her cheeks inflame, and she hoped she wasn’t visibly blushing.
“Oh, of course, you haven’t met my houseguest.” Prinsen called, “Christian.”
The man looked toward Prinsen when summoned, then, with the suggestion of a smile, walked over.
“Mrs. Sloan, may I present Christian De Wet, a fellow countryman of mine.”
“Mrs. Sloan.” Christian took her hand. “I’m pleased to meet you.” His accent was not harsh but rather pleasing.
“My pleasure, Mr. De Wet.”
“Christian, you’ll be interested in this: Mrs. Sloan is also raising ostriches,” Prinsen said. Then to Phoebe: “Christian brought two new pair of ostriches that should improve our bloodlines. We’ll exchange chicks at some time in the future.”
“Oh, Trinidad told me you were expecting some new birds.”
“Christian brought them over from Cape Town.”
“Well, I’m glad to see you didn’t smother them.” Phoebe laughed nervously. “It must’ve been quite an adventure, bringing these skittish birds all the way from Africa.”
“I’m afraid I was little more than a passenger. It was my friend who was in charge of the birds.”
“Mr. Prinsen, Mrs. Sloan,” Walter Talbot, president of the Phoenix and Maricopa County Board of Trade said. �
�I hate to interrupt, but with it getting so late, perhaps we should start the meeting.”
“Yes, of course,” Prinsen said.
Walking to the middle of the room, Prinsen called for attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, I want to welcome you here tonight to discuss what we can do to secure a permanent water supply for our valley.”
“I hope this comes to something beyond just talk,” Benjamin Fowler said. “We’ve about discussed this subject to death. It’s time for more work and less talk.”
“I agree,” Prinsen said. “I think we all agree.”
“And heaven knows we can’t depend on the government to do it,” Fowler continued. “There may be something proposed at some time, but we can’t afford to wait. What has to be done needs to be done now, and it needs to be done quickly.”
John Norton held up his hand to speak. “We don’t want the government involved if we can come up with something ourselves. We’re the ones who will benefit from this water project, and we’re the ones who should build it. But more to the point, we’re the ones who should own it. We need to have control over this water ourselves.”
“Here, here,” someone agreed.
“What I want to know is,” Ben Fowler interrupted, “has anybody actually determined whether or not this whole idea is even feasible? What I mean is, is it possible to control the Salt River water in such a way that it’ll provide irrigation for all of us any better than what we already get from the canals?”
“Captain Hancock should address that,” Walter Talbot said.
“Very well,” Prinsen said. “I believe everyone knows Captain Hancock. He’s of riper years, but there’s no truth to the rumor that he, personally, welcomed Coronado to Arizona.”
After polite laughter, Hancock stood up. “I’m going to speak to you as an old resident of the territory and as one of the longest residents of the valley. The question that has brought us together is of vital importance to everyone, be it man, woman, beast, or bird.
“Now, to get directly to Mr. Fowler’s question, let me say that, yes, we do have a sufficient amount of water; it’s just a matter of controlling it. Our catchment basin is twenty-seven times greater than the area of land we want to irrigate. The catchment basin gets an average precipitation in rain and snow of fifteen inches per annum, and a runoff equal to one-fifth of that. That’s three inches per annum from the watershed. That, times twenty-seven, is eighty-one acre-inches of water for our land.”
“Wait a minute,” Fowler said. “Are you telling us that we’re going to get eighty-one inches of water per acre? That’s not possible. Why, with water like that, we could grow a jungle and have monkeys swinging through the trees.”
The others laughed, including Captain Hancock.
“Well, that’s what we’ll start with. We’ll lose half of that by evaporation and other sources, but that leaves us with about forty inches of water for our land. This is a good showing for us to make if we want to raise funds.”
“Raising funds, yes, and that brings up the big question: How much is such a thing going to cost?” Fowler asked.
“My estimate is five million dollars.”
“Five million dollars?” A. C. McQueen stood up. “We may as well go home now. We can’t come up with that kind of money.”
“I agree with A.C.,” Norton said as he put on his hat.
“Don’t go yet,” Prinsen said. “Christian, you’ve been listening to this talk. Do you have any ideas?”
“Look, Prinsen, I respect you, but why would you think your houseguest would have any ideas that’d bring us any closer to raising five million dollars?” McQueen asked.
“I daresay that everyone in this room has heard of Cecil Rhodes, have you not?” Prinsen asked. “Well, Christian’s worked for Rhodes for close to ten years, and he knows a thing or two about putting capital together. Wouldn’t you say that’s correct, Christian?”
“I’ve done a fair amount of negotiating in my time, but I no longer work for Rhodes. However, I believe I could offer a suggestion.”
“Go ahead and tell us what’s on your mind,” McQueen said.
Christian stood and looked out at the faces that were fixed on him. For a moment his gaze lingered on Mrs. Sloan. He found her an uncommonly attractive woman.
“Well, what is it?” someone asked, calling to Christian’s attention that perhaps his gaze had lingered too long on the face of a married woman.
“As I understand the situation, the land under the present canal contracts amounts to approximately 275,000 acres,” Christian began. “The people who own these lands are the ones who would most benefit from the construction of the reservoir; therefore it is from them that we must get the initial funds.”
“Look, Mr. De Wet, it isn’t an abstract them you’re talking about; it’s us,” Fowler said. “And I think I can say without fear of contradiction that our aggregate worth doesn’t equal five million dollars.”
“You’ll have to borrow the money.”
“Why didn’t we think of that,” McQueen said sarcastically.
“You would need to show the lender that he has a reasonable expectation of profiting from the loan. I suggest you draw up a contract with the people who own the land to the effect that they or their successors will pay the company ten dollars an acre for the land that they own.”
“That’s sixteen hundred dollars!” Phoebe said out loud. “I can’t possibly come up with that much money!”
“You wouldn’t have to come up with the entire amount, Mrs. Sloan. You’d only have to come up with one hundred and sixty dollars, because the assessment would be payable at one dollar per acre per year. And, because this’ll also benefit the townspeople, they, too, must be a part of it. All owners of city or town lots within the region to be irrigated should be asked to pay five percent of the value of their lots, which would also be payable over a ten-year period. This would give your company a sum of 275,000 dollars raised from the assessment on the land, and possibly as much as 100,000 dollars more that’d be raised from the town lots. This would mean an immediate infusion of 375,000 dollars within the first year. In addition, you’d agree to pay the company ten cents per acre-inch for the water actually received and consumed, and this could be paid at the end of each month. I know these are rough figures, but this amount of money would enable your company to leverage a bond for twenty years at five percent interest. I believe if you took this kind of proposal to an investor, you’d be able to raise the five million dollars immediately, and under this structure, you should be able to pay off your bond in twenty years.”
When Christian finished speaking, the room was quiet.
“What do you think, gentlemen, and ladies?” Prinsen asked.
“Yhomas, if your friend can come up with that idea off the top of his head, what do you think he can do if he really thinks about it?” Captain Hancock asked. “I propose that our reservoir committee hire this gentleman as our financial adviser.”
“I second the proposal,” Fowler said.
“Wait a minute,” Prinsen said. “It’s well and good to make the offer, but first don’t you think we should ask Christian if he’s agreeable to such an arrangement?”
“I appreciate the offer. But I have a responsibility to July.”
“July? Why, that’s months away,” Captain Hancock said.
Prinsen chuckled. “Christian, suppose I hire July to work for me? Would you be disposed to accept our offer then?”
“I’ll have to discuss it with him. I believe he’s anxious to get home, but as for myself, I wouldn’t be opposed to staying.”
“You won’t be sorry, Mr. De Wet. If you bring this through for us, I can promise you, there will be a mighty big paycheck waiting for you,” Captain Hancock said.
3
Mr. Prinsen and Christian stood at the door as everyone was leaving. Most were enthusiastic about the prospect of actually getting something started, and they continued to thank Christian for his suggestion.
�
�It looks like you made quite an impression, my boy,” Prinsen said as he slapped Christian on the back. “Besides, if you went back home, you’d have to take sides. Would you fight with the Boers and please Marie, or with the Brits to please Cecil?”
“I really don’t know. Maybe this is a godsend. It’ll give me a legitimate reason to stay here.”
“Yes, and if you can put this together, you’ll not only make a fair bit of change, you’ll also be doing the valley a real service.”
“I get the impression you really like it here. But what about the ostriches? This is a long way from the Little Karoo.”
Prinsen smiled. “That’s where your efforts come in. If you can figure this out and we can have a dependable water supply, I can grow more lucerne, and the ostriches won’t know if they’re in Arizona or South Africa.”
“I suppose that’s true. What difference does it make if you call their food alfalfa or lucerne? It’s all the same to the birds.”
“I actually think the Salt River Valley is more conducive to ostrich domestication than either the Cape Colony or Natal. I’ve not shared my ultimate goal, but I intend to monopolize the feather business in all of America.”
“That’s a lofty enterprise, but what’ll the other ostrich farmers think when they find out what you have in mind?”
“They know I want to get bigger, Christian, and I believe they support me. Right now there are only three other producers in Arizona, and they know if they decide to give up, I’ll buy their birds.”
“I guess that’s a fallback position for them, but I can’t believe anyone would really want to raise ostriches.”
“It boils down to money. You should ask Mrs. Sloan what she expects to reap this year from, originally, only six pairs of birds.”
“Mrs. Sloan—that was the redheaded woman at the meeting? I didn’t have a chance to speak to her. Did she leave with the others?”
“She may have slipped out the back. I feel sorry for her. She’s by herself and she’s got that little tyke, but her biggest problem is her husband’s family. Every time she thinks she’s about ready to make a profit, her father-in-law puts a fly in the ointment. He owns one of the local banks, so I personally invited him to this meeting tonight, but I knew he wouldn’t show up.”