My Father's World

by Michael Phillips

  “Yeah, but he ain’t actually laid eyes on either of us yet. It could just be a coincidence.”

  “If it’s Krebbs, it’s no coincidence. He’s out for our blood, I tell you. That is, if he can’t find the hundred grand. And we sure ain’t got it!”

  Uncle Nick sighed. Neither of them were paying much attention to me, but I was straining every nerve to hear what they were saying.

  “I shoulda listened to you in the first place,” Uncle Nick said. “Them was a bad bunch to get mixed up with. But all I could think of was how easy that bank was gonna be and how much money there was inside.”

  “Well, like you said the other day, we done what we done and we can’t undo it. So we just gotta watch ourselves now.”

  When there was a lull in their talk, I asked, “What’s going on in town?”

  “Newspaper’s coming to the area, that’s what,” answered Uncle Nick as if he had struck El Dorado. “You especially oughta be interested in that, Corrie.”

  “Me?” I said, and stopped stirring to glance over at him.

  “Sure. I seen you night after night scrawling in that there journal of yours. What’re you raising here, Drum?” he said to Pa as he flashed a wink in my direction, “Some female Bill Shakespeare?”

  I blushed. “I’m just writing down my experiences, that’s all—Ma said I should.”

  “And your ma was right,” put in Pa to my defense. He thought Uncle Nick was giving me a bad time, and he hadn’t seen the twinkle in his brother-in-law’s eye.

  “Well, around these parts,” Uncle Nick went on, “just being able to write proper puts you up there with them author fellers.”

  I still didn’t see what he was getting at.

  “What does a newspaper coming to town have to do with me?” I asked.

  “Well, even a no-account ignoramus like me knows that them newspaper fellers write. Seems like with all your writing in that there journal, you’d have something in common with them. Or at least that you’d be interested in them coming to Miracle.”

  “Yes—yes, I am, Uncle Nick,” I said. “I guess I never thought of it in that way before.”

  “I expect your ma’d want to see you get some kind of education,” added Pa, “even in this uncivilized country, where there ain’t so much as a school for you.” He mumbled the words almost as an apology, as if he was embarrassed at saying something thoughtful. “The newspaper’d be a good thing for you to know about and get involved in.”

  I smiled. It was nearly the first time he’d shown any real interest in any of us. So newspaper or not, I knew this was indeed a special day!

  After breakfast we all loaded up in Pa’s old buckboard, hitched to his own bay mare. It was not as comfortable as our old wagon. Emily still missed Snowball, and the bay showed in no uncertain terms that she did not appreciate being put to this kind of labor. But none of us said a word. We all silently realized it was a subject best left alone.

  When we got to town there was almost a carnival atmosphere in the air.

  Uncle Nick said he hadn’t seen it this lively since the actor Edwin Booth had performed in town. “It ain’t just the paper, you see,” he explained. “As hard as these fellers work around here, anytime they can turn somethin’ into a celebration, they’ll do it. The paper’s just an excuse to whoop it up for a day or two.”

  A raised platform had been built in front of the largest saloon in town where the two main streets intersected. It was draped in red, white, and blue banners just like election day back home. There was no one on the platform yet, but Uncle Nick said there’d be plenty of speeches before the day was done.

  We stopped and piled out of the wagon while Pa tied the horse to a hitching post. Some of he and Uncle Nick’s friends came up, and there was a flurry of back-slappin’ and guffaws. When Pa turned to us and said they had some business to attend to, his friends all winked and chuckled. Then he told us to have a look around. They walked off down the street toward the Gold Nugget, and we were left gaping at the sights and wondering what to do.

  Down near the livery stable there was a sharpshooting contest going on in a big corral. Not far from where we stood, down one of the other streets, several Indians in war paint were doing some dances to the steady beat of the tom-toms. Then down the same street in the opposite direction was a fellow holding a “medicine show.”

  The boys wanted to see the sharpshooters. They didn’t even wait to ask but just dashed off excitedly, Tad running to keep up with Zack.

  I was curious about the Indians, wondering if one of them might be the Indian brave I’d seen out by the stream. But Emily was afraid, and I can’t say I blame her, for they did have a rather alarming appearance at first. So finally we decided on the medicine show.

  I’d never seen anything like it before. A big box-like wagon stood in the middle of the street, painted all over with pictures and banners, and the words “Dr. Aloysius P. Jack’s Famous Miracle Rejuvenator” printed in fancy, colorful letters on the side. A man I figured was the famous Dr. Jack stood on a little platform at the back of the wagon. He was dressed in a bright yellow frock coat that hung to his knees over tan pinstriped trousers and a red vest. If he meant for this outfit to attract customers, it worked, for there were twenty or thirty men, mostly miners, gathered around. He wasn’t a big man, but standing up on that platform in those bright clothes and his black stovepipe hat, he looked mighty impressive. His eyes glinted and shone when he talked, and his long, brown beard wagged to give just the right emphasis to his words.

  “I can see the town of Miracle Springs is not short of intelligent men . . .” he was saying. “Men of vision! Men of wisdom! Men of. . . .”

  He seemed to falter as he scanned the crowd. Then to my horror I realized he was looking right at me!

  “ . . . and young ladies, too!” he went on in a merry tone. “Ah, yes, I can see this is a town of no mean populace!”

  The audience chuckled and applauded, and all at once Emily, Becky, and I found ourselves being jostled nearer to the front.

  “Welcome one and all!” Dr. Jack went on. “Ladies—” he winked at us as he said the word, “and gentlemen! With great pleasure I present to you the most stupendous medical discovery of this century! My very own ‘Miracle Rejuvenator’! And is it not appropriate that it should be named as your fine town?”

  “What’s it do, Doc?” yelled someone from the crowd.

  “A most intelligent question!” shot back the doctor. “Most intelligent, indeed. The secrets of my Rejuvenator are vast, to be sure. It contains herbs and potions that I, myself, procured at great peril and personal danger from the great Cherokee Indian Chief Oouchalatah. Tell me, my friends of Miracle Springs, have you ever seen an Indian with gout or ague? The prevention of these two maladies are but two of the marvelous feats of Dr. Jack’s Rejuvenator. Stomach ailments too will be a thing of the past. Regular use of my elixir improves vision and strengthens the blood—and you all know what that can mean on those cold nights at the diggin’s!”

  I didn’t know what it meant. But lots of others seemed to, for several started waving money and yelling.

  “Gimme a bottle of that!”

  “One dollar, folks,” Dr. Jack was saying again. “One slim dollar to possess the benefits of youth again!”

  He glanced down at me. “And, young lady, surely there is someone you know who can benefit from this wonderful tonic?”

  “I haven’t got a dollar,” I said.

  “I got ten cents,” piped up Becky. I felt like stuffing a sock in her mouth.

  “Do you now?” mused the doctor. “Well, little lady, I just happen to be running a special for ladies such as yourself—ten cents a bottle!”

  But before Becky could get her fingers around her money, one of the onlookers who had already made his purchase yelled out, “Ooo-wee! This here’s one-hundred-proof whiskey!”

  Dr. Jack cleared his throat deprecatingly. “I must admit that one of the ingredients does happen to be a small
amount of alcohol—to enhance the flavor only!”

  I waited no longer, yanking Becky and Emily away from the so-called “medicine” show. As we broke through the crowd we nearly ran headlong into Mrs. Parrish.

  “Hello, girls,” she said cheerfully. “I just saw your brothers, and was hoping to run into you. I’m so glad your father brought you.”

  “Uncle Nick’s here, too,” chimed in Becky proudly.

  “Ah, so your uncle’s back?” she asked, looking at me with a worried frown.

  “Yes, Ma’am,” I said. “Pa brought the sheriff out to the cabin and got Uncle Nick’s problem all straightened out.”

  “That’s wonderful,” she replied. “I just hope it stays straightened out.”

  “Pa said this was an important day for Miracle,” I said.

  “Indeed it is. Every influence that brings civilization more and more to the wilds is to be enthusiastically welcomed.” She paused thoughtfully. “I am a bit surprised he saw it in that light, however. Surprised, but still pleased.”

  “Why do you say that, Ma’am?”

  “I just thought that men such as your father and uncle, you know, from their background—”

  But she let her words trail away unfinished. I guess she didn’t want to speak ill of Pa or Uncle Nick in front of us, though her look didn’t suggest she was going to say anything bad. Actually, she looked pleasantly surprised, just like she’d said.

  Anyway, she started up again on a different subject almost in the same breath. “Well, girls, the formal festivities are about to begin—mostly long-winded speeches—but historical, nonetheless.”

  She cast down her eyes almost timidly—a very uncharacteristic gesture for her, then added, “I myself will be delivering a few short remarks as well.”

  “How wonderful, Mrs. Parrish!” I said. “We wouldn’t miss it.”

  “It won’t be much. Many of the town fathers, so to speak, thoroughly resent having a woman up on the platform with them. But since I operate the second largest enterprise in town, they had no choice—especially when I insisted. I have an ulterior motive, however. I want to advertise for another historic event which will be coming up shortly.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Don’t you remember? The preacher will be here in less than two weeks—almost any day now.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Come along,” she said, taking Becky’s hand. “I’ll walk you over. But I’m afraid after that you’ll have to be on your own.”

  The throngs of people scattered around town were beginning to migrate toward the raised, banner-covered platform. Mrs. Parrish found us a place near the front. Seated at the back of the platform, a band was playing “Oh, Susanna.” Four men were seated on chairs in front of the band, all looking very important in their brown and black frock coats and matching trousers, silk ties and waistcoats, wearing stovepipe and derby hats.

  One of the men I recognized as the sheriff who had come out to the cabin about Uncle Nick. Mrs. Parrish said his name was Simon Rafferty. He was a big, barrel-chested man, and his general size, solid build, and huge cigar, made him look more like a locomotive than a speech maker. I guess since Miracle had no other officials, he was the most important dignitary we had.

  Next to the him sat a tall, younger man whom Mrs. Parrish told me about as we approached the platform. His name was Franklin Royce, and he looked very important. But whereas the constable seemed to be trying to look important, Mr. Royce just did. You would never mistake him for anything but an important man. There were two other men with them—the General Store owner, Mr. Bosely, and another man I didn’t know. I thought he must be the newspaper man, for surely he would have to be on the stand. I liked the look of him immediately. He had kind eyes behind his spectacles, though his thin, taut lips seemed unaccustomed to nonsense. Maybe he was just a little frightened about the speech he was going to have to make. He must have been about forty, though his thinning hair was more blonde than gray. His skin was pale and looked soft to the touch—a sure sign of someone who hadn’t been long in the West.

  Mrs. Parrish joined the men, who all stood and tipped their hats to her as she took the fifth and last chair on the platform.

  I must say, Mrs. Parrish looked just as important as the men as she sat up there. In fact, she was almost regal in her gray silk dress and the matching hat with its pink feather tilted just so on her brown hair, all pinned up on her head in soft ringlets. I wondered if I’d ever look half as lovely as she did.

  The band was striking up “Old Dan Tucker” when Uncle Nick came up beside me. I was beginning to wonder if we’d see him again before it was time to go home. But here he was seeking us out! I smelled a faint whiff of whiskey on his breath as he spoke.

  “You kids having a good time?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes, wonderful, Uncle Nick!” I answered.

  “Now comes the boring part,” he said.

  “Where’s Pa?” I asked.

  “Shhh!” he replied with a finger to his lips. “You remember what he told you on the way in—he’s still just Mr. Drum! Can’t nobody find out who he is ’til we take care of this little problem we have with the fellers from back home.” I don’t know if Pa’d have wanted him saying all that to me. Always before when they talked, they were very secretive. But I’d heard enough to figure they were in some kind of trouble from home, too, and that men were looking for them—dangerous men, by the sound of it.

  “But Mrs. Parrish knows,” I whispered.

  “Yeah, and your pa said he was a fool to tell her. But he told her to keep quiet.”

  “She won’t tell,” I said. “She’s a real fine lady. Look, there she is up on the stand getting ready to make a speech. Doesn’t she look grand?”

  Uncle Nick gave a more interested look, then rubbed his stubbly chin. “Well, by Jove, you’re right, a handsome woman at that!” he finally said.

  “So, where’s Pa—er . . . Mr. Drum?” I asked again.

  “Over with some of the boys. He’ll be here pretty soon.”

  The speeches started, and mostly what followed was boring, as Uncle Nick had predicted. About halfway through the first speech, Pa wandered over to where we were all standing.

  The speakers all talked about “this fair town” and the “flowering of civilization” and the “wealth not only in mineral, but in human resources, also.”

  I never heard a town get so many compliments, and wondered if they were really talking about ramshackle Miracle Springs with its sprawling, ragged conglomeration of tents and claims and cabins, its five saloons and rough inhabitants. But maybe they were speaking in terms of what they hoped Miracle would one day be like.

  When Mrs. Parrish got up, she finished off her speech by reminding everyone that Miracle would “truly come of age when we receive our first man of God.” She told everyone to set aside Sunday, November 27, for that very auspicious occasion when the first services would be held. There was scattered applause as she sat down, but I had the clear impression there would not be nearly so good a turnout on that day as this.

  “What’s that woman thinkin’?” grumbled Pa. “Sunday’s our day of rest from work, not a day to fill up with meetin’s!”

  Somehow, though, I had the feeling Mrs. Parrish would see to it that there was a decent showing for the preacher’s first Sunday!

  After the speeches were over, and the crowd gave several cheers for the newspaper’s editor, Mr. Culver Singleton, everyone began to disperse back toward the various sideshows or the saloons. Mrs. Parrish stepped down off the platform and walked toward us. With her were Mr. Royce and Mr. Singleton. Introductions were made, and I couldn’t help feeling quite honored at the nice things Mrs. Parrish said when she told Mr. Singleton about us. The man named Royce already seemed to know Pa and Uncle Nick. They tipped hats and shook hands, but no smiles were exchanged. What a world of difference there was between my rough-looking, quiet Pa and the two city-bred men in their fancy suits! But it didn’t make Pa any less in
my eyes.

  “Well, Drum,” said Mr. Royce, “how’s that little mine of yours doing?” His voice sounded almost condescending.

  “Fair to middling,” answered Pa.

  “Have you reconsidered my offer to sell?”

  Hearing the words, Uncle Nick, who’d been on the edge of the conversation not paying much attention, now angled his way to the forefront and answered the question directed at Pa.

  “We told you last month, Royce, our claim ain’t on the market.”

  “Even though I’m offering you more than what it’s worth?”

  “Not more’n what it’s worth to us.”

  “What do you say, Drum?” said Mr. Royce, looking at Pa. “Does your partner speak for you?”

  “He does. The claim ain’t for sale.” He didn’t seem to like the other man’s tone, and his eyes narrowed and seemed even harder than usual.

  “I heard you lost it in a card game not long ago,” persisted the banker.

  “Got it back.”

  “I simply don’t understand your attachment to the place. Some of the other men to whom I’ve made offers have been more reasonable.”

  Mr. Royce spoke casually, but I could tell he was driving at something.

  “I’ve had geologists all over that area, you know, and the scientific conclusion is that the gold for several square miles is played out.”

  “Then why are you so all-fired intent on gettin’ your hands on it?” said Uncle Nick heatedly. The whiskey must’ve begun reaching his brain.

  Royce chuckled—a little nervously, I thought—but quickly regained his composure.

  “I’m a banker, Mr. Matthews. I’m pledging my future to this area. I’m interested in acquiring good land, land with water and timber, for the future settlers who will come to Miracle Springs to make their homes here. Of course a banker must keep abreast of mineral developments in an area such as this, but I assure you, gold is of secondary concern to me.”