My Father's World

by Michael Phillips

  Pa glanced at me and winked, then I stood up and the three of us went inside where the four younger kids were still silently waiting in the bedroom.

  From the looks on their faces, I think their worst fears were that someone was going to wind up getting killed. But after they saw Uncle Nick, whose face had recovered its joviality, and they heard a laugh from me, they began to relax. I think they could see the change in Pa too and that eased the tension more than anything.

  I can’t honestly say that after that day everything immediately got better between Pa and me. There were still lots of questions, and some hurts remained. Pa didn’t completely change overnight, but neither did I. He still had his quiet times when I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but he smiled a little more. And I noticed him taking time with the younger kids more than he used to, calling them by name, and hoisting Emily or Becky or Tad up in his arms.

  Kids are quick to forgive, and they returned whatever he gave them in love many times over. It was more difficult for Zack. The more effort Pa made to be friendly, the more he hardened himself against Pa, as if he was determined not to let go of the bitterness he had been holding so long. And Pa didn’t know how to win him over. He’d been carrying his own grief and guilt so long, it was all he could do to try to overcome that.

  I tried to talk to Zack.

  “He’s trying to be a real pa to us, Zack,” I said once.

  “Then why’d he keep it a secret who he was when we first came to town?” he snapped back.

  “I don’t know,” I answered. “But he must have had his reasons.”

  “Yeah, like when he left Ma and us in New York!”

  “I already explained that, Zack,” I reminded him. “He’d been through an awful lot.”

  “It still don’t seem fair.”

  “Think how you’d feel, Zack, if it had been you. Being in prison, thinking you’d brought shame on your whole family.”

  “There musta been some other way!”

  “Maybe so, but everybody does things different.” I was getting frustrated with him. “I ain’t got all the answers, Zack. Why don’t you ask him? Wouldn’t hurt if you’d talk to him once in a while, you know, instead of just sulking around.”

  “I ain’t sulking!”

  “Well, you sure coulda fooled me.”

  I didn’t know what to tell Zack. I still had a lot of the same questions myself. But I thought Pa at least deserved a second chance. After all, he’d asked me to forgive him, and I figured I owed him that much. He seemed sincere, and I believed him.

  I did ask Pa again about that first day, when he came to town and pretended not to know us. I knew Zack’d never get around to asking him, so I brought it up again when Zack was within hearing.

  Pa said so much had come at him all at once, it was like being hit with a face full of buckshot. All of a sudden, he said, he was standing in front of kids he’d never expected to see again, not even recognizing any of them but me, hearing that his wife was dead, and wondering down inside if it all was some new trick by the New York gang to get him and Uncle Nick.

  “I was battling with grief, Corrie,” he said. “If it was all true . . . well, just imagine—I’d just been told my wife was dead . . . the wife that I’d never stopped loving, and it just brought it all back over me like a flood. As I stood looking at you all, a powerful bunch of feelings were going through me all at once! Yet, if I let on you were my kids, and what my real name was, the whole town would know in a second. And I was still having to think about protectin’ myself and Nick. And all the while, there was that dad-blamed Parrish woman shoutin’ at me about what I oughta do, and then Nick in trouble over Judd’s killin’—and off somewhere. And even if what that Dixon feller was sayin’ was all true—if I let on I was Hollister, not Drum, and that got around . . . well, you’d all be in danger again.

  “Can’t you see the terrible fix I was in? Why I didn’t know what I oughta do . . . and all the time I couldn’t help thinkin’ of Aggie, knowin’ I’d never get a chance to see her again and explain . . . and set things right?”

  He turned away and quit talking. I never saw him cry again after that first night. But there were a few times I think he was close, especially whenever we’d talk about Ma. More and more I began to see how much he really did love her and how it had pained him to do what he did.

  “So, maybe it wasn’t right of me to pretend,” he told me later. “But without having the chance to think everything through . . . well, I done it, and I guess it’s too late to go back and do different. ’Sides,” he muttered, “I ain’t at all sure we got that Catskill bunch off our backs, yet. So you just make sure whenever you’re in town or there’s other folks around . . . you keep them kids from calling me Pa! It may be hard for you to understand all my reasons. I know your brother is carryin’ a heap of anger, and maybe one day I’ll have the chance to make it all right with him. But . . . well, I am your pa, after all, so maybe you just gotta trust me when I tell you it’s for the best.”

  He was right. I didn’t understand everything. And I couldn’t very well make Zack think any better of him. But even if Zack was bent on carrying a grudge, I felt like giving Pa the benefit of the doubt, and trusting him as much as I could.

  We were trying to make a new beginning of it. Pa was still Pa, and we were still uncertain about a lot of things, so it was bound to take some time before we could all trust one another like we should. But knowing how Pa felt inside sure made it easier.

  Chapter 27

  A Talk Over Breakfast

  The 26th of November came quickly.

  Alkali Jones was still working with Pa and Uncle Nick at the mine—not every day, but often. Every once in a while, either when a big day of work was planned, or when they’d work till dark, Mr. Jones would stay the night at the cabin. And the Friday night before Saturday the 26th was one of those.

  At breakfast that morning, the topic of the next day’s events came up at the table.

  “Well, I hear that new preacher lit into town right on schedule,” said Alkali Jones around a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

  “Yep,” acknowledged Pa.

  “Looks like the town’s about to git itself tamed fer sure,” Jones went on in a regretful tone.

  “Don’t be so sure,” said Pa. “No greenhorn preacher from the East’s gonna be able to keep some of these men from raising a little Cain now and then.”

  None of us kids made any comment. But I couldn’t help thinking how excited Mrs. Parrish was about the preacher’s arrival. I hoped I’d be able to see him.

  “Can’t seem to git away from it, can we, Drum?” said Mr. Jones.

  “What’s that, Al?”

  “From dad-blamed civilization, o’ course! Why, I left Arkansas in 1830 ’cause it were gittin’ too full o’ settlers. Wandered on down Texas-way an’ got there jest in time fer all that fracas with Santa Anna. Luckily, I got my hide outta there before Bowie an’ Houston an’ Crockett got made heroes in ’36! Texas wasn’t a bad place then—a man could breathe. But then they went an’ turned the blasted outfit into a state, an’ I says to myself, ‘Can civilization be far behind?’”

  “You was sure ahead of us,” said Pa.

  “When did you leave the East, Drum?”

  “Well, let’s see . . . what was it, Nick, when we lit out from New York? Forty-four, I think. But we didn’t get here ’til a few years later.”

  “Well,” went on Mr. Jones, enjoying telling his tales as much as ever, “I figured California was jest about as west as a man could go. So I joined up with ol’ John Fremont. I was thinkin’ there could hardly be a more remote an’ worthless piece o’ land than this, an’ nobody here but a few Mexicans. Seemed like no one’d trouble us here. Then blamed ol’ Jim Marshall had to up an’ discover gold! Why, civilization’s jest intent on houndin’ me t’ my grave! Where are fellers like us goin’ to go from here, Drum?”

  “There’s places, I reckon.”

  “’Course, you got yer
self all strapped down with responsibilities now, Nick, ain’t ya?” He eyed my uncle with a mischievous grin. “The wilds ain’t fer you no more, no, siree!”

  Uncle Nick only nodded in response, and gave a noncommittal grunt.

  “But I suppose ya gotta hand it to this new preacher feller,” Mr. Jones went on, as unaffected as usual by everyone else’s silence. “What’s his name?”

  “I don’t know—Rutman . . . Rodman . . . something like that.”

  “Well, I suppose ya gotta give him credit. He musta got a bellyful of guts to come to a place like this an’ try to bring religion to a pack o’ wild sinners like us! Hee, hee! Don’t ya think, Nick?” laughed Mr. Jones, turning to my uncle.

  “Ah, them fellers is just fanatics,” said Uncle Nick, joining in the spirit of Mr. Jones’ laughter. “It don’t take no guts when a man’s plumb loco.”

  “I dunno,” Mr. Jones persisted, but not poking fun this time, and sounding almost serious, “I heared he come the Panama route.”

  “What’s that got to do with it?” said Uncle Nick.

  “Why, that takes some gumption, ’specially fer some greenhorn city feller. I’d rather fight redskins or Santa Anna than that cursed yellow fever any day!”

  “He probably just prayed them mosquitoes away,” said Uncle Nick sarcastically.

  “Hee, hee!” chuckled Mr. Jones. “I can’t rightly remember the last time I was in a real church. Not that I ain’t a God-fearin’ man! But where’s a feller goin’ to find a church on the trail? Right, Drum?”

  Alkali couldn’t seem to interest Pa in the discussion, so he turned back to Uncle Nick.

  “How ’bout you, Nick? You ever find many churches along the trail?” Both men laughed.

  Their talk about the preacher’s coming got me to thinking. Ma always made sure our family was a God-fearing one. We went to church almost every Sunday, except when the weather was too bad. She taught us out of the Bible about what was good and what was bad. And I guess I hardly knew anyone who didn’t go to church at least some times.

  Grandpa Belle didn’t go much the last two years, because his rheumatism got too bad. But he still respected God. He would no more poke fun at a man of God than spit in God’s own eye! But, now, here were Uncle Nick and Alkali Jones talking about the preacher as if they thought he was some no-account dunce, and the whole town apparently never thought about church at all. I wondered if all the unbelievers had come to California!

  I could still remember our minister in Bridgeville preaching all about how sinners and heathens would face God’s wrath and hellfire. I never was quite sure what a heathen was, though I had an idea they were folks in jungles someplace. But plain sinners were another matter, because he used to talk about them as if they were the people in big cities who went into saloons and who shot people.

  And now suddenly I found myself wondering about Uncle Nick. He wore a gun and gambled and drank whiskey. And I couldn’t help wondering if he was a sinner too and would wind up in hell someday. I figured he wasn’t the best man in the world, but I was getting to like him, and I sure hoped he wasn’t a sinner. Pa crossed my mind too. He hadn’t really gotten into their discussion, but then he wore a gun and had been in trouble along with Uncle Nick, so I just couldn’t be sure what to think.

  The subject of the new minister and church came up again later in the day. I guess my worry must have showed on my face.

  “What’s ailin’ you, Corrie?” Pa asked.

  “Nothing,” I said casually, trying to shake the mood away.

  “I ’spect you kids’ll be wantin’ to hear that new preacher tomorrow,” he went on without much enthusiasm.

  “Yes, sir, I would,” I answered. “If you’re planning to go,” I added, thinking to myself that somehow I had to get him to that service.

  “Aw,” put in Zack, “the one nice thing about living here was that we didn’t have to go to church.”

  “Zack! What a thing to say!” I must have sounded a lot like Ma, because Zack looked surprised at my outburst.

  “I like church,” said Emily.

  “I’d rather go on a picnic,” said Becky.

  “So, Corrie,” said Pa, turning back to me and looking serious, “you want to go?”

  I swallowed hard. “Yes, sir,” I replied. “I really do.”

  “Do the rest of us have to go, just because Corrie wants to?” Zack asked with a sulk.

  There was silence then. Even Alkali Jones said nothing. All eyes turned toward Pa. He was facing the first big decision about us kids since he decided to take us in, just because Zack had tossed out that question.

  He looked around at all of us, from one face to another. He even looked over at Mr. Jones, who didn’t seem about to offer any help at all. Then he took a deep breath and said,

  “I reckon if one goes, we all go.” His tone made it sound more like he was passing some kind of sentence on us than talking about going to church. “’Sides,” he added, summoning a little more enthusiasm, “it’s kinda an historical occasion, like the newspaper comin’. So we oughta be there just for that reason, if nothin’ else!”

  “Should be a mite interestin’ to see the Gold Nugget decked out fer a church!” piped up Alkali Jones. “Hee, hee! I wonder what that ol’ bartender Jasper’ll do? Hee, hee!”

  “How d’ya suppose that Parrish woman managed that?” said Uncle Nick. “I never knowed Jasper t’ put no store in religious things.”

  “That’s a mighty feisty woman,” said Mr. Jones. “She gener’ly gits what she’s after. They say she’s got the preacher out here. ’Sides, maybe Jasper owes her money. Hee, hee!”

  “A tough one, all right,” said Uncle Nick. “I owed her a little money a while back, and she durned near took it outta my hide!”

  I smiled to myself.

  Leave it to Mrs. Parrish to turn a saloon into a place of worship! The last time we’d talked, she said she had an idea about the service. That must have been it! She probably felt the same way about a church service as she did about praying—you can do it anywhere.

  It made sense, too. If there was one place where there ought to be preaching going on, it was in a saloon. But the folks back in Bridgeville sure would be scandalized by such goings on!

  It made me realize again how different California was from the rest of the country.

  Chapter 28

  The Gold Nugget Church

  The next morning, when I awoke, it was still almost black out, but after a while I began to see the first streak of dawn through the window. I got up quietly, tiptoed over and leaned my elbows on the sill, looking out just as the shapes of the hills and trees began to become visible.

  Just then, I saw two deer nibbling the last of the green grass on the little knoll by the stream. I hardly noticed them at first, because their colors blended with the gray of the early mist. But as I continued to watch, their forms became more distinct. Slowly tiny bits of pink began to show in the east. Two rabbits scurried by and then disappeared into their burrow. Red and orange followed the pink across the sky. The deer scampered off into the woods, and all was perfectly still again. For several minutes more, I gazed on the peaceful scene.

  After a while, I crept back into my bed and watched as the light grew more and more dazzling through the window, until at last came the moment when the sun burst out into the new day.

  What a wonderful sunrise! Something about it seemed to speak to me, as if God himself had made it just for me to enjoy that morning, saying in His own way that I was His child.

  Finally, I pulled myself out of bed. I couldn’t just lie there looking at the sunrise—today was Sunday, and we were going to church!

  The night before, I pulled all our best clothes from the big trunk that had carried most of our possessions from home. I ironed out the wrinkles as best I could, then gave the young’uns their baths. Now I just had to get everyone up and dressed.

  There were groans and complaints from Zack and Tad, mostly protesting their stiff collars.
Zack’s pants were about two inches too short, reminding us all how quickly he was growing, and how much time had passed since the last time we’d gone to church in Bridgeville, just before we came west. In fact, all our Sunday clothes were on the snug side. But we had to make do, and I thought we looked pretty fine in spite of everything.

  Even Pa put on a clean white shirt for the occasion, tucked into a pair of clean, but worn, trousers. The neck of his grimy long johns stuck up above his shirt collar, tarnishing the effect a little.

  When Uncle Nick got up, he just put on his work clothes, seeming to ignore the fact that it was Sunday. He went outside and was heading off for the mine, when Pa stopped him. Uncle Nick muttered something about having some things to tend to.

  “You get in there and change them clothes, Nick Belle,” Pa said. “You’re going into town with us.”

  Uncle Nick moped back into the cabin and did as Pa said, revealing again that no matter whose name was on the claim, Pa was still boss around here.

  The whole town didn’t exactly turn out to hear the preacher. There were no banners or sharpshooters or medicine shows. But still there was a fair showing of folks—maybe just the curious, or those who didn’t have anything better to do. When we drove into town, a good number of people were already heading toward the Gold Nugget Saloon, and I discovered that more ladies than I had ever imagined lived in these parts.

  Along the streets and sidewalks, men were loitering about, watching the proceedings, obviously without any intention of joining them.

  “Hey, where ya goin’, Drum?” called out one in a sneering tone. But Pa kept the wagon moving steadily forward.

  “Matthews,” shouted another, “come join us down at the Silver Saddle after ye’ve dropped off your brood!”

  I thought I detected a forlorn look pass over Uncle Nick’s face.

  “Don’t tempt him, Jim,” said another. “He’s a family man now.”