Portlandtown: A Tale of the Oregon Wyldes

by Rob DeBorde

  Another cheer went up from the crowd. Right on cue, the first drops of rain began to fall. A murmur turned to clapping as more people felt drops hit their faces.

  The mayor beamed. “Let it rain! Let it rain!” he cried, to more cheering and hooting.

  The rain soon found its rhythm, settling into a light but steady sprinkle that was cool and quite pleasant. A few umbrellas popped open—out-of-towners, no doubt—but most in the crowd simply smiled and drank it in.

  Joseph climbed onto the platform at its southern end, oblivious to the rain and the mayor’s overzealous encouragement. He’d already been to the bookstore, finding it locked up for the night, and was about to head home when Mr. Williamson asked if he was going to join his family at the festival. The smoke-shop owner had met Kate on her way barely an hour earlier. He said she’d been in fine spirits.

  Joseph pushed through the crowd, searching for anything that might reveal his family’s position. In particular, he listened for a high-pitched whistle Kick had used to torment his sister for the better part of a year when the twins were eight. He’d eventually found better ways to bother Maddie, but whenever it rained, Kick now whistled. Joseph had no idea why but found it useful for keeping track of his son, especially in bad weather.

  Nearly to the stage, he finally heard it.

  “Kate!”

  Joseph wrapped both arms around his wife, the strength of his embrace enough to alert her that something was wrong.

  “What is it?”

  “Why are you here? Didn’t you get my message?”

  Kate shook her head but then understood.

  “The marshal got a telegram.”

  Joseph held his tongue.

  “I knew he was hiding something,” Kate said, shaking her head. “He didn’t show me. Said it was well-wishers.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Joseph said, still holding back the name he didn’t want to speak aloud. “I have to tell you something.”

  “That my father lied to me? That I know.”

  “No, Kate, listen: he’s alive. The Hanged Man is alive.”

  The words caught Kate by surprise. She smiled, thinking them a joke. They must be, she thought, though they weren’t particularly funny. She was about to say so when her husband’s name echoed across the square.

  “Joseph Wylde, there you are!” said the mayor through his megaphone. “Get him up here!”

  “No, I can’t,” Joseph managed before being hastily ushered onstage. He lost Kate in the crowd but soon discovered he was not the only man Jim Gates had called out.

  “About time,” the marshal whispered. “Thought you were gonna make me go through this alone.”

  Before Joseph could respond, the mayor put an arm around his shoulder and led him forward.

  “Folks, I want to share a mystery with you,” the mayor said, letting his words linger in the rain. “Many of you know Mr. Wylde as one our finest booksellers, but I’m here to tell you he’s more than that—he’s a man of intrigue. Why, just this past week he solved a puzzle that had scientists from around the country stumped. Show them, Joseph.”

  The mayor passed a length of rope to Joseph.

  “Go on. Give it a good tug.”

  It dawned on Joseph that the large object positioned on the stage behind him, an object he’d ignored, was in fact the storm totem under wraps. The mayor had brought it outside against his instructions and now wanted him to unveil it in the middle of a rainstorm. Joseph was dumbfounded.

  The mayor frowned and turned back to the crowd. “It appears our hero needs a little persuasion, folks. Give him a hand!”

  The applause exploded in Joseph’s ears, effectively blurring his concentration. He quickly tried to regain focus, reaching out to steady himself on the totem, but his hand found the marshal. He knew at once what lay beneath the man’s coat.

  “You brought it with you?” he said, clearly seeing the pistol strapped to the marshal’s hip. “Loaded?”

  The marshal sneered at Joseph and snatched the rope from his hand. A quick jerk released the covering, revealing the storm totem in all its glory.

  The crowd gasped and then grew quiet as the mayor raised his hands.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the infamous Storm Totem of the Yukon,” he exclaimed over oohs and aahs. “Discovered in the northernmost reaches of the Arctic and delivered at great cost in both lives and treasure. Not a single soul who took part in its passage escaped unscathed. The very vessel that transported it upriver sank barely a day after unloading its cargo. It is cursed … but also contains great power.”

  Joseph felt the crowd move closer en masse.

  “They say it’s a rainmaker, a storm bringer, a hundred-year flood.”

  “It works!” yelled a voice in the crowd.

  The mayor beamed. “Yes! But the ancient heathens who carved this totem knew more than just how make it rain. This is a conduit directly to the clouds. It is the storm itself to be called upon by its master.”

  The mayor went to the edge of the stage, where he was handed a bucket. Had Joseph known what he was about to do, he would have pushed him from the stage.

  “Tonight, I am the master of the storm and I call upon thee … make it rain!”

  The mayor swung the bucket around, splashing its contents over the storm totem and several people standing behind the stage. The water quickly found its course, flowing through the channels carved in and around the figures. The movement was erratic at first, but soon the various pockets of liquid caught up to one another and flowed as one.

  Joseph felt the vibration through the stage but the hum soon grew loud enough for both Mayor Gates and the marshal to take notice. The water rushing around the totem’s channels grew faster. The rain falling around it grew stronger.

  “We have to cover it,” Joseph said, but no one heard him.

  Lightning flashed, followed half a second later by a sharp boom that startled many in the crowd. Despite an average rainfall of almost fifty inches a year, electrical storms were rare in the Northwest, especially west of the Cascades. The cheer that went up after the initial surprise wore off was more muted than previously.

  “Well, how about that?” the mayor managed before his words were swallowed by a near-simultaneous flash and ear-piercing crack directly overhead.

  Many in the audience ducked and a few screamed. The mood of the crowd turned almost as quickly as the weather. The sprinkle became a heavy downpour. Everyone not already under cover was soaked to the bone in seconds. Those few dry souls had to make room as the rest of the festival crowd bolted for cover. The booths filled quickly, as did the businesses open around the plaza. With nowhere to go, many simply took to the streets in search of higher ground.

  Another lightning strike exploded directly overhead, louder than anything Joseph had ever heard. In that moment, he saw the storm totem and the water rushing through its channels with unnatural speed. There was heat coming off it, heat born of the firestone gears that turned inside the thing, pulling water from the air and turning it to steam. It was drinking, now, and was very thirsty. Joseph doubted it would ever be quenched.

  “It’s making the storm worse!” Joseph screamed over the downpour as he grabbed one end of the fallen curtain and then pointed to the other, at the marshal’s feet. “Help me, Marshal!”

  The marshal blinked, breaking the trance that had held him. He snatched up the sheet and helped throw it over the top of the totem, and Joseph hastily tied it off. Steam escaped from between the folds, hot enough to burn.

  Joseph pointed toward the hotel. “Get inside. Find Kate, if you can.”

  The marshal nodded and left the stage. Joseph turned to the mayor, whom he found staring in disbelief at the chaos around him.

  “Mayor, I think it’s time to get out of the rain.”

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, Joseph stood at the back of the Corbett Hotel ballroom, listening. His best guess was that about two hundred people had found their way inside,
filling the hall, though not quite to capacity. Most were drenched and still buzzing about the storm, although the panic had faded. These were Portlandians: no one was going to let the weather ruin their evening.

  “I still don’t see them.”

  Managing the voices of a few hundred was easier than a few thousand, but Joseph had to concentrate to do it. He’d scanned the room several times before finally settling in on a slow, careful pass through which he heard small fragments of nearly every conversation in the room.

  Finally, he heard it—whistling.

  “There they are,” he said pointing toward one of the entrances.

  “Where?” said the marshal, straining to see above the crowd. “Oh, I got ’em. Katie! Over here.”

  A few seconds later, Maddie latched on to one of her father’s legs. Kate took his arm.

  “What a madhouse,” she said.

  “Are you okay?”

  “The crowd pulled us away from the stage. I knew you’d be here, but we couldn’t get through. So we found some cover and waited for the people to thin out.”

  “I saw lightning hit a boat!” Kick said. “We were under the platform and I could see through an alley straight down the river and then boom! It went right down the smokestack.”

  “Sounds amazing.”

  “It was!”

  Joseph felt Kate squeeze his hand. She was more concerned about the sudden storm than she would ever admit, but there was more. Much more.

  “We’re safe in here,” he said.

  “Are we?” she asked, letting her gaze slip to the marshal.

  The marshal didn’t notice. His eyes were on the mayor as he stepped onto a small stage at the center of the hall.

  “Guess the show ain’t over.”

  The mayor raised his arms, but when the crowd didn’t quiet down right away, he snatched the megaphone from one of his assistants.

  “Hello, folks.”

  The words bounced around the room, effectively halting all conversation. Satisfied, the mayor lowered the megaphone.

  “Everyone can hear me?” No one suggested otherwise, so the mayor continued. “Good. First, let me say how glad I am to see so many of you made it in out of the rain. Quite an auspicious beginning. Never let it be said that Portlandians don’t deliver as advertised.”

  There were hoots and a smattering of applause. “Mayor Rainmaker!” exclaimed a man in the back, and the applause grew louder.

  “Thank you, thank you. You’ll be happy to know the hotel staff has fresh towels on the way so we can all dry off. Even better, I’m told they’re about to open the bar.”

  That earned the mayor his biggest ovation yet. It also made him irrelevant.

  “Now, folks, don’t all rush over at once. I’m sure there’s plenty for everyone.”

  Sensing he’d already lost them, the mayor threw up his hands and motioned to the band reassembled behind him, which immediately broke into a rather soggy rendition of a local favorite, “Portlandtown Rain.”

  “Is that it?” Kick asked. “What about Gran’pa’s show?”

  “Guess I won’t be doin’ no shootin’ tonight.”

  Joseph felt Kate stiffen beside him. He deftly stepped between his wife and her father, drawing the twins to him.

  “Why don’t you kids go see if they’ve got any root beer.”

  “Okay,” Kick said, snatching the coin his father offered. He was gone a second later.

  Maddie hesitated for a moment before following her brother.

  Joseph let them disappear into the crowd and then turned to see his father-in-law staring at him. He didn’t have to ask.

  “You gonna try takin’ it from me, now?”

  Joseph frowned. “I’m not going to take it. But you can’t shoot it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Yes, why not?” Kate asked, finding she was almost as angry at Joseph as she was at her father. “What did you mean before you rushed onstage to play celebrity detective with the mayor?”

  The words stung, but Joseph let it go. “Exactly what I said. The Hanged Man is alive … or something close to it.”

  Kate shook her head. “That’s not possible.”

  “It’s true, Kate. What I saw in Astoria … I can’t explain it, but I met a man who will when he gets here.”

  “What man?”

  “His name is Andre Labeau.”

  The marshal knew that name, didn’t he? Why did he know it? Abruptly, an answer popped into his head that must have been there all along.

  “He can’t be trusted.”

  Joseph shook his head. “No, Marshal, I think—”

  The marshal shoved a finger into Joseph’s face. “You don’t know what I think!”

  It was at that moment that Ollie chose to appear behind the marshal.

  “Hello, Wyldes! I must say, you Portlandians do know how to kick off a party.”

  The marshal backed away from Joseph, turning his attention to the newspaperman.

  “You ain’t even wet.”

  Ollie revealed an umbrella tucked under his arm. “I was told there was a chance it might rain.”

  Kate forced a smile onto her face and calm into her voice. “Where is your friend Mr. Edmonds? I haven’t seen him since before the rain started.”

  “Last I saw of our intrepid weatherman, he was headed for a rooftop to take measurements of the storm. Very committed, that boy.”

  “Or stupid,” mumbled the marshal, looking toward the bar. “Gonna get me a drink.”

  “Dad, wait,” Kate began, but the marshal ignored her. The moment passed and then she turned to Ollie. “I’m sorry; he’s upset about the rain. He won’t get to shoot.”

  Ollie smiled, needing nothing more. “Quite all right. Perhaps I’ll keep him company.”

  Joseph nodded and Ollie left to find the bar.

  Kate looked at Joseph, waiting until his full attention was hers before she said, “Tell me everything.”

  * * *

  “Are they still arguing?” Maddie asked.

  Kick climbed onto a chair and then onto his tiptoes to see over the crowd. Maddie stood in front of the chair, a bottle of sarsaparilla in each hand.

  “Nope. Gran’pa just walked away.”

  Maddie frowned. “I still think something’s wrong.”

  Kick watched a little longer and then hopped down. Maddie offered a bottle of soda, which he took and brought immediately to his lips.

  “How can you tell?” he said, after swallowing. “Gran’pa is always kind of grumpy.”

  “I can tell.”

  Kick took another long swig, draining the bottle. He tilted it upside down, just to be sure. That’s when he noticed Maddie’s bottle was still nearly full.

  “Just because you’re a girl doesn’t mean you’re smarter than me.”

  “You’re right, that’s not why I’m smarter than you,” Maddie said, taking a sip.

  Kick blinked. “Wait, what?”

  While her brother worked it out, Maddie slipped her thumb over the top of the bottle in her hand and began to shake it lightly.

  “Hey!” Kick exclaimed, finally putting it together. “That’s not what I said.”

  “Sorry,” Maddie said, raising the sarsaparilla to Kick’s face. “Peace offering.”

  Kick smiled and snatched the bottle before his sister could change her mind. He was instantly sorry he had. He saw it coming—a sudsy splash of cold soda to his face—but couldn’t stop himself from grabbing the bottle. He wanted that soda.

  “Great,” he said, setting both bottles on the chair. “Now I’m wet and sticky.”

  “Told you I was smarter.”

  Maddie gave her brother a wide-eyed grin and then feinted to her right—which he was expecting—and then darted to her left before Kick could change course. She ran along the front windows, behind a group of dripping-wet recent arrivals, and then slipped through a door at the south end of the ballroom—that was what Maddie had intended to do, at least.

  K
ick was faster than his sister and by the time they reached the end of the hall, he’d made up the ground between them. He slid in front of the door just as Maddie reached it and she tumbled into him, unable to stop. Kick wrapped his arms around his sister, managing to stay upright despite her momentum and minuscule height advantage.

  Maddie didn’t need a special bond to tell her what was going to happen next. The look on Kick’s face said everything she needed to know.

  “No, Kick, Mom wants us to stay inside!”

  Kick wasn’t listening. He pulled his sister away from the side exit to one of the front entrances that opened onto the plaza.

  “Kick! No, stop it! I don’t want to get wet again. We’ll catch cold.”

  “It’s just water, Maddie.”

  Kick got the door open and then backed out dragging his sister along with him. He stayed upright for a few steps and then slipping on the wet boardwalk, losing his grip on Maddie and his balance. Kick took one more floundering step back and fell off the walkway into the flooded street. By some miracle, he managed to keep his head above water.

  Maddie stopped under the hotel entry’s overhang, just out of the rain.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, stifling a laugh.

  Kick got his feet under him. The water was much higher than it had been an hour earlier and was still rising. If it had been moving, he would have had difficulty standing, but the water was oddly calm. It was still raining, though not as dramatically as it had earlier. Kick took a deep breath and stared at his sister.

  Maddie tilted her head at her brother, then stepped out into the rain. She stood at the edge of the boardwalk, closed her eyes, and spun around in the downpour, letting it soak through her dress once again. She stopped and opened her eyes, looking directly at Kick.

  “Satisfied?”

  Kick shrugged. “I s’pose,” he said and held out his hand to her.

  Maddie reached out to take it but stopped short.

  Kick gave his sister an exasperated look. “Heck, Maddie, I’m not that mean.”

  Maddie shook her head. She wasn’t looking at her brother but at something behind him, over his right shoulder.