"We will not be dealing in dozens of workers. I expect that less than a dozen will be enough, but that will be up to Mister Donovan. He will be the man who hires and fires as well as sees that the work gets done and done right. Which is what he has been doing for Miller companies since before my time."
There was silence, and Matt waited for anyone to join in. He expected his father might break the silence, but it was Donovan who spoke first.
"Some of our men have spoken about going up to Millerstown for the winter. There are said to be twenty-nine hotels open to canal and other workmen right there in town."
As if choosing his words, Donovan took his time. "Up there, some of the hotels are just one room bunkhouses. I have seen them, and they are poorly built with bunks shoulder to shoulder. Most are two story buildings that have no heat, but some boast a stove somewhere in the middle.
"Speaking mainly for myself, I would not wish to winter in such a place, although it might prove better than the tents and shanties too many are living in. I would like to hear what you have in mind for buildings, Mister Miller."
Matt was uncomfortable with the "Mister Miller" from a man of Donovan's years, but he was set with his answers.
"I believe that two stories are better than one or three. One story wastes rising heat. Three stories is a pain climbing in and out, and three stories is more difficult to build.
"I think that partitioned spaces would be better than rooms because partitions that go neither to ceiling or floor allow heat or fresh air to circulate. We might wish to block out a number of rooms, however. Beyond there, I hope to have others' ideas in play.
"I think that a stove at each end of a floor would work well, although I worry about stoves sitting on wooden floors. Perhaps we could place them in sand boxes. Chimneys will be required, but they will not have to be fireplace size. Small stove chimneys should go up quickly, but . . ."
Matt stopped himself and shook his head at his own spill of ideas. "I have been thinking about this for a long time, and I admit to having schemes yet unannounced, but I do wish to turn the planning and building over to Mister Donovan. He can listen to my ideas or not, as he sees fit."
Matt added his last comment. "We have one other advantage in that men wintering up or downriver are unlikely to enjoy. Our sawmill has been producing for more than a year, and our piles of slabs are immense. That wood will be available to those living in the hotels, and in my estimation, there is already more than enough stove wood for two years. Our Miller Men will be warm and comfortable this winter. They will not be crowded in on each other, and with us, their quarters will be free."
Lukey Bates said, "We won't make a dime out of this."
Matt said, "Not in rent, this year—probably, but we will gain free buildings, and the store and food might bring in a profit. Next year, we will make some money."
Matt hesitated before easing into thinking that had been rattling around in his mind since he was a boy.
"The idea of Miller Men has worked well, and we have some of the best men around. They like working for us, and they are as dependable as the sun rising. Providing decent living places can only improve their attitudes and loyalty. That can pay somewhere along, I figure."
The meeting broke with no solid decision, but Matt believed his father would quickly announce a go ahead for the hotels.
On their way down the hill, Matt caught Alex Donovan alone. Matt was nervous with his request but plowed ahead, anyway.
"Mister Donovan, when you are considering the best men to keep on here more or less permanently, I wish you would give consideration to Mickey McFee. I know he is young and is annoying sometimes but, well, his family is in need, and I believe McFee has prospects—given the chance."
Donovan halted and fixed Matt with an annoyed and disgusted expression that resembled the one he had worn before throwing Matt into the canal those many years before.
"The plan is that I choose the men, young Matt. In hiring and firing I do the best for the company, not for the man or his family. If a man makes the measure, he will be kept. If he doesn't, he will be out."
Matt sunk into his collar in embarrassment, but Alex Donovan brought him back out.
"It happens that I already have McFee in mind. Unless he does something foolish, which with McFee is almost probable, he will be on the building crew, but do not think that it was your suggestion. I choose the men, not you."
Matt smiled within. Donovan probably did have McFee in mind, but now it would be sure. Mickey would be hired for the winter—and McFee would live at home with his family. They would not have to provide bunking for him. Good business all around, Matt figured.
Then he wondered, why did he care? McFee was an almost constant annoyance. He seemed to turn up everywhere, and Matt could feel McFee watching and judging him. A worker was not supposed to be hoping to fist fight his boss—at least he should not let it show.
Matt corrected himself. McFee did not actually let such feelings surface, but Matt knew they were there. McFee was just aching to square off against the Boss's Boy to see who really was best—Matt could sense it.
Matt guessed he might have to whack McFee a few times yet. He felt his fingers tingle and his arm muscles bunch.
Chapter 11
The weather was summer warm and his father and Lukey Bates had gone to Philadelphia. Matt, with China looking over his shoulder, was in charge. He was almost twenty years old and . . .
Alex Donovan came into the office gripping a skinny child by his unkempt hair. What in . . .?
Donovan marched the child to a reporting position in front of big Matt's desk—behind which, Matt, the man in charge, tried to disguise his astonishment.
Matt managed a reasonably strong, "And who is this, Mister Donovan?"
Remarkably, the skeletally thin youth popped to a military attention and announced that he was Wilhelm Brado, formerly from Deutschland. The boy's English was poor, but he had understood Matt's query.
Matt looked questioningly at his foreman.
Donovan released his grip on Wilhelm Brado's scalp lock and examined his captive with a suspicious eye.
Donovan said, "This scarecrow has been hanging around the Irish camp like a starving hound. He eats what little is thrown out, and I do not care to guess where he sleeps."
Donovan again closed a huge fist within the boy's too long and thoroughly matted hair.
"The fact is, this boy is starving. Look at him, Mister Miller. I can see clean through his ribs. I figure we have two choices. The first is to just run him off and when we find them, we can bury his bones in the woods.
"The second, and probably best, is to turn him over to the sheriff for living in the county's poorhouse."
Matt was not fooled by the foreman's rough treatment or harsh words. Alex Donovan saw a youth in trouble and wanted something done about it. So he had come to the man in charge.
China was down at Mrs. Black's restaurant. Now that Matt thought about it, he spent a lot of time down there. So Donovan expected the Boss's Boy to handle the matter. Well, he had come to the right man—only young Matt had not the slightest idea what he could or should do with a woods-running orphan, or maybe a runaway indentured boy, or maybe . . . Investigate, that is what he would do.
Matt said, "Thank you, Mister Donovan. You are right; we can't have children starving in our woods. Leave him with me, and I will take care of it." Donovan released his hair grip and left wordlessly. Hard man, Donovan, but he had brought the youth in. Most would not have cared a lick what happened to the boy.
Now what? Matt studied the youth standing almost rigid, his heels together and his palms plastered to the seams of his ragged pants. Lord, but he was skinny—and he was shaking. With fear or from hunger? Matt had no idea. Probably both.
Matt pointed to Lukey Bates' chair and ordered, "Sit down."
The boy sat, and Matt saw his eyes pause as they passed over a remnant of cheese and some dried out bread that he and China had enjoyed. Was th
e youth really as starved as he looked? Matt let him suffer for a few moments while he examined possibilities. The boy's nose twitched, probably from the bread smell, but his eyes stayed on Matt.
Matt rose and started for the door. He pointed to the bread and cheese, and said, "Finish that up, if you want it." He looked back as he stepped out of the office door, but young Brado had not jumped at the offered repast.
A group of Germans was improving their road. It was Matt's idea, and he judged their rather amazing progress. All laborers worked hard, but the Germans seemed to accomplish more as teams than did the prickly Irishmen who argued among themselves almost constantly.
He called across, and one of the workers laid his tool aside and came to the office. Matt asked, "How good is your English?" The man's answer demonstrated that he was not a master of the language. Matt sent him to the German camp for someone who was. When he reentered his office, Wilhelm Brado was polishing off the bread and cheese with a gusto that indicated serious hunger.
Matt pretended to ignore the hungry youth while leafing through a number of Lukey Bates' ledgers, but he watched from the corner of his eye and tried to evaluate the boy's abilities. A skinny boy in wretched clothing who badly needed a bath was as far as he got before his German translator arrived.
The volunteer English speaker was the Baron, Deiter Haas, and that did not surprise the Boss's Boy. Von Haas often translated for the German workmen who stayed close to the Miller businesses. Haas spoke clearly if stiffly in English, and he was obviously smart and experienced. Matt regularly expected Haas's departure, but the Baron hung on, and, although he did not seize pick or shovel and therefore did not earn wages, Haas was often useful.
They exchanged handshakes before Matt said, "Alex Donovan found this boy hanging around the Irish camp, Deiter. The boy's English is terrible, and if I am to decide what to do with him, I must find out his circumstances.
"He may be a runaway that the law is looking for, or he could be simply lost. Most likely he is an orphan dodging some county poorhouse, and I do not wish that existence upon anyone. I would appreciate your interpreting what this walking skeleton has to say."
Von Haas began, and the boy's demeanor and answers demonstrated great respect. Germans recognized inherited nobility and authority. Matt thought them a disciplined people. There were a lot of them, and he planned to integrate more Germans into their labor force.
Von Haas was quick with his questions, and the boy's answers were rarely lengthy. Deiter turned to explain the youth's situation.
"This is Wilhelm Brado, Mister Miller."
Matt interrupted. "Deiter, I have asked you to call me, Matt. You are not one of our employees. I have not found it necessary to address you as Baron Von und Zu Haas, and you have not shown resentment to my calling you by your first name. Please use my given name from now on."
Without embarrassment, Haas began again. "Matt, this is Wilhelm Brado most recently from Philadelphia but originally from Kitzingen, Germany. In Germany, Herr Doktor Brado, Wilhelm's father had been a professor of mathematics at the university. A professorship sounds important, but times are difficult in Germany, and income was small. The Brado's started for this country in search of a new life, but both parents died aboard ship—a plague, I gather.
"The parents were buried at sea, of course, and there was no one at the docks to meet Wilhelm, so he continued on his father's plan to go to the frontiers where opportunities were said to be many. There his father hoped to obtain a teaching position, and the family would prosper."
Matt shifted uncomfortably. "That was a poor plan. Not many go to school in this country. This town has no school, and the closer you get to the frontiers the less anyone cares about schooling."
Haas nodded. "In Europe, there are many misunderstandings of this country."
The Baron smiled in his own amusement. "I have not found the land of adventure and excitement that I anticipated. In this, my second year in America, I have recognized that here, as it is everywhere, men prosper by hard work—especially from the hard work of others. Before long, I will return to my country rich with this new-found knowledge—that my father and grandfather had explained to me long before I was this boy's age."
Deiter added, "Young Brado understands English far better than he speaks it. I gather that his family was working on their new language for some time, but, as most youths do, Wilhelm had an ear turned away. I am sure that he now regrets his inattention."
Matt turned to Wilhelm Brado. "Why are you out here scraping food from poor men's leavings and sleeping in the woods, Wilhelm?"
Brado's answer was in German, and too fast for Matt to interpret. Von Haas explained.
"He says that he is going to the west seeking his fortune, and he expects that once he has reached the frontier, he will find a place where he can be of service." Haas avoided laughter, so Matt did the same.
The going to the frontier idea was extremely poor, but Matt Miller gave Wilhelm Brado high marks for working at it. The Boss's Boy thought the youth had been fortunate not to have experienced serious misfortune long before now. Perhaps he had, and they would discover details if the boy stayed nearby. Nearby? Matt pondered how that could come about.
The Baron was also considering, and he suggested, "If you can find nothing for him, we will take him in at the German camp, Matt."
Haas hesitated, as if weighing the child's abilities and potential. "This boy has been educated, Matt. He speaks High German, and he practices courtesies in his speech and posture that are uncommon to our peasantry."
Matt said, "He stands well, and he listens closely." Then he wondered, "Does he understand what we are speaking of now?"
Haas questioned and translated. "He understands and is pleased that we speak well of him."
Directing his words to Wilhelm, Matt asked, "Would you be interested in staying here and working as we see fit? Or would you rather enjoy a meal or two and continue on your way?"
Matt could sense Von Haas waiting, as he did, with intense interest in the youth's answer.
Wilhelm Brado did speak clearly.
"I have not done well in my search. I would be grateful for any work I could perform."
Matt spoke to Von Haas. "Well, that was excellent English. If he can speak that well on occasion, he should pick up the language quite quickly."
Deiter Haas agreed. "Shall I take him to our camp, Matt? I will see that he has shelter and food."
Von Haas's offer might be best, but Matt had another scheme forming. He studied the German boy for long moments before he had his words right. Then he wondered if his father might disown him over his choice. Orphans and runaways, although usually older than this boy, were everywhere. Why should he bother with this one? Matt had no special answer, but China Smith would have explained that "He just liked the cut of his jib."
Matt said, "I want him to understand exactly what I am saying, Deiter, so I will ask you to explain my words." Von Haas nodded acceptance, and they began.
Matt spoke to the boy and waited until the Baron re-spoke his words in German. "Wilhelm, you have three choices. You can continue on your way. You can go with Baron Von Haas and he will fit you in with the German men who work for us or work in this neighborhood. Third, I will hire you to work here in this office for our company.
"If you choose to work here, you will be given shelter in the building behind this office. You will eat when my clerk eats, and you will perform whatever work we ask you to do. You may shovel horse manure, or you may work at the company account books." Matt ruffled the pages of one of Lukey Bates' ledgers.
"You will receive a very small wage and clothing will be provided. You will be expected to learn English as quickly as possible, and you must learn to read, write, and figure in English so that you can work at these and other books."
Matt paused to allow Von Haas to catch up. The Baron nodded that the boy understood.
Matt continued, "Mister Bates, who keeps these records, will be your primary
teacher, but there will be others. Mister Donovan, who brought you here by your hair, will be one, and if he is willing, Baron von Haas may also help."
Matt explained to Deiter Haas. "If he goes with us, I will be pleased to hire you as a tutor, Deiter. If this boy is going to be valuable to us, his retraining as an American should be swift and thorough, but I would not want him to lose respect for his homeland or to turn himself from his own people."
Matt had made his offer hard to refuse, and neither man was surprised when Wilhelm Brado chose to work with the Miller Company. Matt scratched out a note to Mother McFee asking that Wilhelm Brado, who spoke little English, be fitted with clothing so that he would not embarrass the company and be returned to the headquarters when he was ready.
Matt and the Baron exchanged a few of the mandatory German handshakes, and Matt believed the Baron to be pleased by the outcome. Matt did like the way it had gone, but he was still not sure just how young Brado would be worked into the company.
There were two other hurdles to be overcome. First, would be China Smith, who Matt expected would be more amused than exasperated. The father's response could not really be anticipated. Matt thought his best bet was to have the boy looking decent and gainfully employed before the Captain encountered him.
Gainfully employed would be the problem. How much did you pay a child like Willie Brado? Based on his own experience while growing up, Matt guessed darned little.
Surely not a dollar a week. Perhaps fifty cents a week? China would have advice there, but the less Brado was paid, the less likely the senior Miller would be to revoke the agreement.
Wilhelm would be eating with Matt or Lukey Bates and sleeping for free, Matt expected they could settle on five cents a day. Nothing for Sunday, of course. The Millers were not running a charity operation.
Chapter 12
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