The Boss's Boy

by Roy F. Chandler

  Before the day ended, Germans were marching past the headquarters clutching their belongings or tugging them along in carts. The day was so cold that spit froze almost as it hit the ground, and Matt expected every German would bless the iron wood stoves that were already sending smoke spiraling into the still winter air.

  Wilhelm Brado spent the hours making rosters of strange sounding names. Among the thirty or more names of new hotel occupants were five Fritzes and three Wolfs. No worse than the common English or Irish names, Matt supposed, but he wondered if he would ever sort them out.

  Matt wondered how he would calculate rent for men who moved in with entire families? Wives and children would be a first for the Miller hotels. As none had significant money, Matt supposed, at least for now, a family would pay the same as a single man.

  Early summer might prove interesting as Lukey Bates and Willy Brado struggled to square the German accounts and collect what they believed was owed.

  Then there was Klubber Cole. Matt supposed that Klubber thought of himself as a Miller Man. At least, he had moved into a hotel alongside the first of the Irish workers, and he had been there ever since.

  Klubber had knocked down a number of partitions in the second hotel and established a school for young men interested in learning the manly art of self-defense. Astounding!

  Klubber made enough to pay his rent and to join the evening meals. Occasionally a stranger, sometimes a young gentleman of obvious wealth from a distant community, would appear to learn from the Klubber. Bare fist fighting had strange attractions and allowed odd bedfellows.

  While the weather was cold, Matt took to working out on Klubber's weighted bags, using his Indian clubs, and skip ropes.

  When Matt worked out at night, Mickey McFee appeared with some regularity to pound the bags and shadow box imaginary opponents.

  Matt and McFee exchanged little conversation, but the Boss's Boy liked having McFee around, and at times, Mickey attempted copying China's footwork or bobbing and weaving as Matt did, but mostly he just blasted right hands and pawing left jabs at the heavy bags. McFee could hit; there was no doubt about that, and obviously his broken hand had healed, but Matt believed China had been right that Mickey McFee would not have gone to the top as a professional prizefighter.

  McFee knew that he was being held to his promise to never again fight professionally, but he remarked regularly how his broken fist was stronger than before. Matt expected that the tough opponent from his youth wished dearly to be unleashed to try again.

  Too bad! Mickey McFee was a foreman and sole provider for his mother and sister. As long as he stayed with the Millers, he would do no money fighting.

  Chapter 17

  Matt complained that, with both Lukey and his father gone to Philadelphia most of the winter, paperwork was falling behind. Big Matt responded that, with this bitter winter, there was very little work of any kind to fall behind on, and that little Matt should spend less time punching sand bags and more hours seeking out new and profitable contracts.

  Ignoring Klubber Cole's gymnasium in their second hotel, Matt pointed out that his athletic equipment had been put away and was obviously unused. With the world frozen solid there was little work to be found, and because of Lukey's absence, all of his time was taken recording payments to this and that with no time to seek new contacts.

  The Captain conceded that his son's acquisition of German workmen was well done, but one success, he noted, did not provide them a livelihood, and the Germans would not create significant income until the Miller Companies put them to work.

  The Captain also saw the importance of moving their logs to high ground. March had come in like the proverbial lion, but the month was half gone with no thaw in the air. It was claimed that in 1816 there had been a year without summer. Surely this would not be another, but who could know?

  The ice was thicker than any recalled, and every snowdrop still lay upon the land. Those living along the rivers worried and planned to move quickly to higher ground if flooding began in earnest.

  A final trip was needed to Philadelphia, and big Matt was again in the city. Because of little Matt's harping, big Matt chose to take Wilhelm Brado along for company. He had left Lukey Bates to his records and to help China keep little Matt in line.

  The father had whispered into his son's ear that China was slowing down and seemed content to spend time sitting in the hotel parlor.

  Matt wisely did not mention that he noticed his father slowing even more than China. It was clear that both men now enjoyed afternoon naps, and they retired early.

  When they were alone, China said, "Your Pa wants to see his doctor in the city as much as he wants to finish up the Philadelphia work, Matt."

  Immediately worried, Matt said, "I haven't heard him complain about feeling ill, China? What does he think is wrong?"

  "He doesn't know. He says he feels tired all of the time and gets short of wind just walking up from the hotel. Anyway, he's got a doctor looking after him that is supposed to be good at curing such complaints."

  "Do you think it is anything serious?" Matt did not like the sound of it.

  "Hard to tell, but he has slowed down—which is probably a good thing. Have you given thought to how old your Pa is, Matt?"

  Matt had to admit he had not given it much thought, but he could figure it out.

  China had the answer. "Well, he's sixty years old. Most men his age are dozing by their stove, so he is doing all right, but more of the work will fall on you from here on out. You can depend on that, no matter how busy the Captain tries to be."

  Matt wondered aloud. "How old are you, China? I've never heard."

  The old fighter bounced on his toes and threw a few swift punches. "I'm still a sprout, Matt. I'll be fifty-five sometime this year. At least that is as close as I've ever been able to figure it. I've got no paper saying when I was born, and there never was anybody to tell me." China grinned almost fiercely. "I've got a big advantage there. I can claim almost anytime as my birthday, and nobody can prove otherwise."

  Matt pretended to remember. "It seems to me that you had two birthdays last year that we had to celebrate." More seriously he asked, "How are you feeling these days, Young Sprout?"

  To his astonishment, China Smith appeared suddenly discomforted. There was a long pause before Smith added explanation.

  His color high, China said, "Well, Matt, I hadn't intended speaking on it just yet, but seeing it has come up, I've got an announcement or two I've been saving.

  "The first fact is that I am planning on asking for Mrs. Black's hand in matrimony as soon as the weather breaks. The second thing is . . ."

  His voice astonished, Matt interrupted, "You are what?" They found themselves halted, China examining the distant river shore, and Matt staring at his mentor as if he had never looked before.

  China kept gazing away, but he spoke with intensity. "You think I'm too old or haven't got enough put away to have a fine wife like Mrs. Black, Matt?"

  Flustered, Matt said, "I don't think any of that, China; you just caught me by surprise. I just never figured that you had any interest beyond what we've been doing, and I never noticed that you and Mrs. Black were . . ." Matt's words choked off.

  China began moving again, and Matt found his feet going along.

  Smith said, "Well, I've got other interests, and I've reason to believe that Mrs. Black might look kindly on having a strong man around. Her husband has been passed-on for more than six years now, and to my mind, she has been working too hard feeding a bunch of low-life Scotch-Irishmen for these past years."

  Matt was doing some fast figuring. "But even if—or that is when—you are married, you will still work with us, won't you? And Mrs. Black—of course she will be Mrs. Smith then—will still run the restaurants won't she, China?"

  Smith's answers were as shaky as Matt's questions. "Well, all of that isn't worked out yet, Matt. Off the cuff, I'd like to keep on with you and the Captain—especially as he is anchoring
right here in Petersburg.

  "I suspect, my lovely wife-to-be will want to keep busy, and I've not intended to claim that money coming in won't be welcome, but we haven't decided just how that will go."

  China sounded a bit nervous as he continued.

  "You can keep all of this to yourself for a few weeks, Matt. I think Mrs. Black's intention is to announce it in church at a time of her choosing. I probably shouldn't have said beans about it, but plans like marrying are hard to hold close to your chest."

  As his thinking cleared, Matt recalled how often China was down at the restaurant. He should have noticed and realized . . . but he hadn't."

  Then China nearly floored him.

  "As long as we are talking about personal dealings, Matt . . . If I were you, I'd start paying a lot of attention to that gal who has her cap set for you. Being the prettiest and maybe the smartest eligible girl around these parts, she won't wait for you forever, you know."

  Matt's feet halted. "Girl? What girl, China? There isn't any woman coming after me. Why . . .?"

  China Smith's look of disbelief stopped Matt cold. His mind raced, attempting to discover who Smith might be talking about, but no one came to mind.

  China said, "Matt, who is your best friend around here?"

  Matt felt suddenly deficient, as if he had overlooked something really important. "Friend? Why I don't know that I have a real close kind of friend."

  China sighed, "Well, you've always been slow about most things, Matt, but I'd have thought you'd have discovered who stands up for you if others speak badly about the Millers. I'd have thought you'd have figured who you should have backing you up if things got mean and you needed help."

  Matt's blank look convinced Smith that he had to go further. "And I'd for sure have figured that you would have noticed that friend's sister who has been sneaking special looks at you for at least the last year.

  "Great Scott, Matt Miller, if you don't know who I am talking about yet, I'm purely giving up."

  China tossed his head in discouragement and turned off, heading for the livery and Bloomfield on business.

  Matt watched him go, stunned by the marriage announcement and utterly confused by the revelation that one of the town girls was specially interested in him. Not that he hadn't looked them over more than once, but he hadn't seen anyone that particularly plucked at his heartstrings.

  And the best friend part? Lukey Bates didn't fit at all, and Wilhelm Brado was just a boy. Who else did he know? The Baron? Hardly. Otherwise, the only name he could think of was Mickey McFee, but Mickey . . .?

  McFee a special friend?

  Matt had never weighed the possibility. Mickey had always seemed more of an opponent than a possible friend, and Matt had been away most of those earlier years when boyhood friendships formed.

  Still, when he thought about who he liked, Mickey popped up first and—Great ghosts, Mickey had a sister. Matt saw her now and then, sort of just in the background when he had clothing repaired or maybe when she walked with her mother in the village, but he had never really looked. Why, she was just a young girl, sort of like Wilhelm Brado.

  Or was she? Erin McFee. Matt knew her name, of course. She had always been around. Maybe Erin wasn't that young after all.

  Bewildered and doubting mightily, Matt marched back to the office. Lukey Bates was hunched over his ledgers, and Matt went straight at it.

  "Lukey, do you know Erin McFee?"

  Bates glanced up and saw Matt's intensity. "Of course, I know Erin. Everybody does. Prettiest girl in the county, I'd say."

  Then Bates stopped as if waiting, but Matt floundered, embarrassed and unsure of what to say next.

  The silence wore on before Lukey tired of it. He placed wood in the stove and decided to offer Matt help.

  "Matt, every Irishman in our camp knows Erin McFee. She is a beautiful and intelligent girl, and most of them have done their best to gain her attention. To my knowledge, all have failed.

  "The German workers feel the same, and some of them have brought over flowers. One woodcarver made Erin three wooden spoons."

  Matt was awed—and for no reason, irritated.

  "She is one of my best friends, Matt, and she often asks me about you."

  Asks about him? Ask what? He was around all of the time, so he must be familiar to everyone in the town.

  Bates was willing to say what he thought.

  "Erin likes you a lot, Matt. Why just the other day, she . . ." Bates paused, looking past Matt's shoulder and down the hill.

  "We've got business Matt." He gestured toward the doorway and through the door's small window, Matt saw a sleigh pulled by a handsome pair laboring up the hill toward their building.

  Business! Matt gathered his scattered senses. The safe was locked, but Matt motioned for Lukey to close the wooden door disguising its presence. The sleigh was pretty well buttoned up, but it looked like two men were inside.

  Matt asked, "You know them, Lukey?"

  "The sleigh is not from around here, and it is handsomely maintained. Business, Matt, that is for sure."

  The team reached their road where Willy Brado had smoothed the snow, and it made better progress. Within moments, the rig had stopped in front. Two men dismounted, and the driver secured the team to an iron ring turned into the front of the building. The undoubtedly more important passenger waited, stamping his feet against the frozen ground, his breath steaming as strongly as the horses'. His hands were buried within a thick, beaver fur muff, and his nicely cut wool coat extended to the tops of his low-cut city shoes.

  Lukey peered past Matt's shoulder. He said, "Money, Matt, and probably Commonwealth money." Bates scrubbed his hands in anticipation. "There is nothing better than State money."

  Bates frowned in thought, "But what could bring them out this time of the year? It is too early to begin hiring." He shrugged, "Here they are, so get ready to deal, Boss's Boy."

  Matt retreated behind his father's desk and motioned Lukey to handle the door. Bates stood ready, and as the driver's knuckles reached to knock, he opened and stood aside as stiff and erect as if on parade. Matt hoped he could look as impressive.

  Introductions were swift and businesslike. Mister Horace Thorpe represented the Commonwealth and did the talking.

  Thorpe said, "Your company has an excellent reputation with our department, and we are in need of swift action."

  He added, "I thought you would be older, Mister Miller."

  Matt smiled as if he had not heard it all before. "My father is the senior Miller, Mister Thorpe, but I can speak for the company. What can we do for you?"

  Thorpe wasted no time. "This is Thomas Holcomb, our chief bridge engineer. Together, we have examined the Clark's Ferry Bridge discussing repairs needed before our spring breakup."

  Thorpe shook his head in obvious dismay.

  "There is no use beating around the bush, Mister Miller. Damage is unexpectedly great. Unless repairs to the bridge piers are completed before high water, floating ice slabs, and drifting logs batter the bridge, we may lose most of the structure."

  Thorpe was clearly appalled and exasperated.

  "We had expected our routine inspection to find the bridge little damaged and only minor and unimportant cosmetic repairs needed, but it seems that shoddy masonry work was included during initial construction, and now we are desperately short of time to make essential repairs."

  The news was startling, and Matt envisioned the canal boats that could not cross without the bridge's towpath. His mind shifted to the practicality of the Millers providing river-wide tow cables or many-oared rowing craft to drag boats across. Thorpe continued.

  "The winter freeze will break at any moment, Mister Miller, and we dare not wait for competitive bidding or even to move distant capabilities into position.

  "My request is, can you provide the labor and the materials to immediately begin quality repairs to the bridge's stonework?

  "And if you can, will you accompany Mister Holcomb
and me in our sleigh to survey the damage without an instant's delay?"

  Matt could see Lukey Bates shaking his head behind Mister Thorpe, and Matt understood his trepidation. If they took on the emergency labor and failed, the Miller Company's hard-won reputation could suffer serious degrading, and Commonwealth contracts might thereafter be denied them. Matt could easily claim lack of stonemasons and steer clear of problems.

  On the other hand, if they could succeed, the contract would be more than lucrative. The overdue thaw could strike at any instant, and Thorpe was trapped. To lose the bridge would be crippling to the Commonwealth's profits from western and upriver shipping. Matt suspected he could almost name their price. Furthermore, the Commonwealth would, in a sense, be in their debt, and other business could come their way.

  Where was China Smith? Matt felt his strong right hand's absence, but China was en route to Bloomfield.

  Matt's hesitation had been only momentary. He nodded briskly and said, "Allow me a few moments to locate my chief foreman. He will join us in our own sleigh. If we can come to an agreement, we will wish to begin almost within the hour because you are right, Mister Thorpe, melting could begin tonight, and every moment will be precious."

  Relief almost matched the hope in Thorpe's eyes, and Matt could see Holcomb, the engineer, relax. It appeared that the Millers really were their only hope—if they could do the work.

  Alex Donovan's house was near the hotels, and Lukey Bates headed that way. A passing worker was sent to harness a horse to the Captain's sleigh and rush it to wherever Donovan wanted it. The man would also ask the Baron to join Donovan.

  Matt expected his Germans would be important to any masonry being done on the massive bridge structure, and Von Haas could help translate the Germans' mostly incomprehensible English. Then Matt and the Commonwealth men turned their sleigh onto the river ice and headed for the bridge.

  Matt saw the pier damage almost immediately. It was all out-of-the-water and upriver damage, for which he could be thankful because trying to replace giant stonework below the ice level would have been a monster, but when the river rose, everything coming downstream would crash into the damage he was examining and almost surely destroy more than one of the stone piers. Even a single pier loss would topple the bridge when the wooden structure sagged into the raging torrent of spring flooding.