The Boss's Boy

by Roy F. Chandler

  Holcomb asked, "How is it going out there?"

  Bates shook his head in admission of not being sure. "We can't tell, Mister Holcomb. Our part is about finished. We are working almost at the top of the piers. If the water or ice reaches that high, the bridge will go anyway. Matt thinks we have done a good job, and the Germans have been challenging the river to bring on its worst. So, maybe the repairs will hold."

  Holcomb asked, "Where is Mister Miller now?"

  "He came off the bridge more than an hour ago. He walked in because he wanted to check on how the Juniata River is doing and to make sure the rafts and small boats are far up the banks. Matt believes this is going to be a flood beyond memory, and to my inexperienced eye it seems as if it would just have to be."

  Bates considered a moment. "Matt says he expects the canals to flood and some of them to wash out." Holcomb saw the clerk's eyes squint. "Whew, as terrible as that could be, there will be a lot of work this summer."

  Holcomb climbed aboard, and Bates urged his weary animal up the hill to the headquarters.

  Matt Miller was inside, and he had his leaders with him. Holcomb stood near the door and waited Matt's attention.

  Matt said, "I know we are all tired, but some things have to be done right now.

  "Alex, take some men and move the sawmill onto very high ground. I just looked at the Juniata, and the ice above the aqueduct has broken and upstream ice is pushing underneath it. That means we are about to have serious ice jams right there at Duncan's Island. The jams could get really bad, or they might just break up and float away, but my guess is that the ice will pile up into a huge dam, and at least some of the aqueduct will go, and when the backed up water hits the Susquehanna we will get flooding higher than we have seen around here."

  Alex Donovan moved while Matt paused for breath.

  Matt hurried on, "Mickey, take any of your crew that can get on their feet and have them help move our people and any property that is below High Street. Warn those that we aren't helping that big flooding is coming, but stay on our work, not someone else's."

  Mickey asked, "Do you think it is going to get into the hotel, Matt?"

  McFee rarely used Matt's given name, but neither noticed. "My guess is that Main Street will have deep water in it." Then Matt realized. "Move your family up here, into the back of the headquarters, Mickey."

  He paused to smile grimly. "The first bunk is mine, and the one at the far end is Brado's. Move Brado's stuff, not mine."

  McFee was gone in an instant, and Matt turned to Lukey Bates.

  "Lukey, the first thing for you to do is put that animal in a safe stall and give it a good feed. That horse has put in a lot of hours and deserves attention.

  "Next, go to bed. Sleep for hours. When you are rested, come back to work, but not before dark. I will be good until then, and China is as fresh as morning dew." Bates attempted to protest, but his heart wasn't in it. China said, "Follow the boss's orders, Lukey. You need the rest."

  Baron Deiter Van Haas waited quietly. He appeared as unsullied as if he had slept the night away, and Matt grinned at him because Von Haas had done exactly that. The Baron had watched and helped a little here and there, but Von Haas had never hired on and was not being paid.

  Matt shook his head. "Deiter, do all barons float around observing, enjoying, and joining in only when they feel like it?"

  Von Haas smiled widely. "All that I know of, Mister Miller. It is our duty to be informed and to encourage the peasantry."

  China said, "When we get around to it, Matt and I and maybe McFee and Klubber Cole are coming over and stir your people into violent rebellion."

  Von Haas laughed aloud. "Do come over, Mister Smith. My grandfather's dungeons are still ready for use."

  More soberly, he asked, "What can I do to help, Matt?"

  Matt was ready. "I have been hoping you would ask. What I would like you to do is gather every German that can still move and get them down to the Little Juniata. That creek will boil up as if a dam broke, and we do not wish to lose anything we do not have to."

  Matt appeared finished for the moment, but China had something to say.

  "The last thing, Matt, will be for you to go to bed. Mister Holcomb and I will keep an eye on the bridge and anything else around here that needs doing. If Lukey Bates needs to sleep, so do you."

  Smith pointed at the door to the sleeping quarters. "Through there, Boss's Boy, and sleep soundly. You have done yourself proud—even if the entire bridge goes downstream."

  China's laughter matched Matt and Holcomb's groans of despair.

  Chapter 19

  The flood damage was almost beyond comprehension. From as far upriver as the new town of Lock Haven clear down to the Chesapeake, homes, businesses, equipment and people had been washed away. Coffins from eroded cemeteries floated down the rivers.

  In Petersburg, two streets were flooded, with water in the hotel. Few dared guess how the canal had fared. The great waterways so laboriously cut along the rivers were still under water, but horrendous destruction was certain. Massive ice sheets had battered them. Some canal buildings were gone, and although the stone locks would stand, clay walls and smaller culverts might not.

  The citizenry lived with mud. Roads were mires, and farmers had no hope of working fields for many days and perhaps weeks.

  Mrs. Black's eatery was taxed to provide food for customers, and the hotels were filled with hungry workers to worry over. Workers ate heartily, and when they did not, their labor suffered. Going hungry was also devastating to spirit, and this year, in particular, the Boss's Boy did not want his men departing for greener pastures.

  China first learned of impending food shortage from Mrs. Black. He spoke about it to Matt and, although the shortages did not apply directly to the Miller company, wheels began rolling.

  There was food throughout the county. The problem was to get it to Petersburg. Matt dispatched wagons to farms and villages that were not along the rivers. He chose light wagons that could better plow their ways through the bogs that had once been roads, and he manned them with German drivers who would speak in familiar words to the often-stolid and always suspicious German farmers.

  The wagons, and a few horse trains, would return with food because Matt provided silver for payment. The people in general hungered for real money, money that could buy manufactured goods instead of local scrip that no one believed was worth much. The produce brought in went on the company books. Matt charged it against Mrs. Black's account or to others who were pleased to buy. China Smith backed the restaurant account, of course; so Matt did not worry over that payment.

  Many of the recipients worked for the Miller Company, and their pay could be fairly garnished. Others? They were few, and could be worked out later. Matt expected, that eventually, a fair profit would be returned from what he willingly provided for everyone.

  And still the river roared. The mighty ice covering cracked and finally split into a thousand shards. Immense sheets of ice floated downriver, and the bridge repairmen watched their approaches with trepidation.

  When they struck the piers the watchers winced, but the ice seemed to be rotten, and instead of solid smashes, the huge ice rafts crumbled, and their impacts amounted to little.

  Other debris proved more serious. Uprooted trees were among the worst. Huge trees roared down on the bridge. Their massive roots and branches, borne high by the flood, threatened to tear away the wooden bridge structures, and Engineer Holcomb hired Miller Men armed with axes to chop away anything that struck and clung to the bridge spans. At times the axe man battled frantically, and the beams and trusses groaned and swayed from the strains, but the bridge held.

  Then the barn approached!

  The huge structure appeared far upstream and loomed like a floating island. A desperate cry rose among the men who watched the approaching behemoth with utmost certainty that this time they would lose.

  It was a good German barn, built using giant timbers, each mortised t
o the next with wooden pins holding everything together. The building lay on its side, but even the roof shingles seemed intact on the high-floating juggernaut, and the wide-boarded barn floor looked undamaged. There had been hay in the loft, and strands and heaps of the sodden mass trailed and surrounded the obviously unstoppable monster.

  Bridge defenders fled from where the barn would strike, and life poised as the massive wreck, looming high above the wooden bridge, made its final attack.

  Thomas Holcomb's heart sorrowed as he saw the magnificent bridge, the pride of central Pennsylvania, about to be smashed into kindling. China Smith cursed aloud, and still on the bridge with his workmen, Matt Miller felt his emotions close down and his teeth grit in preparation for the rending of bridge timbers as none of the watchers had ever experienced.

  Then, the barn was gone! Only yards from impact, the outwardly indestructible juggernaut simply vanished. Those on the bridge heard the popping of pins and mortises and saw the collapse, but to those further distant, the barn simply vanished.

  Barn pieces floated through beneath the bridge spans, as most observers stared in disbelief. Matt found his jaw dropped, and appreciated the relief from teeth grinding in frustration.

  The engineer said "Good God!"

  China Smith asked, "Now how in hell did the Boss's Boy make that happen?"

  Absolutely stunned by the bridge's miraculous escape, Holcomb was slow in grasping Smith's humor, but when he did, his relieved and barely believing laughter joined China's.

  Holcomb said, "That barn collapse must have been some reward from on high for all of the hard work the Miller Men put in on those piers. That, Mister Smith, was as close to a miracle as I ever expect to see."

  It was not as good on the Juniata.

  The ice dam below the Aqueduct piled ever higher and became hundreds of yards thick. Gigantic plates of ice slid up and sideward blocking the river's passage and forcing the flood across and inundating Duncan's Island. Upstream, the flood backed into the streets of Newport until the water touched Fourth Street. As long as the dam held, the water lay motionless, but if the ice dam went out in a rush, currents would roar, and loss of everything standing was feared.

  The Juniata ice broke during the night, and the thunder of released water frightened those camped nearby. At dawn, the muddier water from the Juniata flooded far into the Susquehanna and stained the river as far as the eye could see. For many days, reports from up-river told of dramatic destruction from Hollidaysburg down to Petersburg, and all of the river crossings were said to be gone.

  Matt Miller dispatched Lukey Bates on a saddle horse to inform big Matt of the extent of damage. He suggested that the elder Miller round up workers and begin marching them to Petersburg because emergency Commonwealth repair contracts were about to be floated as never before—and this time, because of their successful bridge repairs, the Miller companies would be at the front of the line.

  It was a time of change. Engineer Holcomb had gone to Harrisburg with firsthand reports of the destruction and powerful recommendations for quick restoration of the canals. He and Mister Horace Thorpe had returned astride horses to allow quicker travel and closer and more thorough examination of the battered canals.

  Canal contracts, in general, had been long issued, but in the emergency, there were many smaller contracts to be agreed upon and work to be started. True to his word, and because they stood ready, Thorpe worked closely with the Miller company. The dealing was fast and little argued over.

  Matt Miller guaranteed to have the men and materials to take on all that he contracted for. Matt began to watch the bridge, anxiously awaiting the arrival of workmen from Philadelphia. A letter had come explaining that the men were being gathered and would be en route within the week. Matt was to be careful to what he agreed, and he was to be sure that a profit was forthcoming. He was reminded that they did not work for glory or commendation. Money was what it was all about. There were also hearty congratulations on the bridge repairs so well done.

  Then there was Erin McFee.

  Matt could not believe that he had not noticed long before. He could not detect the interest in him that others saw, but Erin had become a woman lovely to behold.

  Now he saw Erin often. The McFee's lived in the same open barracks room he occupied. The family had curtained off the farthest end of the room, but Matt heard their conversations and every rustle and clatter.

  Mickey seemed to be continually clumping through, and Matt ritually complained that McFee should spend more time leading his crew of slackers and less slouching around his temporary quarters.

  Far more often, Matt Miller was waiting for Erin McFee's passage in and out. He watched her dresses swish in movement. Her astonishing green eyes fell modestly away, but she often let her hair fall while indoors, and sometimes braided it into a single, thick coil that hung over a shoulder in the most enticing display Matt could imagine.

  Occasionally, they shared a few words, but Matt Miller, dauntless leader of the mighty Miller Construction Companies, was at a loss on how to proceed. It was true that he worked from before dawn until well after dark, but there were moments when he might have . . . Matt was not sure exactly what he might or should or perhaps should not do.

  He was drawn powerfully to Erin McFee—he guessed—but he had no direction in mind, except that, well, he liked looking at her, he liked talking with her, and he liked speculating on what suave and sophisticated moves he could produce that would make him attractive in her eyes. Discouraging!

  Workmen arrived from Philadelphia, and Matt developed new crews and appointed foremen from the longtime Miller Men to lead and mold teams that could and would work in the Miller traditions.

  Matt gathered his new foremen and made his speech. "You are all experienced in how we work and what we demand. As foremen, your pay will be increased accordingly, but I have two admonitions.

  "The first is—do the job to my satisfaction or you will be relieved and someone else appointed. Your mission is to please the boss. For now, that is me.

  "Second—make your crews into teams. If someone does not fit, remove him. If a man resists your orders, fire him. Take charge and remain in charge. Take no manure, and do not hand out a lot either. Lead by example. You, too, are a workman. Do not stand around and boss. Get in there and lead. You have seen how McFee and Donovan do it; follow their examples."

  Finally, young Matt Miller made his biggest move of all. He doubted his father would cheer his decision, and he knew that Uncle Brascomb's soul would rot, but he went ahead.

  He had talked it over with China who had been astonished at the idea. No one China knew of believed or acted in the manner Matt Miller intended, but Smith had seen the world from the bottom for more years than he preferred to remember. His experience told him that young Matt was onto something. That Matt's scheme would make them money, however, was, in China's mind, dubious, but . . .?

  Matt was serious, and he intended to give his plan a try, so Smith stayed positive and swore he would stand with Matt when he explained his actions to his father.

  With the flood still raging but with the rivers receding a few reluctant feet, Matt called a special Saturday night, after-work gathering. He chose to meet with all Miller Men in attendance, everyone jammed into Klubber Cole's hotel gymnasium and spread beyond into other men's sleeping areas.

  Matt gave no explanation for his meeting, but it was plain that he wanted every long-employed worker present, and the foremen made certain that none were left behind.

  It was an unfragrant gathering that thickened the smoke-filled air with a sour stench of too long unwashed bodies. The men were used to the ripe atmosphere, but Matt believed he would be thankful when the weather turned enough for bathing in the rivers.

  China Smith also noted the nose-wrinkling conditions and, as he often did, he whispered in Matt's ear. "This bunch stinks, Boss's Boy. You might consider making them bathe now and then as part of your conditions." With Matt's agreeing headshake, Ch
ina added, "Do you notice that the Germans smell different than the Irish? Now why would that be, I wonder?"

  Matt answered softly. "Different perfume, China," and enjoyed the older man's soft chuckle.

  When he was ready, Matt stood, and the gathering instantly quieted. The immediate silence impressed, China Smith. Not all leaders gained such instant respect. Young Matt Miller had presence.

  Matt's voice seemed conversational in tone and volume, but it reached the furthest listener. Heads cocked to listen, and eyes focused on the speaker.

  Matt began, "Everyone here is a Miller Man. Your foremen have vouched for you, and most of you I know from times past and work performed.

  "More than a few gathered here go way back. Some will remember when I was a young boy who had to whip Mickey McFee about once a week to keep him in line."

  Matt's grin met his men's disbelieving laughter, and McFee balled his fists and shrugged his heavy shoulders in make-believe challenge. China thought that, too, well done. Matt had made himself one of them, and he had made them a memorable part of his history. The Boss's Boy had a gift. Maybe he should become a politician.

  Matt went on. "I am proud of the work you men did on our bridge. Your work through the nights was beyond reasonable request, and there can be no doubt that we saved the bridge."

  For a long instant Matt appeared lost in reverie. Then he shook his head as if disbelieving.

  "When that barn came floating down I thought we had lost it all. When that huge structure just dissolved and slid underneath, I knew that someone up there was on our side." Men nodded in agreement and shook their heads in admitted astonishment that their work had survived.

  Matt said, "We saved the bridge, and because of that success there will be rewarding contracts from the Commonwealth, and that means steady and profitable work for the Miller Companies."

  Then Matt got to the heart of his meeting, and China felt goose bumps jump because this was something he had never experienced or heard of at sea or on land.