by Edward Gates
“Well, you proved to me that I’d never make it there with you aboard. I’ll take my chances by myself.”
Gus stood and swayed a bit from the whiskey, his face red with anger. “You can’t take my ship! That’s … that’s piracy! Taking a man’s ship.”
“It’s a boat. And not a very good one. And if you don’t want me to take it, then pick up that pole and get us out of here.”
Gus was so angry that Charlie could see him shaking. They stared at each other for a moment before Gus bent down and picked up the pole, pushing the vessel off the shore and out into the water. Charlie backed to the rudder and steered the boat, still holding onto his pistol.
“I know a deputy in Fort Smith,” Charlie said. “If you screw up, you’re going to meet him. You get us to Fort Smith and you’ll be free to go.”
Charlie sat and watched Gus power the boat toward Fort Smith. He hoped he could stay awake the rest of the night to watch him. He hoped the captain could stay awake the rest of the night walking the pole.
He thought about how naïve he’d been. He never expected the attack. He assumed everyone here was nice and cordial… like Clemens, and Mrs. Hawkins, and Max. Meeting Clemens and Max was a godsend. Looking back, he would never have survived without them.
This was nothing like his old life. Just when he was getting comfortable and thought he would like it here, he got waylaid. This was a rough wilderness, a far different civilization from the one he came from. It’s hardly a civilization at all. He had to learn a new set of ideals, priorities and morals, along with new survival skills. He had to be a little less trusting of people’s nature.
What a painful and disheartening lesson this had been. He made a vow to himself that he would never be caught off-guard like he had with Gus. From now on he’d be a little more skeptical of the people he met and of their intentions. He thought about Max and wondered whether he really was who he said he was.
21
Fort Smith
Dawn transformed the dark, eerie shadows along the shoreline into a beautiful fall scene. The colors of the changing leaves glistened in the early morning dew. Small columns of water vapor rose from the calm surface of the river. The only sound was that of the birds chirping and an occasional splash of a ripple against the side of the boat. Charlie barely noticed any of it. He was angry, exhausted and in pain.
Charlie was fighting to stay awake. The side of his face had puffed up to the point where his right eye was almost swollen shut. Due to the injury to his side and back he could only manage shallow breaths. The most damaged part, however, was his spirit. Charlie’s rose-colored view of humanity in this era had gotten a rude awakening last night. And he wasn’t happy about it. His thoughts drifted back to his twenty-third century home and the girl and the life he left behind. Maybe someday he’d go back.
Gus rested against the lean-to cover looking at the brightening sky. He was worn out and hung-over and could hardly move. At some point in the night, he had told Charlie that they had to cross the river before they got to “the big turn.” If they didn’t cross, the current in that bend would crush them against the opposite bank. Together, with oars and the rudder, they fought the current and made it across and through the river’s hairpin turn without incident.
In the morning light Charlie saw wisps of smoke ahead rising from just over the horizon. “Is that Fort Smith?” Gus turned to look upriver and then nodded. Charlie was invigorated by the thought that Fort Smith was in sight.
“Well, then, get that pole in the water,” Charlie ordered as he waved his pistol. “We don’t have far to go.”
It was midmorning when they finally docked at Fort Smith’s landing at the end of Garrison Street. The heat of the sun warmed Charlie. The dock was alive with boats being loaded and unloaded, and cargo being moved to and from storage areas. Freight wagons with teams of four to twelve mules or oxen stood by to pick up or drop off goods. Charlie was excited to see all this activity.
Gus climbed out of the boat and tied the line to a large iron ring imbedded in the bricks that made up the landing’s wall. Charlie tossed his bedroll and his “new” valise to the ground and struggled through his pain to climb down. It felt good to be on solid ground. Gus leaned against the bow of his boat, too tired to move.
Charlie, still holding his pistol, stared at Gus for a moment. “Empty your pockets.” Gus’s eyes widened. “Go ahead. Empty ’em.” Gus was not in a position to argue. He set a match tin, a knife, a pocket watch, a half-finished tobacco plug and a handful of coins on the bow of the boat. Charlie picked up all the coins. “You pulled these out of my pockets last night. I’m taking them back.” From the coins in his hand he set a ten-dollar gold coin back on the boat. “That’s for the ride. I’m keeping the gun.”
Charlie turned and began walking up Garrison Street toward the town. He stashed his pistol in the valise.
“Where ya headin’?” Gus hollered.
Charlie stopped and turned back to Gus. “I don’t see where that’s any of your concern.” He turned and resumed his walk.
“Well, that big warehouse on your left is Weatherby’s. In case you’re interested,” Gus shouted back.
Charlie stopped and looked at the large wooden warehouse stretched along the dock. Four sets of double barn doors lined the side of the warehouse that faced the river. An entry door faced Garrison Street. There was a sign above the door, but with only one good eye Charlie couldn’t read it from where he stood. He looked back at Gus and nodded.
“I can show you a good place to stay and where to eat,” Gus offered.
Charlie shook his head. “You know, I think it would be a good idea if you just stayed away from me. If I was you I’d get out of here as soon as possible.” He crossed Garrison Street and headed for the warehouse.
Inside, Charlie was surprised at how large and how busy it was. Stacks of cargo filled most of the space on the dirt floor, reminding him of the huge storage buildings at his father’s travel ports. He watched workers move cargo with winches, pulleys, skids and sheer muscle power. He smiled. He wondered what they would think of the hand-held, anti-gravity cranes they used to move cargo in his day. He moved to one side of the building to watch. He couldn’t see himself being part of this strenuous warehouse work. He was hoping Max really wanted him as a driver and not as warehouse labor. Charlie approached a man who seemed to be directing most of the controlled chaos on the floor.
“Excuse me. I’m looking for Mr. Weatherby.”
Without looking at him, the man asked, “And who might you be?”
“My name’s Charlie Turlock. Max said he’d have some work for me.”
The supervisor turned to look at Charlie. “My God! What happened to your face?”
“I got beat up last night when I was robbed.”
The supervisor just shook his head as he stared at Charlie’s swollen face. He pointed to a room about halfway down one side of the warehouse. “The boss is in his office there.”
Charlie thanked him and headed toward the office. The room had a single door and two windows that faced the warehouse floor. Both windows were covered by shades. The door was ajar, and Charlie stuck his head inside and saw Max standing behind his desk, engrossed in some papers. Charlie pushed the door open and walked in. “Max?”
“Yeah. What is it?” Max gruffly answered without looking up.
“It’s me, Charlie. We met in Clarksville.”
Max looked up and smiled, then frowned when he saw Charlie’s swollen face. “Holy… What the hell happened to you?” He walked out from behind his desk to shake hands.
“The guy who gave me a boat ride here last night tried to rob me. He beat me pretty good.”
Max offered Charlie a chair. “Here. Sit down.” There was a pause. Max wrinkled his forehead as he stared at Charlie. “My God, I don’t think I’ve seen a face like that since my boy got kicked in the head by a mule. You look terrible. I’ll get the doctor down here.”
“No.” Charlie s
hook his head. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll be all right. If I could get some ice, it’ll help take down the swelling.”
“Ice?” Max paused and thought for a moment. “I don’t… I don’t have ice. I don’t even know… Wait a minute.” Max walked outside his office and called for someone and then came back in. After a minute or so, a young boy stuck his head in the door.
“You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Grab ya a bucket and run down the street to the fish packers and get a bucket of ice from them,” Max ordered.
“Ice?”
“Yeah, ice! That’s what I said. I want ice. Now get going and get back here quick!”
The boy nodded and left the office on a run. Charlie was a little surprised at Max’s sternness with the young boy. Max smiled and sat on the edge of his desk. “That boy’s my youngest son, Ben. He’s twelve and a good boy but a bit lazy. Damn kid’s been questioning everything I tell him since the day he was born.” Max laughed, and Charlie chuckled along with him.
“Is he your only child?” Charlie asked.
“I got five. Three sons and two daughters. They’re all healthy and good kids.” Max paused and lowered his head solemnly for a moment. “My oldest boy, Edmund --” Max paused for a moment, seemingly searching for words. “Edmund’s serving with General Pemberton near Vicksburg. The last I heard, anyway.” Charlie sat forward in his chair. He remembered the stories his father had told him about the devastating siege of Vicksburg.
“Vicksburg?” He wanted so badly to tell Max what was going to happen when the bombardment started. It was the hardest thing for him to keep quiet.
Max continued, not noticing Charlie’s concerned look. “My other son, Thomas, works here with Ben. He wanted to run off and join up with Edmund, but I told him fourteen was too young.” Max paused again. “You have any children?”
Charlie shook his head. “No. No kids, no wife.” He paused and looked off to the side. “Thought about getting married once, a while back.”
“What happened?” Max asked.
Charlie didn’t answer at first. He thought about Angel. “Well, let’s just say circumstances arose that caused an indefinite postponement of the wedding.”
“Okay, then.”
Ben came bursting through the door, out of breath and carrying a wooden bucket filled with ice chunks. He set it on the floor next to Max’s desk. Charlie thanked the boy. Max smiled at his son and waved his hand to send Ben back to work.
Charlie reached into the bucket and pulled out an ice chunk about the size of an apple and held it in his coat sleeve against his face. The relief was immediate. He leaned back in the chair, closed his eyes and relished the coolness on his cheek.
Max watched in silence for a moment. “I never heard of putting ice on an injury.”
Charlie nodded. “It works well. It reduces the pain and inflammation by restricting the blood vessels. But you can’t keep the ice on too long, though. If you do, it could damage the tissue and make it worse.” Charlie noticed Max’s blank expression. He’d forgotten that medicine in the 1860’s knew little about blood vessels, tissue damage and pain relief.
“How do you know all that?”
“Oh, just picked up bits of information here and there.” He had to change the subject. “So, you look pretty busy here. Is it always like this?”
“No. Not usually. This damn war is causing no end to my grief. I got cargo out there that’s supposed to go to Ohio, Virginia, Mississippi …” He stood and waved his hands at a map hanging on the wall. “…and all over the East and the South. But I can’t ship any of it unless I know where the armies are, and where they’re going. Whatever I ship, they’ll steal!” He paused and corrected himself. “No, not steal. What’d they call it? ‘Commandeer for military purposes’, that’s it. Not stealing.”
Charlie threw what was left of the ice chunk back into the bucket. He sat back in the chair and tried to relax. Max walked behind his desk and sat down in his overstuffed leather chair. He watched Charlie with concern.
“What happened on that river, Charlie?”
Charlie collected his thoughts. He didn’t want to tell his story because he didn’t want to be the cause of any changes to someone’s timeline — even Gustave’s. But Max seemed concerned and Charlie thought it would be all right to tell him.
“You remember that old man that was at the boarding house when I got there?” Max nodded. “Well, it turns out he owns a boat and agreed to bring me here to Fort Smith… for a price, of course.” Charlie pulled another piece of ice from the bucket and held it against his cheek. “Anyway, about halfway through the night I caught that old man going through my things. He took my pistol. It made me mad. When I approached him, he hit me. I never saw it coming. He hit me so hard it knocked me down. Then he kicked me around and slammed my head on the floor and I blacked out.”
“Gus Moorhaus did all that to you?” Max asked.
“Yeah. I never thought that old cuss would be able to… Wait a minute. How’d you know his name? Do you know this guy?”
Max didn’t answer. He had a very disturbed look on his face. He stood up and looked at Charlie. “Wait.” He walked to the door and hollered out to the warehouse. “Dickson!” After a minute a man came to the door and chatted with Max. Charlie couldn’t hear what they were saying. Max came back in the office and closed the door. “Moorhaus, you say?”
Charlie nodded. “How do you know him?”
“He’s a scoundrel.” Max sat back down at his desk. “I used him a few years ago to run cargo on the river. But he was too unreliable. He would miss deliveries and disappear for days. When cargo started disappearing I let him go. He’s held a grudge against me ever since.”
“No wonder he didn’t talk at the boardinghouse. I thought it was just me,” Charlie said.
“Did he take much from you?”
Charlie leaned forward. “When I came to, he was drunk. He tried to throw me into the river, but I spun away from him, knocked him down and picked up my pistol. I held a gun on him all the while he piloted me here. He took everything I had, but I took it all back.”
Max clapped his hands together and smiled. “Good for you!”
The door to Max’s office opened and two of the largest men Charlie had ever seen entered. They cast an emotionless glance at Charlie as they walked to the side of Max’s desk. Clemens had been the largest man he had encountered in this era, but these two were taller with broader shoulders and more massive arms and chests than Clemens.
“Dickson said you wanted to see us?” one of them said to Max.
Max nodded and stood up. He was just a little taller than Charlie, but these two men towered above him. He had a very stern expression on his face. “Gustave is in town. He’s down at the dock. I think you two should go down and remind him of our agreement.” He turned to Charlie. “Charlie? These two boys are John and Warren Mitchell.” Charlie nodded a greeting to them, uncomfortable in their presence. They didn’t reply, not even a smile. They just stared at Charlie with a serious look on their faces.
“Gus give you that face?” one of the Mitchell boys finally asked. Charlie nodded. “We’ll go say hello, then.” They left the office. Max sat back down, crossed his hands on his desk and smiled at Charlie.
The two sat in silence for a minute just looking at each other. Charlie didn’t know what to think. “Those guys work for you?”
Max nodded. “Yep. I count on them for a lot of things. Mostly running errands and as messengers.” He smiled. “Sometimes they help in collecting debts and… negotiations.”
“What are they going to do?” Charlie was a little concerned about Gus’s immediate future. He didn’t want to cause any timeline changes.
“Oh, don’t worry about Gus. When I let him go, he agreed to stay away from Fort Smith and I agreed to not hang him. He was told to stay away from this dock. The Mitchell boys are just going to… remind him about that.” There was a pause. “You look like you could do with some f
ood and some rest.” Charlie nodded, putting the ice chunk back on his cheek. “You got a place to stay?”
Charlie shook his head. “No. Just got here. If you have any suggestions, I’d be glad to hear them.”
“Well, come along and I’ll buy you some lunch. I got a place where you can put up for a spell ‘til you get settled.” Max offered his hand to Charlie to help him out of the chair. He patted him on the back and smiled real big. “There’s a few things we need to talk about.”
Charlie remained quiet. Apparently, Max was more than a simple businessman. He appeared to be more powerful than Charlie had first thought. Charlie wondered what Max wanted to talk about and, more significantly, what he was getting himself into.
22
New Home
Exhausted and in pain, Charlie struggled to keep up with Max as they walked up Garrison Street away from the river and toward the fort. The conversation along the way was very one-sided as Max explained his position in Fort Smith.
Although Max’s shipping business was his primary profession, he also owned a number of real estate interests around town. He was a partial owner of a lumber mill and a cotton warehouse. With a sly smile, he announced that he owned a cut-rate hotel on what was known as “The Row,” a three-block area on Washington Street that was home to all the bordellos in town. Without saying as much, Max gave Charlie the impression that he not only owned the building and the business, but he also “possessed” the ladies who inhabited his hotel.
Max stopped in front of three two-story buildings on upper Garrison Street. He told Charlie that he owned them. Several businesses occupied the street-level spaces of these buildings. In between the apothecary and a general store was a door that opened to a staircase. At the top of the stairs Max showed Charlie an empty room. Charlie coughed as the strong musty odor of pent-up air greeted him when he entered. The unfurnished room was small and covered with dust.