A Desperate Hope

by Elizabeth Camden

  “Let’s hope so,” Jack said, worry in his eyes as he twirled the peppermint stick. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

  “Will do,” Alex said as he mounted the horse, but unless new information surfaced, he doubted this mystery would ever be solved.

  Chapter

  Seventeen

  They were ready to move the first building on Saturday, November 7, and Marie Trudeau’s compact house was the logical choice. Marie was terrified that her beloved home was being used as a “practice house,” but Enzo tried to put her at ease. “Your house is tiny. A piccolo,” he said in his thick Italian accent. “And since it is first, everyone will take extra care.”

  Eloise had no formal responsibilities during the move. Her contribution had ended after calculating the weight and size of the house, but it was impossible to stay away. Real-life adventures like this were rare and wonderful, and she wanted to be a part of it.

  People began gathering outside Marie’s house before sunrise, stamping their feet and blowing into cupped hands. Someone set up a large carafe of coffee in the neighboring yard, and bystanders helped themselves. Hundreds of people were here to witness their first building move to the new town.

  Marie looked pale and weak as she sat on the front porch of her house. One of her sons sat on the step beside her while the other carried a box of dishes out to a wagon loaded with the household furniture.

  Eloise walked up the path and smiled down at Marie. “You look cold. Can I get you some coffee or a hot muffin?”

  At the mention of food, Marie looked ill. “No,” she whispered. “I couldn’t get anything down.”

  “Come on, Ma,” her son urged as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “No matter what happens, it’s better than seeing the old place burned to the ground, right?”

  Eloise stepped away to get a mug of coffee for herself, then watched from a distance as Alex strode toward Marie, his face somber as he gave her a swift hug. Eloise loved watching his competence, first as he comforted Marie, then when he consulted with Enzo.

  At last all the required workers arrived, and Reverend Carmichael stood on Marie’s front porch to lead them in a prayer.

  “Our dearest Lord,” he began. “We’ve spent the last few years in fear and doubt, not certain what you intend for us, but today we know exactly where we are headed. We ask for your blessing as we begin our journey to a new town, where we will do our best to build a city on a hill, one where we shall lean on each other in times of need, celebrate times of joy, and welcome strangers as friends. In your name we pray.”

  After the prayer, Alex crossed to Eloise’s side, his face solemn. She wasn’t used to seeing him nervous, and it was contagious. She clenched her hands to stop them from trembling as the work crew circled Marie’s home.

  Workstations were set up at each corner of the house. Each station had a brick pad, a hefty jackscrew, and four men. The jackscrews were the size of a horse saddle and had a handle the length of a baseball bat, long enough for two men to use it in tandem.

  Once the men were in place, the onlookers pulled back, and Enzo stood at the front of the house, a whistle at the ready.

  This was either going to be a disaster or the start of something magnificent. Without thinking, Eloise reached for Alex’s hand. He grasped it with surprising strength. They didn’t look at each other, just stood shoulder to shoulder as they watched the culmination of all their planning draw near.

  “At the whistle, give the jack a quarter turn,” Enzo hollered.

  The crowd collectively held their breath as a pair of men at each station hunkered down, their hands grasping the cranks. The whistle pierced the air, and all four teams cranked their handles in tandem.

  A whimper escaped from Marie, but Enzo blew the whistle again a few seconds later to signal another turn. The first few rotations showed no progress, but Enzo had said it would require several rotations to take the “give” out of the house, and on the eighth twist, the house moved a bit. A collective gasp raced through the crowd. It was a minuscule lift, but it happened again on the ninth twist, and again on the tenth. After a few minutes, the jackscrew teams stepped aside, and fresh crews replaced them to continue the lift.

  Eloise glanced at Marie. The older woman’s eyes were wide as saucers, and a hand was clamped over her mouth as she gaped at her house, now almost a foot off the ground.

  “She’s terrified,” Eloise murmured to Alex.

  “Me too,” he admitted. She tightened her grasp on his hand. He still didn’t look at her, but the slightest curve of his mouth indicated he felt her support.

  The men raised the house another foot, as they needed a full twenty-four inches to slide a set of rolling metal rails beneath the house. Then they would lower the house onto the wide-bed platform, and the oxen would pull it to the railyard. Eloise glanced toward the team of men holding the oxen and caught her breath at the sight of Bruce Garrett on his favorite chestnut bay as he cantered toward them. This wasn’t going to be good. Bruce was a distraction this town didn’t need.

  When Alex noticed where she was looking, his entire body stiffened. “What is he doing here?” he said between clenched teeth.

  “I’ll find out.” She dropped Alex’s hand and angled through the crowd. Plenty of other people had noticed the unwelcome arrival and muttered under their breaths. She reached Bruce just as he arrived at the corner of the street. “What brings you here?”

  Bruce dismounted, his face calm, as if he didn’t notice the tension rippling through the crowd. “I came to show my support for the community,” he said loudly enough for the nearby bystanders to hear. “It’s my equipment making this possible, after all.”

  “And everyone is grateful for it,” she said, hoping the cluster of former quarry workers standing only a few yards away would be respectful. It would have been better if Bruce had stayed home, but how could she tell him that? She took his arm and guided him a few steps back. “Let’s keep out of the way,” she urged. “As soon as they get that house onto the rollers, the team will need a clear path to the railway.”

  And the move was imminent. The custom-built rails and platform had been positioned beneath the house, and Enzo signaled for the crew to begin lowering the small building. It took a while, but as the house settled, the old boards let out plenty of creaks and groans.

  Marie clamped both hands over her mouth, and a wail cut through the air. Jasper did his best to comfort his mother, but her whimpering was loud and obvious.

  “What’s that woman caterwauling about?” Bruce asked.

  “Shh! It’s her house that’s being moved,” Eloise said.

  He snorted. “Then she ought to be grateful it’s getting out of the valley ahead of the deadline. I doubt if even half these places can be moved in time.” Bruce set off before Eloise could stop him, striding to Marie’s side. “No need to worry, ma’am,” he said. “This isn’t all that big of a job, and in a few hours your house will be safely relocated.”

  The words failed to crack Marie’s anxiety as she stared, fixated, at the men now scrambling to secure cribbing blocks to stabilize the house on the platform. The moment the blocks were in place and the cables were tied down, the oxen would begin towing the house down the street.

  “I need to check,” Marie said, her voice choked with anxiety. “Jasper, come. We need to be sure those blocks are secure.”

  Bruce shot out an arm, blocking her from getting any closer to the house. “Let the men do their jobs, ma’am. You’ll just get in the way.”

  “That is my home, and my responsibility,” she retorted. “I can’t let it be damaged.”

  “It’s just planks and boards, ma’am. Anything that gets broken can be fixed.”

  Instead of providing comfort, Bruce’s words caused Marie to explode. She gave him a solid shove, pushing Bruce off the walk and into the road. “Those planks and boards hold the dreams and memories and fabric of the human experience!” she roared. “They are my life. M
y history, my family.”

  Now Bruce was angry too. “You think planks and boards are what make a family? Look around you, woman! I see two hundred people who turned out to help you. They are your family. Not a run-down wreck of a house that ought to have gone to the slagheap long ago.”

  Angry murmurs rippled through the crowd, and Jasper stepped forward. “You can’t talk to my mother like that.”

  Bruce rounded on Jasper, but whatever he was about to say was cut off as he narrowed his eyes to scrutinize the younger man. “I know you,” he said. “You’re one of the Trudeau boys. You’re a cutter up at the quarry.”

  “I was a cutter,” Jasper retorted. “I just quit. I won’t work for a money-grubbing parasite another day.”

  Bruce’s face reddened, but Reverend Carmichael intervened before it could escalate. “Pipe down, Jasper, and help your mother. It looks like she’s about to faint.”

  The young man shot Bruce a surly glare but obeyed. To Eloise’s relief, Bruce also stepped back to join her at the curb. Enzo gave the signal, and the oxen began their work, slowly hauling the house toward the street. Eloise stood spellbound, watching the boxy home roll forward.

  “Rabble-rousing idiots,” Bruce muttered.

  “Wild, magnificent idiots,” she said in reluctant admiration as the house inched down the street. It was impossible not to be thrilled with what was happening. That house was actually moving! “It was a good thing you did, loaning that equipment. There are plenty of hotheads here, but most of the people in this town understand the gift you’ve given them.”

  Bruce peered down at her. “I didn’t do it for them, Eloise.”

  He had done it because she’d asked him. Bruce was a hard and aggressive man with no soft edges. He didn’t know how to back down from a fight, and he was lousy at showing affection, but he was a decent man.

  She laid a hand on his forearm. “And I thank you for it.”

  She wasn’t very good with words either. She stepped closer and laid her head on his shoulder. Only for a second before pulling away. They’d never exchanged a hint of affection, and it was probably stupid to do it in public, but it would be nice to have a family, and every now and then, the weakness got the better of her.

  Alex couldn’t stand the tension any longer. It was nerve-racking watching Mrs. Trudeau’s creaky old house be jacked up and moved, but with seventy able-bodied men on the crew and another hundred onlookers, no one needed him here.

  He turned away to head up to the old Hollister farm. He walked alongside the newly installed railway, its twin bands of steel still shiny and new against the bed of gravel. Twenty minutes later, he rounded a bend of spruce trees to see the expanse of freshly graded acres that would someday be their new town. It didn’t have a blade of grass or a single tree, only hundreds of little flags demarcating future streets, a town square, and individual plots for houses and shops. In a few hours, this blank canvas would have its first house. And in a week? A month? So many unknown details were still in the air.

  To his surprise, a handful of people lined the road as he drew closer to the site. The Timberland work camp was less than a quarter of a mile farther up the hill, and last week the first construction workers and their families had arrived. It looked like they had come to watch. Half a dozen men plus a few women loitered near the new town.

  One of the women bounced a toddler on her hip. “We heard a house is being moved,” she said in a thick Irish accent. “We thought it might be exciting to watch.”

  Alex let out a nervous laugh. “I’m hoping it will be as dull as watching paint dry.”

  It was only eleven o’clock in the morning, but already he was exhausted. He glanced through a break in the trees at the path cutting through the woods that led to the new work camp. By the end of the year, the Timberland camp would house at least five hundred workers, most of them Irish immigrants. They would have their own school, canteen, and recreation building. Construction of the reservoir was going to take five years, so such infrastructure was necessary.

  “How are things at the camp?” he asked.

  One of the men hesitated before answering. “Okay, I guess. Last weekend a new pump was installed alongside our well. The water has tasted bad ever since.”

  Alex didn’t comment. The state supplied these people with running water, and still they had the nerve to complain. The cold, clean water of the Hudson River Valley was so pure that it could be bottled and sold. It was the reason the state had come here in the first place.

  One of the women continued complaining about the water, and Alex was about to give her a piece of his mind when he spotted a movement around the bend of trees. A cluster of men carrying shovels on their shoulders was heading this way, and behind them came the train, slowly pulling Marie’s house, inching along at a snail’s pace.

  Alex sucked in a breath, dumbfounded that this moment was actually happening. Tears pricked at his eyes, but he blinked them back as he sprinted across the field, waving his handkerchief.

  “Over here!” he shouted. Stupid, because the men knew down to the inch where they needed to go, but he couldn’t restrain himself. This was the best moment of his entire life. The relief, the joy—all of it threatened to swamp him.

  Dozens of townspeople trailed after the house, carrying rails and shovels. Dick Brookmeyer walked alongside the slow-moving train, for the oxen had been loaded onto it as well and would soon be put into service again.

  Eloise walked alongside the train too, carrying one end of a basket. Rebecca Wiggin held the other. The basket came from the tavern and was filled with sandwiches and apples for everyone’s lunch. Eloise sent him a blinding smile as she walked toward him, and he smiled back. The prickling in his eyes was back, and he hoped he wouldn’t start bawling like a baby, but sometimes moments of blinding joy came out of nowhere. He swiped his eyes with his cuff so she wouldn’t see. This barren, blank field of dirt was about to get its first house. It was the start of their town.

  It took an hour to get the oxen offloaded and the house shifted onto the rolling platform and ready to haul the final yards. By the time Dick guided the oxen toward the blank foundation, at least three hundred people had gathered. As the house moved its final inches, they began to clap and cheer, pounding each other on the back. Even people from the Timberland camp applauded as they watched.

  Unloading the house went more slowly, as getting it settled in perfect alignment with the foundation took longer than simply lifting it off. At least Mrs. Trudeau didn’t look ready to faint anymore. She managed some weak smiles and accepted congratulatory hugs. Meanwhile, most of the townspeople grabbed shovels and yardsticks to start working on the foundations for other buildings to be moved in the coming months.

  Hercules soon arrived with a wagon carrying Mrs. Trudeau’s furniture. “What, not finished yet?” he asked with a grin as he vaulted from the driver’s bench.

  Alex tossed him a hoe. “Come help us lay the foundation for the tavern.”

  Hercules caught the hoe with one hand. “You think that’s really going to happen, baby brother?”

  “It will happen.”

  They could do anything. Enzo had warned them the tavern would be a challenge, but on a day like today, with hundreds of men streaming into their new town, and everyone flushed with good cheer and boundless energy, anything was possible.

  The moment of truth arrived when Enzo declared the house properly installed on its foundation. He approached Mrs. Trudeau, who stood a few yards from her front door, gazing at her house in a mix of trepidation and joy.

  “Not a pane of glass broken,” Enzo said with pride. “Do you want to go in first, or shall I? I believe it to be safe, but if you’d feel better with someone else going in first . . .”

  “No,” she said. “I would like to be the first to welcome my home to its new town.”

  Alex felt the tears prickling again as Mrs. Trudeau cautiously opened the front door and went inside. Hundreds of people surrounded the house, watch
ing and listening. A few moments later, she peeked out the front window, lifted the sash, and poked her head out.

  “This view looks very different,” she said.

  “That’s because Dick Brookmeyer’s ugly mug is messing up the scenery,” someone shouted, and Mrs. Trudeau’s smile transformed her whole face into radiant joy.

  “It is a beautiful view,” she said. “Come! Jasper, come inside and tell me what you think. You too, Joseph.”

  The house met with the approval of her sons, for they soon began carrying furniture from the wagon into the house. It didn’t take long. The house was tiny, and with two young men lifting and carrying, Marie was welcoming people inside within the hour. Hercules lugged a barrel of apple cider into Marie’s front parlor. Throughout the afternoon as people needed a break, Marie kept her door wide open and invited them inside for something cool to drink.

  It was a long day as Boomer used the excavator to dig more basements and others poured concrete for foundations. The sun was setting as people began drifting home. Every muscle in Alex’s body ached as he walked alongside Eloise. He was tired and dirty but thoroughly happy. It had been a good day.

  He reached out to clap Enzo on the shoulder. “You’re a good man, Enzo. We couldn’t have done this without you.”

  The Italian gave a tired smile. “I hope you will say the same thing tomorrow. It will be a bigger challenge.”

  No doubt, for tomorrow they were moving Dr. Lloyd’s house, and it was a two-story structure. Enzo wanted to move a variety of buildings during the short time he was in the valley. Once he returned to the city, the people of Duval Springs would be on their own, and every building had unique challenges, quirks, and potential for disaster.

  “What about the tavern?” Alex asked, for it was the building he cared about the most. It was the heart and soul of this community, the place where people gathered to celebrate, to plan during a crisis, or simply to enjoy the blessing of a long summer evening.