Category Archives: Short Story

Porcelain (Part 6)

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looking west on shawnee from seventh courtesy of hiawathapics.com

looking west on shawnee from seventh courtesy of hiawathapics.com

Six weeks later Olivia knew and stepped out of the kitchen door on a Saturday morning, again with a cup of dark coffee, and told her mother.  She had thought this was going to be the worst of it and was shocked by her mother’s calm response.

“Funny how some things work out daughter.  A moment in time is all it takes.”

Olivia had no reply for that and just sipped quietly at her coffee.  Her mother looked over after several minutes and saw that she was also crying, tears that she refused to wipe away running down her cheeks.  Standing up, her mother walked over and offered Olivia her hand.

“Come with me.  I want to show you something.”

Her mother led her into the house and then into her bedroom where she pointed to a long, flat chest under the bed.  Olivia let go of the hand to kneel down and then pull the chest out, having to tug hard at it several times to get it to move.  It was well made of oak with brass fittings and the top of it was carved with her mother’s name.  Olivia had seen this chest before however had never been allowed to open it.  Following a wave of her mother’s hand she finally did so, catching the sharp smell of moth balls mixed with old wood as the heavy top was lifted up.  The things inside were as you might imagine them; stuffy and old, faded and musty, care-worn and well-tended.  Each item struck a chord of curiosity in Olivia, and she felt a strong urge to ask questions.  Why is this black dress with the lace collar in here?   Who is the soldier in this picture?  Why are you keeping a broken bell?  She wanted to ask, however a quick look at her mother made it clear that this was not going to be a journey of universal discovery.  Most of what was in the chest would remain in the old woman’s mind and heart.

“Take out that red box and underneath you will find a cloth sack with a purple string.  That is what I want to show you.”  Her mother had taken a seat on the rocking chair which sat next to her bed.

Olivia did as her mother asked, handing up the cloth bag and then sitting on the floor at her mother’s feet, a memory of childhood story time fleeting past her eyes.

“I kept this not just because you wore it as a baby, but because it was made by your great-great grandmother.  She had originally made it for my mother right after she was married to your Grandpa Silas, however it ended up not being used.  So, when I was about to give birth to you, she gave it to me.  Once you grew a little bit and this fit you, well you wore it often my dear.”  Saying this, her mother struggled briefly with the string that closed the top before opening the bag and pulling out a white dress.   It was of a style not used anymore, having too many gathers and a drape that was no longer the fashion.  It was elegant and durable although its faded color and occasional faint spot told of both its age and its hard use.  Olivia reached up and touched the dress, feeling its worn, smooth fabric ripple across her fingertips.

“Why was it never used?”

Her mother did not immediately answer and Olivia continued to play with the edges of the dress.  There were some tattered seams and a small tear in the front hem, a re-stitch of one sleeve and missing button on the back.  Olivia tried to place her younger self in this dress, however she had no pictures of herself back then and found it difficult to imagine.  Realizing that her mother had not answered she looked up to see a pained, far-away look in the woman’s eyes.  The touch of Olivia’s hand to her arm brought her eyes back down and she reached out to run her hand along Olivia’s check.

“That child did not make it out of it’s birth bed my dear.  It only lived one day and after that, despite all the other children she had, my mother just could never look at that dress again.  That girl, my older sister, should have been her eldest and the start of her family with your Grandpa.  It took them five years after that before they had me.  I have to tell you daughter, that day she gave me the dress, well it was quite a moment let me tell you.  The topic of this dress had been a forbidden subject for years, something my father wouldn’t even discuss when a family member would bring it up.  Forbidden all those years and then one day my mother just walked into our living room  and handed it to me.  Your Aunt Martha was there and almost gagged on an apple she was eating.  I guess my mother had finally gotten over it, or having me starting my family with your father had made it possible to pass it along with well-wishes.  I dare to say that she still worried a bit during the first few days you were alive, but when you proved to be so very healthy she relaxed and seemed happier than she had in years.”  Her mother paused and rubbed her hand over the front of the dress.  “It’s a mixed memory I guess, sadness and happiness.  Its, well, bittersweet I guess.”

“Mom, I’m sorry, really I shouldn’t have asked.  I know that you don’t talk much about your past and I should have left it alone.”

“It really is okay Olivia.  I brought it up I guess by showing you that dress.  Cracked open the story book so to speak,” and she offered her daughter a wan smile that did little to reassure Olivia.

“Let’s just drop it Mom.  Thank you for showing me this dress.  Is it something I could have to give to my baby?”

“No dear, I don’t think so.”  It sounded final however Olivia looked up and realized her mother had recovered and was truly smiling now.  “I think I would like to make you a new one for that child.”

… to be continued

Porcelain (Part 5)

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commercial hotel courtresy hiawathapics.com

commercial hotel courtresy hiawathapics.com

She did not know that the next morning when she forced herself out of her bed, knowing that staying in it any longer would just cause her mother to come and check on her, worrying away as she always had about Olivia’s health.  She had arrived home after dark, having walked herself back from the hotel after her and Tom had said their goodbyes.  In some way of course she had hoped that he would escort her back to the front door on Shawnee and and say a proper good night, however she sensed quickly that this was not going to happen.  Bidding him a pleasant evening she had taken her leave and walked slowly back, feeling a twisted mixture of exhilaration and loss welling up in her chest.  For whatever the brief encounter had meant to her, or to him, she already knew that it was to be the last.  Maybe the most final statement on that was the simple fact that she had walked herself home.  Once there, and quietly in the door and to bed, Olivia had lain awake for most of the remainder of the night, her mind unwilling to give her an opportunity to rest until five a.m..  Soon after that the sun was up and, having forgotten to close her drapes, she was awoken by the glare and her mind swung promptly back into high gear.  And now she needed to get up and somehow put the best face on the day that she could.

Arriving in the kitchen and knowing her mother would already be sitting out on the porch, Olivia lingered for several extra minutes around the stove, giving the boiling coffee time to set in dark and bitter.  As she emerged through the screen door her mother clicked her tongue several times before she spoke.

“You look dreadful.”

“You didn’t even look at me.”

“I didn’t need to.  Home late and up all night, it wasn’t a hard guess to make.”  With a turn of her head her mother continued, “and I can see now that I was correct.”

“It was you that told me to go for a walk.”

“Yes, yes I did.”  Finally offering a smile, her mother raised her own coffee mug in a half salute which made Olivia blush.  After that  the matter seemed to be closed as they switched into a discussion about the local ladies club and then later about where Olivia planned on finding another job.  After several more cups of coffee her mother announced herself ready for a nap and Olivia dressed and walked back into town.

Along the way she managed to put a few of the many things running through her head into order.  She was not going to go chasing Tom Drummond around, nor would she allow herself anymore thoughts about the two of them.  She had wanted to go over and check his house or ask at the bank where he could be found.  She had thought about doing just that for hours the night before, however she always came back to the feeling of finality which had passed between them on their final good-bye at the hotel.  Regardless of hopes and wishes, nothing could be done about that and she was now ready to accept that he was gone.  Or if not gone yet, then he soon would be and Olivia would not allow herself to be seen as any kind of desperate old maid.

hiawatha first national bank courtesy hiawathapics.com

hiawatha first national bank courtesy hiawathapics.com

As it turned out she was completely right about him being gone, and she never saw or heard from him again.   In fact, no one in Hiawatha ever did including the bank where he worked and left two hundred and forty seven dollars on deposit, all of which was never claimed.  On the few nights in the future when Olivia allowed herself to be particularity bitter she imagined that he had not even bothered to stay until the morning following their encounter.  Perhaps she literally was the last thing he needed to attend to on his way out of town.

… to be continued

Porcelain (Part 4)

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Olivia considered that for several moments, a mixture of frustration and admiration swirling around inside her head.  It was nice to have men of honor around, however this particular bit of moral righteousness was interfering with her own happiness.  It had been a long time, many years of her poking around the edges of Tom’s life, he lingering around the edges of hers, all those years and nothing had been said by him.  Until now. Maybe there was something in that.

“This woman, you still love her then?”

Tom winced a bit when she spoke, clearly uncomfortable with the question.  He stayed silent, turning his head to her instead and shaking it in a brief but definite way.

“So, what’s the trouble then?  It surely cannot be impossible to get a divorce from her?  A bit unseemly for sure, but possible.”

“This is a very complicated thing Olivia, very complicated.  The woman, my wife I mean, she and I both come from rather prominent families in Rockland, ones that own much of the ship building business in that area.  Our marriage was arranged by our fathers, carefully planned you might say to keep our families connected and all the power consolidated.  It’s a plan that’s been followed for generations now.”

“Don’t you folks worry about all of that intermingling of your families?”

Tom looked at Olivia with amusement in his eyes.  “Are you trying to say we are inbreeds?”

Olivia flushed deeply and sputtered, “No, no, please, I,”

With a short laugh Tom cut her off, patting her hand and saying, “It’s okay, I was just having a little fun with you there.  And to answer the question, yes it is something we worry about.  We do know that issues can come from such arrangements and we try to avoid it.”

Olivia had taken her arm away from Tom’s to cover her cheeks, which were still bright red, holding them there as she spoke. “Don’t play with me like that, I really felt terrible.  And just how do you manage to avoid all of the problems?”

“Let’s stop here for a minute.”  As he spoke Tom sat down on a small bench that had been placed under one of the maple trees, reaching out for Olivia’s hand, an invitation to sit next to him.  As she arranged her dress after sitting he continued.

“Your question is one that has actually been part of our families conversations for years.  I am not sure we really have avoided all of the problems but we do try.  I should explain that there really are three families here, mine, the Lermond’s and then the Thomas clan.  They all go way back to the beginning in Rockland and they all own shipyards along with some other businesses such as foundries, sail lofts and lumber mills.  At whatever point it was, years ago, the men of these families decided that they wanted to consolidate all of the power among themselves and keep everyone else out.”

Olivia held up her hand.  “I find it hard to believe that any such men as these appear to be would share power so easily.  Men usually want it all for themselves.”

“Ah, a wise observation.  This whole agreement came about after all of the usual unpleasantness.  I guess no one could win and enough damage had been done. Since then though it has all gone remarkably well.”

“That’s unexpected.”

“I agree, but it’s true.  So, once they decided upon this arrangement they soon after understood that keeping the families basically marrying into each other could have some unwanted side-effects.  And that led to the shipyard Bible.”

“A Bible?  What…,” and then Olivia paused, putting her hand up again as Tom began to offer another comment.  He breathed deeply and then sat back as Olivia’s mind worked.

“The families, yours and the others, they keep the records there don’t they?  Who married who, and who’s children are related to whom?  Just like anyone’s family Bible, but one that is for all three?

Tom smiled, amused and impressed.  “You are a smart woman Olivia.  Yes, the shipyard Bible tracks every relationship within our families and it is kept by the eldest woman among the three.  When I left that was my great-grandmother Rebecca, and as far as I know it is still her.”

“And she decides who marries who?”

“Oh no, as I said, my father arranged my marriage.  Once such a thing is proposed, well that’s when the talking starts.  The Bible gets hauled out and then it’s an on-going conversation, some might call it an argument, until all of the potential conflicts are worked out.  It’s not a science, at least not where I am from.  We’ve had first cousins marry and third cousins end up getting denied.  I think half the benefit to it all is that sometimes the arguments go on so long that proposed marriages just fall apart.”

“That really makes no sense.  The whole thing I mean, it makes no sense.”

“Yes, I know, I really do.”

“And so you ended up married to this woman…”

“Eleanor, Eleanor Lermond.”

“You married her and now?”

“Yes, that’s the other part.  Once your married in our family, in our families that is, you stay married.”

“Until death?”

“After really.  You only get married once.”  He said this with a firm but sad finality, looking over at Olivia who met his eyes.  She understood now that her ultimate dream of someday having a life with him was not going to happen.  It was still interesting to her that Tom had taken this opportunity, not only to accept her mother’s invitation but to reveal that he did feel something for her.  What was it that had made him declare himself finally.  She kept working through that in her head while she talked.

“So, you weren’t happy then?”

“Dreadfully unhappy.  Eleanor is not a very, well not a very fun person.  Very straight-laced and uptight.”

“And so you left, ran away from your problem?”  Tom was silent for a moment after that and Olivia feared she had gone to far.  Maybe he was just going to get up and walk away?  Instead he sighed and replied.

“I guess that’s about what it was.  It’s happened before, to other unhappy husbands caught up in this arrangement.  Nobody seems to care if you go away, you just have to stay married.  Eleanor is likely much happier with me gone anyway, she can tend to all her domestic duties which she always takes so very seriously.”

Although he said this last sentence scornfully, there was also a trace of nostalgia in his voice.  Olivia figured that maybe he missed her after all, and then she knew.

“So, you’re going away then?  Back there?”

Tom, who had been leaning back into the bench, sat up immediately, a look of astonishment on his face.  “How could you have known that?”

Olivia did not care to explain it, her mind racing ahead.  “But you are going?”

Tom looked down at his feet and then up to meet her eyes.  “Yes.”

A panic had overtaken Olivia, one that brought a rush of what she would later call madness to her actions, and she reached out abruptly and grabbed Tom’s hand, pulling him over to her.  Thirty minutes later, and with no argument from Tom, they were discreetly in a hotel room.  Although their encounter was brief, and they parted ways immediately after, it did leave one consideration.  Olivia of course was pregnant.

… to be continued

Porcelain (Part 3)

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Olivia gasped in surprise, her right hand fluttering slightly as she placed her teacup and saucer onto the porch railing.  Her cheeks flushed bright red as she stood up.

“He is coming over here?”

“Yes dear, over here.  I thought we might entertain him for supper this evening.”

“He agreed to that, to come over here?”

“I told you he did.”

Without another word Olivia bolted into the house while her mother settled back into the rocking chair with a faint smile on her face.  She remained sitting there until she saw Tom Drummond coming up the road, dressed as always in a nicely tailored brown suit and carrying a small bouquet of flowers.  He was a tall man for the time, standing over six feet and had the long legs and arms to match his height.  Although he walked with a slight limp, an after effect of a childhood dare, his stride was purposeful and strong and he was quickly on the porch, doffing his hat and offering the flowers to Olivia’s mother.  She took them without rising, patting his hand and remarking on his punctuality.  He then offered her his arm as she rose and they both walked into the house.

They found Olivia standing formally behind the large chair in the drawing room, dressed now in a delicate blue dress with cream lace accents and a high collar.  Her hair had been throughly brushed and was now pulled back on the sides and lay in gently curled ringlets down her back.  She gave a slight curtsey as Tom and her mother entered the room, offering him a seat with a wave of her hand.  After pouring drinks Olivia sat down also and pleasant conversation passed between the three of them, words that Olivia took directly to heart but that would have been unremarkable to most other people.

As they moved onto supper Tom lapsed into telling tales to Olivia’s mother, both about the journey out from Maine and his exploits in his younger years as a sheriff’s deputy in Virginia.  Olivia said little, eating her food in small bites just in case she had to speak up or offer a thought to the conversation.  That only happened once however, as she expressed her own desire to see the outlying parts of the Hiawatha community left as a buffer between the town and the Indian tribes in the area.  As Olivia served the dessert, a rhubarb pie made the day before from freshly harvested stalks, her mother took the opportunity to excuse herself, stating she was too full for dessert and too tired to try eating it in any case.  As she left the room she kissed her daughter gently on the cheek and offered her opinion that a walk might be a nice way to end the evening.

After she was gone Olivia sat down again and her and Tom ate the pie in relative silence except for his remark upon its delicious taste.  As she cleared the table he leaned back and looked at her until she stopped to return his gaze.

“It was an excellent meal Olivia and I thank you for having me here for it.  I enjoyed the company of you and your mother.”

“Thank you Tom, and it was a pleasure.”  The awkwardness of the moment was not lost on either of them, Olivia rubbing her hands together while Tom played with his watch chain.  Finally he stood up and extended his arm.

“A walk then?”

“Well, y, yes, yes,” Olivia stuttered in reply, “I just need to finish cleaning up.”

“It will wait, I am sure.  Let’s enjoy the evening before it gets too dark.”

Olivia paused, her pulse racing as she looked at Tom’s offered arm, then she collected herself as best she could and replied, “Yes, very well, let’s enjoy the evening.”

They stepped out onto Shawnee, Olivia wrapped again in her purple shawl, her left arm gently twined around Tom’s right.  They walked in silence for several blocks as she fought through a tangle of thoughts in her head; memories of the past, wishes and wants for the future, fear of rejection and lack of confidence in herself.  Finally she convinced herself that maybe, just this one time, it was worth it to to be bold.

“You know Tom, I often wonder about whether you truly have any interest in me.”  As she said it, Olivia could hardly believe she had summoned the courage to ask and her pulse was racing again, waiting on his reply.  He took a minute to do so, finally reaching over with his left hand and placing it on top of her arm as he spoke.

“I do Olivia, I do.  I actually have always had quite an interest in you.”

maple lined streets of hiawatha

maple lined streets of hiawatha

As he said this they turned onto Delaware, the sides of the road lined with some of the sturdy maple trees that had been such a prevalent part of the land when they arrived.  Olivia had been one of the settlers who advocated for keeping these trees in place whenever possible, and she thought of it as one of her major contributions to the town.  At the moment however she hardly noticed them, as Tom’s simple response had flooded her mind with new, but still very confusing thoughts.

“Why then have you always put us off, put me off?  I know I may have been a shrinking violet at times, however surely you could have made some of your intentions known.”

Tom stopped, turning to look at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of desire and remorse.

“I just cannot, I cannot pursue this intention toward you.”

Olivia returned only a slightly hurt look, waiting for him to continue.

“I cannot, as I am married, back east where I came from, I am married still to a woman from whom I have been unable to remove myself.”

… to be continued

Porcelain (Part 2)

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She left quietly although not quickly, pausing several times as she gathered up her personal belongings to look at things within the store that had been such an integral part of her life.  Sam Potter might believe it a miracle that she had lasted as long as she did, however Olivia saw her time at Leaders to have been full of productivity and purpose.  She certainly had been the most reliable of all the employees that had come and gone over the years, going in on scant notice when others had become ill or abruptly moved from the Hiawatha community.  She also was still the only one who understood the inventory system in the back of the store, one that was carefully arranged not by product name but by demand and quality.  Olivia had labored over this system for many weeks and almost offered to try to explain it to Sam again as she paused at the door of the store on her way out for this last time.  She saw him peeking at her from his small office stall in the back, his thin, dusty brown hair scattered around his head in no particular order.  She paused and raised one hand, an offer almost, an offer to at least try to make him understand the basics of the system before he had to go back there hunting for hardtack or rope.  She decided against it however and left with a faint, “fair thee well.”

6th and oregon looking east 1909 courtesy hiawathapics.com

6th and oregon looking east 1909 courtesy hiawathapics.com

hiawatha library

hiawatha library

Walking home she headed east, which although it was the not the most direct route, did lead past the rose garden behind the public library.  Olivia liked to sit there in the middle of the garden, not looking around at the bushes or stuffing her nose into them, which is what nearly everyone else did, but leaning back on a bench, closing her eyes and smelling the subtle fragrances that mixed in the air.  The man who had planted the flowers was an experienced rosarian, a careful and meticulous man who tended the garden daily despite his own long work schedule at the bank.  He had brought his bulbs with him, along with a collection of live bushes, all of which he carefully tended through their arduous trip from Maine.  Olivia had watched him graft once, the man’s thick, dirty fingers tenderly trimming cuttings from his bushes before lopping off the flowers and most of the remaining stem, leaving just two or three leaves on a plain green stalk.  The man had given her a short lecture on how plants waste energy producing flowers, which seemed ridiculous to Olivia as she figured that was about what they were good for and supposed to do anyway.  The man did however have quite a talent for getting those cuttings to root and bloom.  His creations now filled the air in the garden with a mixture of musk, fruit and tender spice smells, and Olivia swore she smelled pepper sometimes which just brought a faint smile to the man’s face but never a reply or affirmation.  She sat longer than usual today and then headed home, arriving to find her mother sitting out on the porch in her usual rocking chair, a wool blanket wrapped around her legs to ward off the chill of the day.

“Home early today daughter?”  The lack of surprise in her mother’s voice gave away the fact that she must have already heard about the incident and its eventual outcome.  Olivia said nothing, passing by her mother with a soft pat to her shoulder and then going inside to put her things up and brew some tea.  When she emerged again she was wrapped in a purple shawl and carefully balancing two cups of camomile.  Placing one on the small table next to her mother, Olivia settled down into her own usual seat, a simple but comfortable straight-backed chair with a floral printed cushion.  No words passed between them for several minutes until her mother sighed, placed her tea back down and pointed out toward the road.

“A horse broke a leg out there today.  The carriage it was pulling lost an axle and overturned, that poor animal got twisted up in the harness.  I heard it break, sickening sound really.”  Her mother’s voice, deepened by age, cracked a little as she spoke, her general love of animals showing as always.  “They put it down quickly enough, but still sad to see.”

Olivia nodded in reply, uncertain if this story carried any other meaning.  After several minutes with no more details provided, she figured that was all that was going to be said about it.

“I won’t be going back to Leaders.”

“Hmm, interesting.  What happened?”

Olivia looked over at her mother, an eyebrow raised in question.

“I mean, how did it start dear.  Nobody told me that part yet.”

Olivia gave her mother the rest of the details, becoming slightly worked up again as she told the story.  When she got to the part where she had pulled the cowboy outside, her mother raised her hand to indicate that she knew the rest.

“So Sam Potter finally had enough of you then?”

“Really mother, that’s harsh don’t you think?”

“Not really.  You have always been too defensive about all of this town pride nonsense.  This place could use a few changes.”  A slight twinkle sparked in the woman’s grey eyes as she said this, looking over at her daughter to see her reaction.

Olivia huffed once before replying, her voice slightly raised and edgy.  “Our journey out here was difficult mother, as you know, difficult and trying.  It took everyone of us pulling together to reach this land and we have every right to be proud of it.  And we made this into a fine frontier town, the best if you ask me and plenty of others agree.”

“Plenty of others who were on the trip with you.”

“Them sure, but other people too, ones that pass through here and remark on how much we have done in such a short time.  It wouldn’t have been possible without all of us working together.”

“That and your bunch of fearless leaders.”

“They had the vision, the resources and the knowledge to make it all happen.  We certainly needed them.”

Her mother stayed silent after that, finishing up her tea which had gone cold but was no matter to her, as she had consumed plenty of cold tea in her life.  When she was done she carefully placed the blue and white china cup down on its saucer, which had several slight chips in the edges, memories of the travels her life had taken.  She looked up at her daughter and smiled.

“You should get ready then.”

“Ready for what mother.”

“Tom Drummond of course.  He’s coming over in one hour.”

… to be continued

Porcelain (Part 1)

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The town still seemed fresh in 1880, having only been plotted out twenty-three years prior by the founding fathers.  Those four men were still revered around Hiawatha and just saying the names of Coe, Wheller, Morrill or Drummond in the wrong tone around the community was bound to get you into an argument.

leader dry goods and clothing courtesy hiawathapics.com

leader dry goods and clothing courtesy hiawathapics.com

That would have been especially true at Leaders Dry Goods and Clothing, which was run by Olivia Good and who had been part of the original group of people who had traveled from Maine to settle the verdant part of Kansas that they all now called home.   She was a typical frontier woman, short and durable, pale-skinned and with long brown hair that she often piled on her head to keep it out of her way while engaged in work.  Olivia had a particular affection for Tom Drummond, a man with whom she had flirted for most of the past two decades to little avail and much frustration.  She managed to keep most of that in check however, as he always put her off in the nicest way possible.  Perhaps the next time would be the charm.  That was how she always explained it to her aging mother, a vibrant ninety-six year old whom had followed three years behind her daughter on the road toward the midwest.

704 shawnee courtesy of hiawathapics.com

704 shawnee courtesy of hiawathapics.com

As they would sit together on the wrap-around porch of their home at 704 Shawnee, sipping tea into the evening hours, her mother always shared the same thought.  Olivia should have nailed down Tom Drummond when the two of them were involved in plotting out the streets in Hiawatha, carefully naming the main thoroughfare Oregon and the streets north and south of it after Indian tribes in the area.  She should have nailed him down good and proper when she had the chance and then all of this silly school-girl chasing around would not have been necessary.  Olivia often wondered exactly what her mother meant by nailed down, however she chose to take it in its most innocent form.  It was probably true that she could have acted with a little more determination and a little less subtlety at several points along the way.  At this point however she was mostly stuck with the current situation as she believed it much too late to be anything other than modest.    On that point at least her mother agreed.

It was not then a shock to many when, on a uncommonly cold July afternoon, Olivia ended up in a heated discussion with a new ranch hand who had come into the store to purchase trail gear and sundries.  The man wanted a particular make of saddle coat, which the store did not carry, and this led to his announcement that Hiawatha was about as backward of a frontier town as he could imagine.  Olivia had stepped from behind the counter, trying to smile through pursed lips.

“Whatever do you mean by that?”

“I’ve been in this place for three days and so far all I get from any of you all is, we don’t have that.  I heard it at the drug company, the coal shop and hell I even heard it at the Baptist church.”

first baptist church hiawatha ks courtesy hiawathapics.com

first baptist church hiawatha ks courtesy hiawathapics.com

“You’ll watch your mouth in here sir.  We don’t tolerate you cowboys coming in here and fouling up the air with your trail talk.”  Over the shoulder of the young man Oliva could see Sam Potter, the owner of the store, giving her a hard stare.  This would not be the first time that there had been a confrontation in his store because of her and he had warned her that the next time could well be her last.  It was driving business away he had explained, as word was getting around that his store had a sharp-tongued devil working in it.  That discussion had not had much of an effect on her at the time and his look had little in the moment.  She continued.

“Now, as for Hiawatha, I will have you know that we here are one of the fastest growing communities in this area.  Just two decades ago there was nothing here except the Indians and since then you have all of this, all of this that is around you here.  Come with me young man.”

The ranch hand seemed to have had enough.  “Ma’am if it’s all the same to you I will just be on my way.  No offense and apologies for the language.”

Olivia took his hand and Sam Potter buried his face in his hands, taking care to remove his glasses first.

“You come with me young man.”  She led him out the front door, pulling him along by his fingertips.  He could have easily disengaged, however at this point likely thought it was not going to be of any real assistance in his current situation.  When they were outside she stood beside him, hand on his right shoulder, and waved her arm down the west side of Oregon Street.

“Look down these streets young man.  Do you see all we have to offer here?  The mercantile, the doctor’s office, the drug company.  Look right above Yates there, you see the bank.  That is the bank of Barnett, Morrill and Janes, our own financial house right here in Hiawatha.  And then here,” and she turned the man to look east, “the hotel and the telegraph. See them?  And the churches?”

6th and Oregon looking west 1915 courtesy hiawathapics.com

6th and Oregon looking west 1915 courtesy hiawathapics.com

The man raised his left arm in an awkward partial salute.  “Well you have it all then I guess.  Quite the fancy place you have here.  How could I have been so wrong.”  The mocking tone was evident to the small group of people who had stopped on their way past the store to see the scene play out.  Abel Murray, who knew Olivia well, whispered something to his wife who just rolled her eyes.

“You be respectful young man.  We have a good town here, better than whatever hustle and bustle city you come from and we have plenty that good people want.  You go find your fancy saddle coat somewhere else!”

The man took her advice and left, leaving behind a muttering crowd that soon dispersed and Olivia, who remained with her hands on her hips at the door.  Sam Potter came out three minutes later and told her to go home and never come back.

Preview – The Spiritual Destruction of Anna Marie

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So, as a cautionary note, this tale remains in the throes of re-working although the small section presented here has seemed safe enough so far.  This “spiritual destruction” story seems fated to end up at novella length, marking it for the literary graveyard of such masterpieces.  Some stories just refuse to be constrained by the demands of the business!

The next “running story”, which is named Porcelain, should be ready to go next week.  Thank you as always for reading!

Darkness

She asked the question and received no answer.

“Is anybody listening?”

It was not the first time she had found herself asking questions to empty places on the ceiling.  And, except for the time that her shitty brother had whispered, “Yes Anna, what troubles you?”, though the air vent between their rooms, she never received an answer.  So, in that regard, this time was not any different.  It was however the first time that she had really expected an answer, so the disappointment was poignant.  After all, with a spell haphazardly cast, a dead puppy, fifteen stolen dollars and the fiery destruction of Tom Wilson’s garage on her soul, she figured that some kind of answer, albeit probably an angry and scolding one, would be forthcoming.

Nothing.  Nothing at all happened and she just stared up into the darkness wishing that she did not have to get up in the morning.  Get up and go downstairs, walk past her mother’s perfectly arranged living room, past the azaleas, into that gingham kitchen and the wonderful smells of french toast.  That was an aroma she felt was a universal delight.  Buttermilk, cinnamon and a little sugar, the edges of the bread caramelizing, an open jar of maple syrup daring you to dip your finger in.  And of course, a big canister of powdered sugar with a silvery shaker top.  It was so wonderful.  And it would be horrible because Anna knew that tomorrow morning, no matter how good it smelled, she was going to be nauseous.

It would not be the cooking.  Her mother, despite other flaws, was a marvelous cook.  It was the soft steel of her father’s eyes that was going to do it.  She sat down and he fluffed back his newspaper to peek over it and ask, “What’s the news baby blue?”  It happened every morning exactly the same way.  Rain, shine, weekday, weekend, holiday, it even happened the morning of his own mother’s funeral.  It was just what was done.  Half hearted, nonchalant answers would not cut it either.  She had tried that at some point in what to her was the distant past of her early childhood.  In actuality that had been just three years ago, when she had finally been old enough to think it was just a bit silly and boring to answer the same question every morning.  And oh please on the baby blue nickname.  That was not even funny as far as Anna was concerned.  Apparently she had managed to get the umbilical cord wrapped around her throat on the way out of her mother, popping out into the world half-dead and with a blue face.  Anna’s mother always tried to reassure her that despite the nickname her father really had been very concerned when she was born.  It had really shaken him up and he uses humor like that to hide it.  That was what her mother had told her.  I bet, was what Anna thought of that explanation.  Still, it was what he called her, was going to call her tomorrow morning.  And then he would wait patiently, paper slightly folded and held against his arms. He would wait, no matter what she mumbled or how long it took, eyes locked on her until she looked him in the eye and answered intelligently and in clear, proper sentences.  It was not necessarily an unkind look, just a questioning one. What she was up to that day? Or what she was thinking about?  It always made her nervous, even when she had little or nothing to hide.  And she was going to look into those eyes tomorrow and throw up.  She just knew it.

The Castle Danger Story (Part 19)

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“So, to finish?”

“Yes.”

“That group kept the items, kept good track of them, poked around some more in the Two Harbors area and the place where Tom grounded the Castle.  As a matter of fact, they were up in that area, asking around and telling what parts of the story they knew when three men, Norwegian fishermen, decided to set up a small settlement on that land, the land Tom must have seen from his boat that morning.  They had set up for themselves in a small round hut built down close to the water.  The crew that scuttled the Castle had set up a warning marker on the sandbar, and those fishermen asked two men from the Old Settlers Association if they knew anything about it.  Of course they did, and that’s how the place got its name.”

shed castle danger courtesy jimmy magouirk 5-17

shed castle danger courtesy jimmy magouirk 5-17

I realized that the late hour and the cold had not completely dampened Vann’s efforts to test my patience.  I tried to wait him out but I was really tired.

“The name, what’s the name of the place?”

“Castle Danger.”

I was not sure if that was anti-climatic or amazing, so I just sat there thinking back over the entire story I had heard.  I had these amazing images in my head, all of the troubles Tom had been through, the railroad thugs, the murders, his strange pit and the unexplained disappearance after the boat grounded.  In some ways I felt as though I had been transported back to that time, gained some of the pioneer spirit Tom must have possessed, tasted the combination of the fresh wilderness air mixed with the creeping grimy intrusion of railroad smoke and coal dust.  I wanted to march back into his story and ask the questions that should have been asked, watch the moments that had not been observed for history, grab some part of Tom’s collection and hold onto it to be examined with today’s technology.  I suddenly felt even colder and realized that I had stretched out on the cold cement pad, laying back with my hands behind my head.  I rolled over on one side and saw Vann had adopted a similar position although he was still awake.

“Do you really think Tom died?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure he did.  They looked, the historian and those folks from the settlers association, but no real info ever turned up, none that was reliable anyway, which would indicate he survived.  I figure he swam for it and drown, body carried away before that first boat came by Castle.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense.  No Elvis sightings then?”

Vann chuckled and then yawned.  “No, nothing like that.”

I yawned back, cracking my neck as I did so and realized that for now, we really were at the end.  “Thanks for the story.  It was pretty interesting.”

“Think nothing of it,” he replied with a poorly executed British accent.

I could feel sleep coming on quickly and realized I needed to get up and go to my truck before I passed out on the cement.  I was still thinking about it when I asked Vann another question.

“So, in the morning you just…wander on?”

“Yeah, I need to get moving.”

“Chandler or Oro Valley way?”

“No man, moving on…it’s been a year.”

But I hardly heard him as I was slipping off to sleep, trying to leave my headache behind.

When I awoke in the morning Vann was gone, although he had covered me at some point with his Army jacket.  I rolled over, painfully cramped, bitterly cold and still with a pounding headache.  My mouth tasted like sand and backwash although I quickly realized I still had those two pieces of gum, very stale now, in my mouth.  How I had managed not to swallow, or choke, on that during the night I never will figure out.  I also realized that as cold as I was, and had been, sleeping under that Army jacket, Vann must be far worse off than me without it.  I felt pretty badly about that as I stumbled over to my truck, managing to arrive only a few minutes before a county sheriff cruised by on the road.  I gave a half wave and hoped to look as though I had just stopped to check something out on my truck.  He drove on and I climbed in, wearily settling into the nicely padded seats.  I drove the short distance to a gas station, purchasing an absurd amount of food and water, some of which I wolfed down in my truck while writing down everything I could remember of Vann’s story.  I checked my phone, almost afraid that those pictures of the journal hadn’t saved, or that they would look terrible in the light of day.  They were not great, but they would do.  As I finished up writing and prepared to drive on and find a place to take a day long nap, I realized that questions remained, questions that had nothing to do with the story of Tom Sexton.

Who was Vann?  And how did he know so much about this story?

photo credit matt conwell

photo credit matt conwell

Author’s note:  There may be more of this story to tell, although for now I have to step away from Vann, Tom Sexton and all of the questions about Two Harbors and Castle Danger.  Other stories are calling.  Please check back next week for a preview of the upcoming “Spiritual Destruction of Anna Marie”

The Castle Danger Story (Part 18)

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At this point I suppose his revelation should not have surprised me.  I let out a deep breath, watching the faint mist of my breath condensing in the night air.  I shrugged up my shoulders, shivered rather more violently than I was expecting,  and then starting rubbing my feet again.

“Ok, so that’s all the info on those pieces?”

“Yes, pretty much.”

“So, when did this fire happen?”

“Well, at about two o’clock in the morning on January 29th of 1889 a fire started in the basement of the opera house and spread fairly quickly.  It consumed the entire building and also burned down the  post office next door.  Almost everyone got out alive, except for our historian, who’s body was found early the next morning as they sifted through what was left of the building.  Part of it, the entire front almost, had actually collapsed into the street and caused the evacuation of the hotel across the way.   The rest of the building was still standing though, and they found his crispy remains curled up in bed.”

“And all of these items, including your candlesticks there, survived this fire?”

“You bet they did.  He kept all of it in several heavy chests and they managed to withstand the heat and the water from the fire brigade.  They might even have been lost after that, however rather fortunately another  resident at the opera house was one of only three members at the time of a group that called themselves the Old Settlers Association of the Head of Lake Superior.  A lofty name huh?”  Vann gave me a raised eyebrow and I agreed silently with a nod and he continued.

“I don’t think that group quite knew what they were all about, just judging from a few documents I dug up, but they were definitely interested in the history of the area and were familiar with the work the historian had been doing.  They claimed most of the non-personal items in his rooms, including some having nothing to do with Tom Sexton, for themselves as part of their historical research.  The authorities apparently let them get away with that, although the how or why of that is lost to history as far as I could tell.  Anyway, the settlers association group recorded every item as part of their society collection a few days later.  After that, years later, the items passed on into the hands of the St. Louis county historical society up there and later to the one for Lake County, which is where Two Harbors is located.”

“And so it just sits there today, in their collection?”

“Pretty much.  Like I said, it’s not like it is on display or anything. It’s all boxed up and kept on one of the many shelves in this small building that suffices I guess for their idea of a historical society.  They don’t have much of an appreciation for the history behind the story.”

“I guess not.  So, if I wanted to, I could go up there and check this stuff out?”

Vann whistled softly. “Well, it wouldn’t be that easy.  It took me a bit of time to get access to it just because they aren’t necessarily really friendly to strangers wanting to poke around in their collection.”

“I wonder why that might be?”  I answered, throwing a knowing look his way.

“Yeah, sure whatever.  I get it that I probably proved their point in a way.  Still, I don’t think they really want people poking around.  They seem to think they know what they have and what they think should be out on display and that’s it.  But, if you work on them long enough I guess they warm up to you.”

“Or they might not, at least not now.”

Vann snorted.  “I really don’t think they know that anything is even missing.”

I stood up and wandered off into the darkness, a little bit apprehensive about the coyotes I had heard earlier, although everything had been dark and still out there for quite some time.  When I returned Vann was standing up and walking around in circles.

“Getting cold?”  I felt slightly bad about the fact that my voice betrayed a slight edge of satisfaction.

“Not hardly.  I’m trying to stay awake,” he answered, just a little bit gruffly.  I’m usually out by now, I have to get moving early in the morning you know.  That’s when the early bird cops cruise around looking for what might be called vagrants.”

I held up my hands.  “Sorry man, I know I’m keeping you up.  We have to be near the end though, don’t we?”

“Not looking for anymore side-tracking?”

“Hardly.  I mean, I’m interested in this whole thing really but I am seriously wiped out too.  I’ve got this headache that keeps creeping back on me and I feel like I could drink about three gallons of water.  You don’t have anymore of that gum do you?”

Vann handed me two pieces and I slammed them into my mouth, this time shoving the wrappers into my pant pockets.   I offered my thanks but he just waved it off.

…to be continued

The Castle Danger Story (Part 17)

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Curses!  I actually said that in my head when Vann proclaimed this last fact.  It had seemed as though all of the possible side turns in this story and already been taken.  I did notice that Vann had perked back up, much more awake now and leaning forward.  I waved him on and he seemed to realize what I was thinking.

“I really wasn’t holding out on you.  We just hadn’t managed to get to this part of the story yet.”

I settled for waving him on again.

“Our historian collected it all, tagged it all, and made some good notes.  Then he boxed it all up and returned with the boat to Duluth after they hauled Castle off the sand bar and scuttled her in the deeper water.  He lived by himself in a room on one of the upper floors of the Duluth Opera house and that is where he kept all of the items.  In the short time that he had, in addition to the other research I already told you about, he also sent a few of the items in Tom’s collection off to friends he knew, or places of scientific study, people he thought might be able to assist in figuring out more about the pieces.”

duluth opera house courtesy duluth public library 5-3

duluth opera house courtesy duluth public library 5-3

I knew Vann wanted me to ask so I stayed silent.  He winked and continued.

“There were four items that his records say were sent.  The iron poles or bars, the ones with the strange writing on them, the Argand lamp, the uniform jacket and the zoetrope, which is the only item that had not been returned by the time of the fire.  The lamp, which was sent to a friend who actually collected lighting devices, came back with information that it had been made in England and was one of the earliest of models, probably being made around 1786.  There was unfortunately no way to tell when it came to the U.S. or how it managed to arrive in the Two Harbors area.  It did have an engraving on it, three letters, CSA, although there was nothing more to learn about that either.”

“Did Tom know about that engraving?”

“No idea.  It’s not mentioned but then there are missing parts to his records so he may have.   Interestingly, there is a slight connection between Argand lamps and light houses, although not directly to Split Rock.  Just a little history to study if you get a chance, a sideways  journey if you know what I mean.”

I gave a short laugh.  “Yes, I know what you mean.”

“So, that’s it for the lamp.”

Vann smiled at me and stood up, bending over to stretch out his back.  We both lapsed into silence with me swinging my arms around and then sitting down to take off my shoes and rub my toes again.  Vann finished up with his stretching and then sat back down also, zipping up his jacket as he did so.  His ability to get a little bit warmer just made my feet hurt more.  After a few swipes at his nose and a short coughing fit he continued.

“The iron poles, interestingly enough, came back with a statement from the university they had been sent to saying the writing was unknown.  However, from some of the descriptions I read of them, and a rough sketch in the historian’s notes, I think that those poles were struck with runes, possibly what would be called Viking runes, but more properly Younger Futhark.  Each pole had only one mark on it, and two of them I would say were the runes for sun and wealth.”

younger futhark runes - long branch and short twig versions 5-3

younger futhark runes – long branch and short twig versions 5-3

“This doesn’t lead to some conspiracy theory about the Vikings discovering America first does it?”

Vann rolled his eyes.  “That’s not such a conspiracy theory anymore, although I’m not saying anything about that anyway.  You know, there is some good evidence for Viking outposts on Baffin Island and in Newfoundland.”

“That’s a long damn way from Minnesota.”

“I’ll grant you that point.  But the drawings, not great ones I’ll admit, do look like those runes.”

“And the uniform?”

“Hang on, before we get to that one.  Even though the zoetrope did not have any additional info as it never came back, I did a little research of my own and found out a few odd facts.  The actual invention of the device happened in England in about 1835, although they gave it a different name.  It wasn’t called a zoetrope until around the 1860’s when it was manufactured in the U.S. by Milton Bradley and some other companies.  This particular one was traceable, mostly because of a few markings on the bottom of its spindle that the historian noted. It was a model made by Milton Bradley in 1868 and sold mostly on the east coast.  It didn’t have any useable strips left as the one which Tom mentioned having was ruined when it got wet on the boat.”

“Isn’t 1868 a little bit odd for when that thing was made.  I mean, Tom was already living on that land and I don’t see how it managed to get into his pit.  Did anyone ever clear that up?”

“Nobody knew about it.  Like I said, that item wasn’t returned before the fire.”

I obviously knew that already.  Maybe the cold was making my mind work more slowly.  “So, the uniform?”

soldier of 104th new brunswick regiment 5-3

soldier of 104th new brunswick regiment 5-3

“The best one yet.  It had the man’s name on the inside, and some diligent research, this time by the historian himself, determined it was indeed the uniform of an enlisted man in the British Army, in this case a member of the 104th New Brunswick Regiment during the War of 1812.   There is some info on this soldier’s family in the record up there also.”

“That is pretty interesting.  Was some part of that war fought in Minnesota, or I guess the area that would become Minnesota?”

Vann paused and replied with evident delight.  “No.”  Another pause and then he followed with “Ze-bam!”

…to be continued