by Tim Westover
Chapter Ten
The rest of the ride to Dahlonega was uneventful. Holtzclaw felt himself nodding in the saddle as they passed identical miles of acceptable road. Every tree branch was only a tree branch. Every sound of water was only water. Morning broke over Dahlonega just as the pair rode into town. The clock tower at the railroad depot read six o’clock. Abigail escorted Holtzclaw past storefronts and houses that promised only quiet industry and ordinary provincial living. There would be no place for moon maidens to bathe here.
“Is it goodbye then, Mr. Holtzclaw?” she said, when they reached to the door of Shadburn’s temporary offices.
“I’m afraid so. I shouldn’t want to keep you waiting. I would invite you to a breakfast—” he flushed; she flushed—“or a coffee, let’s say, but I don’t know how long my employer will keep me. I’m sure that you too have your duties.”
“And you can get yourself back to Auraria all right?”
“If that is among my employer’s wishes.”
“Well, if your employer wishes it.”
She held out her hand. Holtzclaw shook it.
Without a further word, she departed, her second horse hitched up behind the first.
Holtzclaw had no time to consider the meaning of their farewell; he brushed off any concerns along with as much of the dust of the road from himself as he could, then knocked at Shadburn’s door.
“Not a minute too soon!” said Shadburn. “Why, you are a frightful sight. Grubby. Most unlike you. Not very respectable.” Shadburn looked uncharacteristically smart. His tie was properly done and his shoes were spit-shined. They gleamed in condemnation of Holtzclaw’s.
“I came directly when I received your message,” said Holtzclaw, glossing the truth. “Rode through the night. I haven’t slept. I haven’t breakfasted. I haven’t had a moment to tidy up.”
“It’s a hard life, Holtzclaw, it surely is. Well, we shall get you a cup of coffee on the run. The railroad men are already here.”
“At six o’clock in the morning?”
“Railroad time! These men are busy, very busy. They have a seven o’clock train back to Atlanta, so we must present our case now.”
“Our case? What is our case?”
“The land, the dam, the lake, the hotel, the railroad, clearing the town—the whole of it! There is no need for secrets with these men. They know the lot of it already, I imagine. I’d heard that they might be sniffing around Auraria—that was the rumor that compelled our present action, whether or not we were truly ready. Ah, but we’ve come so far, haven’t we? We’ll make something splendid, something that they never would have thought possible. Certainly something far better than what those railroad men may have been planning—and we get the first go, by going first.”
Holtzclaw ignored these almanac aphorisms; the sudden flood of new information left him flustered. “You haven’t told me anything about this.”
“There’s hardly time now,” said Shadburn. “Already it has taken us two minutes to cross this foyer. The railroad men must think we have fallen into a pit, and their coffee has gone cold. Will you get them a fresh pot, Holtzclaw, then come straight in?”
Shadburn vanished through a door at the end of the hallway, closing it behind him.
Holtzclaw stood helpless for a moment, not remembering where the kitchen was. He opened doors at random, first into a closet stacked with brooms, overcoats, and hats, then into a workroom that was overgrown with papers. From one of the remaining doors, a serving boy emerged, carrying a coffee pot on a polished tray. Holtzclaw took it from him with profound and repeated gratitude; he even fished into his pocket for a coin. Holtzclaw took the coffee into the salon, where Shadburn, standing, was in conversation with two men on a settee. Holtzclaw recognized them. They were the twins that had dined at the Old Rock Falls Inn when he’d first arrived in Auraria.
“At last!” said Shadburn. “Holtzclaw, my associate. Please allow me to introduce Messrs. Johnston and Carter from the railroad. Holtzclaw has come to freshen your coffee, gentlemen.”
Pouring the coffee into their outstretched cups, Holtzclaw wished that he had let the servant do his job. The twins—Shadburn hadn’t specified which was Johnston and which was Carter—accepted the hot beverage. They tipped their heads and offered their hands to Holtzclaw, as though meeting him for the first time. Holtzclaw supposed that that was proper—in the Old Rock Falls, they had not been introduced.
“Gentlemen,” said Shadburn, “I hope you’ll forgive if we dispense with the pleasantries. We are all busy, I’m sure. There is a town a few miles down the road. Its name is Auraria, and my associate and I have been acquiring property in the town and the surrounding Lost Creek Valley with an eye toward a major development project. There is promise in that place. Wouldn’t you say so, Holtzclaw?”
“Oh yes, great promise,” said Holtzclaw. “I have seen it. Very much promise indeed.”
“I have a vision of a recreational center that would take advantage of all the natural advantages of the valley,” said Shadburn. “The area is rich in timber and game, so it is a natural site for sawmills and tanneries, neither of which it has now. These natural resources are also enjoyed by the tourist. The high climate is both healthful and scenic. It is also a wet place, wouldn’t you say, Holtzclaw?”
“It’s the dampest place I’ve ever visited that wasn’t underwater. Never have I dipped my fingers in so many creeks.”
“But it’s a healthful dampness, yes?” said Shadburn.
“It’s not a swamp. There are many springs and tributaries, all swift. Many of these paint a sublime picture for the tourist’s eye.” Holtzclaw was thinking of the Cobalt Springs Lake.
“It sounds a proper treat,” said either Johnston or Carter.
“What do you need from us?” said the other.
“Industry and tourism cannot develop until there is a railroad,” said Shadburn. “And the railroad will not run until there are industry and tourism. It is that old dilemma, the chicken and his house.”
“Chicken and egg?” offered Holtzclaw.
“Yes, exactly. Which do you eat first, the chicken or the egg?”
“The egg because it is breakfast,” said either Johnston or Carter.
“The chicken because it is tastier,” said the other.
“If you are hungry, gentlemen,” said Shadburn, “Holtzclaw will fetch you something from the kitchen.” Both men shook their heads to decline. “Well then, I propose that you build a railroad from Dahlonega into Auraria. You will be the egg, and then the chickens and the timber and the furs and the visitors and the mail will follow.”
“You are not the first developer we have spoken with, Mr. Shadburn,” said Johnston or Carter.
“Every landholder believes that his land is suited to riches,” said the other.
“I am prepared to bear a greater cost, gentlemen, than your average developer,” said Shadburn, working his thumb into the cleft of his hard chin. “And my vision is grander. We will build not just a railroad, but a dam too. The Lost Creek Valley will be the Lost Lake.”
Shadburn paused for a moment, as though hoping for an audible gasp, but none came. Either his pronouncement was too predictable, or as Holtzclaw decided, he’d flubbed the delivery.
“Wouldn’t this flood the town?” asked Johnston or Carter.
“Destroy every house in the village?” asked the other.
“Oh yes, and many farms too,” said Shadburn. “That’s essential. The whole valley and its old ways will be underwater. All who are now living at the bottom must be moved to the shores. We’ll put them up in modern company housing. A first-class hotel and series of minerals baths will be located right on the water’s edge, and that will be the chief industry, but Auraria has much promise for other development.”
Holtzclaw caught a shining dream in Shadburn’s eye. It must be the thought of gold. Hotels, sawmills, tanneries—the profit here was much smaller and more difficult. Why didn’t Shadburn list gold amo
ng the valley’s resources? Maybe he meant for it to stay a secret, but he didn’t know the secret was already out. The railroad men were more acquainted with Auraria than Shadburn supposed.
“It is a lot of land,” said Johnston or Carter.
“Expensive to acquire,” said the other.
“My associate has already bought all the key properties and many besides. Half the town is already in our possession. Yes, Holtzclaw?”
“For a few of the properties,” said Holtzclaw, “negotiations are ongoing, very near the end, with only a formality or two to conclude.” Now was not the time to confess his failures.
“Persuasion is our specialty, as railroads and dams are yours,” said Shadburn. “You built the dams at Toxaway, Burton, and Rabun.”
“We caused them to be built,” said Johnston or Carter.
“We did not ourselves pick up shovels,” said the other.
“Of course!” said Shadburn, chuckling a bit, though Holtzclaw was not sure that Johnston and Carter were joking. “My plan calls for a dam that is a sight higher than Toxaway. The lake would be deeper and longer too, though narrower than Lake Toxaway, because of the shape of our valley. The lake I’ve drawn is somewhat less than a mile at its widest point, two and a half miles long, sixty feet deep at the dam, but seventy or eighty in certain hollows, and covering seven hundred acres at full fill. A perimeter road of seven miles, accounting for arms and branches that result from the natural geography.”
Holtzclaw was surprised to hear Shadburn quote numbers. It showed more forethought than usual; Shadburn was accustomed to diving into projects, trusting to inevitable success, and leaving the figuring to his protégé. Holtzclaw could not check the math in his head, but he felt the figures were dubious. Was it mathematically possible for a lake of seven hundred acres to have a boundary of seven miles and rough dimensions of one mile by two and a half miles?
“And the lake is necessary?” said Johnston or Carter.
“It’s an immense effort,” said the other.
“A lake is essential,” said Shadburn. “First, for leisure. When the wealthy people of Milledgeville, Charleston, and Chattanooga take their leisure in this modern age, they want the water. Hunting and hiking are good enough. But the allure of boating, fishing, and swimming is greater. Second, for power. The flow of the Lost Creek has, heretofore, been wasted. There is hardly a water wheel propelled by it now. Our powerhouse will drive a host of electric wonders in the hotel. Finally, for aesthetics. For every leaf that Nature bursts into color or for every cupola that we polish on the roof of the hotel, the mirror surface of the lake creates another for free. You will forgive me, gentlemen, if I am effusive about the virtues of the lake. It is just that I see it as the heart of the project. I would abandon the whole enterprise right now, in total, rather than to give up on the lake.”
“Mountains must be sheared off,” said either Johnston or Carter.
“Tunnels excavated,” said the other.
“Who will pay for the expense?”
“Who will own the lake and dam and rails?”
“The rails you will own,” said Shadburn, “including the whole of the profit for every passenger, bag of mail, and ton of cargo that passes along. I don’t care for those revenues if you will build and service the line. I will pay for the construction on the dam—every penny—if you’ll build it for me. I want the highest quality. Spare no expense.”
Holtzclaw sputtered into his cooling coffee. Shadburn had promised them mountains of money, and what could he hope to get in return?
“You’ve met with no serious objections thus far?” said Johnston or Carter.
“No one who will buy and hold any of the essential lots?”
“Even if every detail of the project were printed on broadsheets and tacked up in the square,” said Shadburn, “I cannot imagine that we would have any opposition. All in the valley will benefit, and thus, no one will oppose.”
“I think we’ve heard enough,” said Johnston or Carter.
“We’ll build your railroad and your dam,” said the other.
“You won’t regret it. It will be a splendid profit for the people in Auraria,” said Shadburn.
“And for you,” said Johnston or Carter.
“An excellent profit, if all goes well,” said the other.
“Oh, I suppose so,” said Shadburn, “after a time. Our first expense is a retainer for you as a deposit on the construction costs. Holtzclaw, would you fetch the strongbox?” He pointed to a stained blanket in the corner of the room.
Holtzclaw removed the covering to reveal several strongboxes. So poorly guarded! The first that Holtzclaw opened was stuffed full with brown leaves.
“That is tea,” said Shadburn. “I do not think these gentlemen would take that as a deposit.”
Holtzclaw opened a second one, confirming that it contained more customary currencies, then brought it to Shadburn, who removed fistfuls of federal notes. The railroad men had not come prepared to receive such a sum, so Holtzclaw fetched a potato sack from the kitchen. Once the dirt was knocked out of it, the potato sack was very suitable and inconspicuous.
“I’ll start with a standard form contract,” said Holtzclaw. “Then we will append our specific requirements.”
“These gentlemen haven’t time for even your hastiest contract,” said Shadburn.
“For a transaction of this magnitude,” said Holtzclaw, “with so many promises made and major constructions planned, each party would want some kind of protection.”
“I think that we can take the word of these gentlemen,” said Shadburn, “which is built upon the substantial reputation of their railroad.”
“At the very least, a receipt!” said Holtzclaw.
“No, Holtzclaw, it’s not necessary,” said Shadburn. “Let us shake on it and consider the matter finished, or rather, just begun.”
Handshakes were exchanged from all sides—between Shadburn and the railroad men, between Holtzclaw and the railroad men, between Shadburn and Holtzclaw, between the railroad men, and even with the servant boy who came into the room with fresh coffee just as all were rising to leave.
From the porch of their offices, Shadburn and Holtzclaw watched the railroad men disappear into the foot traffic of the awakening town. A train whistle sounded from nearby, and a plume of steam rose into the air. The clock tower chimed for seven o’clock.
“Well, that went well,” said Shadburn. “I’m famished. Let’s eat.”
•
The deal—if indeed it was a deal and not just bribery—had only gone so well because Shadburn had bought and paid for the railroad, twice over, with an indiscriminate torrent of federal notes. How could it be good business to begin such an ambitious project so far in debt, so casually? And yet, Holtzclaw’s creed required him to believe in Shadburn's actions—the years he’d spent under this paragon of industry required it. Holtzclaw could not bring him to label Shadburn’s actions insanity; genius of sufficient brilliance looks like insanity to all but the most promising and learned men, and Holtzclaw wanted to number himself among the promising and learned.
Shadburn refused to address any of Holtzclaw’s questions until both men were seated in a local eatery. The server, without taking their order, brought them plates of pan-fried poultry cutlets and scrambled eggs and hash browns topped with onions.
Shadburn smacked his lips. “It’s tasty enough,” he said. “But in Auraria, they serve the hash browns with wild forest mushrooms, butter poached. You’d never seen that in Dahlonega, and they would think you funny if you asked for it. Marvelous, isn’t it, the regional differences in a cuisine. Here we are, not ten miles from a place, and the kitchen manners are as different as if we had traveled to the Orient.”
“That’s an overstatement,” said Holtzclaw. “Whether you’re in Auraria and Dahlonega, it’s still potatoes.”
“You didn’t have Auraria’s hash browns with mushrooms, then? You’d feel differently if you’d eaten them.”
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Holtzclaw rapped the table with his knuckles. “Your stomach has given you away. This is not just any tiny hamlet. You’ve been there before.”
Shadburn smiled. “I’ve been all over, Holtzclaw, always passing through. Most places are not worth revisiting, and many of our contemporaries would never give Auraria a second glance. But they are mistaken—we see more clearly, you and I, having been there. It has a certain enchantment, don’t you think?”
“I would not think there was any place like it on earth,” said Holtzclaw. “Red fish that jump up from lakes of mist. Houses with infinite interior space. Farms frozen over by their springhouses. Moon maidens. Plat-eyes out to rob travelers not of their goods, but of their heads. I fear that these forces will conspire to make our plans impossible, or at the least very expensive.”
“Every hill and dale has its particular boogeymen. There is supposed to be some kind of skunk ape that lives in the Okefenokee, but did that matter to us when we were buying logging rights down there?”
“I doubt you’d brave skunk-apes and plat-eyes and a hundred owners to build a hotel. Not enough profit in it. You must have an inside word on a new strike of gold.”
“Gold! Why, that is the real plague on Auraria. They should have kept its old name—I’d rather it were Knucklesville still. Did you see men neglecting their fields to pan at the creek side? Did you see men becoming moles, living underground, chasing seams that they’ve never seen? Did you witness old women toss away their hard work because they caught a glimpse of gold coins? It’s a sad occupation, all caprice and luck, and all its fortunes are unnatural.”
“I can’t believe you would try to wipe out something as profitable as gold mining.”
“That’s just it, Holtzclaw. It isn’t profitable. If it were, don’t you think that the valley would be crawling with commercial mines? Did the people of Auraria look like they were bathing in gold dust? Yes, you’re about to say that you saw plenty of gold dust up there. From time to time, someone strikes a nugget, but that makes matters worse. A hundred dollars’ worth of gold, spent in an evening, inspires those poor people to throw away a million dollars of good work, rich land, tall trees, fat animals.”
“And if you flood all the mining tunnels, then the people of Auraria will have no choice but to do something more productive?”
“We’ll show them the way. Sawmills, tanneries, but most importantly, a hotel and resort, which will attract the best people.”
“It’s like nothing we’ve done before.”
“We built a lake at Canton,” said Shadburn.
“You were in the right place when someone else built a lake at Canton. That’s a distinction that makes all the difference! You bought and held the property—not the whole basin, just the shoreline—and sold it as the water came up. There was no construction, no relocation, no development at all after the dam gates were shut.”
“Of course, yes, you’re right,” murmured Shadburn.
The table fell silent. Ravaged plates of hash browns congealed before them.
“Was this the only meeting you had in mind?” asked Holtzclaw. “May I go back to Auraria now?”
“So eager to return? Has it already weaved a spell on you?”
“I have work to do.”
“We’ll both go, Holtzclaw. All the land is bought, yes, except for a few trifles? We’re ready to move to the next phase.”
“Am I supposed to have bought a whole town already? I did the best I could with a day and a half. It’s more than I’ve ever bought in such a short time.”
Shadburn frowned. “How far did you make it down the list I gave you, then?”
At last, Holtzclaw had to reveal his failure. “I bought the lands of the widow Smith Patterson, the Moss farm, the Strickland farm, Bogan’s lands, but leaving the mineral rights, though that is solved easily enough. The Walton house with its many floors and alphabetized employees. The Amazon Branch. I fear that I overpaid for it, but that does not appear to be a concern of yours on this project. The last I tried was the Sky Pilot’s house. Despite my best pleadings, he has not yet sold his parcel at the top of the Terrible Cascade.”
“You’ve missed the most important piece!” said Shadburn. “The Terrible Cascade is the site for the dam. The Sky Pilot’s cabin will be beneath a hundred thousand tons of earth.”
“I will dislodge him yet,” said Holtzclaw. “Give me time.”
“I can’t understand it, Holtzclaw. You explained to the Sky Pilot the value of the project, didn’t you?”
“How could I have told him? I didn’t know your plans myself. I invented some story about wanting to recover scrap metal from the gold mines, but the Sky Pilot wouldn’t hear it.”
“I wish you hadn’t mentioned the mines at all,” said Shadburn.
“I was careful not to stir up any hopes. I didn’t say that I was starting any diggings. Only that the mines contained certain pieces of scrap in which the Standard Company had a passing interest. I saw some elaborate workings in the tunnels. Tracks, carts. Some could be quite valuable, Shadburn.”
“You were in the mine tunnels too? Holtzclaw, this becomes worse and worse! You did not have time to persuade the Sky Pilot to sell, but you crawled through the mud of the mine tunnels looking at scrap metal. Have you succumbed to gold fever? I must go back with you to Auraria, to make sure you aren’t distracted.”
“Give me a little more time. Let me finish what I’ve started.”
“It’s decided, Holtzclaw. In truth, it’s a matter of mushrooms. We started talking about Auraria’s cuisine, and now, another Dahlonega breakfast does not appeal to me in the least.”
“We’re not in the mushroom business now, are we?”
“Would that we were!” said Shadburn.
