“Then go ahead and do your worst, Royce,” said Pa.
“You’re bluffing, Hollister. I can call any of a dozen notes due, and there’s no possible way you can back them up.”
Pa stared straight into Mr. Royce’s face, and for a moment they stood eye to eye, as if each were daring the other to call the bluff. When Pa spoke, his words were cold and hard as steel.
“Try me, Royce,” he said, still staring into the banker’s eyes. “You just try me, if you want to take the chance. But you may find I’m not as easy an adversary as you think. People in these parts know I’m a man of my word, and they can trust me. I don’t think you’d be wise to go up against me.”
“What my husband is trying to tell you, Franklin,” said Almeda, “is that you can call notes due and try to foreclose all you want. We’ve let it be known that if people find themselves in trouble with you, they can come see us. You may call those dozen loans due, but once they are paid off, what are you left with? A vault full of cash. Without loans, a bank cannot make a profit. You’ll wind up with no loans, no land, no property, and before long the Royce Miners’ Bank will be out of business, Franklin.”
“That’s too ridiculous to deserve a reply!”
“Do you think the people of this town will think it ridiculous when they learn that the six-and-a-quarter percent interest you have been charging them is almost two full percentage points higher than the current rate in San Francisco and Sacramento?”
“Rates are higher further away from financial centers.”
“Your rates are two points higher than what we intend to charge people on our loans.”
“You would dare undercut me?”
“No, we merely intend to charge our borrowers the fair and current rate.”
“I don’t believe you!”
“If you don’t have better manners toward women yet, Royce,” interrupted Pa angrily, “than to call them liars to their face, I suggest you go see Pat Shaw and take a look at the note we drew up for him. Four-and-a-half percent, just like my wife said! You can squawk all you want about it, but when folks find out you’ve been taking advantage of them, they won’t take too kindly to it. They’re gonna be lining up at your door begging you to call their notes due so they can borrow from us instead!”
He paused just long enough to take a breath. Then his eyes bore into Franklin Royce one final time.
“So like I said, Royce,” he added, “you go ahead and do your worst. You think I’m bluffing, then you try me! You’d be doing this community a favor by calling every loan you hold due, and letting the good folks of Miracle Springs pay you off and start borrowing from somebody else at a fair rate. Then you can see what it’s like trying to make a living competing with my wife in the freight and supplies business!”
Mr. Royce returned Pa’s stare as long as he dared, which wasn’t long, then without another word, flicked his whip, turned his horse around, and flew off down the road back toward town.
Pa and Almeda watched him go. Then she slipped her hand through his arm, and they turned and walked slowly back to the house. They seemed at peace with what they had done, because they knew it was right, but they couldn’t help being anxious about the results. If Royce did start calling notes due, there wasn’t much they could do to stop him beyond helping a handful of other men, and that would only make it worse for everybody else. If they did bail out Rolf Douglas and whoever followed him, once they reached the $50,000 limit that Mr. Finch had promised, they would have no more help to give. And then, once word got out that the Hollister-Parrish “bank” had run dry, Mr. Royce would get his chance to foreclose on everybody in sight, run Parrish Mine and Freight out of business, gobble up all the land for miles around, get elected mayor, and gain control of the whole area.
Everything Pa and Almeda had said was true, and they meant every bit of it. But there was a lot of bluff in their words too. Now there was nothing left to do but wait and see how Mr. Royce decided to play his cards.
“Well, Corrie,” said Pa with a half-smile as they came toward me, “I reckon we’ve done it now. Your next article may be about the end of Miracle Springs and the beginning of Royceville!”
Almeda and I laughed. But all three of us knew Pa’s joke was a real possibility, too real to be very funny.
Chapter 17
The Doc’s Visit and Pa’s Scare
The election was less than two weeks away.
The moment Franklin Royce disappeared down the road in his black buggy and we went back inside the house, a last-minute let-down seemed to come over Almeda.
There was nothing more to be done. She wasn’t going to give any more speeches or write any more flyers. And as far as visiting and talking with folks was concerned, she said everything had already been stirred up plenty. The people had more than enough to talk about for one year, she said, and Franklin Royce had enough fuel to keep his hatred burning for a long time. It was best just to wait for events to unfold.
Almost immediately, her whole system seemed to collapse. Even as they walked away from the conversation with Mr. Royce, her face was pale and her smile forced.
The minute they were inside, she sat down heavily and breathed out a long and weary sigh. Tiny beads of perspiration dotted her white forehead. Pa saw instantly that she wasn’t feeling well at all. She didn’t even argue when he took her hand, helped her back to her feet, and led her into the other room to their bed. She lay down, and Pa brought her a drink of water. He wiped her face for a minute with a cool, damp cloth, and before long she was sound asleep.
Almeda remained in bed the rest of that Friday and all day Saturday, only getting up to go to the outhouse. Pa tended her like a mother with a baby. When Katie or Emily or I would try to take Ma something or sit beside her or help her on one of her many walks outside, Pa would say, “No, she’s my wife. Nobody loves her as much as me, and nobody is gonna take care of her but me. Besides,” he added with a wink, “I got her into this here fix, so I oughta be the one who helps her through it!”
The rest of us fixed the meals and cleaned up the house, but Pa took care of Almeda. He even sat beside her while she was sleeping, held her hand when she got sick, and read to her now and then, either from a book or from the Bible. If the rest of the town could only have seen him, some of the men might have made fun of him for doting on her. But no woman would have thought it was anything short of wonderful to have a husband love and care for her so tenderly as Pa did Almeda.
In the midst of all the turmoil over the election and loans and money and rumors and legal questions about Pa’s claim and the future of Parrish Freight, it had been easy to forget that Almeda was in the family way. Except when she’d get sick for half an hour or hour every few days, she didn’t seem any different, and she wasn’t showing any plumpness around her middle.
But Pa started to get concerned about her condition on Saturday afternoon when she still lay in bed, looking pale and feeling terrible. He sent Zack and Tad off on their horses to fetch Doc Shoemaker.
When the Doc came an hour or so later, he went immediately into the sick room with Pa. After examining Almeda he shook his head, puzzled.
“Everything seems fine,” he said, “but she’s weak, and mighty sick. I don’t quite know how to account for it. Came on her sudden, you say?”
“Yep,” answered Pa. “She was fine and full of pep for a day or so after she got back, and then she started to tire out pretty bad.”
“Back from where?”
“Sacramento.”
“Sacramento? How’d she get there?”
“In her buggy, how else?”
“She bounced around on a buggy seat for that whole trip and back?”
“I reckon so,” said Pa reluctantly. By now he realized Doc Shoemaker was mighty upset.
“Drummond Hollister, you idiot! What in blazes did you let her do that for!”
“She didn’t exactly ask,” said Pa. “She just said she was going. I asked if she wanted me to go with her,
and she said no, that I oughta stay here, and I didn’t think any more about it. She just went, that’s all.”
“This lady’s between three and four months pregnant! She can’t be doing things like that. I’m surprised she hasn’t already lost the child from the exertion of a journey like that. She still may.”
All the color drained from Pa’s face. I had never seen him so scared. “I—I didn’t think of all that,” he stammered. “She’s the kind of woman who’s used to doing what she likes, and I don’t usually stand in her way.”
“Well, you’re her husband and the father of the baby she’s carrying. So you’d just better start telling her to take it easy. If she doesn’t like it, then you put your foot down, do you hear me? Otherwise you might lose both a baby and a wife!”
“Is she really in danger, Doc?” Pa’s voice shook.
“I don’t know. I hope not. But she needs rest—and you make sure she gets it!”
Chapter 18
A Few More Cards Get Played
Almeda was up and out of bed some by Monday. Most of the color had come back into her cheeks and she was smiling again.
Pa made her stay in bed most of the day, and the minute she even had a fleeting thought about going into town or doing any last-minute campaigning, he wouldn’t hear of it for a second!
“Corrie can manage the office fine without you,” he said. “And whatever campaigning’s to be done—which I don’t figure is much—I’ll do myself. There’s not much we can do anyway, and the best thing for you is more rest. I don’t aim to take any more chances!”
“Why, Drummond Hollister,” she said, “I declare, if I didn’t know better I’d take you for one of those slave-driving husbands who thinks his every word is supposed to be absolute law!” Her voice was still a little weak, but it was good to hear her joking again.
“Well, maybe it’s time I started exerting my authority a mite more over an unruly wife who sometimes doesn’t know what’s for her own good,” Pa jibed back. But joking or not, he still was determined to make her stay home and stay in bed as much as he could.
I went into town to the office, but I quickly discovered that while Almeda had been sick and we had been thinking only about her, the rest of the town had been talking about something else. And although the election was only eight days away, the elections to vote for mayor or United States President were not on people’s minds.
I came back home on Raspberry about half an hour before noon. “Pa,” I said, “I don’t know what to do. The office has been full of people all morning.”
“Don’t ask me,” he answered, “you and Almeda know the business, not me.”
“It’s not the business they’re coming in about, Pa. It’s about money and the worries about Royce.”
“Who’s been coming in?” he asked.
“Several of the men—asking to see Almeda . . . or you, when I told them she was sick. Mr. Douglas was one of the first.”
“Rolf?”
“Yes, and he didn’t look too happy.”
A worried look crossed Pa’s face. “Royce musta called his note due,” he muttered. There was no anger in his voice, only a deep concern. Mr. Royce had apparently decided to play another card and call Pa’s bluff.
Pa let out a deep sigh. “Reckon I’d best head into the office and see what’s up,” he said, “though I’m not sure I want to. What’s going on now?” he added, turning to me. “What’s Ashton doing?”
“I told him I was coming home to talk to you and to tell anyone who asked that I’d be back after a spell.”
“Okay . . . I’ll go saddle up the horse in a minute, and we’ll ride back in.”
He went into the bedroom to talk to Almeda a minute, then said to Emily and Becky, “You girls take care of your mother if she needs anything. And if she tries to get up and about too much, you tell her I told you to make her lie down again.”
“Yes, Pa,” said Emily. “Don’t worry about her at all. We’ll see that she keeps resting.”
“Good. Corrie, we’d best be off.” He went out to the barn while I went in to visit with Almeda for a few minutes. She was feeling a lot better, but she seemed quiet and thoughtful and a little sad. I suppose she was anxious about the men in town, and maybe about the election.
When Pa and I rode into town, we saw a small group of men standing around the door of Parrish Mine and Freight. A few were leaning against the building, and a couple sat on the edge of the wooden walkway, chatting aimlessly and waiting for Pa. When we rode up, they stood and turned in our direction. Worry filled all their faces. Rolf Douglas was at the head of the line right next to the door.
“He done it, Drum,” said Mr. Douglas as we rode up, holding the paper he held in his hand up toward us.
“Thirty days?” said Pa, dismounting.
“Yep. I already been to see him to ask whether he would reconsider if I got back up with the two months I’m behind. But he said nope, got to have the cash or be out in thirty days.”
“Well, come on in,” said Pa, opening the door and leading the way into the office. “We’ll see if we can’t work something to help you out.”
“What about the rest of us, Drum?” someone else called out. “We’ve got loans with Royce too.”
“Any one of us could be next,” called out another.
“Hold your horses, all of you,” said Pa. “Right now Rolf here’s the one with immediate problems with Royce. Let me get him taken care of first. Then we’ll talk about what’s to be done next.”
He and Mr. Douglas went into Almeda’s office. Ten minutes later they emerged and walked back outside. Mr. Douglas’s expression was completely changed, and even Pa had the beginnings of a smile on his face. In that short time, the assembly of men outside had grown to ten or twelve.
Pa gave Mr. Douglas a slap on the back, then the two men shook hands. “You come back and see me in three weeks, Rolf,” Pa said. “That’ll give you eight or ten days before the money’s due to Royce. We’ll finish up our arrangement then.”
Mr. Douglas thanked him, and by then all the other men were clamoring around, asking questions, wanting to know how things stood with them if they suddenly found themselves in the same predicament.
I don’t know whether Pa was aware of it or not, but I thought I could see the outline of a familiar face in the bank window down the street. Word of the goings-on outside the Parrish Freight office would get back to Royce’s ears soon enough.
“Listen to me, all the rest of you,” Pa said. “We can’t help you out until Royce tries to foreclose on you. Even the Hollister-Parrish bank’s got limits, you know!”
He laughed, and all the men joined in.
“But we’ll help you out when your time of need comes, you can depend on that. So long as we’re able, whatever we got is yours. The minute Royce sends you a paper, you come see me and we’ll sit down and talk. Until then, all of you just hang tight and go on with your business.”
“Thanks, Drum . . . we’re obliged to ya. We all owe you an’ your missus, and we won’t forget it!” called out several of the men as they began to disperse down the street.”
“Just remember,” Pa called out, “you men vote according to your consciences a week from tomorrow. I ain’t gonna mention no names, but you just remember that as long as you got friends you can trust, no one is gonna be able to hurt you no matter what they may threaten to do.”
He didn’t have to mention any names. Every one of the men understood perfectly what Pa meant.
And as the week progressed and the days wound down toward the election, this statement of Pa’s spread around town and became a final campaign pledge that stuck clearly in people’s minds.
Judging from his action, it was obvious that Franklin Royce had heard Pa’s statement about friends you could trust too.
Chapter 19
Woman to Woman
By the middle of the week Almeda was back to a normal schedule and was going into town for at least a good part of the day
. But she was unusually quiet, and it seemed as if something weighed on her mind. I didn’t know if it had to do with the election or the Royce trouble or anxiety about the baby.
After all that had gone on with the build-up to the election, the last week was completely quiet—no speeches, no rumors, no new banners. No one saw Mr. Royce. Almeda kept to herself. There were no more threats of foreclosure. Business went on as usual, and Tuesday, November 4 steadily approached. The most exciting thing that happened had nothing whatever to do with the election. That was the news that Aunt Katie was expecting again. The two new cousins were both scheduled to arrive sometime in the early spring of 1857.
Time had slipped by so fast that I didn’t have the opportunity to get a second article written about the election. But almost before I had a chance to think through the possibility of a post-election story, which I wasn’t sure I wanted to do if Mr. Royce won, all of a sudden a realization struck me. I still hadn’t seen my Fremont article in the Alta!
What could have happened? Did I miss it? I’d been so preoccupied with everything that was going on, I hadn’t read through every single issue. Had it come and I hadn’t seen it?
I couldn’t believe that was the case. Mr. Kemble always sent me a copy of my articles separately. He had done so with every one he had ever printed. Then why hadn’t this article been printed? It was the most important thing I had ever written, and it was almost too late!
I rushed home that day and frantically searched through the stack of Altas from the last three weeks. It was not there. My article had still not been printed!
All that evening I stewed about it, wondering what I ought to do. By the next morning nothing had been resolved in my mind. So when we got ready to go into town, I asked Almeda if I could ride with her in the buggy instead of taking Raspberry like I usually did.
I began by telling her about the article’s not appearing, and about Mr. Kemble.
A Place in the Sun Page 8
