A Place in the Sun

by Michael Phillips

  “What will people say, Drummond?” she said. “Picking a woman’s bad enough . . . but your own wife!”

  “I don’t care what they say, woman. You’re one of the most qualified people around here, and everyone knows it. You ran for mayor. And what anyone thinks is their own business—I want you on my town council.”

  But his final selection made everyone for miles throw their hands up in the air wondering if Drummond Hollister had finally gone loco once and for all. He wouldn’t say anything to any of us ahead of time, and on the day when he made the announcement of the council members to a gathering of people in town, he saved the surprise name for last.

  “As the sixth and final person to help look over this town,” Pa said, “I name a fellow I’ve had a difference or two with, but who I reckon has just about as much a say in the things that go on around here as anyone—Franklin Royce.”

  So that was Miracle Springs’ first town council—Bosely, Rafferty, Hooper, Shannahan, Parrish-Hollister, and Royce—with Drummond Hollister mayor over them. As time went on, everyone saw Pa’s wisdom in picking the people he did. Everyone came to have a real confidence in the council to make decisions that were for the whole community’s good. Even Mr. Royce began to be seen in a new light. I think it meant a lot to him that Pa had picked him, although he wouldn’t do much to show it.

  The first meeting of the town council was a celebrated affair that was held, of all places, in a back room of the Gold Nugget, which they cleaned up for the occasion. Lots of people were there, curious to see what was going to happen. But for the meeting itself, Pa wouldn’t let any spectators in.

  “There may be time enough one day for all you gawkers to see us do some of our town counciling. But for this first time together, we aim to just talk among ourselves, and get a few matters of business settled.”

  Then he shut the door and disappeared inside, leaving all the onlookers in the saloon to drink and talk and wonder out loud what there could possibly be for a Miracle Springs town council to talk about, anyway.

  When Uncle Nick was telling us about it afterwards, he said, “There was more than one of the men that said, ‘What in tarnation’s got into Drum, anyhow? He’s done got hisself so blamed official about everything since the election! He ain’t no fun no more!’”

  But mostly Uncle Nick said the men had a lot of respect for how Pa was handling the whole thing.

  When Pa and Almeda got back later that evening it was already pretty late, but we were dying of curiosity. Pa didn’t say much, but Almeda went on and on about it.

  “You should have seen him!” she exclaimed. “Your father ran that meeting like he was the Governor himself! Why, he even had to shut me up once or twice.”

  “You told me to treat you like all the others and not to give you preferential treatment on account of us being married,” said Pa in defense.

  “I didn’t mean you had to silence me in mid-sentence.”

  “You were carrying on, Almeda,” said Pa, “and I didn’t see anything else to do but shut you down before you made a fool of yourself by what you were saying.”

  “A fool of myself!”

  “You were talking like a woman, not like a town councilman. And maybe you are a councilwoman, not a councilman, but you still gotta act like a councilman. I’m just trying to protect you from getting criticized by any of the others.”

  Almeda didn’t say anything for a minute, then added, “Well, even if I am still vexed with you for what you did, I still think you ran that meeting like the best mayor in the world, and I’m proud of you.”

  “What did you talk about, Pa?” asked Emily.

  “Oh, not too much, I reckon. A town this size hasn’t got all that much that anyone needs to decide. We just looked at a copy of some bylaws I brought from Sacramento and talked about some of the stuff, trying to decide how we ought to do things here in Miracle.”

  One of the things they decided over the course of the next few meetings had to do with growth and new businesses that might come to Miracle Springs in the future. With the way the state was growing so fast—and this was something Pa said they talked a lot about at the meetings in Sacramento—communities like ours had to make some decisions early about how much they wanted to grow and in what ways. Pa and the council members decided that the council would vote on any new businesses that wanted to come and start up in Miracle, so that they’d have the chance to determine if they thought it was a good idea or not.

  As it turned out, this decision was one of the first ones to be tested, and the results were different than anyone had expected.

  Chapter 40

  Pa’s First Big Decision

  As a result of all the ruckus the previous autumn about money and foreclosures and all the threats Mr. Royce had made about calling notes due, an unexpected turn of events landed Pa and the rest of the council in the middle of a controversy. Pa and Almeda were even more in the middle of it than anyone else.

  When Almeda’s friend from Sacramento, Mr. Denver, had helped to arrange with his boss, Mr. Finch, for them to borrow the money to help Patrick Shaw, the incident had apparently stirred up Mr. Finch’s old antagonism toward Franklin Royce. Mr. Denver told Almeda that there was a time when his boss had thought about expanding their financial holdings into the northlands, and now it seemed that uncovering his old grievances had brought that desire to life again.

  One day out of nowhere Carl Denver rode into town to see Almeda. Almeda’s first thought was that something had gone sour on their arrangement with Mr. Finch and that he was about to call Pa and Almeda’s money with him due. But that wasn’t it at all, Mr. Denver assured her.

  “Finch couldn’t be more pleased to be involved with you people up here,” he went on with a smile. “In fact, he’s hoping this is but the beginning. Which brings me to the reason for my trip.”

  He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out several papers. From where I was standing in another part of the office, they looked like legal documents of some kind.

  “Mr. Finch wants to open a branch of Finchwood Ltd. right here in Miracle Springs!” he announced. “He’s already had all the documents drawn up, and he sent me up to find a site and begin making specific preparations.”

  “That’s wonderful,” replied Almeda. “But I can’t imagine . . . why Miracle Springs? Finchwood is a sizeable investment firm. What can there possibly be here to interest you?”

  “All of California is growing at an explosive rate. Mr. Finch is a shrewd businessman, and loses no opportunity to get in on the ground floor, as he calls it. He’s convinced that Miracle Springs will one day become a sort of hub for this region north of Sacramento. And I have to tell you, Almeda,” he went on, “no small part of that has to do with your impact upon him. He was quite taken with you—with your resolve, your determination. He’s watched what went on here, followed the election, and then saw your husband at the recent town-leader meetings down in Sacramento.”

  “Mr. Finch met Drummond?”

  “No, they didn’t actually meet. But Mr. Finch has been considering a move of this kind for some time, so he went to the meetings to explore possibilities. He heard your husband address the meeting, and was duly impressed with him as well. Out of all the growing communities represented at those meetings, he came away thinking more strongly than ever that Miracle Springs was the town he wanted to invest in—with a new bank, with investment opportunities for the miners who happen to be doing well and need a place for their funds, and perhaps with other businesses as well.”

  “I must say, Carl, I’m . . . I’m rather speechless. It’s so unexpected—to think that Miracle Springs could one day grow into an actual city.”

  “There’s no could to it, Almeda. If Mr. Finch has his way—and he usually does—there will be no way to stop Miracle Springs from growing by leaps and bounds. A population of 10,000 or more within three to five years would not be out of the question. And you know what that means?”

  “I imagine it w
ould mean a great number of things,” replied Almeda slowly, her expression turning very serious. “But what do you think it means, Carl?”

  “It means money, Almeda, opportunity, jobs. Your business, even if no changes were made, would positively explode. But as I said, Mr. Finch is very taken with you and your husband. He would lose no chance to make some very attractive and lucrative opportunities available to you. He would like to help you expand your business. He told me to convey that to you personally. He would invest money in your husband’s re-election campaign when the time comes. He even hopes to persuade one of you to join him in Finchwood in some capacity or other—perhaps with a stock option—in order that you and your husband might be influential in securing Finchwood access into the community, so that we would be able to gain people’s trust, as it were.”

  “I see,” responded Almeda, thinking heavily.

  “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Almeda. If the growth happens as Mr. Finch is convinced it can with his money pouring into the area, in five years you and your husband could wind up in a very secure position—even wealthy, by the standards of most people. Your husband would be mayor of one of California’s leading small and growing cities. And who knows what opportunities can open up politically, with your being so close to Sacramento. Not to mention the vast influence you would both have right here in your own community. You would become its first man and first woman, with the prestige and wealth to accompany it!”

  Almeda was silent a moment. It was clear Mr. Denver didn’t understand her hesitancy.

  “There is one thing you have perhaps not considered in all this,” said Almeda at length.

  “What is that?”

  “The town council.”

  “Oh, not to worry. A mere formality,” said Mr. Denver buoyantly. “It’s money that runs politics, not politics that runs money, Almeda. Once the people of this community realize all the good to come of the kinds of investments and growth Finchwood will bring, they’ll be begging us to come.”

  “A recent town ordinance was passed which says the town council must authorize any new business within Miracle Springs.”

  “Yes—and aren’t both you and your husband on the council?”

  “I am. Not Drummond.”

  “But he’s the mayor. Why, with the two of you behind this thing, it can’t lose!”

  “There is one person who will lose from it, that much is certain,” said Almeda.”

  “Who’s that?” asked Denver.

  “Franklin Royce,” she answered. “His bank won’t survive six months once a new one opens its doors.”

  “Mr. Finch did think of that,” Mr. Denver observed with a sly smile. “He’s been waiting for a chance to put him out of business for years. And ever since you came to us for help last year, he’s been slowly hatching this scheme in that clever brain of his.”

  “Seems a little too bad.”

  “Too bad! Royce is a no-good crook! You as much as said so yourself. I thought the two of you hated him as much as Mr. Finch does. Hasn’t he tried to put you out of business?”

  “Yes, there’s no denying he has . . . several times.”

  “Then here’s your chance to get even and rid Miracle Springs of him forever.”

  Again, Almeda was silent.

  “And from what I understand, he’s opened a supplies outlet in direct competition with you,” Mr. Denver added.

  She nodded.

  “Well, now do you see how well this will work out for everybody? Kill two birds with one stone, as the saying goes—drive Royce out of business, and his bank and store with him! And all the while Miracle Springs will be growing and you and your husband will be making money and gaining power. What more could anyone hope for!”

  “What more, indeed,” repeated Almeda, her voice filled with reservation in spite of Mr. Denver’s enthusiasm. “But you do know that Franklin is on the council too?”

  “Of course. I’ve done my background work before coming here. One vote won’t hurt us. Five to one is just as good as six to zero. Besides, everyone in the whole community hates Royce too. We’ll be performing a service to the whole area by getting rid of him! And just to make sure, I’ll be contacting the other council members to outline the advantages to them personally for voting with Finchwood.”

  Almeda did not reply, and then the conversation moved off in other directions. Finally Mr. Denver left to go to the boarding house where he would be staying.

  Miracle always seemed to be in the middle of something or another that had people stirred up and talking and taking sides. And no sooner had all the election hullabaloo settled down than we were smack in the midst of another upheaval. Carl Denver saw to that! He started right off talking to the members of the town council—all except one. Within a few days it was all over town about Finchwood’s plans and all the growth and prosperity that would come to Miracle Springs and how good it would be for all its people.

  Folks talked about it a lot, and almost everyone seemed to think it was a good thing. You can’t stop progress, Mr. Denver had been telling them, and no one seemed inclined to try. Besides, they said, new businesses and new money and new investments in the community couldn’t help but be good for everybody. And if California was going to grow, why shouldn’t Miracle Springs get right in and grow as fast as anyplace else?

  Undoubtedly the change would do damage to the Royce Miners’ Bank, especially because Mr. Denver let it be known that Finchwood would probably lend money for land and homes at lower interest than Mr. Royce. I don’t think most people wanted to hurt Mr. Royce, but at the same time they weren’t all that worried about him, either. “If he can’t keep up with the times, that’s his own fault,” Mr. Shaw commented to Almeda when he was over visiting. “Wouldn’t bother me none at all to see him run out of here for good!”

  Of course, Mr. Shaw had good reason to dislike Franklin Royce, but a lot of other people would probably have agreed with Alkali Jones assessment of the situation: “Serves the dang varmint right, hee, hee, hee!” he cackled. “He ain’t been out fer nobody but his blame self for years, an’ now it’ll just be givin’ him a dose o’ his own medicine!”

  Pa and Almeda were surprisingly quiet through the whole thing. I knew they were talking and praying together, but they didn’t tell anyone what they were thinking. Almeda had remained somber ever since the day when Mr. Denver had come into the Freight office. I didn’t understand her hesitation, if that’s what was making her quiet about it. It seemed to me that it couldn’t help but be good for her and Pa and the business. And in a way they’d already thrown in with Finchwood months before with their dealings over the Shaw and Douglas notes. I’d heard them talk once or twice about the possibility of getting even more money to lend to people if Mr. Royce got troublesome again. Pa had even jokingly said something about the new Hollister-Parrish “bank,” and then laughed. So it seemed that what Mr. Finch was proposing fit right in with what they’d been thinking of themselves.

  A special town council meeting was planned to vote on it, so that Mr. Denver could get the papers signed and finalize everything before he went back to report to Mr. Finch. During the week he was here, he had a sign painted, and the day before the meeting it went up in the window of an empty building two doors down from Mr. Bosely’s. It read, Future Home of Finchwood Ltd., with the words, Investments, Banking, Securities underneath in smaller letters. No one saw much of Mr. Royce all week.

  On the morning of the meeting, I said to Pa at breakfast, “How are you going to vote, Pa?”

  “Don’t you know, girl, it’s the council’s decision to make, not mine.”

  “Then how’s Almeda going to vote?”

  “You’re asking me? She doesn’t tell me ahead of time. When it comes to the council, she’s not my wife. She’s representing the town, not me. And I don’t want to know what she’s thinking, because then one of us might try to do some convincing for our own side, and that wouldn’t be right for the town, now would it?”


  “I guess not,” I answered.

  Just then Almeda walked in from the other room.

  “Corrie asked me how you’re going to vote,” Pa told her.

  “And what did you tell her?”

  “That I didn’t know, which I don’t.”

  “When we’re representing Miracle Springs, Corrie,” Almeda went on, “we’ve got to do our best to lay our personal feelings aside. If we’re going to be faithful to the town and its people, we’ve got to vote our conscience, even if it sometimes means being on the opposite side of a certain issue. Both of us have spoken to a lot of people, and we’ve prayed together for wisdom, but that’s as far as our communication on the subject goes.”

  The meeting of the council was scheduled for six o’clock that evening. Because so many people were interested, Pa had arranged for the tables and chairs in the Gold Nugget to be moved aside and organized so that the meeting could take place in the main part of the saloon—the biggest single room in all of Miracle Springs.

  When the time came, the place was full, with another twenty or thirty people milling around in the street outside. The council members sat up in front at a long rectangular table with Pa in the middle. Mr. Denver was full of smiles and greetings for everyone, and sat down in the front row of chairs. It was the first time our whole family had been in the Gold Nugget together since that first church service when Rev. Rutledge was new in town. There were chairs for us and for all the women who came, but most of the men had to stand.

  Pa called the meeting to order by banging his fist down on the table two or three times.

  “Quiet down!” he called out. “Hey, quiet . . . we have to get this meeting called to order!”

  Everybody gradually stopped talking and buzzing. “This is a meeting of the Miracle Springs town council for the purpose of deciding whether to grant this petition—” Pa held up Mr. Denver’s papers which had been sitting on the table in front of him. “This petition is from Finchwood Limited in Sacramento to set up a bank here in Miracle Springs.”