by Braun, Matt;
THE KRUGER LAND COMPANY
ERNEST KRUGER—PRESIDENT
LAIRDSVILLE, TEXAS
Wooden stakes delineated Main Street, which was wide and grassy, bordered on either side by rectangular building sites. To the north, working under a dog-day September sun, surveyors laid out adjacent streets and residential lots. At the west end of Main Street, where the railroad tracks would pass, there was a designated spot for the train depot, and a half-mile to the northwest another series of stakes for the cattle yard and shipping pens. The townsite encompassed a square mile of prairie, with bright red flags fluttering on corner pins, and at the very center stood the land company headquarters.
Inside, seated behind a litter-strewn desk, Ernest Kruger gazed out the window. His eyes followed the surveyors, but his expression was pensive, lost in thought. What he saw through the window was not a web of stakes pegged together with string; in his mind’s eye he saw buildings and people, merchants and trade, a bustling community with stores and homes and the pulsebeat of commerce. Yet, in the same instant, he knew it was a trick of the imagination, wishful thinking. There were merely stakes pounded into the ground, surrounded by miles and miles of prairie, waiting for all the rest to happen. He was impatient, a thirsty man rushing toward a mirage. He wanted it to happen now.
The past five months had been a time of immense progress. Kruger’s days were at first filled with whirlwind negotiations and planning sessions that lasted long into the night. After forming a syndicate and raising capital, he had personally steamrollered a railroad charter through the state legislature. Then, within a matter of weeks, he had convinced ranchers all along the coast to grant right-of-way for the nominal sum of one dollar. It was to their advantage, providing a nearby terminus during shipping season, and even the diehards admitted it would raise property values throughout southern Texas. But in the aftermath, with the planning done and contracts let for the actual construction, his marriage had come perilously near collapse.
Trudy, upon learning that the other ranchers had not been asked for land grants, demanded an explanation. It was then she discovered—in her words—that she had been duped by her own husband. The syndicate had decided that seeking land grants would prolong negotiations and delay the project; the single land grant made to the Southern Texas Railroad was the fifty thousand acres deeded over by Santa Guerra. All the more incriminating, the railroad had promptly transferred the entire parcel to Ernest Kruger, terming it a commission for his services in obtaining right-of-way from Corpus to Brownsville. Trudy had turned the air blue with curses.
“Goddamnit, Ernest, I won’t stand still for it. You lied to me! You never had any intention of getting land grants from the other ranchers.”
“Come now, aren’t you being a little unreasonable? If we had held out for those grants, the project would have taken another year, maybe longer. The important thing is the railroad ... to get it built ... in operation.”
“Oh, now you’re telling me the land grants weren’t important, is that it?”
“Let’s say they weren’t imperative. Certainly not at the risk of delaying construction, perhaps even killing the project.”
“Then why was the Santa Guerra land deeded over?”
“You have a short memory, my dear. Not only was it an article of good faith, but the land was needed to build a town ... Lairdsville.”
“A town! You needed fifty thousand, acres to build a town?”
“Of course not. But there were other considerations that entered into our planning.”
“Were there now? Well, suppose you tell me about it, Ernest ... what other considerations?”
Kruger stared at her a moment, then shrugged. “The syndicate felt we needed something more than cattle shipments to insure a profit. Some economic base to provide the railroad with a steady source of revenue.”
“Would you please stop beating around the bush and just tell me what the hell you’re talking about?”
“I’m attempting to explain that the cattle business is seasonal, and since a railroad operates year round, we decided to open the land to settlement.”
“Settlement? What sort of settlement?”
“To be specific”—Kruger paused, cleared his throat— “what we had in mind was farmers.”
“Farmers!” Trudy exploded. “You lousy—rotten—lying bastard!”
“Now wait ... hear me out before you get carried away.”
“More lies?”
“No, merely a question. Would you have agreed to the railroad if I’d told you about the farmers beforehand?”
“You know damn well I wouldn’t have ... never!”
“Then there’s your answer. Everything I’ve done is for the good of Santa Guerra.” Kruger stilled her with an upraised palm. “No, don’t interrupt, give me a chance to explain. You see, there are other factors involved, the railroad is merely the first step. As an example, for business reasons, as well as political appearances, it was necessary to separate the town and the farmland from the ranch.”
“Why? What difference does it make?” ‘
“Because all revenues from land sales and property taxes will be allocated toward the growth of the town. By bringing in farmers, we create the necessary trade to support the railroad and an adequate tax base to support Lairdsville. The ranch gets a railroad, which is what we wanted all along, and it hasn’t cost us a dime.”
“Like hell! It cost us fifty thousand acres.”
“Yes, that’s true. On the other hand, you would have resisted the idea of farmers, and I couldn’t jeopardize the entire venture on the strength of your prejudices. We simply had too much to lose.”
“That’s a crock of applesauce!”
“On the contrary, it’s very sound business.”
“You must really take me for a fool, Ernest. It’s not the ranch that stood to lose. It was you! You’re the one that would’ve lost ... you and nobody else!”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow you.”
“Follow me! Hell, you’re miles ahead of me. You planned all the time to get your hands on that fifty thousand acres, didn’t you? The day you had me deed it over to the syndicate, you knew damn well they were going to turn right around and hand it back to you. Not the investors ... or the railroad ... or anyone else ... you!”
“Be reasonable, Trudy. I told you it was necessary to separate the town from the ranch. Politically, it was the only expedient way to handle it.”
“Politics be damned! You wanted it for yourself. You wanted me out of it, Ernest! You purposely rigged the whole goddamn thing ... so you could build yourself a little empire that had nothing to do with me ... something totally independent of Santa Guerra... . It’s true, damn you, isn’t it? It’s true!”
“That’s ridiculous!” Kruger protested. “I was thinking of you and Santa Guerra. I wanted to create a railroad and a town—Lairdsville!—a tribute to your father.”
“You leave my father out of this! You’re what he used to call a wee little man, Ernest. Anything you build won’t be a tribute to Henry Laird. It’ll be a mockery. You’re building it for yourself—because you’re a greedy scheming sonofabitch! —and that’s the plain truth of it.”
“Oh, and I suppose your father was a paragon of virtue? The benevolent patron who clothed the poor and fed the hungry masses.”
“Up beside you he was Jesus Christ and the Three Wise Men all rolled into one. You’re a piker, Ernest! A penny-ante hustler that had to trick his own wife. Yessir ... poco hombre ... a wee little man in the flesh.”
Kruger reddened, suddenly lost his composure. “You’ve always compared me to your father, haven’t you? That’s been the problem since the day we were married. In your mind, he’s a tin god... . There’s not a man on earth that could take his place! ... Is there?”
“I’m warning you, Ernest—”
�
��Well don’t! I’ve lost patience with your threats and your patronizing me with your body and the way ... how you act when we’re in bed... . God, it makes me sick!”
“What do you mean, how I act?”
“Oh, for the love of God, Trudy, do you think I’m naive? Don’t you think I know what’s going through your mind when you ... let me ... when you condescend to have me in your bed?”
“Damn you, quit talking riddles! Say it straight out.”
“I’m talking about your father. And please, don’t insult my intelligence by pretending you’re surprised. I’ve known for years, almost from the first night. It’s me you’re ... holding ... but it’s not me you’re thinking of. ... It’s your father. It was always your father!”
“That’s a lie! A filthy lie!”
Trudy appeared outraged, but beneath her anger she was unnerved by the accusation. It struck very close to the truth. Whenever they made love, her thoughts were actually of Roberto. Her memories were vivid, and with little effort she could transport herself backward in time ... to the swimming hole and a moonlit night and the boy who had taught her the meaning of love. For thirty years, though it was her husband who performed the act, she had fantasized that it was Roberto inside her. But now, confronted with it openly, she was shaken by an older memory, an uglier memory. On those moonlit nights, at the swimming hole, when Roberto made love to her, her fantasies were always of someone else ... an older man ... her father.
Kruger was silent a moment, watching her intently. Then his features darkened, eyes venomous and spiteful. “No, I can see it in your face... . It’s no lie, Trudy ... it’s the truth. It always was.”
“You’ve got a dirty mind, Ernest. A dirty, vicious—”
“Me!” Kruger shouted. “You have the nerve to call me dirty when you’ve spent your life—your whole life!—wanting to sleep with your own father.”
Trudy stared at him with a look of speechless horror. Her expression was one of sudden realization turned inward on some festering corruption of her inner self. A tear rolled down her cheek, then her eyes filled and she seemed unable to catch her breath. She turned away, stricken by a truth so loathsome it revolted her, and buried her face in her hands. Kruger walked from the room. He closed the door and paused a moment in the hall, listening as she broke down in choking sobs. His mouth was set in a grim line, and he took no comfort from the fact that he’d at last found her weakness. She was vulnerable now, and he could use it decisively in the months ahead, but the advantage had been purchased at a grievous cost. He still loved her ... needed her and wanted her ... even though her father shared their bed.
Afterward, avoiding any mention of their argument, Kruger went through the charade of justifying his plans for the future. It took several days to convince her there was nothing ulterior in his scheme, and even then she was never fully persuaded that he hadn’t manipulated her to his own ends. Their relationship slowly returned to normal, but it required great tact on his part ... for she hadn’t guessed the whole truth. Always a secretive man, he now became a liar by omission.
On the whole Kruger felt he’d handled the situation rather shrewdly. Trudy would have found out anyway, and from a tactical standpoint it was better sooner than later. With her objections neutralized, he could proceed openly, and much faster than he’d originally intended. He immediately organized the land company and brought in surveyors to begin plotting quarter-section farm tracts. Next, he had several scattered parcels cleared and tilled; then he planted cotton and other varieties of dry crop’s. At the right time, these parcels would serve as his showpiece, living proof that the land could be cultivated and farmed.
The critical factor, of course, was the railroad. All his plans revolved around the end-of-track reaching Lairdsville. Only then could he lure farmers into the lower Rio Grande Valley; already he had formulated a campaign, based on methods employed by railroad barons of a generation earlier, to attract immigrants and settlers westward. When they arrived, he planned to have Main Street completed, with an established business community to serve their needs. And once all that was accomplished, he could then implement what he considered the masterstroke of the entire project. It would place Lairdsville on the map, and at the same time, it would bestow an even greater honor on the Kruger name. A tribute to himself, but more important, a legacy for all the generations to come.
His preoccupation was broken as a buggy halted in front of the building. He glanced out the window and saw Hank assisting Rebecca Hazlett to the ground. The visit was unexpected, and from a father’s viewpoint, something of a pleasant surprise. Hank normally played the field, hopping about from girl to girl like a bee pollinating flowers. But since he began keeping company with Becky, there had been no other girls. Or at least no other Anglo girls. Hank’s outrageous behavior in Matamoros—not to mention his quieter forays on Santa Guerra itself—were a source of unremitting embarrassment to Kruger. It was a subject they no longer discussed, simply because Hank’s response to exhortation and threat was some new and even more scandalous episode. He took orders from no one, least of all his father.
Becky’s presence, then, was all the more welcome here today. To Kruger, it was a sign of maturity, a trait seldom displayed by his son to any degree. It also fitted nicely with his own plans for the future. Becky’s father, John Hazlett, was the largest rancher south of Santa Guerra. As such, he would play a key role, albeit unwittingly, in the latter stages of the land program.
Kruger walked to the door to greet them. When he stepped outside he was struck again by Becky Hazlett’s remarkable poise and attractiveness. Today she wore a high-necked taffeta gown, with a fetching little bonnet, and carried a gaily colored parasol. She was small but compactly built, and she had a way of speaking as though she were almost out of breath, somehow very intimate. Her smile was smoky and warm, eyes the color of damp violets, and there was a sensuality about her as palpable as musk. Hank, who seemed oxlike and clumsy in her presence, was aware of her in the way of a man seated beside a bonfire. Which was precisely the effect she intended.
Watching them, Kruger thought it a curious match. She was dark and vivacious, with hair the color of a raven’s wing, utterly in command of herself and her emotions. By contrast, Hank had pale eyes of the most vivid blue, and a broad, ironic smile. The look of a man who found life one immense joke and, ever the rogue, took his sport with no more self-restraint than a bull in rut. Still, they evidently saw something in each other, and Kruger was reminded of the old adage that opposites attract. It seemed the only explanation.
Becky approached, smiling, and extended her hand. “Mr. Kruger, how nice to see you again.”
“The pleasure’s all mine.” He squeezed her fingers, nodding over the parasol at his son. “Special occasion, or are you just playing hooky?”
“Little of both,” Hank said affably. “Figured things wouldn’t fall apart if I took the day off, and besides, I’ve been promising Becky I’d show her your town.”
Kruger ignored the barb. His son seldom referred to Lairdsville by name; in fact he seldom referred to it at all. There was a conspiracy of sorts between mother and son, and their attitude seemed to be one of wait and see where the town was concerned. On the subject of farmers, however, there was no pretense of diplomacy. Hank, even more than his mother, resented the oncoming encroachment of what he termed “sodbusters.”
The girl took Kruger’s arm. “Actually, I had to badger him into bringing me here.” She gave Hank a look of mock wonder. “Whether you know it or not, Mr. Kruger, your son is still a bit of a ruffian. He thinks progress reached its zenith with the invention of the wheel.”
“He’s a problem, all right.” Kruger chuckled, patting her hand. “Perhaps you can smooth off the rough edges, civilize him a little, hmmm?”
“I’m not sure he’s worth it.”
“Probably not, but it would be a real challenge, wouldn’t it?”
> “Challenge!” Becky’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Just between us, I think it would be more on the order of a miracle.”
“C’mon, now!” Hank groaned. “You two are ganging up on me.”
“No more than you deserve.” Becky twirled her parasol, gazing past him at the townsite. “Let’s just ignore him, Mr. Kruger. Now that I’m here I want to see Lairdsville and hear all about your plans.”
“Well, there’s not a lot to see, not yet. But I’ve got the plans and the survey maps in the office. Maybe you’d like to see what it’ll look like when we’re all finished?”
“Oh yes, I would! I really would.”
Kruger held open the door and she stepped into the office. Hank threw up his hands, exchanging a glance with his father, and trudged along after them. Inside, Becky walked to a large map tacked on the far wall and Kruger came to stand beside her. She frowned, studying the map intently for several moments, then suddenly clapped her hands.
“That’s where we are, isn’t it? And these are stores ... homes?”
Kruger nodded. “All the business places will be on Main Street, and we’ll build the houses back off on these side streets. Ought to be a fair-sized town when we get it done.”
“And these are the farms”—her finger traced a jumble of blocks between the railroad tracks and the coast—”all through here?”
“That’s right. Almost three hundred quarter-sections, hundred-sixty acres each. By rough count, including women and children, I figure we’ll end up with close to two thousand settlers.”
“How exciting! You must be very proud, Mr. Kruger.”
“Yes,” Kruger said with exaggerated gravity, “it’s a big responsibility.”
“I would think so. Not many men have that kind of vision ... to create a town out of a wilderness and open the land to—”
“Pig farmers,” Hank interjected, “and plow pushers.”
