Sea to Shining Sea

by Michael Phillips

  According to Mr. Kemble, a quarter of all San Franciscans favored the Confederacy. There were even more down south in Los Angeles. After Mr. Stanford’s election as governor, a lot of secessionists moved down there and kept calling, even then, for California to split in half, with southern California to become a slave state and join the Confederacy. The Los Angeles Star was so seditious and against the Union that Governor Stanford had it banned from the mail so that it couldn’t even be delivered and read in the northern part of the state.

  There weren’t enough people in Los Angeles or the rest of southern California, however, to worry about actual trouble—all the mischief they could do was in writing. And because they had no gold, they couldn’t do the Confederacy much good, either.

  Chapter 48

  A Rider

  The day was one I’ll never forget. Never could forget!

  It was late August. A hot summer’s day. Hot and still. Wherever the wind from the Sierras was, it had gone to sleep that day and felt like it intended to sleep all through the afternoon. It was so still I could hear the flies buzzing about. And hot . . . so hot!

  Pa had been back from Sacramento for three days. He’d been gone a week and a half, his longest stay in the capitol yet. But Tad had gone with him, and they had a wonderful time together. When he wasn’t on legislative business, he showed Tad all around Sacramento, and Tad had hardly stopped talking about everything they had done together. He had gone with Pa once or twice to Assembly meetings too. When Pa first saw Alkali Jones the day after they got back, he was telling him about the trip.

  “I reckon it’s time you changed that motto of yours, Alkali.”

  “Which one’s that?”

  “About the presidency.”

  “You mean Drum fer President—hee, hee, hee!”

  “That’s the one. But you gotta change it now.”

  “How so, Drum?”

  “Politics has gone and bit my son right square between the eyes. You gotta change it to Thaddeus Hollister for President.”

  Tad’s face beamed at the words.

  “Hee, hee . . . Tad fer President! Yep, you’re right, Drum—sounds a heap more likely with his name instead of yours! Hee, hee, hee!”

  But during the days since he had returned, I could see a downcast spirit coming over Pa. It had nothing to do with Tad, only that his good time with his younger son had brought back to mind the lingering doubts over the fate of his elder. We’d heard nothing about Zack all this time.

  Something was different about that day besides it being so hot. There was something in the air. There was no breeze rustling the trees. But there seemed to be an invisible wind about, invisible in the way that you couldn’t see it or feel it or hear it. Kind of a wind of the spirit, not a wind of the air. It was a sense, a feeling that something was coming, but you couldn’t tell what.

  We all felt it, I could tell. As the day wore on, I could just see a look in Almeda’s and Becky’s and Tad’s faces that they felt it too. We found ourselves looking at one another with expressions that had no words. It was a feeling of agitation, of anticipation, as if something was at hand but nobody knew what it might be.

  It was a sense of expectation, the kind of feeling people get before a big thunderstorm. Everything changes. A different kind of warmth is in the air. The breezes start kicking up, and although they don’t feel too powerful, you know they are only the fingery edges of the blasts that are coming. You feel the storm on its way. The air smells different. Before long, the blackness begins to appear over the horizon, steadily getting larger and filling more of the sky, and you know our senses have not betrayed you.

  This was a day like that. But there were no breezes, no stormy fragrances, no hints of anything in the sky other than blue going on forever in every direction.

  The little breezes kicking up the leaves for a moment and then letting them settle back into place, the feeling of changes in the atmosphere . . . they were all happening inside. Every once in a while I’d catch Almeda standing at the door or window looking out, with her hand over her eyes, peering into the distance as if expecting something. Then she’d turn away with a confused expression, as if wondering herself why she’d paused to look outside, not even knowing what she was looking for.

  Nobody was saying much. The day wore on, getting hotter, and everyone grew more and more quiet. Something was coming. No one knew what.

  Pa tried to work at the mine some. But it was too hot. After lunch Pa went out again, walked lazily up the creek, running thin and low now in the late summer.

  It was one of my times to stand at the open door looking out, with my hand over my eyes. I watched him walk up toward the mine, kicking at the rocks with his feet, one hand in his pocket. He disappeared from sight. A few minutes later I heard noises from the area of the mine. But they didn’t last long.

  I was still standing there, looking out aimlessly, not feeling like doing anything, when Pa came into view again, walking back down the path, this time toward the stable. Apparently he had given up on the mine again. His shirt was drenched in sweat, under his arms and down the middle of his chest. But he didn’t need the work to sweat. It was plenty hot to sweat just standing doing nothing. I was sweating too, in the shade of the house and open doorway.

  Closer Pa walked. It was quiet. I could hear his feet shuffling along, too tired now even to kick at the little stones along the way in front of him. Everything was so still. Only Pa’s rhythmic, shuffling step broke the stillness and the silence.

  I found my eyes riveted on his slow-moving feet, watching them come toward me in the distance. The soft sound of his boots along the dried dirt entered my ears in perfect cadence. One . . . two . . . right . . . left . . .

  Over and over—right, left . . . thud, thud.

  Still my eyes fixed themselves on the motion, but gradually I became aware that something was wrong with the sound. There were still Pa’s feet walking along as before, but the rhythm had been interrupted. It had changed. There were too many sounds for only two feet. I heard the noise as of a footfall when Pa’s two feet were on the ground and in the air not making any sound.

  And . . . the sound itself was wrong.

  It wasn’t a thud, thud, thud anymore. Now I heard clomp . . . clomp . . . clomp mixed in with the shuffling thuds of Pa’s boots.

  It sounded like a horse.

  I shook off my dreaming reverie and turned my eyes in the opposite direction. A horse was approaching from the direction of town. Of course, that was the other sound I’d heard.

  Who could it be? I squinted my eyes . . .

  “Somebody’s coming,” I heard Becky say from inside the house behind me.

  “Who is it, Corrie?” Almeda asked from the kitchen.

  I kept squinting, trying to see. I could tell it was a man, but all I could really make out was a hat and a light brown beard.

  I stared. The horse plodded along as slow as Pa had been walking. But steadily he came closer.

  Suddenly an incredible sense of recognition seized my heart! But . . . but it couldn’t be!

  I spun my head around and my eyes again sought Pa.

  His slow step had become a rapid pounding of his boots along the path. He had seen the rider too! He was running toward him!

  Unconsciously I started out the door. I looked toward the road. The rider was close now . . . there could be no mistake!

  He was climbing down off his horse. I was running now too! “Zack!” I cried. “It’s Zack!” I yelled back toward the house.

  Out of the house the others came, following me as we ran as fast as we could toward the road.

  Pa reached him first.

  I stopped, ten yards away, weeping with happiness. I felt the others come up behind me, but I could not take my eyes off the scene of reunion being played out before my eyes. I felt Almeda’s arm slip around me as she watched, too.

  Zack had slipped off his horse, but he hadn’t been able to take more than a step or two before Pa reached him
. The father threw his big arms around the son and held him tight, weeping freely and without shame.

  Slowly I saw Zack’s hands stretch around Pa’s back and return his close embrace.

  The two stood silently holding each other for a long minute. The only sounds to be heard were the throbbing of six hearts in joy.

  Chapter 49

  Whole Again

  When the two released each other, the first words were Pa’s. “Welcome home, son!” he said.

  The spell of the moment was broken.

  The rest of us rushed forward. For the next several minutes Zack was showered with hugs and kisses and questions and laughter. He could hardly get in a word!

  “Nice beard, Zack!” said Tad.

  “You little runt . . . you grew up while I was gone!” returned Zack, giving Tad a good-natured push. “And you, Becky!” he added. “When did you get to be such a beautiful, grown-up woman!”

  Then Zack looked over at me. He didn’t say anything at first, just gave me a long hug. Every time I tried to speak, I started crying, and all my words stuck in my throat. “Oh, Zack,” I finally managed, “I’m just so glad to see you!”

  “Almeda,” said Zack, hugging her next.

  “Oh, Zack . . . we love you so much!”

  Pa had been standing back, wiping his eyes and trying to steady himself. Now he stepped up again, this time offering Zack his hand.

  “How about a handshake of welcome, Zack?” he said. “A handshake between men . . . man to man!”

  Zack said nothing. He just reached out and took Pa’s hand. The two stood again, grasping each other firmly by the hand, gazing intently each one into the other’s eyes. It was all we had hoped and prayed for! You could tell in that one moment that they understood each other, and that all was forgiven.

  “Why did you grow the beard, Zack?” Becky asked after a minute.

  “It’s a long story,” said Zack, releasing Pa’s hand.

  “Where you been?” This time the questioner was Tad.

  “Another long story!” laughed Zack.

  “How did you get back?” I asked.

  “That’s long too, but the why of it isn’t so long,” he answered. Then his face turned serious, and his eyes took on a very faraway expression. In that moment he suddenly looked older, like a true man. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought he was my older brother.

  “Are you going to tell us the why, then?” I asked.

  “I’ll tell you everything,” he replied, “when the time is right.”

  “Give the man a chance to get the dust off his feet, Corrie,” said Pa. “Come on, Zack, son . . . let’s get that horse of yours put up. Then what do you say me and you go up and give a howdy to your uncle!”

  “Sure, Pa . . . yeah, I’d like to see Uncle Nick too!”

  The two turned and headed toward the barn. Even though Zack was an inch or two taller than Pa, Pa threw his arm up around Zack’s shoulder as they went. Zack’s other hand hung down at his side, lightly holding the leather reins of his horse, which followed behind.

  Almeda, Tad, Becky, and I stood there watching them go.

  Just then Pa stopped and turned around. “Almeda!” he called back. “You start figuring on how to fix up the best vittles we ever had! Corrie, you make up a heap o’ those biscuits o’ yours. We’ll invite the Reverend, and Nick and Katie—I know they’ll all be anxious to see Zack. We’ll have us a great time!”

  He turned again, and he and Zack continued on, talking as they went.

  The four of us finally walked back toward the house. “Well, Tad, your brother’s home,” said Almeda. “What do you think?”

  When I heard Tad’s answer, the tone of his voice surprised me. It wasn’t just the deep baritone quality of it, but rather the maturity of what he said. It was obvious Tad was a young man at peace with his place in the family and secure in where he stood with his father.

  “I’m so glad for Pa,” Tad said quietly. “Something’s been missing for him ever since Zack left. I did what I could to help, but I reckon a man like Pa’s never gonna be quite whole when one of his kids is at odds with him. ’Course I’m glad for Zack, too. He needed Pa more than he ever could admit, probably more than I needed him, because I was younger when we came here.”

  He paused. “Actually,” he added, “I guess I’m just about as happy as I can be . . . for both of them!”

  Chapter 50

  Unlikely Rescue

  A good part of the rest of that day Pa and Zack spent together. There was a lot of getting used to each other again to get done. And of course lots to talk about. But there was time for that now, and everything didn’t need to be done all at once.

  I could tell when I had a couple minutes alone with Pa later in the afternoon, just from the light in his eyes, that he’d been able to tell Zack the most important thing that had been on his mind all this time—that is how sorry he was. It was obvious from one look at Pa that a huge burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

  We celebrated that night to make up for the last Christmas twenty times over. There was food and laughing and singing and more of Alkali Jones’s crazy stories than we could have believed in ten nights of merrymaking together, much less one.

  It was so strange seeing Zack with a beard! His talk, his mannerisms, his whole bearing had changed. Being out on his own had made him more confident, more independent. Zack entered into the celebration, but when I looked intently into his eyes when he wasn’t watching, I could see a certain reticence too, almost a shyness at being the center of attention, and knowing that he’d caused such a fuss. I don’t know that I’d call it embarrassment exactly, but it was like embarrassment in a different sort of way. Humbleness and humiliation aren’t the same, though a lot of folks mistakenly think they are because their first three letters are the same. The one is always a good thing. The other isn’t bad or good in itself, but can be either depending on what you do with it, and whether you let it make you humble in the end.

  It had taken real humility for Zack to come home. It would probably take him a good long time to sort through the impact that act of humility would have on his manhood. Pride doesn’t die easy, but humility is the only sure weapon against it. Zack had now become man enough to draw the sword against it himself. I could see the battle in his eyes . . . and I knew he was winning it!

  It was well past dark before we all managed to coax Zack into telling his story. It was clearly hard for him, because of how bitter and painful his leaving home had been. But when Pa and I told him how we’d gone looking for him and what had happened, it perked him up and gave him a good place to start his tale without having to dwell on the past.

  “Well, I was riding the last two stretches of Nevada and the first Utah leg,” he began, “depending on the schedule, and depending on how the others were doing.”

  “Pony Bob told us how unpredictable it was sometimes,” I said.

  “It’s always unpredictable with Bob!” laughed Zack. “That man attracts trouble like a dog draws fleas! I never rode two or three hundred miles at a time, but there were days when you’d have to keep going to another station or two.”

  “Were the Indians bad?” asked Becky. “Were you afraid?”

  “You bet I was scared, girl!” said Zack. “The only fellas who weren’t were the crazy ones, and we had a few of those, too.”

  “Did you ever shoot an Indian, Zack?” asked Tad.

  “I shot at ’em, Tad, but never shot none. You don’t think I’d want to hurt somebody, do you?”

  “What if they came after you?”

  “They did. But the Express had the best horses in the country, and no Paiute could keep with us for five minutes. So I’d just kinda stick my Colt up over my shoulder and fire back in the air and hope it’d frighten ’em away. Even if it didn’t, all I had to do was stay in the saddle five minutes and I’d be out of their sight anyway.”

  “What if they were in front of you?”

  “Then I had a
problem.”

  “What would you do?”

  “I could turn around and make a run for it. But then the mail didn’t go through. Or I could head out into the desert and try to get around them. But then they’d have the angle on me, and I might ride an extra twenty miles, only to find them still there! Or I could do like Bob Haslam did a couple of times and ride right through the middle of them and hope they didn’t kill me.”

  “What did you do, Zack?” asked Rev. Rutledge.

  “Well, I tell you, Reverend, it only happened to me once. Funny that you should be the one asking me about it, because when it did happen I thought of you.”

  “Me!” said an astonished Rev. Rutledge.

  “Yep. I just stopped dead in my tracks. And there they were up about a hundred yards ahead of me, right in the middle of my pathway. I just sat there in my saddle, and I started praying, and that’s when I thought of you. I thought back to a sermon you preached once about problems. You were saying that sometimes you gotta face your problems head-on. Then other times, circumstances were such that you had to go around your problems to get to the other side. But there was one thing you could never do, you said, and that was ignore your problems and do nothing and hope they would just go away. They never will, you said.”

  Everybody in the room started laughing.

  “That’s just what I did,” Zack went on. “I couldn’t help myself. Sitting there on my jittery pony, staring at twenty hostile Paiutes, I started laughing. I couldn’t stop. All I could think of was that sermon of yours, and I said to myself, just like I was talking to you, ‘Shoot, Rev. Rutledge, that advice of yours doesn’t do me a blame bit of good! You must not have had Indians in mind when you came up with that!’”