Clarence Davison was used to cramped accommodations. The past years had seen him traveling in all sorts of tight spaces. Steamboat cabins, railcar sleeper compartments, and various holes in the wall had been his home on many occasions. Such was the life of a circuit preacher, spreading the good word to the populace.
This latest trip was a break from that hectic life, as he came to see an old friend.
It had been many years since Clarence had seen his mentor, the right and moral pastor, Matthew Jameson, and he was hoping for a warm homecoming. The man was as close to a father as Clarence had in this world, and he hoped to make him proud. Though, that might prove difficult on some fronts. Doctrine was a tricky thing, and biblical interpretations had made many a good man split from friends and family.
Clarence hoped it would not be an issue. There was no need for his mentor to know he held differing views. So long as he kept his mouth shut and didn't make any rash moves, the old man need never know of his views on magic.
Looking around inside the coach, Clarence examined the faces of his fellow passengers. They were a well-groomed bunch, though they all had the scent of their own humanity upon them. Most of them had been traveling for days, no doubt, and trains weren't noted for their baths. Clarence wouldn't have noticed the smell, had he not spent the night at Yucca Junction's Nexus Hotel, which provided fine cleaning services. A good scrubbing and a freshly laundered suit took away the stink off his own body, and let him sense the scent of others.
However, the sandy-haired fellow sitting beside him wasn't stinking up the place at all, and there was something strangely familiar about him. The stern-faced man didn't seem the kind to crack a smile all that often. He looked about thirty, with smooth hands and a quality suit that identified him as a businessman or educated professional of some sort, which could explain his attention to hygiene.
Clarence let his curiosity get the better of him, and he felt the urge to introduce himself. With a slight adjustment of his body, he managed to present a hand for the other man to shake. The clean-cut man shook the offered appendage silently with a strong grip.
"So, what brings you out to Selwood?" Clarence asked, hoping to get some information out of the silent man.
"Business, and an old friend," the man said.
"What a coincidence. It just so happens I'm traveling to see an old friend, myself," Clarence said.
"Really?" the man said, disinterested.
"Well, more than a friend, actually. The man practically raised me after my father died. It'll be good to be back."
"Not your first trip to Selwood, then," the man mentioned.
"No, I've been here a few times," Clarence replied. "Though, I mostly grew up in Kansas. We didn't move out to Nevada until seventy-six. I only spent a year in Selwood before going back east to college, and haven't been there since."
"College? You wouldn't happen to be wrangling for a job offer, would you?" the man asked suspiciously.
"No," Clarence said. "Why ever would you think that?"
A mustached man sitting across from Clarence cleared his throat and caught the young man's attention. "Hey, buddy, don't you know who this guy is?"
"No," Clarence said, adding a questioning look to his reply.
"That's Thomas Edison."
The name didn't escape Clarence, though at first he thought it must be some sort of joke. What would one of the world's foremost inventors be doing out here, riding the stagecoach to a town like Selwood? It might be the Nye County Seat, but it was still something of a backwater. Famous folks didn't spend weeks on trains and coaches just for a casual visit.
"It must be some friend you're visiting," Clarence remarked.
"You could say that," Edison said. "You really had no idea who I was?"
"No, sir," Clarence replied, hiding his embarrassment.
"Then you're the odd sort of fellow who likes to chat-up strangers," Edison said, looking at him funny. "There aren't many types of businesses where that comes as a prerequisite."
"I guess not, but mine does," Clarence mentioned, regaining a carefree expression. "I'm a country preacher, spreading the good word."
Edison stiffened his lips and shook his head. "I'm sorry," he replied.
"For what?" Clarence asked, feeling the man's disdain like a palpable substance drifting through the air.
"Sorry that you've chosen to throw your life away on such nonsense," Edison said, turning his face to the window.
The words slapped Clarence like ice water, and they seemed to have a similar effect on a few of the other passengers. Though none of the others said a word about it, their sour expressions spoke volumes.
"Spreading the truth of God is never a waste," Clarence said, unwilling to let the comment go unchallenged.
Edison sighed and turned his gaze back from the passing scenery, to study his sudden antagonist. "The days of biblical superstition are nearing an end. No educated man can deny the truth of science."
"You profess that both are equally exclusive, but they're not," Clarence added quickly. "Yes, I am an educated man, and thereby I recognize the truth; science is every bit the creation of God. It is divine will that we seek to further understand His creation through the physical arts, for it serves to bring us closer to Him."
"Nonsense," Edison said unwilling to budge. "How can a rational mind truly believe that a being massive enough to forge this world of ours would in any way resemble our limited human existence, or care about us in the least?"
"You say God doesn't love us?"
"I say that we are less than ants compared to such an entity, and to think it cares for us more than that is childish fantasy, at best."
It was not something Clarence had expected to hear, though he'd run into a few such unbelievers over the years. There were always men who thought more of themselves, or less of God, to suit their own beliefs. The philosophies of Marx and Darwin were setting unholy trends within educated circles... but to hear it from someone as bright and progressive as Thomas Edison? It was enough to shake anyone's faith in mankind.
There was no sense arguing any further. A man of Edison's stature was not likely to bend to the brief pontifications of a young preacher. Still, Clarence wasn't going to lay down in defeat. He was a soldier of Christ, and felt called to action.
"I'm sorry," Clarence said.
"For what?" Edison asked.
"That your genius has led you to such an empty existence," Clarence replied.
A few of the spectators in the coach smirked at the slight, as Edison glared over at the young man seated next to him. Clarence maintained a cold, calculating look, feeling this wasn't a time to crack. This was a test, for certain, and one the Lord most certainly wouldn't let him fail.
After studying Clarence's face for a long period of silence, Edison smiled. He seemed on the verge of laughter, but he never got that far. Eventually, after grinning and fighting back chuckles, he said, "My life is anything but empty. I have a wife and children, a company that is on the cutting edge of societal evolution. I am advancing and improving human civilization unlike anyone else before me, and I really want for nothing. How can that be called empty?"
Clarence ignored the boastful retort and continued to pursue a purchase in the man's soul. "Material wealth is meaningless without spiritual salvation. As it says in Matthew, 'what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?' You can't take it with you."
"That's assuming I'm going anywhere," Edison rebutted. "But, even assuming that wild improbability, what does the hereafter matter now, to those of us who are stuck in the here and now? I see it as a much better thing to improve the lives of the living than concern myself with the affairs of the dead. That is my most prevalent concern, and no amount of preaching will turn me away from the ways of progress."
Following his lecturing reply, Edison relaxed and stared straight ahead, seeming satisfied with himself. The conversation came to an end as abruptly as it had begun, leaving the many pas
sengers of the stagecoach in varying degrees of discomfort and annoyance. When it became apparent that the debate was truly over, the people regained their usual, dispassionate expressions, as they waited to arrive at their destination.
Clarence felt he had done all he could for the man, and didn't regret the exchange. Uncomfortable as it may have been, he knew he'd sowed his seeds this day—if not in Edison, then in the other passengers in the cramped confines. It felt good to witness, in any circumstance.
Despite the heated exchange, Clarence still felt a hint of admiration for Thomas Edison, knowing the man was doing God's work, whether he knew it or not. Truly, the advancement of science and knowledge was the greatest purpose any man could hope to have, and the chosen vessels for such discovery held many faces. Edison was truly a man of innovation, worthy of respect above and beyond his flawed humanity.
* * *
A small crowd was gathered at the Grayson Stage Company on the northern edge of Selwood. Three coaches were arriving from Yucca Junction, and the welcoming committee was as diverse as the passengers. A few wives were around to greet their husbands, and a number of businessmen were there to shake hands with their traveling colleagues. Besides the people with legitimate reasons for being there, a small enclave of onlookers had shown up to lay eyes on a most noted man of merit.
Thomas Edison stepped out of the stagecoach and avoided eye contact with the pack of greeters. He was getting used to the celebrity, as word of his technological wonders continued to spread. There wasn't a town in America that didn't know his name, and he appreciated the fame. It was good for business.
Meeting the masses wasn't his initial goal on this visit, however. That could wait a few hours. What he really wanted—after stretching his legs—was to find the man who had brought him out west to begin with.
Scanning the crowd, Edison spotted the man he'd come to see. The slim, unassuming fellow with thinning hair and a pair of spectacles raised a hand in greeting as the famed inventor approached.
"Henry!" Edison shouted, shaking hands with Selwood's senior telegraph operator. "Henry Currant, it's been too long."
"I suppose so, Mr. Edison," Henry replied as the handshake ended.
"Is that any way to greet an old friend? Do me the courtesy of calling me by my first name, at least."
"Of course, Thomas," Henry said, seeming a sight intimidated.
"What's the matter?" Edison asked. "Aren't you glad to see me?"
"I suppose," Henry said. "It's been a while, and a lot has changed over the years."
"Things may have changed, but not between us," Edison said, straightening up. "Let's go somewhere more private. We have a lot of catching up to do."
Henry escorted Edison away from the pack and over to the telegraph office a block away. It was pretty quiet there, with only the assistant operator in residence, waiting at the wire.
"So, what brings you to Selwood?" Henry asked, sitting down in a spare seat behind the junior telegrapher. The young man listening at the wire gave him something of a look, clearly bothered by the intrusion—as if a casual conversation might disturb him.
"A few things," Edison replied. "I'm doing something of a tour across the country, showing off a few of my more popular inventions, seeing if I can round up a few new customers. But the reason I'm here, of all places, is you, Henry."
"Me?" Henry asked, sounding pleasantly surprised.
"Yes, a most curious news story came across my desk about a month ago, about an old coworker of mine who was running for mayor of a prominent Nevada city. I never realized you had it in you."
"Oh, that," Henry said. "No, I'm not really running. Our last mayor died suddenly, and a few folks around town figured I ought to take over, being the respectable sort and all."
"But your name is on the ballot, correct?" Edison said.
"Well, I haven't seen a ballot, so I can't say if they've put it there or not. Either way, I don't expect to win. Like I said, I'm not really running."
"Then don't," Edison suggested. "If you don't want the job, tell these people you have no interest in becoming their figurehead and excuse yourself of any responsibility in the matter."
"It's not that simple," Henry replied, getting sheepish again. "It's not that I wouldn't like to be mayor. I just haven't decided if I want to waste my time on a race I'll probably lose anyway."
"You were never one to take chances," Edison added.
"And you were never satisfied unless you were working on some grand design," Henry said. "Always pushing the boundaries of technology, looking for that new flash of genius. Never afraid to try and fail."
"Time was, you could have followed the same path," Edison mentioned. "I remember that ambitious, young telegrapher who worked with me all those years ago. We made a good team back then. Remember the stock ticker?"
"Hey, now, I only helped you test it," Henry said modestly.
"Yes, and your careful observation and poignant notes helped me to perfect the design. I really couldn't have done it without you."
Henry almost rolled his eyes at the high praise, clearly disbelieving his own importance in the affair. "All right, what do you want, Thomas?"
"You know me too well," Edison said, maintaining his cool, businessman poise.
"I know you're never one to give anyone else credit unless it'll get you something in return."
Edison gave Henry a dirty look, which let the telegrapher know how insulting the comment had been. The truth often was.
After the tension of the moment faded, Edison replied. "I came here to offer you a job, Henry. I want you to come work for me at Menlo Park."
It was hard for Henry to believe, that a man like Thomas Edison would come all this way for something so trivial. If he wanted to send a job offer to an old friend, that's what the telegraph was for. The fact that they hadn't seen each other in over five years made Henry wonder if there wasn't a sentimental streak in the great inventor.
"You came all the way out here just to offer me a job?" Henry asked.
"Not entirely," Edison replied. "I have other business in mind, but seeing you seemed like a good excuse to visit Selwood. Who knows, this town of yours might go for electricity."
"Perhaps someday," Henry said.
Standing up, Edison straightened his suit jacket and gave Henry a reassuring smile. "Consider my offer. It would be good to have you on board."
"What's the pay?" Henry asked out of sheer curiosity.
"Eighteen dollars a week, to start," Edison replied, "and you'd be accomplishing a lot more for society than you could ever hope to as the mayor of this town."
"I'll consider it," Henry agreed, albeit reluctantly. Though the pay sounded promising, he knew the sort of businessman he'd be working for, and he didn't want to end up losing a friend in the process.
Deciding their conversation had reached its end, Edison chose to see himself out, leaving Henry sitting in silent contemplation. Before closing the door to the telegraph office, Edison said, "I'll be setting up a demonstration in front of your city hall this evening. I trust you'll be in attendance."
"Of course," Henry said.
Edison nodded and left.
Hearing about the exposition gave Henry a slight respite from the hard decisions he had placed before him. The chance to see some of Edison's inventions for himself was exciting, to say the least. Despite the magic he'd witnessed in his lifetime, the idea of an electrically powered light or a talking machine was quite a thrill to consider.
The age of technology was nipping at the heels of mysticism, and it was a growing debate about which power would dominate the future.
* * *
Dusk was a busy time in Selwood, even on an ordinary Saturday night. The streetlamps were being lit as citizens walked about their business. There was a local theatre troupe who often put on plays, though this night they took a bow from their regular routine, as a superior performance presented itself.
The outdoor stage was glowing, and not by magic o
r fire. The bright shine of glass bulbs strung along the stage and podium gave adequate illumination for all present to see the men standing near the podium, the central figure being Thomas Edison, himself. The power for the lights came from several small crank generators that whined in the background, and three men—Edison's employees—kept their arms rotating in rhythmic fashion.
"You see these lights?" Edison continued with his speech. "These are the product of science. Not of mental mysticism or primitive conjuring, but of true physical knowledge and innovation. It was a long trek of discovery to manufacture a functional light bulb, but now that the pattern has been uncovered it is simple and relatively cheap to reproduce it. In time, these electric lights of mine will be commonplace, superceding all their counterparts, and only rich men will waste money on candles or magic orbs."
Edison waved at the cranking men to stop, and the lights grew dark. There was silence again, as the spectators wondered what Edison was doing now, and they watched shadowed figures moving around on the stage. After a few minutes, two lights turned on again, powered by a large storage battery. It was enough light to show Edison standing there with another of his inventions. The long, cylindrical device with a crank and a horn sat flatly on top of the podium, and with a steady turn of the handle Edison made the device speak.
"Hello, I am a phonograph, a talking machine. I can be used to record sounds and replay them, like so. Mary had a little lamb..."
The voice was clearly that of Thomas Edison, though tinny and distorted by the playback. As the crank was turned, the light from the bulbs sparkled against the metallic cylinder as it turned about the core of the phonograph.
As the recording came to an end, Edison stretched his arm and one of his employees took the machine away.
"That is one of the original prototypes I made almost five years ago," Edison explained. "Improved models are available for purchase, if any of you would like to be the first in your community to own one. Being ahead of the trends isn't a bad thing when it comes to technology. In a few short years, it won't be uncommon to see one of these devices in every household in America!"
Altered America Page 19
