Charlie hated going home, and he was doing all he could not to hate his father. If only he could just get a job with the Wisslers where they treated him with respect. They appreciated his abilities and especially his talent with animals.
“Don't go buying all that bull they been feeding you about being so smart and good at farming. You don't know nothing, ain't never going to know nothing, and you sure ain't going to amount to nothing. That old mule of mine is smarter than you will ever be.”
Bill's rant was interrupted by the sound of men screaming. He stopped the wagon while the two men turned to see the reason for the commotion. From behind a grove of trees, they could see a bright flickering light.
“What you reckon that is?” asked Charlie.
“Ain't nothing gonna light up the sky like that but a fire.”
“It's the barn,” said Charlie. “We got to get back there.”
Bill turned the wagon around and headed in the direction of the light. As they drew closer, their suspicions were confirmed that the main barn was on fire.
“Where do you think you're going?” said Bill as Charlie jumped from the wagon and ran toward the thunderous flames.
“Stay back from there, boy. Too late to do anything but watch her burn.”
Charlie ran as fast as he could and saw his friend Frank III standing with his father.
“What can I do, fellas?”
“Too late to do anything, Charlie,” said Frank, Jr.
“What happened?”
“Don't know but it doesn't look like no accident.”
Then someone else yelled that fire was heading for the stable.
“Oh, my God. The horses,” said Charlie.
By the time Charlie reached the building it had already caught on fire. Charlie rushed inside frantically attempting to release the horses from their stalls.
When John, Jr. forced open a side door to the stable, a burst of flames knocked him to the ground. Others tried unsuccessfully to douse buckets of water onto the flames.
“Charlie, it's no use. Get yourself out of there,” said Frank, Jr.
“Get yourself out of there you crazy kid,” said Bill Polk annoyed by his son's disregard for his personal safety. “Ain't nothing there worth getting yourself killed over.”
Three horses came galloping out of the stables with Charlie chasing them. “Get those horses. They're spooked,” and back into the barn he ran. Soon after, with the flames and smoke growing more intense, five more horses fled from the rear of the building with Charlie giving chase.
Frank III, who couldn't bear to see his friend risking his life any longer pulled off his jacket, immersed it in a trough of water, and covered his head with the soaked garment. Once inside he was nearly run over by two horses charging out of the barn.
“Charlie, where are you? Charlie. Come on man. Get out of here.”
Frank III retreated when he could bear the intense heat and smoke no more and returned to his father's side. Those watching now feared the worst. Even Bill Polk was visibly shaken. Flames burst through the roof and smoke billowed from the interior as a shadowy figure emerged.
“It's him. It's Charlie” said Frank III.
As Charlie drew closer, he was leading a foal. “This one didn't want to cooperate. Somebody help her find her mother,” he said.
Frank III ran to greet Charlie. “Are you alright?”
“Expect I've had better days,” said Charlie.
To everyone's amazement, there were no signs that Charlie was injured in any way. He escaped without a scratch, a burn, or any signs of impaired breathing from smoke inhalation. Aside from being covered in soot, he was perfectly fine.
“I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes,” said Frank, Sr. who had just arrived after getting word of the fire. “In my seventy-two years I ain't never seen nothing like it. I want to thank you for what you did here today.”
“We all want to thank you,” said John Wissler. “Pretty sure there are some thankful animals over in the pen too.”
There were many words that night of praise and gratitude for Charlie's heroic deed, but his father Bill had nothing to say until they were about half way home.
“What do you think you were trying to prove? You ain’t no hero.”
Charlie couldn't believe his ears. Just once he would like to hear that his father was proud of him.
“You didn’t see anybody else dumb enough to go in there, did you? You were all alone. That ought to tell you something.”
“But I wasn't alone,” said Charlie. There was another fella in there helping me. He took charge, told me what to do and where to go. Next thing I knew I was walking out with that foal.”
“What was his name?”
“Didn't have time to ask. Was too busy just doing what he said.”
“You talking about that Wissler boy?”
“No, sir. He was only in there for a minute. There was somebody else.”
“What did he look like?”
“Couldn’t see him but he was so calm. Kept telling me, ‘Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid.’”
Bill stared at Charlie for a moment, reached for his bottle under the seat. Charlie had given him plenty to think about. Not a scratch or a burn, no symptoms of smoke inhalation, and every animal was saved from a building that was completely destroyed. Most troublesome was Charlie’s claim that there was somebody else in the stable with him.
“Been a long day,” said Bill handing the reins to Charlie. “Wake me when we get home.” Then Bill climbed into the wagon bed where he sprawled out in a corner and drank himself to sleep.
Last Will and Testament – February 17, 1911
At the age of seventy-two, on February 17, 1911, Franklin Heiser Wissler died in his sleep at Strathmore. Doc Koontz told the family that the senior Wissler's “heart gave out.”
There was irony in the doctor's words because the patriarch of the Wissler clan was the heart of Strathmore House and the enterprises it represented. The heart of Strathmore “gave out” on the day Frank Wissler died.
As so often happens in families, both rich and poor, the infighting began before they laid him in his grave.
The first issue to arise was where he should be buried. His wife, Mary Anna, preceded him in death by ten years. She made it clear that she “was never meant for farming” and was to be buried near her sister, Elizabeth Stone, in Mt. Hebron Cemetery in Winchester.
There was no small amount of controversy within the family ranks when Frank, Sr. announced that his wife would be buried in the Stone family plot at Mt. Hebron. However, Frank insisted that it was the least he could do since Mary was so miserable living at Strathmore.
Frank and Mary lived in Winchester for eight years from 1884 to 1892 when Frank had joined forces with Mary's brother-in-law, Dr. Robert Stone, as co-owner of a paper mill in Winchester. Frank and Dr. Stone were every bit as disagreeable as John and Frank, Jr. leading to a short-term partnership.
It was after that unpleasant venture that Frank, Sr. purchased Strathmore which was a move that Mary vehemently opposed. “You've never worked on a farm in your life,” she said. “You're out of your mind.”
She was so distraught over the move that she strongly considered living in Winchester by herself maintaining that it was the only place she had ever lived that felt like home.
Mary Anna eventually put family over feelings and toughed it out at Strathmore until the untimely end of her life in 1901.
Frank, Jr. believed that it was only fitting that his father should be laid to rest next to his wife. John disagreed insisting that Frank, Sr. should be buried in the ground in which he had worked so hard. Ada actually took Frank, Jr.'s side saying that the elder Wissler once told her that his final resting place was to be with Mary.
Then they disagreed about how Frank, Sr. should be dressed. Some opined that only a suit and tie would be proper. Others contended that he should be attired in the bibbed overalls he wore every day. In the
end, the family opted for the suit that Mary Ann gave him for his birthday shortly before her death.
John and Frank, Jr. did agree that their father and mother deserved the finest headstone monument that money could buy.
There was no shortage of tears at his funeral. Franklin Heiser Wissler was dearly loved by his family and was well thought of throughout the Valley. The most common words of comfort to be heard that day were simply, “Frank Wissler was a good man. He will be missed.”
Indeed he would be missed. The foundation upon which Strathmore had been built was gone and one could only imagine when he walls would come tumbling down
On February 25, 1911 select members of the family, namely Mr. and Mrs. John Wissler, Mr. and Mrs. Frank Wissler Jr, and Mr. and Mrs. John Wissler, Jr. were called to the law offices of Tavenner and Bauserman in Woodstock for the reading of Frank Heiser Wissler's last will and testament.
Considerable speculation mixed with high hopes of a generous inheritance was the subject of many conversations since the funeral. Who would get what? How much would they get? Would John the oldest brother and Frank, Jr. get equal portions? Who would be made the head of the family business? Would Frank, Jr. and Carrie remain at Strathmore? Did the old man have some surprises in his will? Finally, the moment of truth had arrived.
Lawyers write wills in a language that only they can read or even understand. Possibly that is so they can charge more for their services. For those on pins and needles waiting to hear what gifts have been doled out by the benefactor, the flowery language can be quite annoying.
Just get to the point, thought Ada. We all know that he was of sound mind and body. What she and everybody else wanted to know was how much Frank thought of them, or how little?
The brothers were on pins and needles over that issue fearing that one might be more highly favored than the other. John believed that he should be given control of the business since he was the oldest. Frank, Jr. reasoned that he deserved to be president of the company since he had been his father's right-hand man. Besides, he thought. I'm the only one who really cares about the farm.
The attorney led the participants into a conference room and invited them to be seated.
“We have a lot to cover here today and I'm sure that you will have many questions which I will be happy to answer in subsequent sessions. Mr. Wissler was very thorough in the way that he wanted his estate dispersed and entrusted me with the duties of administrator. Frank approved the final draft of this document in January of this year. So let's get started.
Counselor Bauserman pulled the contents of Franklin Heiser Wissler's last will and testament from a box on the desk and removed its contents. After opening a folder, he began to read.
“I love both of my sons equally and I have always been proud of both of you. Were it not for you I don't how I could have endured the years since your mother's passing. You could never know the great joy that you have given me. The women that you took as your wives have become like daughters to me and I love them dearly. My grandchildren have been like the sunshine in my life and I love them more than words can express.”
Personal agendas carried into the room by the heirs were put on temporary hold as Frank's words of affection touched them deeply. Tears, however, quickly turned to laughter as the attorney continued.
“My only disappointment with Frank, Jr. and John has been your inability to get along with each other. Your Mama often said that you would be very successful in life if you didn't kill each other first.”
“That's how we show our love for each other. We fight,” said John leading to more laughter.
Counselor Bauserman continued. “My desire is that Wissler Enterprises continues to thrive and that you boys will maintain the profitable business that we have worked so hard to build. It is imperative that the two you vow from this moment forward to get along, work out you differences, and above all else strive to uphold the good Wissler name.”
Frank, Jr. patted his brother on the back. “We can do it can't we John?”
“Sure we can.”
“Didn't mean to interrupt,” said Frank, Jr. “Please continue, Counselor.”
“It is my fervent desire that the fruit my labors will be a blessing to you and your families and the generations to follow. I have done my utmost to place my assets in your able hands in a way that will be most beneficial to you and your families.”
The lawyer placed a folder of documents in front of Frank, Jr.
“My personal bank account at the time of this writing has in excess of $600,000 which I desire to be divided between my two sons equally. Also, I have divided my investments equally and assigned them in the most equitable way possible.”
Frank opened the folder and examined the contents.
“To Frank, Jr. I give Strathmore Orchard Corporation and its physical and fiscal assets. It is his to run as he sees fit. In our early days at Strathmore, you persuaded me that it was in our best interest to convert our agricultural enterprise from wheat and corn to apples. Time has proven that it was the right decision.
Ada looked at her husband to gauge his reaction to being left out of the orchard administration. Mr. Bauserman then slid a folder across the table to John.
“John, on frequent occasions over the years you have requested to convert a portion of the Strathmore land to cattle farming and I am sure that my refusal to grant your request has been troubling. At the time, I did not feel that diverting funds from the orchard venture was in our best interest. However, you now have my blessing to pursue your vision. As you will see on the map, I have given both of you sufficient land to develop the agricultural interests you desire. The Meems Bottom land by the river will be Frank, Jr.'s for dirt farming and the remaining acreage is yours for building a livestock enterprise. Furthermore, I have placed $100,000 in a fund designated for the development of that property.”
Mr. and Mrs. John Wissler appeared relieved and pleased by the senior Wissler's directive. In fact, everyone in the room was impressed with the wisdom employed in dividing the property.
“As I mentioned previously, I have long been concerned about your inability to get along. That's why I have given you both the opportunity to build your own individual Wissler Enterprises. Please support one another in every endeavor and render aid when it is needed. This is not intended to be a competition over who can outdo the other but a growing opportunity for each of you to realize your full potential. Use it wisely.”
The attorney paused briefly to browse through the folder.
“As for the homes in which you live, I see no reason for change in the current arrangement. These are your homes, free and clear, and to be used as you so determine.
“Then there's the matter of my grandson, John, Jr., who has been doing an exemplary job as the manager of the orchard. You always seemed fond of my gun collection so I want you to have it. For each of my precious grandchildren, I have made a deposit of $10,000 in individual trust funds which can be accessed when they turn twenty-five.”
Then came a bombshell of sorts, one more gift, for an unknown recipient.
“Mr. Wissler desires that the contents of this envelope and a check for $7,000 be mailed to an anonymous beneficiary. He requests that the family honor his request for privacy in this appropriation.”
Counselor Bauserman closed the estate administration folder and sat back in his seat.
“As you know, your father and I have known each other for a long time. I count him among my closest friends. As I shared with you at his funeral, he was a great man who leaves a great legacy. He worked many hours on dispersing his estate and I hope you can appreciate the loving thoughtfulness that went into it. And as I said at the beginning of the meeting, I am more than happy to answer any questions that you may have.
With the meeting convened the family shared pleasantries with the attorney and his staff then departed for the restructured Strathmore. How the new arrangement would play out remained to be seen but, at least for now, all p
arties were satisfied with the fairness of the distribution.
After bidding farewell to one another, they could now share their innermost thoughts on the matter.
Not surprisingly, the first subject addressed by Ada was the mystery recipient of Frank's generosity. “I'm dying to know who got the $7,000. Don't suppose old Frank had him a mistress? Maybe he gave it to charity or to the church. I'll ask the reverend. He would tell me.”
“Leave it alone, Ada. For God's sake leave it alone. Let my daddy rest in peace.”
Ada only partially followed John's directive. She would just keep her thoughts to herself. Maybe it was a gambling debt. Never knew Frank to gamble but you never know. Wait a minute. Maybe that money was for Mary Berry and that baby she had was his lovechild.
Woodstock Mischief - June 19, 1911
The weekly livestock auction in Woodstock was a popular gathering place for area farmers. A typical day included a morning haircut at one of the two local barbershops and then viewing and participating in the livestock auction. The activities concluded with a stop at Crable's General Store to swap yarns and dine on fresh cut bologna, hoop cheese, pickled eggs, crackers, and giant pickles from Crable's famous brined pickle barrel.
On this hot and humid summer day, Charlie Polk accompanied his father, Bill, for the day's routine activities which culminated at Crables. Bill took a seat among a dozen other farmers and participated in the colorful chatter while Charlie carried his paper sack of general store cuisine to a bench in front of the building.
Much to Charlie's surprise he was quickly joined by someone else on the bench.
“Gonna eat all that by yourself?” Inquired the cute girl who grabbed a cracker from his hand.
Normally such rude behavior would have been grounds for swift retaliation but the gender and physical attractiveness of his guest called for a different approach.
“Don't know me, do you?” asked the girl taking a bite from the cracker.
In the Valley of Hope Page 7
