‘TWENTY-TWO YEARS EARLIER’

Before he became known as the Baron, Anderson was just a young man looking for adventure. His family owned a cattle farm south of the Iowa line into Putnam County, but that life was fading from his mind. The newspaper stories and gossip about the war consumed him. His family did most of their trading in Iowa, and whenever they went to get supplies, Anderson hungered for more stories. He’d find a newspaper. Talk to anyone who might know about a battle. But whatever he learned, it never satisfied him enough. He had to see it for himself.

He never told his pa that he was going. He snuck out after midnight, took his bedroll, saddled his favorite horse, a buckskin mare he called Jennie, and headed north. South of Cincinnati he made camp near a creek, and at daylight grabbed some jerky from his saddlebag and headed out.

He rode down the dirt roads cut by wagon ruts and divided the farms and timber. After about two hours he came upon a sign that read “Cemetery” and he heard faint voices. The closer he got to the cemetery road the voices became clearer, and they were laughing. Young men, like himself, he presumed.

As he approached the path that led to the cemetery he saw them, three young men standing at the side of a buckboard wagon, drinking, laughing, and rattling on. Jennie whickered and they looked his way. He didn’t want to talk to them, but after knowing they had made eye contact, he thought better to be friendly.

He turned Jennie down the path and brought her to a stop near the men. They all dressed very similar, in homespun clothes and suspenders. Anderson took notice of a wooden barrel in the back of the wagon. “Howdy,” Anderson said, doffing his hat.

They all nodded, but the one with red hair and short growth of beard was the one to respond. “Howdy. Where you from?”

“Down by the state line,” Anderson said. “Have a cattle farm down there.”

“You don’t say,” the red headed man continued. “Which side of the state line?”

“Missouri side, but don’t worry. We side with the Union. In fact, I am headed to Keokuk to enlist.”

“You don’t say.”

“What’cha got in that there barrel?” Anderson asked.

“Why don’t you grab a cup and find out? Man going off to war should tie one on before he has to get all serious.”

Anderson really wanted to keep riding, but he wasn’t sure if a friendly gesture would turn into an ugly fight if he refused, so he stepped down from Jennie and tied her to a wagon wheel.

The red headed man handed him a tin cup. “My name is Harrington. This boy here is Bushell. Thinks he’s going to be a college boy one of these days. And that fella on the end there is Stufflebeem. We call him Stuffy.”

Anderson shook all their hands and then took his cup to the barrel. “Where’d you get this beer?”

“My pa runs the Numa Tavern,” Harrington said. “He’ll be madder than a Wampus Cat when he see’s it gone. But by then I’ll be too drunk to care.”

* * * * *

‘TWENTY-TWO YEARS LATER’

R. Guffey was pleased when the cultivators arrived. He had ordered ten, eight to fill orders, and two more in case someone changed their mind. Sleeth and the Morgan Brothers worked dawn to dusk getting the fields ready and planted, and their arrangement suited too many farmers for them to be concerned about buying their own equipment. It was the smaller plots that gave Sleeth and the Morgans most of their business, because the potential yield wasn’t enough to justify three separate implements and getting the cost of the equipment back.

G. Eddy was the most independent and with the largest fields. When he reported back to the cooperative that his corn was up and that the spring rains had so far been suffice, it gave others hope. The smallest farms did their cultivation by hand, but the fields like Eddy’s, and the newest fields at Sunshine, were seeing weeds as well as corn pop up.

* * * * *

Mr. Meng finished his work at the lumber yard about six p.m. Though he’d lost everything in a fire, whatever he had on his body, including his Waltham watch, had to be sold to buy food for himself. After Mr. Bonus left him at the bath house, and he came out all clean and presentable Bonus gave him an Elgin watch.

“No man can function in this world without a watch,” Bonus said.

“That is very kind of you,” Meng said. “I will repay you.”

“Get back on track with your life and make something of yourself, and the joy of seeing that will be payment enough.”

Another thing Bonus encouraged Meng to do, as well as Ms. Marty, was to talk to God.

“Do you really think He’s listening to an old hobo like me?” Meng asked.

“He listens to everyone who talks to Him,” Bonus said. “To receive His many blessings in life, He has to ‘know’ you. It will be the ultimate question on judgment day. Did Jesus know you?”

Every day and every night, Meng prayed on his knees by his bedside at the shelter where he stayed. Ms. Marty gave all men in the shelter a copy of the Holy Bible, and Meng would read passages that Bonus assigned him to read. This part was not easy for Meng, after all that he had lost in the fire. But the warmth these people had shown him was better than jumping on moving trains and scrounging for food. They gave him a chance, he would give them, and God, a chance too.

Meng stopped by the church to pray, and Bonus joined him. When they were finished Bonus shook Meng’s hand.

“Ms. Marty said you’re doing a good job at the lumber yard,” Bonus said. “How are you feeling?”

“My body is tired,” Meng said. “But I will eventually get used to it.”

“That’s the spirit,” Bonus said. “Mr. Strickling is at his train car office, and he has agreed to see you. Let’s go.”

Then men walked down from the church to the railyard where Tycoon Strickling’s private luxury car had been positioned on a turnout track not far from the depot. Bonus left him at the step into the rail car and shook his hand. “Good luck, brother.”

Meng stepped inside and Tycoon Strickling was there to greet him.

“Mr. Meng,” Strickling said, shaking his hand. “Seeing you all cleaned up is a pleasant sight. How are you adapting?”

“Good, sir,” Meng said. “If not for Ms. Marty and Mr. Bonus, I’m confident I’d be as lost as ever.”

Strickling pointed at a high back chair. “Have a seat.”

Meng sat down nervously and rubbed his hands together.

Strickling continued. “Both Ms. Marty and Mr. Bonus have filled me in on your progress and your business plan. As you know I am a very successful and experienced businessman. I am not afraid to take risks, but I also don’t gamble or chase fantasies. When something is uncertain, I go by track record. Yes, you owned a hotel and your loss is extreme and unfortunate. But when a man hits rock bottom, as you have, the odds are usually not in his favor to get out of the pit. I don’t start a business to help someone out of a pit. I start a business if there is demand for the business itself. So, therefore, I have discovered that indeed Mystic needs another hotel.

“So let me cut to the chase. The land you’re wanting for your hotel here in Mystic I already own, so that part is easy. I will build this hotel, Mr. Meng, but if you run it or eventually own it will depend on your future progress. You will help design it, but you will continue to work for Ms. Marty for six months, you’ll be filling the orders for the materials for this hotel, and also help with any other tasks where needed. In six months, if you are as healthy as you are today, mentally and physically, then I will invite you with open arms into this business relationship. Does this sound agreeable to you, Mr. Meng?”

The offer from Strickling was nothing like he’d envisioned. He wanted a loan to get started and be completely independent. But for some reason there was an overwhelming peace about him. He looked into the eyes of Tycoon Strickling and not only saw shrewdness and prudence, but also kindness.

Meng stood to shake Strickling’s hand. “Sir, I’d be a fool not to agree to that arrangement.”

* * * * *

In the next episode of Centerville 1884: Twenty-two years earlier, the four young men wake up the next day with a hangover. Will Anderson make the trek to Keokuk or will they all be outrunning Harrington’s father? Meng uses Strickling’s drawing board to sketch out the plans for the hotel. More news comes from the presidential race, and the cultivators are in action.