Valley of promises, p.12
Valley of Promises, page 12
“Me too. I look awful. I might as well be a hobo.” Laurel smoothed her skirt.
Laurel opened the doorway flap and peeked outside. A man and three children walked past. The youngest, a girl, skipped ahead. They didn't notice Laurel. Smoke rose from round metal chimneys, and a woman in the tent straight across from them was hanging diapers on a makeshift clothesline. She smiled at Laurel, then returned to her work.
Ducking back inside, Laurel said, “I don't see any mosquitoes, and people are up. Plus, I can smell coffee. I suppose if we follow the aroma, we'll find breakfast. I'm hungry.”
“I'm starved.” Will finished lacing his boots, then walked to the doorway and stepped outside. Luke and Laurel followed. Taking a deep breath, he scanned the compound, then the clear sky. “Another nice day. Just as it should be.” He gazed at the nearby mountains. “This is a real beautiful place.” For a moment he seemed lost in thought, and then he looked at Luke and Laurel. “So, you two ready for some breakfast?”
“Long past ready,” Luke said.
“All right then,” Will said. “Let's get to it.”
After a breakfast of flapjacks, bacon, and coffee, families gathered in a clearing where a temporary platform had been erected. A map with numbered lots had been nailed to a wooden pole, and several colonists were gathered around it, hoping to get a clearer picture of the valley's layout and the plots available. Laurel tried to get close, but it was no use. From a distance she could see numbers and lines but couldn't make out what any of it meant. Finally, in frustration, she stepped away.
“I wonder which one we'll get?” Luke asked.
Will rested a hand on his son's shoulder. “The one God means us to have.” A breeze caught at his blond hair. He smiled, and creases laid down by years of sun and wind deepened. Yet his blue eyes looked young and were alight with anticipation. “I expect we've already looked at it.”
First, a lottery was held to determine in what order the men would draw for their lot numbers. Will was number twenty and took his place in line. Laurel and Luke stood beside him. “I'd say we're pretty lucky to have drawn number twenty,” Will said. “We won't have to wait long to find out which piece is ours.”
“Hey, Robert,” Luke called to their new friend who stood just five people behind them.
“Hi, Luke,” Robert said with a smile and nodded at Laurel. His eyes settled on Will. “Maybe after the drawing we can go out and look over our places together?”
“Sounds good to me.”
Laurel swatted at a mosquito and hoped the hordes weren't about to descend. She'd left her netted hat at the tent. The pest buzzed her again, and she swiped at it but missed. Finally it moved on to someone else.
Laurel glanced down the row of men. “I'd hate to be number 204.” Another mosquito winged its way around her. She watched it land on her arm, then slapped it. Lifting her hand, she grimaced. All that remained was a splotch of red and an insect skeleton. “I hate mosquitoes,” she mumbled and flicked it away. She heard the click of a camera and looked up to find Adam with his Kodak trained on her.
He lowered it and smiled. “Just recording the story.” He moved away, seeking out other interesting shots.
“What's taking so long?” Luke asked, shifting his feet. “I wish they'd hurry.”
“Be patient. We'll know soon.” Will grinned. “The only time I can remember feeling this eager was the morning I married your mama, and she was worth the wait. When she walked down that aisle, I knew I'd never seen a more beautiful woman.” He winked. “And I still feel that way.”
Ed Ketchum and Felix Pettersson stood together at the end of the line. They'd been such trouble on the ship that Laurel was pleased to see they'd be the last to draw. Serves them right, she thought.
Felix lit a cigarette with the butt of another, then threw the butt to the ground. He didn't bother stomping it out. He caught Laurel's eye but acted as if he hadn't seen her and said something to Ed.
The thin young man with straggly hair grinned at Laurel. Unwilling to be rude, she smiled at him and hoped he wouldn't decide to be friendly and join her. Ed Ketchum was repulsive, dirty, and unkempt. She turned her back to the two men and watched a heavyset man climb the steps to the platform.
Facing the colonists, he yelled, “Quiet!” He raised his arms over his head. “Quiet everyone, and we'll get started!” He looked at the crowd, and a hush settled over the group. All eyes were on him. “Good morning.” People pressed in. The man removed his hat, wiped sweat from his brow, and replaced it. “It's pretty warm out here for May. Should make for a good growing season.”
The people cheered. “Come on, get on with it!” someone shouted.
Laurel noticed a group of men standing off to one side. They looked angry, and Laurel wondered who they were. A tall, broad-shouldered man with a full beard and brown hair that hung in wild curls around his head seemed to be the leader of the group. Gray eyes lit with hatred swept over the crowd. Laurel had never seen him before. He couldn't be a colonist, or she would recognize him. Their eyes met and locked for a moment. Laurel could feel herself shrivel beneath his gaze. Then, as if he hadn't even seen her, his eyes moved on. With a shiver, and hoping she would never have to deal with him, she turned back to the man on the podium.
“I want to welcome you all to our beautiful valley,” he said. “As I'm sure you all know by now, there's no place like it on earth.”
“I'll say,” Alex Pettersson said derisively. “Nothing like living in a mosquito swamp.”
“Put a lid on it,” another man said. “Go on. We're waiting,” he encouraged the speaker.
The man cleared his throat. “I know you're here with high expectations, and you should be. The United States Government has put a grand plan into place, and I'm proud to be a part of it. This day will go down in the history books.” He studied a sheet of paper Laurel guessed was his written speech.
She glanced at the man who'd been angrily watching the proceedings. He had his arms folded over his chest and glared at the speaker. “Daddy, do you know who he is?” she asked, nodding at him.
Will followed her gaze. “Ray Townsend. Tom Jenkins told me he's the leader of a group of homesteaders who want us to leave. Those are settlers with him.”
“What is he going to do? Can they make us leave?”
“No.” He gently took hold of Laurel's forearms and turned her to look at him. Smoothing back a strand of her hair, he said, “There's something more important going on here than those men. Don't let them spoil the moment.”
Laurel nodded and returned to watching the speaker, hoping her father was right.
“You all know there's a lot of hard work ahead of you,” the spokesman said. “There's no other way when it comes to farming. But I've been told you have what it takes, and I believe if you and the government work together, we'll make this one great farming community!” His voice boomed. People clapped and cheered.
“Now, then,” he continued. “I won't make you wait any longer. I have 204 slips of paper in this box.” He held up a cardboard shoebox. “Let's begin.”
The first man in line needed no prompting. He ran up the steps leading to the platform, took long strides across the wooden stage, reached into the box, and pulled out a piece of white paper. He peered at it, then held up the slip and shouted, “Number 168!” He jumped off the platform and ran to the map. The next man drew his number and hurried away, then the next and the next. Each man headed out to inspect his land.
Laurel chewed her nails. Her stomach churned. Any minute they'd know which lot belonged to them. She prayed for God's favor. When the man in front of Will went up, Laurel clutched her father's hand.
Then it was Will's turn. He gave the back of Laurel's fingers a quick kiss and hurried up the steps. Reaching into the box, he took out a slip of paper, looked at it, then smiled and jumped down from the platform. “Number ninety-one,” he told Luke and Laurel without stopping, but striding toward the map. “Ninety-one, ninety-one,” he repeated, searching the map. “Here it is.” He poked his finger at a lot with the number ninety-one printed in black.
“How do we know which one it is?” Luke asked.
“Hold your horses.” Will studied the map. “Looks like it's over where we were last night.” He looked around. “We need a ride out there.” He spotted Tom Jenkins who was sitting in his wagon and watching the activity.
Robert ran up to Will. “What number did you get?”
“Ninety-one. You?”
“Ninety.” Robert grinned broadly. “We're neighbors!”
Tom jumped down from the wagon and joined them. “So, what pieces did you draw?”
“Ninety and ninety-one,” Will said. “Looks like they're out by your place.”
Tom scanned the map. “I'll be hanged! Those are the pieces you looked at yesterday!” Grinning, he said, “Welcome, neighbors.” He shook Will and Robert's hands. “I'll take you out.” He led the way to his wagon.
Will, Robert, Laurel, and Luke piled in. Luke took the seat beside Tom. Laurel stood just behind them, hanging onto the back of the seat. The sun felt warm and energizing. In spite of her resistance to the move, she felt a flush of excitement. They owned a piece of land!
When they arrived at the parcels, they realized that Robert had drawn the piece along the creek and the Haspers had the one next to it. Laurel was only slightly disappointed. She'd liked the idea of having land bordered by a stream.
Laurel and Luke walked beside their father. There was plenty of open ground to begin farming right away, but there were also several acres of forest. They'd been promised that if they cut and skidded the trees, the government would pay them sixty dollars per cleared acre. The money would be needed.
Will pointed at a grove of birch. “I think we ought to put the house there, by those trees. They'll give us shade in the summer and will be a windbreak during the winter.” He surveyed the acreage. “We can put in root vegetables over there.” He pointed to a portion of land not far from where the house would sit. “And we'll plant oats there,” he said, nodding toward the north end.
Striding across the adjoining piece of property, Robert joined them. “Nice acreage—all of it.” He let his eyes roam over the land. “But I drew the piece you wanted.”
Will patted Robert's back. “I'm glad you got it. I couldn't have a better neighbor.”
Robert looked at Laurel. “I know you wanted to live by a creek.”
“I did, but this piece will be just fine.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the slip of paper with number ninety written on it. Holding it out to Will, he said, “Me and my family will be just fine on parcel ninety-one.”
“No, son. That's the piece you drew. It's where you belong.”
“I want to make the trade. I want you to have it.”
Will stared at the paper, then looked at Robert. “You sure? With the creek bordering it, it's more valuable.”
“Makes no difference to me.”
Will shook his head. “I can't believe you're doing this.” He pulled out his paper with number ninety-one written on it. “All right then.” They exchanged slips. “You're quite a man.” Will's voice broke. “Anything you need, you let me know. And you can have all the water you want from that creek.” He shook Robert's hand. “Consider yourself family.”
Robert nodded. “Thank you, sir. I count that a privilege.” His eyes settled on Laurel.
She felt a wave of gratitude and admiration for Robert. He was a fine man.
“Well, we need to get our names and pieces of property registered,” Robert said. “We can always come back later and make plans.”
Will threw an arm over Robert's shoulders and headed toward the road. “We've got our places.” He glanced back at Laurel. “Our new home.”
Laurel's eyes took in the open fields, heavy forests, and imposing mountains. She couldn't deny it was extraordinary, and she did feel a sense of hope. Still, it didn't feel like home, and she doubted it ever would.
Chapter Fourteen
HER FATHER ON ONE SIDE AND LUKE ON THE OTHER, LAUREL WALKED DOWN the bustling tent-lined street. A man chopped wood while his wife hung laundry on a makeshift line. They passed a young man hauling water. Another pushed a wheelbarrow filled with coal.
The mud was beginning to dry, and wooden walkways had been laid down, making foot travel easier. Swatting at mosquitoes, Laurel chided herself for forgetting her netted hat. Her mother, Brian, Justin, and Susie were supposed to arrive by train later that day, and she felt her anticipation mounting. “How much longer until the train gets here?”
“We've got a few hours yet,” Will said. “It's supposed to roll in late this afternoon, around four. Your mother will like it here.” With a wry smile, he looked all around at the mud and temporary housing. “Well, not exactly here, but our new place.”
“I'm hungry,” Luke said. “What are we s'posed to do for lunch? Is the camp gonna feed us?”
“Nope. Not today. But we can pick up supplies at the store. Until we get our first crop in and sold, we're supposed to charge at the market. The government's given us five years to start paying back the debt on the land, house, and our other expenses. I don't intend on spending one dime more than we have to.”
“We can do some hunting to keep meat on the table,” Luke said enthusiastically.
“I meant to talk to you about that.” Will cleared his throat. “It'll cost us fifty dollars apiece to hunt.”
“What? Why?”
“They say we're nonresidents and have to buy a special hunting license.”
Luke grimaced. “But we live here.”
“They say we've got to be here a year or pay up.”
“That's not fair.”
“I know, but it's the law.”
“Those government agents lied to us! They said we could hunt and fish all we wanted. Now what are we gonna do?”
Will raised an eyebrow. “We can fish, but the hunting will have to wait.”
“We don't have the fifty dollars?” Luke asked.
“Nope.”
“What if I earn it? Would you let me hunt?”
“Sure.”
“All right then. I'll find a job.”
“Some of the land can be tilled and planted right away,” Will said. “Your mother is one of the best gardeners I know. The vegetables will help.”
“We don't have to wait for the house to be finished before we put in a garden?” Laurel asked.
“Nope. As soon as I can get my hands on a plow, we'll turn the soil and get seed in the ground—that is, if the equipment and seeds are here. Seems things aren't exactly what we expected.” Will stopped in front of the administration office. “I'll know soon enough what's in and what's not.”
“While you're doing that, I'll go to the store and get supplies,” Laurel said. “We'll need something for supper. Where is the store?”
“Not far. Just down that way.” Will nodded in the direction of the mercantile. “You'll find it easy enough. Just stay on this road.”
Laurel was in no hurry and strolled down the rutted road, navigating around puddles and soft mud. The sun felt good. Not exactly hot, but warm.
It was easy to find the market. It had a sign posted over the door that read Palmer Post Office and General Store. It wasn't large, and was deeper than it was wide. A few people stood out front waiting their turn to enter. Most had wagons or wheelbarrows. Realizing she had no way of carrying supplies home, Laurel wondered if she ought to get her father and Luke. Not wanting to lose her place in line, she decided to get just necessities. She could return for more tomorrow.
“I can't believe the piece of property we got,” Laurel heard a woman complain. “It's no more than a swamp. And there's no timber on it. We could have starved just as well back in Michigan.”
The woman was small and thin with dark brown hair pulled back severely and twisted into a bun. Her face looked pinched and dried-up. A little girl in a faded dress stood off to one side, and a small boy with dirt on his face and hands clung to the woman's skirt. Tears had left pale streaks on his grimy cheeks.
“So, what're you gonna do?” a plump woman wearing a plaid dress asked.
“We're filin' a complaint, that's what. They'd better give us a better piece of land, or we're packin' up and headin' home.”
The boy pulled at his mother's dress. “I'm hungry.”
Without hesitation, the tiny woman cuffed the boy up the side of the head. “Stop whinin'.”
Sticking a dirty thumb in his mouth, he leaned against his mother.
“I heard there's lots of unhappy folks,” the small woman continued. “And I s'pect there'll be a whole bunch who'll pack it in.”
“Can't say that I blame them. There's been a lot of lyin' goin' on. That bunch up in Washington D.C. don't know what they're talkin' about, and the government agents have been lyin' to us from the beginning.”
The waspish-looking woman nodded. “I s'pose you got a bad piece too.”
“No.” Her eyes flickered away. “We got good land, but we sure do sympathize with you.” She closed her coat over a heavy bosom. “Are you really thinkin' of leavin'?”
“You're darn tootin'. What do we have to stay for? If they don't give us a decent piece of ground, we'll be outta here faster than a hound can chase down a possum.” She folded her arms over her chest and tipped up her chin a notch.
Laurel thought she might be pretty if her face weren't so puckered and angry. This woman hadn't given Palmer a chance yet.
“Do you think you can get another parcel?”
“Hmm,” she sniffed. “They'd better give us one. I'll let someone spit in my eye before I pay one red cent for a worthless piece of ground. After all they put me and my family through, they ought to give me a new parcel plus let me keep the one I have.”
