Portlandtown: A Tale of the Oregon Wyldes (2 page)

Joseph closed his eye.

He could
see
the river rushing by below, waves peeling away from the hull toward a shore that was closer on the port side of the ship than the starboard.

He could
see
the chubby man standing twenty feet to his right, puffing on a cigar and tugging his three-sizes-too-small coat tighter around his belly.

He could
see
the blue sky, puffy clouds, and, most important, the sun. Such a treat was not to be missed, even in May, which was why Joseph had spent so much of the journey standing at the rail, letting the light warm his face.

And now he could see his son, Samuel, staring up at him, wondering if his father was still lost in the dark memory that had invaded his waking thoughts so often in recent weeks. Joseph knew the boy had been standing at the rail for only a moment, but his approach had been nearly silent. He was becoming every bit as stealthy as his mother, which was a source of both pride and concern for Joseph.

“Hello, Kick,” he said, using the nickname Kate had given her son while he was still inside her.

“Hello,” the boy replied. Kick, who’d turned eleven the week before, watched his father’s face for a sign. Joseph had never actually seen him through his own eyes, but he knew his son had wavy auburn hair, a slightly square jaw, and bright green eyes, just like his mother. The oversize ears and nose had been gifts from his father, which Kick had yet to grow into.

Joseph tilted his head to his son, giving him what he wanted.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Okay. Maddie said I should check.”

“Your sister worries too much. I’m fine.”

“Okay.”

Kick turned his attention to the river. He couldn’t smell the salt in the air, but knew they were close because the river was wider. He leaned over the rail, letting the spray cool his face.

“Careful,” said Joseph. “You’ll have to swim the rest of the way if you fall in.”

“I won’t fall. Plus I’m a good swimmer.”

“I’m better,” said Maddie, already leaning over the rail on Joseph’s right. He hadn’t noticed her approach at all. He’d thought only Kate could do that, and now both his children had effectively snuck up on him in broad daylight—not that the day or light made a difference. They’d been practicing.

“Hello, Madeline. I didn’t see you there.”

Maddie beamed, unable to help herself. The hair and freckles she shared with her brother, but the smile was all her own.

“Did I scare you?”

“No, but I am surprised you were able to hang over the edge with what must be a very full tummy. Did you leave any of the sugar rolls for your brother?”

Maddie dropped back onto the deck. She licked her lips, tasting both cinnamon and sugar. Joseph could have told her it was on her fingers as well.

“Kick ate some, too.”

“Only one! I only had one.”

“That’s fine, Kick. But was that before or after the engineer chased you out of the steam room?”

Kick blinked, and then eyed his sister. She shook her head—she hadn’t told. Kick raised his right hand, flicked his wrist twice, and made a looping motion with his first two fingers. Maddie returned the gesture, adding a jab and several more loops to the message, none of which was particularly friendly.

Joseph smiled. The hand signals had replaced a form of gibberish the twins used to communicate when they didn’t want their parents to know what they were saying. Between them, Joseph and his wife had picked up enough of the language to listen in, which was when the kids switched to the hand signals. They generally tried to hide them from Kate, but assumed their father wasn’t going to decipher the visual language anytime soon. Joseph did sometimes have trouble following the speedy hand motions, which is why he’d long since given up trying. There was no point, as both kids wore so many of their emotions on their faces.

“We’ll be in port soon,” Joseph said, letting the kids off the hook. “Go grab your things, and meet me up above.”

Kick hopped onto the lower rail and off again before following his sister into the main compartment of the steamer.

Joseph closed his senses, letting some of the emotion he’d felt earlier creep back into his waking mind. Kick and Maddie were born the day he’d lost his sight. He was more than a hundred miles away at the time, and it had taken him four days to stumble home in the endless dark. After sleeping most of the fifth, he’d awakened to an uninvited guest and the first inkling that a new light might be available to him. That had been exactly eleven years ago to the day.

Joseph felt the boat rumble beneath his feet as it turned slightly to the south. Astoria would appear shortly on the Oregon side of the river, with its fishing boats, ore merchants, and colorful houses on the hill. With only a little effort, Joseph pushed the past away and opened his senses to what lay ahead.

*   *   *

“I see Mr. Hendricks!” Maddie said, pointing to a short man waving from the dock.

He was not alone. At least a dozen locals stood waiting for passengers, many of whom were waving alongside Joseph and the twins. The Port of Astoria was bustling with activity. In addition to the
Alberta,
a second, much larger steamer was docked alongside, having arrived from San Francisco a few hours earlier. The passengers had departed, but the holds of the ship continued to be unloaded by an ore-powered mechanical arm. Two smaller barges were also docked nearby, both weighted down to the waterline by mounds of what appeared to be gray slate. Neither was in the process of being loaded or unloaded, but a dozen men with guns stood along the docks on either side of the boats.

After disembarking, the Wyldes were met by Charlie Hendricks, owner and operator of Astoria’s oldest store, Hendricks’ Dry Goods. Charlie was short, round, and bald, but had a generous personality that he claimed made up for the physical “gifts” God had seen fit to give him. He knew everyone in town and had made it his business to meet their extended families. As a result, he was always up on the latest gossip, local and otherwise.

Joseph offered his hand. “Hello, Mr. Hendricks. Thanks for coming.”

“Well met, as always,” Charlie said, glancing past Joseph to the boat. “Where’s Katherine? Don’t tell me she didn’t make the trip.”

“She and her father disagree on the specifics of the relocation,” Joseph said, hoping his tone and arching eyebrow were enough for Charlie to move on to another subject.

“Oh,” Charlie said, glancing at the twins. “Well, I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you. Afraid I’m not much in the way of company. And my cooking is even worse.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Joseph said, following Charlie up the pier. “Lot of activity about.”

“It’s the ore. They found another vein above Paulsen Creek. Big one, I’m told. The barges come in almost daily, now.”

Kick climbed onto a pile of ropes to get a better look at the nearest barge.

“Is that it? I thought it was orange,” he said, mildly disappointed.

“It is, once it’s been refined,” said Charlie. “That’s mostly shale. The good stuff is locked inside in little-bitty pieces. They’re actually building a refinery across the river so they don’t have to transport so much unusable material.”

“Across the river?”

Charlie frowned. “They say it’s because the north side gets more sun—more sun! You believe that? Politics is what it is.”

“I’m sure,” Joseph said. He slowed his pace, adding space between them and the twins. “I appreciate you looking out for the marshal.”

“Happy to do it.”

“How’s his mood?”

“Lousy.”

Joseph nodded. “He can be a hard man to like.”

“He’s always been friendly to me, but he is on his own. Has been for … eight years?”

“Nearly ten.”

“I know you and Kate have been to visit—more than some families, to be sure—and he has friends here, acquaintances and such, but a man of his experiences, of his fame…” Charlie hesitated, and then added, “Frankly, I’m not surprised he got a little confused. It happens at his age.”

Joseph nodded, but the truth was that it did surprise him. He’d heard the details of his father-in-law’s “confusion” from the Astoria constable, who’d held him for a day before releasing him to Charlie. It just didn’t feel right. The man had slowed down in recent years, perhaps become more forgetful, but a sudden breakdown seemed unlikely. Jim Kleberg was a hard man, but he was still his own man. Joseph would not believe otherwise until he spoke to the marshal.

He owed him that much.

*   *   *

“Oh, it’s you,” said the marshal, frowning over a smile before it could begin. He’d come quickly to the top of the stairs but now descended without enthusiasm.

“Hello, Marshal,” said Joseph.

He was sixty-four years old, ten of them retired, but Jim Kleberg still appreciated being addressed as “Marshal.” The job was who he was and always would be. The man standing at the bottom of the stairs was smart enough to know that.

“Where’s the clan?” he asked, offering a hand to Joseph, who shook it.

“I sent Kick and Maddie up to the house to get started. Kate didn’t come.”

The marshal looked Joseph up and down, lingering over the man’s right eye.

“Okay.”

Charlie came through the door behind Joseph. “Hello, Marshal. All’s well I assume. Did you find the sandwiches I left?”

The marshal nodded. “Wasn’t hungry, but thanks.”

“Oh, all right,” Charlie said. He stood for a moment, waiting for one of the other two men to say something. Finally, he did. “Well, perhaps I should check in on my roses, let you two catch up.”

Charlie walked though the kitchen to the back door. The marshal waited to hear the latch before turning to Joseph.

“Your idea to set me up here?”

“Charlie volunteered.”

“Figured as much,” the marshal said, rubbing his hands together. “Treats me like a damn baby, always following me around, watching, asking questions.”

“He’s just worried. We all were.”

“I ain’t no invalid. Offered to do some gardening, but Charlie hid all the shovels. Afraid I’d dig up his prize roses or somethin’. Damn things looked dead anyway.”

Joseph waited for the man to say more, but instead the marshal walked into the living room and sat down in an oversize chair facing a large picture window. Joseph followed, stepping around the chair to stand next to the fireplace, where a mound of embers still radiated warmth.

“Well, it’s good to see ya, I guess. How long you stayin’?”

“The steamer’s running back tomorrow afternoon,” Joseph said. “Should be enough time to get things in order, I think.”

“Not much of a visit.”

Joseph looked at the marshal.

“Marshal, you know why we’re here. You’re coming to live with us in Portland. I’m sure you remember—”

“You think I don’t remember?”

“I didn’t say that.”

The marshal leveled a long, bony finger at the younger man. “But that’s what you
think.
”

Joseph wasn’t ready for this conversation—had, in fact, little desire to have it at all. It dawned on him that his wife had not come for this very reason.

“I know this isn’t what you wanted, Marshal.”

“Damn right it isn’t!” the marshal said, and was up from his chair and out the front door before Joseph could stop him.

*   *   *

Joseph found the marshal on the porch, leaning against a weathered railing. Astoria spilled out below the house, the glow of a few street lamps already visible in the predusk light.

“I’m sorry, Marshal. I know this isn’t easy, but it’s for the best.”

“You sure?”

“I am.”

The marshal took a deep breath and let it out.

“What if I ain’t?”

“Well, I’m sure once you’re in Portland this will make more sense. You always said you wanted to be closer to your grandkids.”

“That’s not what I mean.” The marshal rubbed his forehead, trying to dislodge the thought that had been there since he’d agreed to the move four days earlier. “What if I’m not supposed to leave?”

Joseph shook his head. “The house will be fine. And we’re not going to sell it, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“No, I … I don’t know.”

Joseph measured his words carefully. “It’s all right, Marshal. It happens to everybody as they get older.”

“You really want to have this conversation?”

Joseph closed his eye. The world didn’t look any different, but the gesture wasn’t for him.

“Maybe we should head up to the house,” he said. “We’ve got a lot to do.”

“What? You think I won’t be a son of a bitch around the gran’childs?”

“No, but I thought you’d want to supervise while a pair of eleven-year-olds packed all your worldly possessions.”

The marshal was unable to suppress a grin this time. A small laugh escaped, as well.

“Eleven?” The marshal turned the number over in his head. “Eleven years ago last week, right? Wednesday?”

“That’s right.”

“See? I ain’t lost all my faculties yet.” The marshal took another long look at the hill that rose up behind Astoria. He could see his house and the cemetery beyond, its fence reflecting the last rays of sunlight. “Startin’ to forget the rest, though.”

“Come to Portland,” Joseph said, and put on a hand on the man’s shoulder. “In a week’s time, this will feel right, you’ll see.”

“I’ll see, huh?” The marshal returned his gaze to the town. “Says the man with one good eye.”

“I see well enough. I see a man who helped me once—saved me.”

“I don’t need saving, Joseph.”

“I know.” Joseph could feel the anger slip from the marshal as he gently applied pressure to the older man’s shoulder.

“I forgot some things, is all.” The marshal smiled again. “Course, last time I remembered anything I wound up covered in mud and splinters.”

“Don’t worry. I told Maddie to hide all the shovels.”

*   *   *

Maddie pushed open the curtains on the front window, letting in what little daylight remained, before turning back to the room. To say that the marshal’s home was sparsely decorated would be generous. The only furniture on the first floor consisted of a well-traveled trunk, three mismatched chairs, a small square table, and an old rocker pushed into the corner next to a fireplace that otherwise dominated the space.