Chapter 22
The Campaign Gets Started

With the town all a buzz, there was still not much active support for Almeda against banker Franklin Royce.

People were talking about the election, but nobody was coming out and saying they actually supported Almeda. If anything, business around the office was quieter than usual. Almeda was right in the middle of a hurricane of talk and interest and discussion, but the Parrish Mine and Freight office was quieter than a tomb. And even the people who did come in seemed reluctant to mention the election. They just took care of their business and left without more words than were necessary.

“You know what it is,” said Almeda one day in frustration to me and Mr. Ashton. “They’re all afraid Franklin is standing behind his window over there watching!”

The bank and freight office, two of Miracle’s busiest places and biggest buildings, sat looking right at each other across the intersection of the two main streets. There they sat, with the General Store and the sheriff’s office and jail on opposite corners and lots of other little stores and buildings in between, making up the central square block of Miracle Springs.

And there stood the posters in the windows of each, saying nothing out loud, but silently saying so much about what really made Miracle Springs work and operate and “function” every day as a town. Royce for Mayor, said the one, promoting the man who owned the bank and who as a result co-owned or part-owned three-quarters of all the farms and ranches and businesses and homes for miles around. And in the other window folks read the sign I had made that said Vote Almeda Hollister for Mayor of Miracle Springs. Everyone knew that it was Almeda who had gotten them their gold pans and sluice boxes and their bags, shovels, wagons, spare parts, picks, saddles, ropes, and nails. At her livery half their horses and mules were tended, and at her blacksmith’s forge Marcus Weber repaired their tools, re-shod their horses, and fixed their broken wagon wheels.

I don’t suppose any two people had done more to make Miracle Springs what it was in 1856 than Franklin Royce and Almeda Parrish Hollister. Yet it seemed more than likely that most folks would end up on Royce’s side. Even though through the years Almeda had given credit to most of the men of Miracle Springs one time or another, she didn’t hold mortgages on their property. And if she went out of business, as sorry as they might be, they could always get what they needed someplace else. If she was gone, probably Royce himself would set up a new business to replace hers!

“What we need is a flyer, a pamphlet!” Almeda exclaimed, after a few moments pause, still staring out the window, looking toward the bank. “Folks are just too nervous to be seen talking to me. But if we distributed something they could take home and read when they’re alone, then they wouldn’t have to worry about being seen by you know who.”

She spun around and faced me. “What do you say, Corrie? A flyer—you can help me write it, and I’ll take it down to Sacramento to have it printed up. We’ll get five hundred, even a thousand printed up. We’ll scatter so many of them around that everybody will see it eventually!”

We got started on it that very afternoon.

Almeda told me what she wanted to say. I wrote it down in the best way I could, she made some changes, and then I wrote it over again. I started to work on a couple of pictures for it, too, so that it would look interesting—a sketch of Almeda’s face, and another one of the front of the Freight Company office, as a reminder of what Parrish Mine and Freight had meant to the community.

During the evening we all sat around and talked—what Almeda still called her campaign “committee”—trying to figure out what we ought to say. Katie kept talking about needing a campaign slogan, and Almeda finally settled on: Almeda Hollister—A Hard-Working Part of Miracle Springs’ Past Who Will Be Faithful to Its Future. She Will Put Your Interests First.”

That slogan would go on top of the handbill. Under it would be my sketch of Almeda. At the bottom would be words like: Integrity, Experience in Business, Familiar with Needs of Miners, Dependable, Friend of Miner and Rancher and Farmer, Working Hard for Your Prosperity.

All that would comprise the front page. Inside the fold, people would open it up and read the written part about how Almeda had come to Miracle Springs, how the business had been started, and how much she had done for the miners through the years—helping get what they needed, giving them extra time to pay if needed, delivering things at odd hours or even in rain or snow if something was needed right away, opening up her livery or blacksmith’s shop in an emergency even if it meant getting Marcus up in the middle of the night—and finally saying that as mayor she would continue to do all those things for the community, always looking out for the interests and well-being of the people she represented.

During those first couple of weeks, Mr. Royce continued to be his same smiling, friendly self. In fact, three days after the poster went up in our window, we were astonished by another personal visit by the opposing candidate himself. Mr. Ashton had spotted him out the window walking in our direction from the bank.

“Here comes Royce!” he said, and he hurried back to his chair and tried to busy himself with the papers in front of him. Almeda and I braced ourselves for—well, we didn’t know what, but I don’t think either of us expected it to be pleasant.

But Mr. Royce walked in the door, a big smile on his face, and went straight up to Almeda.

“Well, Almeda, I must say this is a surprise! Welcome to the race!” he said.

“Thank you, Franklin,” she replied, shaking his hand. “You are being most gracious about it.”

“Whatever our differences in the past may have been, I congratulate your intrepid decision. California needs more women like you!”

Almeda smiled, the two wished each other well, and then the banker departed, leaving Almeda with a question on her face. “Have I completely misjudged that man?” she said after a moment, speaking more to herself than to either of us. Her eyes remained fixed on the door Mr. Royce had just left for another few seconds. Then she shook her head and went on with her work. Was she doubting whether she had done the right thing?

Thereafter, Mr. Royce kept being nice about the whole thing. Whenever anyone asked him about the election, or mentioned Almeda’s running against him, his response was something nice and friendly.

“It’s a free country,” he might say. “Anyone is able to do as his conscience leads him, and I salute Mrs. Hollister’s courage to stand up for what she believes in.”

Or: “She is a strong woman, and Miracle Springs should be proud to have her as one of its leading citizens.”

Or: “It is remarkable, is it not, what women are able to achieve when they persevere? She has done a great deal for this town, and I for one have the greatest respect for her as a businesswoman in what is predominantly a man’s occupation.”

Whether he was truly being nice, or just didn’t think he had to worry about Almeda’s hurting his election, I didn’t know. One thing was for sure, folks were starting to change their opinion of him, and his nice comments about Almeda only made them like him all the more.

But some people didn’t believe a word of it. Like Katie. When she heard that last remark he’d made to Patrick Shaw—which his wife had told Katie—she got downright riled.

“I tell you, Almeda, he’s talking out of both sides of his mouth!” she said. “All those nice words don’t fool me a bit.”

Almeda laughed. “Why do you say that?” she asked.

“He may be saying nice things about you, but he makes sure he always mentions that you are a woman, and that this is a man’s world. He doesn’t have to say anything—it’s obvious he wants people to think for themselves that being a mayor’s no job for a woman.”

“He’s never said a word to that effect, Katie.”

“He doesn’t need to. He’s relying on the men around here to draw that conclusion for themselves. Patronizing, that’s what it is. He’s being nice to you so that folks won’t take you seriously. It’s almost as if he treats your running against him as a joke that doesn’t really mean anything as far as the election’s concerned.”

“I don’t know, Katie,” Almeda replied with a thoughtful look on her face. “It just may be that Franklin Royce has changed his ways after all.”