WELLSPRING
As Stewart neared the top of the ridge he could see Wellspring sprawling in the valley below. He was overcome with emotion. His first thought was the joy of nearing the end of the journey. He was then gripped by an irrational fear. The city of his conquest now seemed more threatening than the mountains he had just survived, the mountains of which he was so unfamiliar only eight months ago. He had envisioned this scene in his mind so many times. He had pictured himself conquering the final peak and then triumphantly striding into the city.
Now, however, he sat and stared. He had come so far, now to be overcome with doubt. He had no plan. His glorious ideas seemed to fade. Where would he begin? He wondered if anybody else had felt this way as they reached this peak, so close to their goals. After a short rest, Stewart regained his strength and his courage. He proceeded a little more cautiously than before. He was amazed how much difference some rest, food and water made in his perspective of the situation. He knew the final descent would probably take the remainder of the day.
By dusk, he arrived at the outskirts of Wellspring. In the dusty twilight of the day he passed through “tent town” and neared wood-framed buildings. The distinct center of activity was not as obvious in reality as in his imagination. His picture of the city soon dissolved into streets laden with mud and wagon wheel ruts, dingy buildings - some whitewashed - some covered with weathered lumber - some with wooden bases and canvas roofs. The whole scene was bathed in the smell of wood and coal soot and horse manure.
People were everywhere, going into saloons - carrying supplies, moving, hurrying - all appearing to have a purpose in their efforts. Stewart wondered where he would find Raymond. He then made plans to put-up in the first hotel he saw. Since he had left the farm eight months ago, he had not slept in anything but the make-shift hammock in Michael’s cabin and on the ground.
Among the stores, private dwellings and saloons, Stewart saw a marquee, “Travelers’ Inn.” In the window was a sign, “Room and Bath - $2.00, Meals Extra.”
“Good enough,” he thought.
After supper, Stewart returned to his room. He missed Michael’s company while on the trail, but he had a destination then. Now, he faced the loneliness of the strange room. He previously thought his first night would be a night of celebration. He had, after all, reached Wellspring alive!
The night was dark. The sound of the revelers in the street did not diminish the darkness or the loneliness. His thoughts were more of despondency. He recognized the loneliness and the fatigue. He was unfamiliar with the melancholy. He thought back to the conversations in the cabin when Michael talked about despondency. It was easy to wonder what melancholy actually felt like when you were in good fellowship and in a warm cabin. Maybe he missed the signs of early spring he remembered from the farm, and the family. Maybe he had never attempted goals high enough to experience disappointment. His thoughts centered on a single theme, “Is this all there is?”
In the night, worry was enhanced because nothing could be done about the situation. The next morning Stewart woke with a clearer head. He focused on two tasks. Stewart hoped he could find a job today that would pay at the end of the week. His money would only hold out for food and lodging for a week at most. He also wanted to begin to look for Raymond.
Stewart suddenly remembered the envelope Michael had put in the bottom of his backpack and told him not to open it until he was settled in. Steward thought, “Michael probably wrote me some final words of wisdom, to encourage me and get me started down here.”
The warm smile on his face, formed from fond memories, soon turned to a look of awe and amazement. Michael had snuck fifty dollars into the envelope. The note only said, “You will need this more than I will. Be safe, be healthy, and be happy. Remember to guard your perspective and have an attitude of gratitude.”
Stewart thought how those words would probably have more impact upon his plans and success than the money, but the money would sure relieve some of the worry about living day to day. “I should probably find a place to check the rifle until I have a place of my own. Maybe I can keep it in the hotel safe until I get situated. I am sure the safe is big enough.”
After sleeping past sun up, a bath and breakfast, he checked a board on the front of the inn. The board had different messages tacked on it. Some were personal notes and others were for jobs and help-wanted tags. Some notes appeared to be a few days old, while others, judging from the weathered condition, might be as old as a year. On some tacks, just a corner of paper remained where the rest of the note had weathered or been torn off.
Stewart quickly jotted down some interesting job possibilities with some names and addresses. He also wrote a note for Raymond. He would use the inn as his base of operation until he had a chance to move further into the city.
Stewart began by looking around in the neighborhood in which he was staying. As he looked back up toward the mountains he could see no other distinct trail or road other than the one on which he had entered town, next to the river and the railroad line. He figured Raymond had more than likely used the same trail as he came into town. What type of job did Raymond find?
Stewart thought it best to check some establishments nearby and then proceed to the addresses he had jotted down. He had asked the evening waitress and the night clerk if they had seen Raymond. New people were now filling their shifts so he asked them about Raymond, again to no avail.
By the directions the desk clerk had given him, the first address was about two miles away. In the same fashion that he arrived into town, he had no other form of transportation than walking. The street cars did not yet extend beyond the brick and mortar section of the city. Most of the wood frame structures and wood frame tents were in newly established areas of “town.”
As he walked, he noticed a repeating pattern. Every three or four blocks seemed to repeat the previous blocks. There was some type of general purpose store, a saloon, livery stable, hotel, and other types of establishments that might skip several blocks in the general scheme of things, such as land offices, gun shops, chair factories, or wagon wheel factories.
Other blocks might have a hardware store, a market with some fresh vegetables and canned goods; and chickens, turkeys, or bacon hanging under the awning. Less frequently there might be a construction office, or a house that stated, “Boarding by the hour.” Stewart wondered why someone would rent a room by the hour. These repeating patterns must have been what he heard called “Neighborhoods.”
Stewart did not realize every building he would see for the next several weeks was part of the sprawling growth. The growth was unplanned. If a hotel was successful on one block, someone else thought they might try one in the next new block. Most of the wood framed hotels were actually not much bigger than a four or five bedroom house. Some were called inns, others were called boarding houses.
Most people had not lived on the outskirt long enough to be part of a “Neighborhood.” Stewart only noticed one theatre and no libraries. He heard that Wellspring would be the center of knowledge and enlightenment. He was beginning to wonder if the stories were inspired more by romantic impressions of the way people wanted to view the city or if the stories had any validity. After walking about forty-five minutes, he came to Davis Street. He said to himself, “Three-hundred-one, three-hundred-three, yes, three-hundred-nine. There it is, Hagar Townsend Construction.”
The office looked make-shift and temporary, as if most of the work done by the company was probably completed on location. The only tasks accomplished in this office were record keeping by Hagar’s wife, who also doubled as the receptionist. The office was where people were hired and any negotiating Townsend might do with potential clients.
“Excuse me. Is this Townsend Construction?”
“I think the sign said that.” said Mrs. Townsend, glancing up from her work long enough to survey Stewart and then bury her nose in the records again.
“I saw a notice on a bulletin board. Are you still looking for help?”
“We are always looking for help. You just can’t find good help anymore. It’s not like it was in the good old days when we had some control over the rate of growth. Back then you were part of the city or you didn’t belong. It isn’t like now. Anybody can get in.”
Stewart was not quite sure of what she meant, but he did not care to risk an explanation. What if part of her frustration was the migration of rural people to the city? Or maybe she was upset by the “Orientals” who had stayed after building the railroads. Maybe she did not like former slaves or their families moving out here to find their fortunes or dreams, not to mention their freedom.
Something told him to say only what was necessary to her, and no more. He waited patiently for her to finish what she was doing, as he assumed she was finishing a task which required a lot of concentration. In his youthful, rural naïveté he did not contemplate that she could actually be rude.
While waiting, he casually surveyed the surroundings. He noticed Mrs. Townsend to be about his mother’s age and on the heavy side. She wore a shawl. He also noticed the office was dusty with only a desk, a free-standing bookshelf and a rack that contained tubes - probably to organize and protect building plans and drawings. Her desk had several ledgers and stacks of paper and envelopes in no particular order. After a few minutes, she finally said, “As soon as I find an application, you can fill it out.”
She found one and handed it to him, “You can read, can’t you?”
“Pretty well, I think.”
She glanced back at him as if purposely showing no sign of being impressed.
“When could I talk to Mr. Townsend?”
“He will be here at six in the morning before heading out to the job.”
“Will I be assured of seeing him if I show up?” Stewart asked as politely as possible.
“Listen, if you want the job, you will be here. We can’t give guarantees.”
Stewart attempted to conceal his shock. He reasoned with himself, “Maybe city people are just under more pressure.”
He didn’t know Mrs. Townsend was purposely, through an unspoken arrangement, Mr. Townsend’s first line of defense from wasting his time talking to those who were not extremely interested in working. As Stewart left the office and headed back to the hotel, he could not decide whether he felt hope for an early chance at a job or despair over the reception he had received from Mrs. Townsend. He was soon distracted by the bustle of the city.
“Watch out! You country bumpkins ought to look where you are going!” Stewart stepped out in front of a rider who seemed to be galloping fast for the amount of congestion around him.
“Country bumpkin! How did he know I was from the country?” Stewart thought as the rider hurried along, just missing a couple attempting to cross the street. Stewart paid more attention to watching and walking than sightseeing until he reached the inn. He felt a little relieved to be back in the relatively familiar surroundings of the neighborhood. As he reached the front door, he checked the board. His note to Raymond was untouched and he could detect no other new postings. He decided this would be a good time for lunch.
Stewart spent the afternoon making a three block circle, checking every public board he could find in front of the buildings. He decided that if he should get the construction job, he might move closer to the office or to the construction site, depending on how far it was from the office. As he was eating supper, he noticed he missed the first sunset in Wellspring.
Stewart felt more exhausted that night from the uncertainty of not knowing where to find Raymond, and the job situation than from the walking. In fact the walking, on flat ground, lower elevation than the mountains and with no heavy pack seemed to provide enough exercise to refresh him. During the day, he hoped for sleep to escape the reality of his situation. That night he wished he could do more to accomplish his dual tasks.
He awoke with a jolt. He sat erect in bed in the dark for what seemed several minutes before he could catch his bearings. He lit the lamp and glanced at his watch. “Good, four o’clock. I have just enough time to get ready and eat. I hope they are serving early.”
When Stewart descended the steps, he could see no signs of life. Maybe he could find something to eat a little closer to the construction office. Having made up his mind, he started into the twilight of the city toward Townsend Construction.
As he found his way through the streets, he could see the sun starting to reflect on the higher peaks of the range west of town. He wanted to stay and watch his first sunrise in Wellspring but found it hard to walk and look back over his shoulder for the sun to appear above the eastern ranges behind him. Stewart knew he must not waste any time if he wanted to eat and arrive at the office ahead of Mr. Townsend. Within a few blocks of Townsend’s, by Stewarts estimation, he found a little restaurant with the light on. “Hmm, five o’clock. I’d better get something now.”
The smell of bacon and coffee reminded Stewart of his hunger. He thought to himself that he would have found the restaurant without the sign and the light, as the aroma would have led him into the place. Once inside he saw a young waitress of fair complexion. Stewart was intrigued by her mental and physical alertness. She kept the coffee cups filled, took orders and side-stepped off-color comments from rough and crude cowboys, construction workers and other morning men suffering the same fate of having to sweat for a living.
She came and filled Stewart’s cup and took his order. Stewart sipped coffee and drank in the smell of food and the atmosphere of the shop. For the first time he began to feel some sort of a warmth to the otherwise cold city. Here, in this little restaurant, he was once again among working men. Although these men were probably not farmers, Stewart found a sense of camaraderie with them.
When she brought his order, Stewart attempted to start a conversation. Although the waitress was busy, she endeavored to be cordial. “I notice you have an accent. Where are you from?”
“I am from Ireland,” she replied, brightening with a smile.
She turned and hurried off to fill other cups and bring orders to the other men. Stewart had never heard an Irish accent. He liked it very much. “Oh, well, time to meet Mr. Townsend. I sure hope he is more pleasant than his wife”
Stewart was the first person to arrive in front of the office. He checked his pocket watch. Five forty-five. Now he could relax a few minutes and collect his thoughts, while the sun began to cast long shadows on the buildings around him. “Let’s see, I helped with barn raisings. Dad, Gramps and I built the house. I know how to work in a team.”
“Good morning. Are you Mr. Townsend?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Did Mrs. Townsend tell you I would be here?”
“She mentioned something, but a lot of men have told her they would be here and have not shown.”
“I’m looking for work. I have helped…”
“Hold on, let’s go inside and sit down for a minute.”
As Stewart and Mr. Townsend proceeded into the office, Stewart began to feel a little more at ease. Although Mr. Townsend had a hurried demeanor, he seemed to be more pleasant than his wife.
“So, you have come to the city to find your fortune? The farm could no longer support you and the family, and you have built barns and driven horses?”
“How did you know that?”
“A lot of people are coming to the city from the farms.”
“I can work hard and I am willing to give it a try.”
“Well, can you start today?”
“Yes, that is why I am here, but I am on foot.”
That’s fine. You can ride with me today. Tomorrow, if you come back, just meet me at the site. The guys start on the site at six. I usually have to come by the office on my way out.”
Stewart was happy to ride in a buggy. He had not been around draft or riding horses since the previous autumn. He was also excited for the opportunity to obtain as much information as he could from Mr. Townsend. At first, he simply enjoyed the city scenes. Even as one not accustomed to city life, he could see this was not yet a city.
It was segments of populations struggling for identity and purpose. He figured the population was growing faster than the city’s ability to keep up. Then he remembered that he would have to find the construction site himself tomorrow, so he better pay closer attention to the directions. Maybe over the weekend, he could venture into the original central section of the city.
“Where do most of these people come from?”
“Oh, they come from farms and smaller towns. Some come from cities in the east. Some are from overseas. They hear rumors about wealth and happiness in America.”
While they continued to the site, Stewart found Hagar to be quite gregarious. He asked Stewart several questions about his family, his education and farm experiences. Mr. Townsend even asked about Stewart’s goals. Stewart had not really thought about specific goals since he left the farm.
“You know, come to think of it, I have dreams, but I never much thought of goals.”
“Well, you don’t reach your dreams until you set and reach toward your goals. Dreams are like the ridge or mountain you are steering toward. Goals are the steps you take to get there. You can change and alter your goals, but keep your dreams in view.”
“Thank you. That sounds like good advice.”
Comparing the previous expectations to the present reality almost caught Stewart by surprise. The only goals he had in the last eight months were to help Michael regain his strength and mobility, and to reach Wellspring. Stewart would have given any personal ambitions up in an instant to continue to help Michael. His life had changed drastically and now here he was in the city in which he had imagined himself. Now, on just the second day, the boyish innocence and hope had faded into harsh reality.
“I suppose I want to be in a place that offers more opportunity than I had on the farm.”
“Yeah, money is great. Not everyone can get it though. Even fewer of those who do can keep it.”
“I suppose so.”
“What do you think about being non-union? “
Stewart did not realize his reactions were being scrutinized closely. “I don’t mind. I have only heard about the unions. Not much to organize the workers for on a family farm.”
“They will destroy us. They are made up of foreign agitators, anarchists and socialists.”
As they were talking the thought occurred to Stewart, he was not here for the money. He continued to half-heartedly participate in the conversation as he thought about other things. His participation was not difficult as Mr. Townsend, once engaged, was able to carry the conversation pretty much on his own.
“I think I really want to find more opportunity to learn.”
“Oh, you will learn a lot about building, if you can stick with it. I will start you as a hod carrier. Do you know what that is? A hod carrier is a mason’s helper. You are not afraid of heights are you? After you learn about bricks and mortar, you will either start laying bricks or help frame. The more skills you learn, the more valuable you are in the trade. “
Stewart realized Mr. Townsend was not hearing him. He asked Stewart questions, but did not always listen to the answers. Stewart could not discipline his own thoughts, let alone convince his new employer of his goals. While Stewart listened he continued to think about Wellspring. He had come for the schools and the resulting professional opportunities. He did not feel like he should tell Mr. Townsend the construction trade was just a conveyance to higher opportunities.
They finally arrived at the site. Stewart was so preoccupied in thought and the appearance of conversation that he could not find his way back if he had to. Mr. Townsend introduced Stewart to the foreman, Big Jim. The building was a three story building of brick and wood frame. Stewart began mixing mortar in a “mud boat” with a tool that looked like an oversized garden hoe with two large holes in it. After mixing he made sure the brick layers kept their boards filled.
As the day wore on and he became increasingly hot and sweaty, he kept one thing in mind. His father always told him, “When you are doing a job, try to keep a positive outlook. Whether you like the work or not, and odds are there will be more you dislike than you like, convince yourself to be happy. You have your health and ability. Learn everything you can in every situation. No experience, no matter how painful or full of drudgery is wasted if you learn and grow from it. Have an attitude of gratitude. If you work with others, try to make them happy. Your day will go faster and you will be well liked.”
Stewart was naturally friendly, but he noticed the other men were a little reluctant to accept the “new kid.” “I better back off a little. They have been here a while and have seen a lot of kids like me come and go. It will take time to prove myself.”
Finally, as the afternoon shadows lengthened into evening Big Jim told the men, “That’s it for today.”
Everyone seemed to come back to life as they began to clean the mortar off their tools and prepare to head home. Mr. Townsend had a rule that no one was to clean his tools while he was still on the clock. After all, there was plenty of time after a ten hour day to clean their own tools.
The men learned to pace themselves close to lunch or quitting time. They knew how much mortar or “mud” they needed. By gauging their work they could use it up or stretch it out for the last half hour, if necessary. They were not lazy or duplicitous. They did not want to waste a half batch of mortar.
Stewart knew he had to head south to get back to the hotel. He kept an eye on the west ridge as the sun was setting over it. “My first sunset in Wellspring!”
