Lezin watched Tim come down the stairway from the balcony of the house and climb up into the wagon beside him. The white man moved stiffly, favoring his left side. Still, he was much improved, healing cleanly and quickly, as young healthy animals do.
Marie waved from the balcony. Tim waved back and smiled up at her.
Lezin saw the happy expression on his daughter’s face. Soon it would be time to speak to her about Tim.
He slapped the horse with the reins and drove out of the carriageway and toward New Orleans. Once they settled down on the main road, Lezin let the horse have its head.
He extracted five twenty-dollar gold pieces from his pocket and held them out to Tim. “This should be enough to buy what you need in the way of clothing. How much additional money do you want?”
“No more. That will be plenty,” Lew said. For a fisherman, Lezin seemed to have considerable money, and he handled it in a casual manner. His house was well-furnished. Marie had been sent away to school for several years. Lezin himself appeared to be an educated man. Probably self-taught, thought Tim.
They entered New Orleans and Lezin began to point j out the important and interesting places of the city. He drove through the Garden District and then into the Vieux Carre. They halted at stores Lezin knew, and Tim purchased new clothing. He put the garments on as they were acquired, and he placed the items borrowed from Lezin in the rear of the wagon. Tim’s letters to Cincinnati were mailed at the U.S. post office.
Morissot halted the wagon at a small law office. “Earl Kidder is a black lawyer,” Lezin told Tim. “He does legal work for me now and then; he can find out what properties Albert Wollfolk owns—at least those that are recorded in the public records. Let’s go in and see him.”
“It might be best if nobody knew who I am until I get the identification back from up north,” said Tim.
“You may be right. Wait here. I’ll just be a minute. Then we can drive down to the waterfront and take a look at the warehouse and docks that have the Wollfolk name on them.”
* * *
Lew read the documents, one attesting to his identity as Timothy Wollfolk and a second formally accepting the conditions of the inheritance. He signed both papers with a flourish and handed them back to Rosiere. He hoped the lawyer did not possess a letter or some other paper containing the dead man’s signature with which to make a comparison.
Rosiere took the papers. He evaluated the young Wollfolk and the expensive clothing he wore. Today he resembled the older Wollfolk more.
“I have an appointment with the district probate judge at four p.m.,” Rosiere said. “I’m certain he’ll find everything is proper and will sign an order legally making you the beneficiary of your uncle’s estate. By evening, all of the properties will be for your use and enjoyment.”
I have already enjoyed some of Wollfolk’s possessions, thought Lew. He spoke to the lawyer. “I appreciate your help in handling my uncle’s will. I hope you will continue as the Wollfolk lawyer and give me advice.”
“It would be my pleasure to do that,” said Rosiere. “What do you plan to do now?”
“It’s time I get involved in the business. I will stop by the office and talk with Spandling and find out how everything is going. Then I’ll go down to the docks and warehouse.”
“I should warn you again that competition for business of the waterfront is very cutthroat. Trust nobody.”
“Not even the men my uncle hired?”
“He must have thought they were honest men. But he has been dead for a month. Men change as the situation changes. Who knows how they will act to a new owner of the company? The new white foreman came well-recommended, but I personally know nothing about him.”
“I may need money. When can I draw from the bank?”
“I’ll record the probate papers in the public records today after the judge signs them. Then I’ll stop by the bank and give them copies so that they will be informed that you are now the legal owner of the Wollfolk accounts. By tomorrow, the funds will be at your disposal.”
“All right. If you want to get in touch with me, leave a message at the big house. Jacob will hunt me down.”
* * *
Lew entered the ground-floor office of A. Wollfolk, Warehouse & Dockage Company. The space was quite large. A vacant desk and chair sat on the right back near the wall and facing the entrance. A door stood ajar and Lew saw three men perched on stools drawn up to a long desk. Ledgers and papers were scattered about each worker. On the left, a hallway led off to the rear.
Lew walked to the open door and called inside. “Where’s Tom Spandling?”
“Back in his office,” the nearest man said. “I’ll get him for you.” He came out the door and went down the hallway.
A moment later he returned with an elderly man, quite spindly with a pair of tiny glasses perched upon the bridge of his nose. The man looked closely at Lew. “I’m Tom Spandling,” he said.
“And I’m Timothy Wollfolk.”
Abruptly the man smiled, as brightly as a young boy’s smile. He held out his hand. “Glad to meet you, Timothy. I saw Mr. Rosiere on the street earlier this morning and he said you were in town.”
“Hello, Tom.” Lew shook the man’s hand. “I’d like a rundown on the business.”
“Certainly, come into my office.”
“That was Mr. Wollfolk’s office,” Spandling said, pointing as they neared the rear of the building. “Do you plan to continue with a private office here?”
“For now, yes. Let’s talk in there instead of your office.”
Lew went immediately behind the large walnut desk and sat in the tall-backed leather-upholstered chair. The floor was covered with a thick-pile wool carpet. The walls were of stucco and painted white. The painting of a graceful three-masted clipper ship hung on a wall. Directly below it were framed architectural drawings that Lew thought could be of the same ship.
He gestured at the painting. “I would guess that’s the ship Honest Traveler that’s being built in Algiers. When is it scheduled for completion?”
“On September thirty this year. Or I should say it was until I stopped construction immediately upon Mr. Wollfolk’s death.”
“Why did you do that?”
“I had told Mr. Wollfolk that shipping was a hazardous business, much more a gamble than a business such as we have with the docks and warehouse. I recommended to him that if he insisted on building a ship it should be a steamship. I decided to hold up the construction until the new owner could decide what he wanted to do.”
“Then go tell the shipbuilder to begin work at once. Tell him to make up for the lost time. I want the Honest Traveler completed and ready for sea on the original schedule.”
“But don’t you want time to reconsider Mr. Wollfolk’s plans and make your own decision? I can advise you on the current conditions of shipping and waterfront business.”
“Does the company have enough money in the bank to pay for the ship and meet other operating costs?”
“Yes. Also we are profitable month to month, but expenses are high, and because of the accelerated war effort, they are going even higher.”
“Tom, I appreciate what you did, but I’ll trust my uncle’s judgment until I have solid information to the contrary. We will proceed with his plan.”
“Certainly, Tim.”
“Then restart the building of the ship at once.”
“I’ll go across the river and speak to the shipyard-owner tomorrow.”
“Please go today, just as soon as we finish here. Tell the builder that I’ll be over tomorrow to talk with him about the ship.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Tell me about the work we have now and what contracts are coming up in the future. How full is the warehouse?”
“The warehouse is about three-quarters full. The dock space is about the same. But the contracts for storing and transporting cargo are drawing to an end. We have no bids out for new business.”
Lew looked sharply at Spandling. “Why are there no bids on army and navy contracts? There must be dozens open and waiting for bidders.”
“True. There are nearly two dozen contracts of varying sizes open for bids. Nearly all of them will be closing in less than four weeks.”
“Then why aren’t you bidding?”
“Mr. Wollfolk always made the bids personally. He trusted no one to do that for him. He was ready to prepare bids on all of the open military and private contracts when he died. We have missed some very large ones.”
“How about the eighty drays? How busy are they?”
“The drays are mostly used for hauling and moving the cargo we have contracts for. Nearly all are busy.”
Lew considered what Spandling had said. With the existing contracts about finished, the business would soon be grinding to a halt. Lew groaned inwardly, for he had little knowledge of bidding on a contract, merely some idle conversation with the supply officer of the Texas Rangers.
“Tomorrow morning at six, I want copies of all the invitations to bid that the military has, and also all that the private companies have that are still open. Have all your bookkeepers here to help us. Work them tonight to gather our cost figures. We are going to bid.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Who’s boss at the docks?”
“Karl Gunnard is boss of the docks, drays, and warehouse. Julius Ruffier works under Gunnard and is the boss of the blacks.”
“All right. Now start planning how we will bid for cargo to haul on our new ship.”
Spandling smiled his pleasant smile. “I like the way you think. Here is something else for you to consider. Much of the army equipment that goes to Mexico to fight the war must come back to the States. We need our piece of that business also.”
“Good. Tell me about the contracts the company is working on now.”
They talked for several minutes. Lew asked many questions to round out the information Spandling gave him. Every contract was quite profitable. Wollfolk had made no mistakes. Lew doubted he could do as well.
“Thanks for all you have told me,” Lew said.
He walked past Spandling and left the office. He was worried. He was in over his head, and he knew it. The company could be destroyed by a few low bids. Tomorrow very early he must find out how much money was in the company and private bank accounts.
The war would not last long, a year, perhaps a year and a half. The big money must be made now. Wollfolk had known that, and that was why he had ordered the building of the ship. Docks, warehouses, and ships made a proper business combination.
Lew halted at the top of the levee and stood staring down at the river. The great hubbub of noise and activity on the river’s edge still amazed him.
Hundreds upon hundreds of men and drays pulled by mules hurried about on the waterfront. Ship’s officers came and went to their vessels in preparation to put to sea or up the Mississippi. The long boom arms of the ships swung cargo nets bulging with war goods onto the decks. Army officers watched with zealous eyes the loading of their fighting equipment to see that it was not damaged by rough or careless hands. Scores of craftsmen of many kinds scurried about the docks and the decks of the ships to sell an item or repair something broken.
Smoke billowed from the stacks of some of the steamships as they built steam to pull away from the docks. Two harbor boats, with eight strong oarsmen and a coxswain at the tiller of each, were warping a clipper ship away from the shore and out into the river current, where the ship could scud away on the power of the wind. Half a dozen ships at anchor in the river were cranking in their anchor chains so that they could beat their competitors into the vacant berths.
Lew thought the river had stopped rising. However, he had noted that the ships’ captains paid little attention to the water level. The Mississippi was either rising or falling every hour of the day.
He dropped down the side of the levee and walked along the river’s edge to the Wollfolk section of the wharf. A steamship was tied up and loading. A line of drays was bringing goods down from the cavernous warehouse to the aft gangway. A chugging steam engine drove a windlass to hoist the goods aboard. Stevedores were carrying crated cargo from a long mound on the dock to the forward gangway. The crates appeared quite heavy with two stevedores working at each container. Lew drew close to the navy ensign checking the cargo being loaded against a written invoice.
“How’s the loading going?” Lew asked the officer.
“Damn poorly,” replied the ensign, turning an aggravated face to Lew. “The captain wants to leave at daylight tomorrow. The stevedores could do it if they worked hard. But at the rate these men are working, it’ll take another day.”
He gestured at the black stevedores. “Look. They’re doubled up on that crate and it doesn’t weigh much more than a hundred pounds. One man should be able to carry that with no problem at all. And look over there at those drays bringing supplies from the warehouse. They are hardly moving. I’ve seen this thing before. Wollfolk has a slowdown by his men. Unless he fixes this quick, he’ll not get another navy contract.”
Lew checked the slow lazy pace of the stevedores and the drays. “It’ll be fixed pronto,” Lew said.
“Who are you?” questioned the ensign.
“I’m Wollfolk. You’ll be loaded on time.”
Lew went swiftly across the wharf and up the slope to the warehouse. The structure was four hundred feet long and high-ceilinged. Wide double doors stood open in all four walls, and the river breeze blew through.
In the end, where the wind entered, a white man sat with his chair hiked back against the wall and his feet thrown up on a battered wooden desk. A giant black man was near the center of the warehouse. He held a piece of paper fastened to a board and was checking off items as they were being loaded by other blacks into the drays.
Lew crossed to the white man. “You Gunnard?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m Gunnard. Who are you?”
“I’m Wollfolk.”
Gunnard slowly dropped his legs one by one from the desk to the dirt floor. He climbed erect. “Howdy, Mr. Wollfolk. Welcome to New Orleans.” He hooked his thumbs in his front pants pockets.
Lew measured the man. Muscles bulged his cotton shirt. His head seemed overlarge and heavy-boned, especially the eyebrow ridges. His eyes were deeply socketed beneath the ridges, like the eyes in a skull. The man would be immensely strong, and from the scars on his face, he was a brawler.
“Julius, Wollfolk’s here,” Gunnard called out to the black boss. His voice was loud enough that all the other men in the warehouse could hear him. He ran his sight up and down Lew’s expensive clothing. A smirk stretched his lips.
Lew heard the scuff of the bare feet of the black men on the dirt floor. They halted close behind him.
* * *
“That warehouse has Wollfolk’s name on it,” Lezin told Tim. He pulled the wagon to a stop and chucked a thumb at the building on the levee. “I asked around some, and the people I talked with said it still belongs to Wollfolk.”
“Let’s take a look,” Tim said.
“Right by me,” said Lew.
They climbed down from the vehicle and entered the building. Two white men were facing each other and talking. Several Negroes quit their work and gathered near the white men.
Tim heard the bigger white man, dressed in a working-man’s clothing, speak to the second white man. “Mr. Wollfolk, meet Julius Ruffier. He’s the boss nigger. He keeps all of the other niggers in line.”
Tim was stunned for a moment. He was the last Wollfolk. So who could this man be? Then an icy anger ran through Tim as he realized what the presence of the man meant.
Lezin saw the stricken expression on Tim’s face and then the surge of anger. “This explains the attack on you at the river,” he said in a low tone. “It was not just a robbery. It was to be a killing so that this impostor could take your place.” But he can be easily removed, thought Lezin.
“You are right,” Tim said, his voice a rough whisper. “Now I’ll need more proof of who I am than ever before. Say nothing. We’ll take all my uncle’s property back from this man and he’ll pay dearly for trying to have me killed.”
Tim moved forward toward the false Wollfolk.