So I've always loved those stories that take bits and pieces of episodes, throw them in a blender and a whole new story pops out. And I've finally managed to write one of my own. It only took about ten years from the first scene I wrote (which comes near the end of the story). I thought about calling it 'Forty Earthquakes of Glory' but that didn't seem to make much sense. So I ended up changing the name. I do hope everyone enjoys it. Best,
Queena
Seismic Shift
Jarrod never went into a case expecting to win. There were too many variables: judge, client, witnesses, the jury, even the courthouse itself. Was the room too hot or too cold? Did someone have toast or biscuits for breakfast? Was the gravy burned? Did someone have a fight with his wife last night? Any one or all of those reasons could skew a verdict, so he never felt completely at ease that a case would swing in his client's favor.
Of course, in this particular situation none of the usual factors were in play. Instead it was the legislature and the governor who had the deciding votes, and unfortunately, Jarrod's arguments and pleas had only worked with the legislature. In the case of the governor, Jarrod's carefully written briefs had all been for naught as the state's executive vetoed the bill in favor of the railroad. It was a terrible blow after months of work, and Jarrod's neighbors and family weren't going to take the news well.
He studied the papers in front of him wondering what would happen next. It wasn't over yet. He still had several ideas; he certainly wasn't giving up. But a judge might be harder to persuade if he already knew that the state's chief executive supported the opposing side. And though he didn't like to think it, it was very possible that both the governor and the sitting judge were in the deep pockets of the Coastal & Western Railroad.
The railroad's attorney, Jacob Crown, was a tricky opponent. That was another variable that every lawyer had to consider. Entire cases could turn on the advocates. Jarrod had been up against lawyers who were crafty or intelligent or sneaky. Men who were down to earth, had plain common sense, were cunning, or seemed overwhelmingly officious. Sometimes a judge or jury ruled one way or another just based on whether the lawyers were likable.
Crown was brilliant. He was highly intelligent and an excellent business lawyer. One of his strengths was discernment. He was very good at sizing up men and figuring out their weak spots. And he was absolutely ruthless when pursuing a goal. His primary goal for the last decade was to take back the land that the railroad sold in the San Joaquin Valley—land sold to trusting people who'd foolishly believed that a deal was a deal. To a lawyer like Crown, any contract could be undone. One way or another, he usually found a way. And right now, the prevailing winds were blowing in his direction. The governor had ruled in favor of the railroad, and Jarrod figured Crown felt fairly confident at this point. Eviction notices were likely being considered if not already drawn up, even as the train rolled toward Stockton.
Crown's butler had just inquired if Jarrod was ready to receive the man himself. Interesting move that Crown offered to come to the Barkley car since he was also in a private car provided by the railroad. Jarrod was curious what his opponent's next play would be. In his place, Jarrod would want to find a way to still get the landowners to the table—to force a deal from them. That way, the railroad could claim they had the consent and cooperation of the landowners despite the fact that it was technically unnecessary given the governor's veto. That would be a propaganda win alongside the legal victory.
When Crown arrived in the Barkley car, he started talking about the inevitability of Coastal & Western's eventual triumph. He even brought up the deaths of Tom Barkley and a dozen other people six years ago in this very same fight—a fact that was never far from Jarrod's mind whenever he worked the case. He certainly didn't need to be reminded by the likes of Jacob Crown who worked for the very men who'd had Jarrod's father assassinated—not that the crime could be proven in a court of law.
In the intervening years, the Barkley family had recovered from Tom's death, as much as possible anyway considering that they'd lost a man larger than life—their father and husband. Jarrod had taken over the legal fight against the railroad, and Nick had assumed leadership on the ranch which was thriving under his hand. Audra had grown into a bit of a minx, but Jarrod thought it was more likely her age and the social boundaries that were forced on women than outright rebellion. Gene was… well, Gene was trying to figure out what to do with himself. He was smart and determined and open-minded. He had grown into a young man with a multitude of choices, and he was taking time to decide what to do with the rest of his life.
Their mother had taken Tom's loss harder than any of her children. Husband and wife had been together for more than a quarter century when the assassin's bullet tore them apart, and Tom's loss had left a large hole in her life. But she'd rebuilt herself into an even stronger woman… which was hard to believe since Jarrod had always believed his mother was made of iron.
Jacob Crown was still talking about how the railroad was bound to win before the fight had even started all those years and many deaths ago. Jarrod refused to believe that was the case. His parents hadn't believed it was true, and he was bound and determined to prove them right. For Crown, this was a job, an assignment; for Jarrod, it was literally blood, sweat, and tears.
As Crown droned on, Jarrod looked out the window and glimpsed a flash of… something. A longer look brought him to the window. A young man on a horse was racing the train! After a second's delight and admiration, Jarrod couldn't help but see the parallels between the cowboy's ride against steam and steel and the valley's lowly farmers going up against the giant Coastal & Western Corporation. Even Crown was paying attention, and they quickly made a wager. It wasn't long before they had upped the ante from fifty bucks to almost two thousand dollars. The man on the horse was determined, but his foe had no heart. Who would win? Jarrod was pulling hard for flesh and blood, but Crown was just as certain that the fellow and his spirited mare had no chance.
The two of them pushed through the passenger cars to the front of the train where they had a better view. They were on the platform near the coal car when the man and his horse swept across the tracks just in front of the engine. It couldn't have been with more than a yard or two to spare, but he beat the train and, in doing so, renewed Jarrod's determination and fattened his wallet. Crown was philosophical about losing, but his confidence in the railroad's ultimate triumph remained unbroken. Jarrod accepted his winnings and tried to hold on to the positive feelings from the victory. He leaned around the corner of the car to see the young man and his game little horse and saw him blowing out the animal after the race across the open range. Jarrod raised his hand in thanks and farewell and was gratified to receive the same from the rider on the horse.
BV
Heath poked at his campfire, angry at himself. He'd hoped to make Stockton this evening, but his spur-of-the-moment—and stupid—race against the train had been hard on his horse. Knowing that chances for finding work were a whole lot better with a reliable horse that wasn't ragged and worn out, he'd decided to stop and make camp a half day's ride outside of town. No one to blame but himself… and he still couldn't explain the urge that came over him when he'd seen that train.
Staring at the fire, the events of the last few months weighed heavy on his mind. He'd been called away from hard, dreary work on the Klamath to his mother's deathbed. Riding back to Strawberry, he'd already been missing her. She should have had an easier life, but she'd long been saddled with a hard row to hoe—namely Heath himself. And way, way in the back of his mind, he'd had faint hopes that she would finally reveal his father's name. Once he got to Strawberry, he'd waited close by her bedside, praying that he might be able to talk to her one more time and tell her again how sorry he was for his extended absences and how much he loved her, but it just wasn't meant to be. She'd died three days after he arrived, never again opening her eyes or saying another word.
Now he felt almost completely cut free from the world. The only real tie he had now was to sweet old Hannah James who, along with Rachel Caulfield, had helped his mother raise him. Rachel had passed on a few years back, and now his mother was gone, too. He knew Hannah loved him like he was her own and he loved her just as much, but it wasn't the same and never could be. Besides, she wasn't always in touch with the real world these days. Heath had stayed in Strawberry for several weeks after his mother's death to make sure Hannah would be all right. Each day, she'd slipped a little further from reach. Once she was gone—in body or in mind—he'd have no one. His aunt and uncle by blood had never considered him kin, and Heath felt no urge to ever see them again. So unless he was able to find the man who'd fathered him, he was truly on his own.
After his mother's burial, he'd gone through her belongings. Never far from her bedside was the old bible she'd brought across the mountains from Kentucky. It was one of her most prized possessions, handed down from her mother. Though he'd never felt much for religion one way or the other, he ended up flipping through the book for a fresh reminder of the life and history of the woman who'd loved him more than herself.
Inside the back cover, he'd found an old letter posted from Stockton the year he was born. It was from a man who told her that she was a good woman, that he cared for her, and that she should marry and have children. Though not spelled out in so many words, Heath got the distinct impression that this man named 'Tom' was his father. The coincidence of the specific farewell wishes, the fact that it was sent the year of his birth, and that his mother had kept the letter in her bible all these years made any other explanation seem unlikely.
He'd drifted back north. The miserable job on the river was long gone, but he'd had no other particular plans. He'd landed in Corning and worked on a ranch for a while, mostly trying to adjust to the idea that no one really cared if he was alive or dead. Well, Hannah cared—she loved him—but she didn't always remember him. One question kept itching: if no one cared, what was the point? He finally decided that he still had something to offer. He could help people, make a difference in their lives like when he'd been Frank Sawyer's deputy. And maybe help himself along the way as well. There must have been a reason why he'd survived the war and the prison camp and all these hardscrabble years.
In the back of his mind was the letter. Buried deep in his bags, the bible was one of the few things he'd brought from his mother's cabin. In the bible was the letter. As his grief over her passing began to ease a bit, his curiosity about the man who'd written the letter grew. After some time in Corning, he'd decided there was no reason not to look.
Growing up, he'd hated his father. And mostly, he still did. For leaving his mother with a ruined reputation, a child on the way, and no obvious support or income. But the letter made it seem like maybe the man hadn't known Heath was coming. And since his mother had never told Heath a word about his father, it wasn't any big stretch to consider the idea that maybe she hadn't told 'Tom' about Heath's impending arrival either. And with nothing holding Heath in Corning—or anywhere else for that matter—he'd finally decided to head to Stockton and see what he could find. After all, he had nothing to lose.
He'd averaged better than twenty-five miles a day, but the race with the train had pushed his horse too far. The plucky little mare had been with him since his release from Carterson, and in the early days, it sometimes felt like she was all that stood between him and madness. A flat run across an unknown pasture at the end of a long day was no way to pay back her faithfulness. She would give all she had if Heath asked, but the headlong gallop across the countryside—for no other reason than to satisfy his own need to finally come out on top—had been foolish. She could have stepped in a hole, broken her leg, and sent them both flying. And there was always the strong possibility that crossing in front of the train would kill them. Just… stupid. He was glad to offer the train passengers a little entertainment, but he'd sure take it back if given the chance.
To rest his horse, he'd stopped early. They'd make town tomorrow, and he'd ask around, see if anyone remembered a man named Tom who'd been in town twenty-five years ago who might've once visited a hole-in-the-wall mining camp named Strawberry.
Just thinking about it made him roll his eyes at the ridiculousness of the whole plan. Plumb loco.
His horse pawing the ground pulled his attention from the fire, and he stood up to look around. She was a smart animal, and she frequently warned him of danger or visitors to his camp. He didn't see anyone in the vicinity, but she was clearly agitated. As he turned back to check her, he heard a faint rumble and then felt the vibrations in his feet. As they got worse, he realized what was happening: an earthquake!
BV
As the shaking finally eased off, Nick's eyes flashed around the ranch buildings, worried not only about the structures but also his family and the hands. In the low evening light, he could see Silas and his mother outside the kitchen door looking at the back of the house. Ciego had turned out the horses from the barn and then followed them out, moving much faster than usual. Gene came tearing around the side of the house pulling Audra behind him. Jarrod… was on the train from Sacramento.
Most of the buildings seemed intact. No one was screaming or yelling. Of course, that didn't mean everything was all right; Nick needed to start making assignments.
"Mac! Everyone all right over there?"
A nod and a wave from his foreman, and Nick turned to the next. "Bo! Is everyone out of the bunkhouses?"
"We're fine, Nick!"
"Gene! Get over here! I need you!"
Nick began getting the men organized. Gene and Mac started listing where the hands were supposed to be. Once the lists were complete, men would be assigned to ride out and check that everyone had survived and look for damage, though most of that would have to wait till daylight tomorrow. More lists were made of people working in the winery and the orchards. And so on and so on.
Ciego had a couple of men rounding up horses, and Victoria, Audra, and Silas had pulled another few hands in to check the house.
Once everything was in motion, Nick turned his eyes toward Stockton. The town was crawling with rowdies, probably hired by the railroad. Confusion on top of chaos was never a good combination. And underneath all that was the knowledge that Jarrod was supposed to be on the train tonight. What happened to trains during an earthquake? Nick didn't know for sure, but he didn't like where his thoughts were running. And it was already practically dark.