It was a beautiful late summer day, warm, sunny, and the bombshell was almost gentle when it hit me. Gentle, I guess, 'cause I more'n half expected it.
"Sorry, Jack, but I'm going to have to let you go." Lars Jensen gave me a wry look. "With the railroad coming in, I'm just not getting the business, so I'm sellin' three of the wagons and concentratin' on the store an' the warehouse."
"I understand, Mr Jensen. Guess I'd do the same if'n I was in your shoes." And I did understand. The last three loads I'd driven for Jensen hadn't been more'n half the usual size.
Jensen nodded. "Likely you would. You got thirty comin' for the month, an' I'm throwin' in a twenty-dollar bonus. Here y'are, Jack. fifty dollars." He smiled, a little wry. "Spend it wisely."
"I guess. Thanks, Mr Jensen."
Jensen held out his hand, and I shook it. "Take care, Jack, and good luck."
"Thanks."
Jensen turned and walked away towards his mercantile store. I watched him go, reflecting on what life had thrown at me. Jensen had given me a job when I'd left home, after burying Ma and Pa. My folks had died in a fever epidemic, and I was alone in the world. The cabin was just a box full of memories, far as I was concerned, and I was glad to let Billy Jaens and Molly O'Rourke have it, when they took up together.
I'd made my way west a ways, walking at first, but I managed to get hold of an old crowbait bay with a few miles left in him, and came across Lars Jensen cursing at the side of the road, hurling invective, impressively creative invective, too, after two of his teamsters who had taken off with gold fever. He eyed me as I rode up, and I was just about to ask him if he had any work when he beat me to it.
"Can you drive a wagon, son?" Abrupt, to the point.
There was something about Jensen, something that I liked, but also something that told me he wasn't goin' to listen to lies, so I told the truth.
"No idea," I said, "but I'm willin' to learn," I added quickly, seeing an opportunity. I eyed him. "You need a driver?"
"I do. Twenty a month, and yer meals. Iffen y'do a good job, twenty-five after the first month. Get up on that last wagon. Those mules are used to follerin' the wagon in front, so you can eat dust while yer learnin' how to drive." He gestured. "Put yer saddle in the wagon and tie the bay to the back."
And that was how I came to work for Larsen Transport and Mercantile. It'd been four years, while I filled out from an underfed skinny seventeen-year-old to the man-size twenty-one that I was now. The food that Larsen served wasn't gourmet fare, far from it, but it was nourishin', an there was plenty of it. I learned to cook, too, takin' my turn as cook for the wagons. Six of them, Larsen had, and we covered us a good bit of territory, back and forth, regular as a metronome. O' course, I didn't know what a metronome was, not then, but Ma had taught me to read and write, and I acquired me a good few books as time passed. The mules would just keep goin', like as not, so I could read while I drove, and I taught myself out of the books I managed to find. Learned to fight as well, 'cause sure as eggs, there was always someone on the prod and Pa had taught me never to back down iffen I was in the right. He'd taught me compromise, too, when there couldn't be anythin' but losers, and I'd used his teachin' a time or two.
But now it was over. The railroad had reached us, and the freight that Jensen had been haulin' came in by rail. Came in cheaper, too, and Jensen had lost business. Transport business, because his mercantile and feed store had gotten busier as more folk came into the territory, so he wasn't hurtin', but it made sense for him to get rid of his wagons. The timin' was probably good, 'cause I was gettin' itchy feet, an' I was ready to move west, see what was out there.
The crowbait bay had long since been replaced by a feisty zebra dun, and I saddled him up and rode back to my lodgings at the Roberts' place. Jenny Roberts was a widow, about seven or eight years older'n me, and she let out rooms to help pay the bills, but I was her only roomer at the moment. I'd been stayin' with her now for almost a year, and we'd become friends. She was baking when I rode up and turned the dun into her little corral, after I'd unsaddled him, and the smell of fresh bread was strong as I went in.
"Jack! You startled me. Why aren't you working?"
"Larsen let me go."
"Oh, no! He say why?"
"Yeah, the railroad takin' the freight business, means he ain't gettin' the loads. Guess I seen it comin', as I've been gettin' ready to move on."
"You're leaving?" She grimaced. "Course you are, you're young and you want to see the world. Where?" she began, but stopped herself. "Plenty of time to talk after dinner. Coffee's hot. Pour yourself a cup. I'll finish this pie off, get it in the oven, and see about dinner."
She was a good cook, Jenny Roberts. Attractive, too, and I knew that Tom Bennett, one of the local constables, had been keeping company with her. I guessed they'd probably get married. None of my business, of course, and I wished them well, but I'd had my moments of desire, and the object of my dreams was mostly Jenny Roberts. I'd said nothing, Jenny was my landlady, and a friend, a respectable pillar of the community, and a regular churchgoer. Still, I could dream.
Dinner, as usual, was excellent. Cold roast pork, from a roast we'd had the night before, roast potatoes, and beans fresh-picked from Jenny's vegetable garden. Apple pie for dessert, and coffee. We chatted casually as we ate, and the subject of me leaving was ignored, by unspoken agreement. Finished, we cleared the table together and washed the dishes and cutlery. It was a simple thing to do, but Jenny really seemed to appreciate my help and I made sure I did my share. After we'd stacked everything away, Jenny poured two coffees and led the way to the parlour, settling into her favourite chair while I took my usual seat on the couch.
"Jack?" There was a thoughtful look on Jenny's face.
"Yes?"
"Decided where you're going yet? And when?"
"As to the when, I figured maybe day after tomorrow. I'll get myself some supplies tomorrow, and I think I'll dicker with Jad Plummer for that mule he's selling. It will do as a pack animal. Where? Haven't thought that far ahead, not yet, but west. Somewhere west."
"If you add a bit of north to your west, my aunt lives in Larson. End of track now, I think, or nigh on. You could take a letter for me, if you would?"
"I'd be delighted, Jenny. I was thinking of taking the train as far as Larson, anyway, gives me a good start, and I can get the horse and mule a ride in a stock car."
"I'll write the letter in the morning, if you're not going until the day after." She cocked her head. "Jack, what do you think of Tom Bennett?"
The sudden change of subject took me by surprise, and Jenny smiled. "Tom?" I said. "I like him. Solid, dependable, and he keeps his word. Strikes me as a very honest man." I grinned. "Which is probably just as well, since he's one of the constables."
