Flight of Fancy: Cora's Daughters (33 page)

This left conditions for some so bad, that a number of them actually went back south, begging their masters to take them on again. Those that knew a certain death or whipping would be waiting for them, wandered from place to place, one homestead after another, hoping, praying someone would hire them on. Learning the hard way, these lost souls discovered just how bad it was for them to be free – an escapee never knew who to trust.

Unless a slave made it there under the guidance and protection of an organization – he was as vulnerable as a lost lamb trapped in the midst of hunting wolves.

For those reasons, Boaz and his brother Willard, along with Angelo and his brother Fidel – worked as hard as they could for Broc. All four could see this man had the means and plans to build something that they could benefit from as the years progressed. More than anything, he looked at them with eyes that saw them as men, just as he was a man. There was no superior arrogance or condescension from him.

At the outset, Broc made it clear to all that every man must pull his weight and then some. What they were about to undertake was nothing short of back-breaking – to cut out of the land a foundation to build a home, business and perhaps, a small community. He’d paid well for the location because it had a river running through it. He was determined that no one, would stand in the way of him building his dream. While the miscegenation laws existed in the north as well the south - money, wealth and means spoke volumes. Those with gold were the minority, and could easily buy loyalty and acceptance from those in need within the majority.

That fact had not escaped Broc, he fully intended on using every advantage to the fullest in his aggressive pursuit to succeed.

He would do whatever he needed to do – which meant first building a loyal clan.

Addressing the few before him, he let them know that time was of the essence - nonsense, arguing and fighting would not be tolerated. Those that did their job and made an effort to get along with the others - while laying ground for their new lives, could expect to settle in with him for the long run.  

In order to keep the ball rolling, side duties were assigned to each of the men. Broc expected them to be carried out while the building work was being done.   

As far as supplies were concerned, they were loaded down with lumber. However, in order to complete the barn, black-smithy, sawmill and house – more lumber would be needed. This meant felling fir trees and rolling them downhill to the river – where a trap would be waiting to stop them. Broc and Boaz would be doing that. He appointed Angelo to the trapping, hunting and fishing for their food, which would be added to the dry goods from town. Willard was assigned the job of keeping the camp in wood for their fires, pot belly stoves and cook stove. Rory’s direction was to keep them in water.

Pierre, the French Canadian was to build a corral and temporary lean-to for their livestock and keep the animals in feed and water. 

First order of business had been to pitch the large main tent that would sit on a two foot high platform.

Broc foresaw the rains of fall with its wet and cold conditions… sleeping on the ground was out of the question. 

The first torrent of rain would ruin their tent if on the bare ground. Thus, the base frame of wood was built - filled with straw, packed with mud and finally, the tent was erected on top. Stones were carried from the river and along the bank and placed tightly against the base to lock it firmly in place. 

After stabilizing it to face the conditions they would be forced to work and live under when the winter came, he moved on to the next step, which was heat. Broc bought two pot belly stoves to sit centered, while ten feet apart in their sleeping tent. Below the pot belly stoves they layered mud, rock and sand to guard against a tent fire. There would be warm bedding for all – with extra clothing and coats to assure each of the men had all they needed to be comfortable while working - he couldn’t expect them to work diligently while freezing.

Besides that, he wanted to show them what it would mean to work for him. How he would see to their needs until they were paid and could see to their own.  

Fidel - was an excellent cook. Thus, his job was to prepare the game that was brought in, as well the dry goods. Again, Broc saw to it that the supplies to do so were ample. The second tent was the cook-tent, built on a two-foot base like the first, which housed a large regular cook stove that would eventually go into their home once it was built. In the meanwhile, it warmed the cook-tent and provided all that Fidel needed to keep them all well fed. He was the only one not required to build, because his job was to keep hot food available, the coffee ready, the camp clean and the laundry done.

To Fidel, the job was sent from heaven. All that he had to do, he enjoyed, and did it well. Besides that, he was paid well. Fidel’s plan, was to work in the house for his boss and wife once all was in place. He was staking his claim to make sure, he would always be needed.

Moving in a race against time and the weather, not a moment was wasted. Within days of setting up camp, they had the supporting post holes dug for the barn, getting ready to drop the large, masts-like-post within.

Broc knew if they were strong enough for ship building, able to withstand being tossed about at sea, they would be sound for stabilizing his buildings. The goal… to have the barn fully up before the first snow fell. They were doing good, making sure headway – until the rain came.

They couldn’t let that stop them, no matter how hard it came down, they continued on, slipping and sliding at times in the mud, their feet sinking, sucked in so that it was a fight to simply walk carrying the frames they built. The wall frames had to be secured to the corner masts that stood tall and powerful.

Thankfully, the men were healthy, strong and determined – not one of them willing to be the first to say, they should stop. If Broc would not, working right alongside them, they would not. Yet, no matter how resolute - the torrent became too much, and they had to withdraw into the cook-tent.

“Leave it!” Broc yelled from the opening looking out at Rory. He was outside gathering all he could to catch the rain for water, he figured on taking advantage of the downpour. “That’ll do – come, get dry!” Broc further shouted.

Watching the youth slip, slide and yet, he made sure to get his three buckets, and the two round tin baths out to catch as much as he could. Grinning, soaking wet – he finally made a dash for the cook-tent.

“Wanted to get ahead on the water.” Rory explained, taking a seat to remove his sodden boots. A few of the men laughed, “Ain’t no need right now for no water, I’m thankin’ we got mo’than wha’s call for.” Boaz chuckled.

“This keeps up - the riverbanks will flood.” Broc worried, standing in the tent slit opening watching the rain – listening to the sound it made, like millions of fingers rapping out a drum beat over their heads on the canvas - accompanied by thunder, following the strikes of lightning. Right then, all Broc could think of was Asiza. It felt strange in his soul to be doing all of this without her. Yet, all that he did, was for her, for them – for the future they would share.

Knowing that helped a bit, but he still wanted her with him, he missed her. Being away from her, told him clearly, they were one. One, because his body, heart and mind, all felt as if something was missing, being away from her.

With every drop that fell, he felt compelled to see her again. Even if for a quick visit to assure himself all was fine.  

Behind him, the men watched his back, wondering what things went through his mind.

With the cook-tent being the same size as their sleeping quarters, there was plenty of space. They utilized it by straining to bring in three long and broad logs to sit on – each would hold three men with plenty of elbow space. Also within, two constructed tables, one for Fidel to prepare and serve meals on, the other for Broc. He’d drawn a layout of the land to show where he wanted everything. Every morning he consulted with the men on what he expected them to get done that day.

This day, the rains were putting a big dent in his plans.

The men were removing their garments and mud covered boots.

“What now boss?” Boaz asked, breaking into his thoughts.

“We wait, we pray.”

“Is a shame, all this rain, so far from town – nothin’ like a bit of liqueur to quench ones thirst, eh?” Pierre, the French Canadian piped in. The other four wouldn’t even consider it, nothing would make them leave their place of work - thus… no comments of agreement from the others.

“Isn’t there anything we can do while it’s raining?” Rory asked.

Like the others, he’d stripped down to his undergarments. Each of them hung their dripping clothing on the pegs along the inner frame of the tent so they could dry. With the heat from the stove, that wouldn’t take long, the problem was, as long as the rain continued, it didn’t matter.

They had three walls up on the barn, one left to add and then the focus would be on the roof.

“Tomorrow… that last wall is going up. Got to get that roof on, and a dry place for the beasts.” Broc commented, looking towards them. As Broc had instructed, Pierre had built the corral half way in and out of the woods – so they at least had the shelter of the trees.

“And… if this rain – it does not stop?” Pierre asked.

Broc twisted his upper body to glance behind him at the Frenchmen. The look he gave was as if he’d just cursed his plans, saying such a thing.

Sulking, he turned back, staring out trying not to think about
what if
. Broc wasn’t sure if it was all in his mind or not, but – he didn’t like the Frenchmen, there was something about him. Unlike the other men, he wasn’t one for keeping eye contact with him. He trusted no man that would not look him directly in the eyes, nor maintain the contact. It was as if the Frenchmen feared that he might see into his very soul. And if Broc could, he wondered what he might find. It was his bounty hunter instincts giving him those sensations.

Chapter Twenty-Two

As for the rain, it was to be expected. Regardless, the pressure was on. First step, however - he had to get that barn finished. They could all move into it – along with the animals. A bunkhouse in the rear with all that the single men would need to be comfortable, following the barn, the house, and next, stables for his horses. He would be meticulous in his choice of purchases. As for the wild ones he would breed them with, they too would be carefully chosen. At the present, all of those plans were being held up by the rain. 

In low tones he prayed, “Lord… God, winter’s coming, please… gotta get some building done ‘fore it starts, please.” He murmured out to the dark, ominous grey sky. However, the next day, more rain – there was little that could be done about it – but – wait it out.

  Again, all were gathered in the cook-tent. Boaz, Angelo, Rory and Willard sat playing cards. The only one missing, was Pierre. When the other men had risen that morning, he had been among them. 

They expected that he too would head for the cook-tent.

After a few hours Broc looked around, wondering where he could be and asked the others, “Pierre?” His name was the question.

“Saw’em this morning,” Rory answered right away, “…he was heading for the horses, figured he was seeing to the animals - didn’t stick around to see more.”

“He pro’ly seen it rainin’ an’ gone t’town.” Willard commented.

“Aiy, Senor Pierre went for his drink I’m thinking.” Angelo added.

Broc sighed - he had been sitting sipping coffee, thinking - trying to make up his own mind about heading to town to check on Asiza and Asa. Now that he had the land and its location, he thought to go and make sure she could find him if there was a need.

Not only that, something told him to relocate the majority of the gold for the time being, which meant – getting it back to her. If anything should happen to him, she would be beyond self-sufficient. With the gold and holding deeds to a substantial amount of land – he could die in peace. Yes – he would keep a bit back to see to the building needs and pay the men, but the rest – he knew what he had to do.

“Boss?” Boaz questioned him.

Broc’s eyes went to him, as well the others, “I’m going to town, see if he’s there. Boaz, you come with me, the rest of you, if it stops raining – start building the roof frame. We’ll be back before nightfall.”

The first thing they did once in town was to drop into the boarding house. Following that visit, they headed for the bar looking for Pierre. Standing within, both men looked around. Following Broc’s lead, they walked to the bar – Broc ordered drinks for them.

“Emmm,” Boaz groaned a bit, “Be my first – neva drank before.”

Broc winked at him, “You a good man Boaz, a good man,” smiling, he commented further from observation, “It’s for certain, something that Ms. Della will be glad to know.” He brought her up because even though their visit was short, upon coming back downstairs, it was plain to see – the two were attracted to each other.

It was Boaz’s turn to grin, “Oooh, tha’s one mighty fine woman. Fo’ a man t’get that one, he gone have ta’brang somethin’ mighty good.”

“From what I know about her so far, you right. So, tell me – you got your eye on her?”