|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
While we visited with Solomon's grandparents, and I had time and leisure on my hands, I thought about my options. I considered retiring. I considered opening a locomotive factory to build big steam engines. I considered becoming a cattle man like Big George. I thought about moving my whole family to California and looking for new enterprises. I kept on thinking about these possibilities on the journey back home, and for the first few days back at Richter Haus. I pondered all the options one evening as I played my violin to an Ohio River sunset. The river bends glowed like a red and gold ribbon winding across the darkening land. Suddenly, I heard the unmistakable hoot from a Big Cat steamboat. Then the boat herself hove into sight. She was our newest steamboat, named Saber Tooth Tiger after the bones farmers were finding in dry washes in Dakota Territory. According to Rachel, museum men from the East had also found elephant skeletons with huge, curving tusks in the sands of the Dakota Territory. When I saw the ship, I knew that I had been favored by the gods in being allowed to experience so many sublime joys. I knew at that moment that I would remain a steamboat man and not become a railroad man. The railroad life, with its perfect schedules imposing order on society, and with its tracks knitting the trans-Mississippi West into a quiltwork stitched together with cross-ties, with its massive corporate structure reinventing the roles of overseers and serfs - this could not be the life for me. As I gazed at the final rays of the sun, the solution leapt into my mind. I would run my boats one step ahead of "Old Nick" - as I named the railroads - by emphasizing Big Cat's operation on the Upper Missouri River. Unless the Northern route were chosen by Washington, D.C. for the transcontinental railroad, I would be an old man before rail pierced that part of America. Two days later, before cock's crow, I woke to the clatter of a carriage halting at our front door, followed by the sharp rapping of a metal cane on our door. When mother opened the peep-hole, she giggled and said, "I'm glad you're back early. Give me a minute to get ready." We discarded our night-shirts and threw on our clothes in scant seconds. I sat in the shadows near the bed, as a large man's figure, dressed in a rich fur coat and beaver hat, hulked into the room. A holstered handgun nestled against his right thigh, and on his left hip dangled a war sword in its scabbard. Prince Sigmund himself seemed to me much more menacing than either weapon. His furs made a swishing sound when he bent to meet my mother's long, lingering kiss. She broke away. "I have a surprise for you," she told him. "It's David! Duke Paul sent him home." The big man turned, and fixed angry eyes on me. "You? I don't believe it!" "Duke Paul sent me home at Rotterdam," I lied. "Really? Who came with you?" "No one." "Hard to believe," he growled." "I swear it." "Damn unlikely." He seemed to see right through me. "I told Duke Paul to be sure you reached America." Suddenly I understood why Duke Paul had uncharacteristically cut my protests short, and insisted on me accompanying him to America. Duke Sigmund had wanted me out of the way so that he could pursue his dalliance. My blood ran hot, then cold at the realization. Mother bristled at the Duke's tone. "He is of my flesh and blood, your highness. Please welcome him to your domain." "Mine while my brother stays abroad," he said, then turned back to me. "My attendants will return you to the workers' chambers, to the single men's quarters. Time will tell if you have lied to me, Jew Boy." I did not like the threatening tone in his voice. I remembered a story told by one of the castle nannies, who said that young Sigmund used to trap birds in nets, then rip off their wings, laughing as he killed. A heavy silence hung in the air while mother and I gathered my things. She hugged me, said a quick goodbye, then, accompanied by, or guarded by (I could not tell which) one of the Duke's footmen, I left. |
|
|
|
|