Sacramento, California
The Ebner Hotel
Shortly before Leland Stanford assumed his role as California’s eighth governor, an adolescent boy along with his best friend were nabbed in the balcony at Boston’s Howard Burlesque Theatre and delivered to a Beacon Hill brownstone.
The pencil requested Scott to sharpen its dulled tip.
After California’s two-year term of governorship, the ambitious Leland Stanford realized the city of Washington was not in his immediate future and the vision of a U.S. Senator’s political status dissolved. After Harlan Garrett’s two-hour lecture on acceptable behavior, his grandson realized the Howard Theatre was not in his immediate future and the vision of Tillie the Tassel’s theatrical dexterity evaporated.
The pencil tapped on the table allowing Scott to bestow a grin on the written memory of his grandfather’s puffed-up, red-faced, word-spitting, vein-popping, finger-pointing lecture which hadn’t lasted two hours - it only felt that way.
My knowledge of Stanford’s stint as governor is limited. Back then, burlesque posters and dime novels demanded my attention between bouts of Latin and mathematics. I had no interest in the political news Grandfather consumed from the Daily Advertiser. His mind-numbing civic lessons during our evening meals would cause me to fall asleep face down in a bowl of mock turtle soup.
The pencil rested on the next line. Yes, the bowl of soup was a bit of an exaggeration but Scott had discovered on numerous occasions how humor improved his childhood recollections.
I find my boredom is no longer an issue regarding politics and business. Recently, Leland Stanford and his expanding power in this region have dominated newspaper headlines. The man wears many hats in the articles I’ve read. Politician. Industrialist. Philanthropist. However, there’s one title which is only quietly spoken when referring to Stanford. Robber baron. Rumors of his unscrupulous methods have become more frequent since he was named president of the Central Pacific and Southern Pacific railroads.
The pencil left the paper to assist Scott in scratching an itch behind his right ear. President of the Central Pacific and Southern Pacific railroads. As he reread the words, it brought to mind Kinsey’s proclamation made in the Garrett dining room which had brought him this far. I want to purchase a vineyard to establish a winery which will produce some of the finest California champagne and wines even Bostonians will serve. The grin returned to Scott’s face. That evening in Boston, the young lady had certainly held court with two very stubborn men. Her words left Scott proud and his grandfather speechless.
California wines, whether they’re served in St. Louis, Boston, Philadelphia or New York, will need the same path leading east - Leland Stanford’s railroads. It’s clear to me that the location of the viticulture association meetings are not a coincidence or a simple gesture of hospitality. My concern lies with the association’s future decisions. Will they be good for the group or for the profit of a few?
-S.
Scott studied the pencil in its silver case. The engraved holder was last year’s birthday gift from his little cousin. It was a known fact Scott constantly lost pencils. Kinsey compared his quest in finding wayward pencils to an African hunt on the Serengeti. Her thoughtful present, however, possessed a teasing overtone with its attached note.
“Ordinary objects when dressed in finery require extra attention. - K.R. Furlong”
To date, Scott hadn’t misplaced a pencil for almost a year.
Ordinary men comprised the California Viticulturist Association. Those in bib and tucker would require his extra attention. Scott slipped the silver pencil holder in his pocket as a reminder.
As he descended the hotel stairs, the smell of bacon frying wafted across the Ebner’s lobby and greeted Scott’s empty stomach with a friendly hello. Kinsey had several theories on what heaven would smell like. Scott had only one. Bacon.
Waiting to meet for breakfast, Seth leaned against the front desk counter. Holding up two envelopes, an earlier observance was repeated. “Tenacious, indeed.”
Accepting the one envelope addressed to him, Scott recognized it as a telegram with a Green River origin. “Well, I see my cousin has young Benjamin back on the payroll as her personal Pony Express.” With a sigh of guarded anticipation, he opened his envelope, withdrew the post and began to read aloud - his cadence of speech reflecting the choppiness of a telegram. “Clover growth pattern excellent grazing tolerance. Livestock eat leaves flowers. Reduced plant injury. Timely regrowth. K.” Scott shook his head. “It appears Kinsey plans to share the knowledge from her research exploration.”
Seth tore open his envelope and shook out the folded paper inside. “Clover four leaves represent hope faith love luck. Also token for young girl in search of happiness.” The orator’s eyes continued to read while his lips mouthed silent words.
“Something wrong?” Worry creased a brow. By God, she tried to make a getaway.
“Ah… no.” An embarrassed smile highlighted the redness rising in Seth’s face. “No… not at all. Ah… Miss Furlong mentioned another… token… or two which would bring a little lady happiness.”
“I see.” Scott did his best presentation of an overprotective big brother’s inquisition. “And would you, sir, consider these mentioned tokens a future research exploration of your own?”
“No… I mean… well… perhaps... someday… in the future.” Seth cleared his throat as he folded up the telegram and placed it in his pocket. “I’m certain she was simply trying to avoid the two telegrams being -” Eyebrows raised. “Redundant.”
“Right.” A quick nod towards the dining room released the laugh Scott had kept at bay. “Let’s find out what happiness a stack of flapjacks can deliver.”
The bites of crispy bacon between mouthfuls of pancakes sopping in sweet maple syrup and melted butter confirmed Scott’s opinion was correct. It was best to enter the business battlefield after a hearty breakfast. At least any growling during a heated debate wouldn’t be from his stomach.
“I’m surprised you haven’t inquired about West’s statement referring to Grandfather’s health.” Seth stabbed the last remnants of a flapjack and plopped it in his mouth.
“It’s important to respect a man’s privacy.” Scott took a sip of coffee. “Your grandfather’s health is a personal matter.”
“True.” Seth set down his fork, crossed his arms and settled back in the chair to let his meal digest. “Although a man deserves to know the stability of the business he’s investing in.”
“I’ve corresponded with your grandfather several times and met him in Boston after the holidays” - Scott cocked an eyebrow - “As an impromptu dinner guest arranged by my grandfather. I’m sure you heard about it.”
Westcott grinned. “Indeed, I did.”
The amicable expression Scott donned would lead the casual observer to believe Harlan’s impromptu dinner arrangements with Phillip Westcott had fared well with his grandson. However, the evening’s final harsh words still gave rise to resentment...
********
...Once seated in the enclosed carriage with his grandfather, Scott began to mentally count how many seconds before the silence was broken. As he watched a few stray snowflakes hitch a ride on the window, he soon had his answer - ten.
“I was under the impression your headmaster had successfully eradicated your impertinent adolescent behavior years ago.”
“The man practiced corporal punishment, sir, not exorcism.” More flakes joined the first few - the beginnings of a Nor’easter, perhaps.
“Please tell me, Scott, what in God’s name were you trying to prove this evening?”
“Not prove - prevent. I will not allow you to sell Kinsey like a bill of goods.” Focusing on each miniature piece of frozen lace as it stuck to the glass helped Scott keep his temper in check.
“Your comment is uncalled for. I simply wanted to point out Kinsey’s fine attributes to Phillip. Nothing more. Now - perhaps, in time, if Seth and Kinsey were to -”
“I thought we left arranged marriages behind with Queen Victoria.”
“Stop it.” Harlan spit the words out with such velocity they ricocheted inside the carriage. “You don’t understand.”
“I’m trying.” Scott’s line of sight moved past the flakes on the window to the ones now covering Boston’s streets and walkways. “I’ve been trying to understand you for as long as I can remember.”
“Then understand this.” His grandfather’s voice took on the qualities of granite rock - hard and unyielding. “Kinsey is my second chance to right a wrong. She will be happy. She will be successful. Under my guidance, she’ll be financially secure. And, by God, she will marry the right man from an influential family with an upstanding background. She won’t make the same mistakes my daughter made.”
********
An impromptu departure from his grandfather’s house to board the first train back home took place that night.
Scott leaned forward. “I view Phillip Westcott as a fine man - decent and honest. I’m convinced he’s instilled the same honorable attributes in his grandson. That’s all I need to know.” Pulling out his pocket watch, he checked the time. “We best get going. Wouldn’t want to keep our host waiting.”
The watch slid comfortably back into Scott’s vest pocket - right next to the engraved silver pencil holder.
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