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The
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Who is the
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        Red Jacket
              ...and The Lump
                                             By Emil T. Miller  (Tony Miller)

                                                                                                                                                 (Click to enlarge the cover picture)
 FOREWORD:

      If I one could say there is one book I am more proud of than any other it would be this one.  Not only because of the three years of effort and research (it is also written in the Historical Fiction category), but because it also reflects in its plot and characters, the most honorable and highest of my ideals and asperations, but the the low and base characteristics of mankind, some of which I myself have at times, fallen victim to.

                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     This book was inspired by my son Max, who asked me to "write a story about finding gold!"  It is to him I have dedicated the book, for reasons too numerous and sad (yet happy as well) to go into, but suffice it to say that to define the book as simple as that is to grossly understate the fact.  It is the saga of an orphaned boy who grows and matures into manhood and beyond, both he and his country in their younger formative years.  It is a story not only of a baffling mystery along with action-filled adventure, but a story of struggle, hardship, tragedy, and bitter defeat but also a story well mixed with ultimate success, happiness, victory, and fulfillment; all running concurrently with true and verifiable history as its setting and with an unrequieted romance simmering just beneath the surface.
     The book encompasses the 45 year period (1832-1877) which intimately touches all three of our nation's most formative eras (not withstanding the American Revolution), which are; (1) the Gold Rush of 1849 where the "American Dream" was born and which singular event pulled the nation together "from sea to shining sea" according to our policy of "Manifest Destiny"; the dream and goal of such as President James K. Polk of Tennessee who was its foremost promoter, (2) the era of the Great American Clipper Ships which brought trade and access to remote parts of the world for the U. S. and all other countries, and (3) the tragic, altogether unnecessary and purposely mis-named American "Civil" War.  The main character overcomes tragedy and hardship and evolves into a true American hero as he becomes caught up and integrally involved in all three of these rough, hard yet exciting and history-making times. 
     This book is the result of three years of hard and exacting work and research in a time of only elementary internet availability; my effort to produce an enduring work of true and verifiable history written so as to entertain, educate, encourage and exhilarate its readers by using real events along with the thoughts and experiences of real people of those times - as they recorded them in books and diaries, all woven into a fictitiously written, rousing, action-packed adventure which deals with a sinister, shadowy man of mystery and intrigue, as well as the bittersweet romance of an untouchable love which lived for years altogether privately in the hearts of one man and one woman until... well, you must read the book.  Read this book, read true and exciting history as well.

                                                            ... © EMIL T. MILLER  (Tony Miller)
                                                                         (Click here for AUTHOR'S BIO)

This book is dedicated to:

         My son, EMIL MAXWELL MILLER  

     ...who has, by the sheer strength of his character and by trusting in and humbling himself before his Maker, overcome the suffering, devastation and despair of some of the worst and utterly indescribable tribulations that the world can place upon a man, I dedicate this book, which he inspired me to write. I stand in awe and admiration of this son who has set such an example of strength, courage, and humility before me, his earthly father, that he has now become my spiritual mentor.

                                                 

Here is an excerpt from the book:

19       T I M E   W A R P   I   -   A   V I S I T   D E L A Y E D        

[The immediate years after the War for Southern Independence (aka the "Civil" War)  were unspeakably hard and bitter for the vanquished. Surviving Confederate men and boys returned to find their homes burned, wives and daughters raped, families robbed, killed, property stolen . . . .
      Being then at the mercy of the occupying victors and northern speculators called "carpetbaggers", along with their southern lackeys called "Scalawags," most lost what was left of their farms and homesteads to those vultures for a pittance, since they had no means to pay their debts or back taxes. Some of these men, hardened already from the ravages of war and being thus further embittered, saw no alternative but to turn outside the law. The Younger brothers, and the Daltons, along with Jesse and Frank James, typified these. Jesse and his brother stayed for a time in their home area and tried to deal with this oppression. Being honorable men in the beginning, they eventually gave up and went to the bad, while others somehow suffered on through, or having lost all, went west to start a new life. It was during this time that the saying "GTT" (“Gone to Texas”) was started.]

                                            ********************

NEAR A CERTAIN SMALL MISSOURI TOWN. . .

     A scant year had passed since the end of the Civil War, and the effects of it were in obvious evidence in that part of Missouri. Many men, young and old, were frequently seen with missing arms or legs and grisly scars from wounds received in that tragic event, mostly from fighting in places other than Missouri itself. Psychological evidence of it was apparent as well, in the demeanor of many people. Faces showed the bitterness, loss, and sorrow that had touched their lives, the relief from which many would find only in their eventual death. But in general, people were getting on with their lives as best they could, and they just didn't want to talk about (as they put it) the "Late Unpleasantness." Carpetbaggers from the North were much in evidence and unscrupulous characters along with certain local officials (Scalawags) appointed by the Federal administrators were taking dishonest advantage of the situation even here in Missouri in this aftermath of the horrible struggle during the misnamed "Reconstruction" period (read "Vengeance and Exploitation" period).
     Returning soldiers who had fought the losing cause of the Confederacy, as well as their farms and meagre possessions, were fair game to those unprincipled characters of the time, and bitterness lingered many decades longer than it should have because of it. Most of the returning survivors lost their homes and farms to these Northerners since none had money for mortgage payments, to buy seed or to pay back taxes -- and no chance was given them to earn it or delay payment. Certain of these returning soldiers refused to be preyed upon however, and reacted violently to the predator element of the victors, sending many such vultures scurrying back North - and others to their graves. Beginning to be notable of these in Missouri especially, was the James brothers, Frank and Jesse. And there were others, many more even than the Daltons, and the Youngers, just less notorious. In the beginning it was merely an eye for an eye but as time went on violence became a bad habit with the James brothers and their gang, and with many others who in the beginning were all honest and honorable men. These were all signs of the times in this year of 1866 near a certain small Missouri town. . . .
     The tall, rather large, powerfully built man going up the walk to the main building of the Conservatory was dressed in an expensively tailored black suit, a white shirt with a black string tie and wearing a black hat in the style of the times.  He moved in an unobtrusive manner except for a slight but obvious limp, yet even from a distance, amongst the several others about, one’s attention was drawn to this man like a magnet. His gait (which reminded one of a seafaring man’s walk), combined with his appearance, was anything but unobtrusive. He was conspicuous to say the least, almost intimidating to all in his purview. His past experiences of life had molded him so that he exuded a certain subdued boldness, audacity, and some would say even a sinister aura about him which, without intention and with his slight limp, complimented his handsomely rugged features and his obvious physical strength and virility.
     This was a man just arriving at the prime of life, and he nodded almost imperceptibly in a distant but not unfriendly manner to those he met walking about on the well kept grounds. An imposing man, tall, 6'2" was he, broad of shoulder, and a narrow hipped man, he was solidly built and clean shaven except for a heavy black moustache.  He had subtle and powerfully agile qualities about him despite his slight impairment. He was bold in manner but not abrasive, private in nature, unsmiling and serious but not stern, beginning to grey about the temples, and he possessed that certain quality of forthrightness which garnered respect and trust; which made men look to him for leadership in time of danger, and to view him at other times as either a deadly enemy or potential true friend -- but nothing in between. Even so, that such a man could involuntarily fill even strangers with trust, respect and even awe, amounted to a peculiar paradox.
     This described this sinister, solitary man of mystery generally, except for the long scar and black patch over one eye. A sabre cut branded him diagonally across his face, beginning above an eye on one side and running under the black patch near the slightly distorted "crows' foot" outer side of that eye and going all across his face and lips to the other side of his chin. There were many in this day and time who had such horrible scars. Although this description may sound as if it would be repulsive to look upon, amazingly, it did not entirely have this result. The effect merely gave a heightened impression of the strength and serious, reclusive, mysterious, and perhaps somewhat tragic nature of the man, while at the same time making him compellingly interesting to all who came near him.  Even surprisingly, and perhaps especially, to women. Equally surprising to the few he came in contact with, he was soft and well spoken, a learned man of obvious refinement, keen intelligence and gentility. Yet above all there was the inescapable sense about him that he was a dangerous man of few words who was not to be trifled with, an independent man of thought and action who always led, never followed.
     Adding to these impressions . . . and sharpening them, was the bulge under the man's coat under his left arm. Most everyone in those days went armed and no one thought anything of it, but most did so unobtrusively by carrying small pocket pistols. Few these days except those farther West, carried a pistol large enough to show, much less cared little who noticed, as did this man. The huge LeMat pistol was a nine-shot .44 caliber revolver with a central shot barrel of approximately .65 caliber (20 gage), and the man carried it under his coat on the left front side in a tilted holster high on his belt, butt forward, in cross-draw fashion. He seldom needed it, but was seldom without it. And too, it had simply been a part of him for a long time. A very long time.  This man was widely known of, but no one seemed to really know him or of his comings and goings, which only added to the aura of mystique and speculation surrounding him.
     Halfway up the walk the man turned off and walked over to a large marble statue of a woman with children, sculpted with arms outstretched protectively around them. He did not stand long looking at it, but long enough to begin to read the inscription of the woman's name, "SARAH......", and for a tear to run down the cheek under his good eye. No one saw, or would have believed it possible of such a man. Presently, his heart thumping a little at the prospect of seeing the two most important people in his life for only the 2nd time in over 16 years, he continued on to the building and disappeared inside.
     For a few moments the man walked slowly around the lobby area, stopping for a long moment to look at a large, curious, gold-looking object in the rough shape of praying hands in a display case specially made for it. He nodded imperceptibly to himself and a wry, knowing smile stole over his face as he read the inscription on the case. 
     At the reception desk he politely asked to see the Administrator. The woman in charge at the desk, obviously startled by the appearance of the man, explained that the Administrator was sick a lot and went home every day at noon for his dinner and a nap. Just at that moment however, the Administrator came in and greeted the woman pleasantly, going towards his office. He was thin, with sunken eyes and a sickly, almost grey, sallow complexion. The woman stopped him and explained to the Administrator that this visitor was here to see him.  So with a questioning look he turned back, held out his hand and courteously said, "Hello. I am August Bowles, the Administrator here. May I be of service?"

                                                                   ~~~~~~~~
 
     The man shook the Administrator's hand, smiled affably and asked, "How is the child doing these days, Mr. Bowles?"
     The Administrator looked somewhat dumfounded at first, then in slow recognition said, "Yes . . . yes indeed! I recognize you now. It IS you! You came to see my wife and I not too long before we adopted our child when he was but a baby, less than two years old. You are the one who said you knew its father and felt an obligation to see to his son's welfare after his death! Yes! And left us gold with which to do so! Then six or seven years later you came through here to check on the child's welfare and was waiting on the road for me one day as I was on my way overseeing the construction of this Conservatory. Yes, of course! I recognize you now! Welcome Sir! Welcome indeed! I am so very glad to see you again! I apologize for not recognizing you at first!" he said, pumping the man's hand again.
     "And how have you been?" the Administrator continued effusively. "I was thinking about you just the other day and hoping you would come back," he continued. "As I remember you were recovering from an injury you had received when you were waylaid and robbed. Trouble with your memory I believe, from a blow to the back of your head. And now this," making reference to the mans' other obvious injuries.
     "Yes well," the man replied, "I have recovered from that sir, and from my other injuries as well. Thank you for your concern."
     The Administrator continued, looking at the scar on the man’s face, "The war I suppose. I am sorry indeed," he said.
     "No need to be," was the simple reply from the man. "May I see the child for a just a moment?  That is all I ask.  Then I'll be on my way." he said pleasantly.
     "Yes of course you may, Sir. He is a fine lad, 16 years old now and the blessing of our lives. Martha, please step over to the house and fetch my wife and son. They are in the yard pulling weeds."
     "Yes Sir," replied the receptionist.
     But the man interrupted quickly, "There is no need to bother them Mr. Bowles. Perhaps we could just walk by close enough so that I can see the boy and how he has grown. That is all I wish."
     As they walked towards the rear of the campus the Administrator continued, "My wife and I had some hard times for a while after your first visit. And you left so quickly that second time, seven or so years later, that I did not get a chance to visit with you enough, and my wife regrets that she didn't even get to see you at all. My how time gets away from us! But for the gold you gave us on your first visit to help raise the child, and the funds you sent us all along during those early years sir, well, I just don't know what we would have done, since I have never been able to do much physical work. I can never thank you enough. To do that for the sake of your friend's child is highly commendable. But a lot has happened, and my wife and I have been most fortunate as you surely can see. I landed this position as Administrator of this Conservatory before it was even built. The Executor of the Trust that was set up in perpetuity to construct and run it . . . I can never remember his name . . . a lawyer, Frenchman I believe, came to our house one day and said I had been recommended for the position. He would not say who it was that recommended me and I am still at a total loss about it, not having at the time any prior experience whatsoever. I even helped supervise the design and construction, and I must say, this position is perfect for my wife and I. We cannot have children of our own as you may not know, and to be blessed with a baby of our own to adopt and raise was a Godsend. Then to be in a position to administer this work and care for the orphans here is the most fulfilling thing we could do with our lives. We are so very thankful for this opportunity Mr... er ..., er..., Mr. . . . - you have never told us your name...."
     "All appears to be going well then for all of you and the Conservatory, and I am glad to both hear and see it," said the man, gently interrupting.
      "Well, it surely is, really, all things considered. But the Conservatory is on a tight budget. According to the trust we are operating on the interest from what was left over after the buildings were completed, a large sum to be sure, but that will eventually have to be supplemented somehow, unless we can secure other funds, and I am working on this. Keep this under your hat but since the Territorial Government sent us orphans from time to time, and since Missouri has now become a State, I am confident that it will begin matching our trust proceeds next year as I have been asking them to do, and we plan to obtain a loan to build a gymnasium. I am so excited about it I can hardly keep still."
     Continuing as they walked, he said, "We really had to scratch to get up money for the new statue to honor the lady of our namesake out front though. The people over in Van Buren were very generous, but without the anonymous gift we received at the last minute we would have had to cancel the effort, temporarily anyway. Say, uh. . . you. . . yourself, wouldn't know anything about that gift would you?" he asked with a suspicious look.
     "No, indeed I would not," replied the man easily, and he continued the conversation by saying, "but I understand the statue of the lady was mandated in the trust documents, along with naming the Conservatory for her."
     "Yes, . . ," replied the Administrator slowly, "but not many know about the statue being mandated. I didn't myself until the Executor told me." He looked up at the man curiously, and wanted to ask how the man knew those things, but it would have been impolite.  He continued again, "I'm sure you haven't heard about it, but there is a great mystery as to who established the Trust in the first place. There are many references to him in the document, but they all simply refer to him as the 'Benefactor' without naming him. Personally I suspect that the Executor knows who he is, but will not say."
     "Well," said the man absently, "if it didn't matter to the Benefactor, then it shouldn't to anyone else, I suppose."
     The Administrator again looked at the man curiously, slowly nodded agreement, then continued, "The woman of our namesake was a fine lady. A fine lady indeed. I wish you could have known her. Took in and raised every orphan that was brought to her, from all over. Known and loved by at least half the territory it seemed, from the hundreds of people who came to her funeral. I knew her myself slightly, but she died shortly after we moved to Van Buren. When we got there we were flat broke and she sent a dozen eggs to us through our church. And she was as bad off as we were, dirt poor I tell you. Except for an orphaned baby, the rest of the orphans she was raising scattered and were taken in mostly by the people of Van Buren after she died. When this Conservatory was established my wife and I gathered back all of them that we could find, and they became our first wards according to the mandate of the original Trust Document. We only adopted the baby though. The others have now all grown up and left us but as you see, we have many, many more.  That senseless and useless war has seen to that."
     They had approached a white picket fence around the neat white frame house provided for the Conservatory Administrator and his family at the back of the campus.  The man had stopped and the two now stood at a distance watching an exceedingly handsome woman and a teen-aged child pulling weeds from the yard. The woman was one of those rare women whose classic Romanesque beauty is only mediocre when very young but which evolves into such a stunning and striking comeliness when a little older that it is hard for men to look her in the eye and speak without a mumbling stutter. The woman gave a winsome smile and an automatic friendly wave when she looked up and noticed them, recognizing her husband but not the man at first. The man was already turning to leave, but the administrator took his arm firmly, turned him back and said, "Please wait a moment sir, my wife did not get to see you before, you know."
     The man hastily and forcefully said he must be going, but before he could turn again to go, the woman had gotten up and was coming over to the little fence. Then as she came nearer, she recognized the visitor, even with the patch and scar. She stopped abruptly and a hand went to her breast in great surprise.
    A fleeting, unintended, but meaningful look passed between them which the Administrator did not appear to catch. The man removed his hat as he slowly turned back and allowed himself to be led up to the fence.  He said quietly, "Hello madam, it is nice to see you again."
     "Oh! OH! she exclaimed excitedly.  "Oh and I am so glad to see you again, finally, Sir!" she exclaimed as she now rushed on up to the other side of the fence. "I had about given up hope of ever seeing you again!" she said as she stood looking intensely into his face.  A long and poignant moment passed. "You were in the war I see," she said softly. "Are you alright now?"  She had spoken in a husky, tender voice of obvious deep concern... as one might to a little child.
     The man looked down at her for a moment, and then slowly his face broke into a smile that seemed to banish the scar on his face almost into insignificance.  He said pleasantly and easily, "I am just fine, thank you m’am, and how have you and the boy been?"
     "Oh Benjii and I are fine too," she replied, "but how can Auggie and I ever thank you enough for all you have done for us! The gold you gave us years ago, and the money you sent to us later over the years! It meant so much since my husband and I had some lean times back then, and Auggie could do little work. She quickly turned and was about to call the child over, but the man hastily said no, that it would mean nothing to the child.
     "A fine youngster, and look how big now!" he mused as he stood quietly looking at the boy with a wistful, faraway look about him. As the man stood looking, the child again looked up at the man, staring dubiously at first.  Then returning the man's smile, he continued to pull weeds. The man watched the child closely, as the woman  in turn, watched the man.  August Bowles watched them all three.
     At length the man sighed, drew in a deep breath, held it a long moment, then exhaled quickly as he turned slightly away saying huskily, "My friend would have been very proud of his son." Then with full composure again, he turned back and said, "The boy is indeed fortunate to have you fine Christian people for parents.   And the adoption?"
     "Benji is aware of it," the woman replied. "We believe it serves no good purpose to keep it from any orphan or spring it on them after they are grown," she said, more as a question than as a statement.
     "I agree," said the visitor with finality, as he looked down again and smiled sincerely at the woman for a long, meaningful moment. It was an open, sincere and guileless smile, and again it seemed to relegate the scar and patch to insignificance. Then he made ready to go again, saying to them, "Well, I've taken enough of your time. Good day to you m'am, and to you sir. You all are doing a fine job of raising the boy."
     But the woman quickly reached across the fence, took his arm and stopped him forcefully, saying, "NO! No we will not let you leave us so quickly this time!" She glanced briefly and beseechingly at her husband, then looking back into the mans' face searchingly, she said, "We did not tell Benjii that his father was killed in a landslide in California during the gold rush, but he heard the story from others." And then still looking at the man intensely, she continued, "When he asked us about it we confirmed everything to him, that we did not know for certain about it but that is what we had been told . . . we thought it best to tell him this."  Then softly . . . even tenderly while still holding his arm with both hands and looking straight into his eyes, she implored softly, "Does this meet with your approval... Sir?"
     The man dropped his head and replied quickly, "Yes. Yes of course it does." Then seeming to remember something, she removed her hands and turned to her husband who was watching and listening intently. She started to speak but her husband interrupted, saying hastily, "Miriam Dear, while I’m here I’m going to show Benjii where I want him to dig up a place for some tomato plants around back. Don’t let our visitor leave before I get back."
     "Alright then..." she replied hesitantly.
     Then turning to the man, the Administrator said in a quiet and curiously friendly, purposeful way, . . . even in a strangely earnest manner, "You can’t be in that much of a hurry, sir. Stay here and visit with Miriam while I'm gone. I'll be back shortly." Then without waiting for an answer he called to the young boy and the two of them disappeared around the corner of the house.
     The man and woman stood looking into each other's eyes across the picket fence for long and poignant moments. It was she who finally spoke. "What a burden you have carried, and carry still," she murmured softly and intimately.
     The man shifted on his feet, but said nothing.
     She continued, "It is said that ‘ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free'."
     The man replied simply, "Yet sometimes the truth hurts . . . and there's been enough hurt."
     The woman searched his face for a long moment. "You are a kind and unselfish man.  Altogether a different man from what is said and thought of you by so many. Is it not time you spared yourself? Perhaps there would not be as much hurt as you think. Maybe we all should be set free. I have known your secret from the first.  You know that I knew the baby was your son, and I have kept your secret  for you as you knew I would. But time has almost taken the reason for it away."
     The man looked deeply into her eyes, inadvertently saying much with them, but saying nothing aloud.     
     She continued, "And because of what I have known from the beginning, there are other things I know too . . . I can see them as plain as day when no one else can. I am keeping more than one secret for you. And will continue to do so."
     When he still did not reply she continued on, "And there is something else I must put into words and say to you, for who knows when, or even if I will ever see you again, to have the chance.  It is simply this; I have truly loved one good and precious man before the world and been true to him.   And yet at the same time I have loved another good mans' heart and been true to him also in my heart as well. You know you are that man, . . . don't you?"
     After a long moment, almost in a whisper, the man replied simply, "Yes."
     She continued, "I know you can't tell me...  I know you would never tell me so, but I know you love me too. There is no need to say anything. I know your heart as well as you know mine. It is . . . oh, so strange, but in our hearts we are, and have been as man and wife! That day you came to our house, somehow I knew who you were. I knew that you had come to claim your baby and take him away with you, and I could feel your love for your wife who had passed away. And through your eyes before you left, I could feel that love transfer to me . . . and not solely because I was to raise the baby.  Until now we have not seen each other since that day.  I have raised your son and kept your secret... our secret since that time.  And I have felt your love.  I have felt your love, your pain, and your loneliness, and I have cried over them.  I have felt your love in the quiet of the evenings, and in the early mornings . . . and I feel your love each time I remember how you sat on your horse looking down at me, crying inside as you spoke through your eyes into my heart. And I feel your love every time I look at Benjii . . ."
     She stopped speaking. A tear had run down the mans' face.
     Her voice husky and trembling now, and barely above a whisper, she continued; "And I sense something else too. In all these years you have taken no other woman for a wife."
     After a moment he replied softly, "No. ...No I have not."
     "I knew it. You are keeping fidelity with me in the strictest sense. It is as if your wife who died lives in me and you will not betray her trust. And yet it is not just because of your wife's memory. I know as only a woman can, that your feelings are for me as well, and you will not betray with another woman the love you know I have for you, even though neither the world nor I would fault you for it in the least. For a man to be so noble, to have such love, . . . is more than... more than I can comprehend."
     The man spoke, finally; "I was guilt-stricken and completely stripped of self respect that day. And when I realized it would be best that I leave the baby there with you, not only for its sake but for you and your husbands' sakes as well, somehow it took the love and respect of a woman whose goodness could never be mine to save me from the depths of guilt and despair, to give me something good and decent to keep inside of me and make life bearable. Only you sensed who I was, the tragic mistake I had made and my true loss back then, and you not only pitied me, but loved and respected me for the sacrifice of my little son. But there is no need to feel badly for me. I have never been unbearably lonely with you as my companion in my heart. And in many strange ways that I myself can barely fathom, self denial in this and other ways has brought me to salvation and given purpose to my life."  Then slowly he reached for her hand, raised it to his lips, and tenderly kissed it as he looked deeply into her eyes.  Then . . ., slowly . . ., tenderly . . . , she moved her hand over his face, over the awful scar, as she lovingly,   tenderly caressed it.
    Moments later as the Administrator came back around the house coughing, the man at the fence was wiping his nose and putting away his handkerchief. "Benjii is digging up a place for some tomato plants before it gets too hot," the Administrator said. Then to his wife he continued, "I have to go back to the office for awhile now Miriam, but why don't you fix some tea my dear?  It's cool on the porch. Don't let our special visitor leave so soon this time, and you must insist that he stays for supper."
     But the man quickly shook his head and said firmly, "Oh no.  No but thank you kindly, Mr. Bowles.   I..., I must be going now.  Best wishes to all of you."
     "But you will visit again soon? You must give us your promise," said the Administrator compellingly. The man smiled again but offered no response as he put on his hat and turned to go. Goodbyes were spoken again, and the Administrator walked the man back through the campus towards his horse which stood tied to one of the post rings in front. The woman stood watching them go until they were out of sight.  . . . and long after.
     The two men reached the road where the man’s horse stood, but before he could mount, the Administrator stopped him and said, "There is something I want you to know, sir. My doctor has told me that I have an incurable disease, commonly called 'consumption'. I have had it for years, but now he tells me my time is very short. I have not told my wife how short, but she knows I think. It’s plain to see than I am much worse."
     The man, suddenly very concerned, asked, "Have you seen any other doctors?"
     "Yes, one other, over in the next town. His prognosis is the same."
     "But surely something can be done," the man replied, "I can help. I know of two of the best doctors in the country, one in high position in the country's best medical school and the other is the most gifted surgeon in the whole country. I will take you to Kansas City to see him. Whatever it takes, I can and will do it. I will have the arrangements made before nightfall,"  he said as he reached again for the reigns.
     The Administrator was shaking his head with finality even before the man finished replying and said, "There is nothing that can be done for me now, believe me. It is just a matter of time. But I thank you for your kind offers and concern. I know you would do all you could. You are a good and decent man, but I don’t want anyone to be concerned about me. I do not fear dying. I am prepared for it and know I will see my beloved Savior soon. The reason I am telling you this sir,  is because I want this Conservatory to be left in good hands and for my wife and son Benjii to be cared for, for them to be loved and happy. Otherwise they would have to leave the Conservatory and would have no place to go when a new Administrator arrived. Do you understand sir? Do you take my meaning?" he asked in a most compelling manner, looking at the man very pointedly.    
     The man looked back at him curiously, but said nothing.
     The Administrator continued, "What is needed is not just a good Administrator, but one who would have deep feelings of commitment to the work and the children here, and especially on a personal basis sir, the time will come soon when my wife and Benjii will be left without husband and father.  Neither she nor I have any surviving family they can turn to." Then looking up at the man very intently, he said, "You wouldn't want them to be left alone like that . . . would you?"
     The man shifted to his other foot and replied, "Well..., no. No of course not. But life goes on and they would get by. At any rate you can't give up. You must let me try to help you. You need some time off from your work here and I am sure it can be worked out. Take whatever time you need.  We will go to the best doctors in the country. I don't know any of your trustees personally.  It may surprise you, but I know someone who will go before them in your behalf for a leave of absence.  Nothing is ever hopeless sir, and not to try is to fail before the fact. And you can believe me Mr. Bowles, when I tell you that I know a little something about failure and hopelessness."
     But the Administrator replied again even more resolutely, "There is nothing anyone can do for me now I assure you, and I may linger for months, who knows. This may not be such an immediate crisis. Certainly no need for you to let it overly concern you. I am very glad you came today and would like more than you know for you to visit again, soon. Very soon.  And often.  I want you to come and I will expect you to come.  Just now I realized that you must be that mysterious recluse who people in this region hardly ever see and know only as "The Major", a man who little or nothing is known about yet who has become so notorious and well known since Miriam and I first met you years ago, and who I am also told lives not that far away in a huge mansion...  well, Sir, there is no reason you cannot visit us here more often.  Will you give me your promise on that?"
     When there was no reply and the man turned again to go, the Administrator put his hand on the man's arm and persisted further; "Sir! Please.  I must make sure that I am understood. I have told you this because I want you to begin thinking about things.  My wife is still a fairly young woman. She will need someone. I'd like to know that someone like you would be available to take care of her and Benjii," he said very pointedly and significantly, looking him straight in the eye. The two men looked at each other without speaking for a long moment.
     "Like me?" questioned the man.
     "Yes."
     "Why like me?"
     "Because, sir, I know that you are someone who cares for them, cares for them and about them more than anyone else in the world. Both of them."  Again they looked searchingly at each other for a long and significant moment.
     Finally, without speaking, the man quickly mounted and reined his horse around. As he did so, the Administrator suddenly exclaimed, "Sir! I realize I am presumptuous in asking, but do you know that I still do not even know your name? No one does! Did it come back to you when you got your memory back?"
     "Yes.  Such name as there was," the man replied tersely and with a tinge of bitterness as he spurred his horse and rode away.
     The Administrator stood looking after the man long after he was out of sight. He shook his head slowly, in puzzlement. A hard and strange man, he mused. A very strange -- but, yes, a good man too. But these were hard and strange times, well he knew. Times which could shape a man into such as God only knows!
                                                                        © Emil T. Miller  (Tony Miller)
                                                                            (Click here for the AUTHOR'S BIO)

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