Chapter 7: Yakima

September 1917

Yakima strikes me as one of those towns that change with the seasons but remain unaltered from year to year. I strolled out of the hotel the morning after my return to a main street already busy. Outside the town limits, the harvest is in full swing and there are carts of grain arriving at the depot in an almost continuous stream. I had noted uniformed men standing guard around the depot when I arrived, and I took quiet pride in the part I’d played in making the harvest safe.

I wandered towards the doctor’s paddock where the vines we had rescued had been planted. Considering the neglect they had suffered and the rushed way we had shoved them into unprepared ground, I was delighted to see them thriving. I’d used the last of my savings to pay for the planting, but someone had stepped in to look after the vines. As I watched, a truck pulled up and two men got out to set about spraying the plants from pumps carried on their backs.

What with the grain being safely harvested and the vines showing promise of future fruitfulness I considered my money well spent. I was sure that Calum would have looked after the fruit trees we had planted on the plateau even if Helga lost interest in the project. My mood was so upbeat that I even had high hopes that Helga’s father Willi would have seen sense and planted the slope I’d spent the winter preparing.

I’d been at a low point in my life when I left Yakima to hunt down Lewis in Bonners Ferry. I’d reached thirty without any money saved and with no prospects for the future. Now I was on the threshold of a worthwhile career. Spade had explained that the strength of the United States lay in the autonomy of the individual states but that there was a weakness in the system – a hole through which anarchists and criminals could crawl to evade the law. The purpose of the Bureau is to close that hole; agents operate in every state of the Union crossing State boundaries as freely as the evildoers they are hunting.

I had been offered, in fact, a job that was designed to exploit the very skills I’d been acquiring since I first landed in America. Spending my working days labouring had developed my strength and endurance while my evenings in libraries had increased the width and depth of my knowledge. My union duties had been difficult because of the number of senior members who were every bit as greedy and self-seeking as the bosses. I longed for a way to help the hard working, compassionate majority and the work of the Bureau seemed to meet my needs. I’d wanted a direction in my life, and it looked as if I’d found it.

By the time I reached the sheriff’s office, Ed Spencer had already arranged for me to become a citizen of the United States, surrendering my British nationality. I was to travel to Seattle later to complete the sheaves of forms and be sworn in by the Governor. Once that was complete, I would go to the national capital in the District of Columbia for training. When I left Ed, I turned towards the plateau where Calum and Morag had tended me after Helga perforated my shoulder with a rabbit gun.

There was a truck parked close to the slope I’d prepared for the planting of vines. It looked familiar but it wasn’t until I saw the two men working on the field that I realised it was the same truck as I had seen earlier at the doctor’s vineyard. The men were checking a sluice that I’d fitted just before Willi told me to get off his land. I stepped onto the track that led through the newly planted vines too interested in what was happening to worry about the old man waving his shotgun at me again.

“You’re Mr Clooney, aren’t you? Come to see your vineyard, have you?”

I recognised the speaker as one of Erich’s friends. I remembered him as a bit of a spoiled playboy but now he was dressed in working clothes and seemed to have grown up at last.

“It’s great to see vines planted. I saw you earlier at the docs. I’m pleased those plants survived.”

He and his mate are employed by Yakima Winery, they told me. There are three of them and they are taking turns to spend a month in the Napa Valley learning how to nurture grapes. I could almost forgive Willi for running me off the land now I can see the results of his cash investment.

“You did a great job terracing this slope, Sir. That idea of the sluice is working great.”

He and I are about the same age, but I suppose he sees me as a staid and settled man. I shook hands with both men and then I left them to walk on up to the plateau more or less reconciled to the old farmer. Not only was he growing vines, but he was also giving me credit for the work I’d done. Of course, even at the time I knew that I would’ve been harder to convince if it wasn’t for my job in the Bureau giving me hope of a rosy future.

The fruit trees looked healthy when I topped the escarpment and stood on the level ledge tucked between the foothills and the slope down to the arable land surrounding the little town. Hay had been cut between the trees and was stacked waiting to be moved to the barn. There was enough new growth showing to support the sheep when they were brought down from the high pastures for lambing later in the year.

I sighed with pleasure as I wandered around amongst the trees. They’d settled well and I thought that they’d probably grown an inch or two since we planted them. It was almost noon when I rounded the end of the log cabin where I’d recovered from a gunshot. From the kitchen came the sound of clanging pots and chinking china so I knew where Morag was. I could just picture her calmly presiding over the stove with her face flushed from the heat.

Calum came out the barn but he turned to the trough and began to wash his hands, so he didn’t notice me at first. Perhaps I made some noise, or it may be that he simply sensed me, but he stopped after a few moments and lifted his head to look up the steep slope rising above the cottage. Then he smiled as he reasoned out what was going on and turned to greet me.

“Matin mhath, seanair,” I said stepping forward into his crushing embrace. There was a clatter of a spoon dropped onto a stone floor before Morag erupted to be engulfed in our hug.

It all seemed just as before I left, and we had finished the meal and were sitting outside smoking before I really looked at them. Calum was just the same, speaking Gaelic with the same twinkle in his eyes. Perhaps I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t been away for a couple of months, but Morag had aged since the spring. The lines on her face were deeper and her cheeks seem to have sagged but the real problem was in her eyes. The whites had become a dirty yellowy grey and there was no sparkle after the first pleasure in seeing me had passed.

I took her hands in mine and asked if she was all right. She looked forlorn for just a heartbeat but then she glanced at Calum sitting across the table from us.

“I’m fine, as always,” she said making a visible effort to match the tone to the words. “I don’t have time to be anything else. To tell the truth I’m a wee bit overcome at seeing you but otherwise I’m dandy.

I wouldn’t learn any more until I got her by herself, so I changed the subject.

“The fruit trees look good, and I saw the vines on my way up. I take it that Willi changed his mind again.”

It was clear that Calum had found a new interest in life. It was strange listening to him because he used Gaelic except for the names of the fruits although I’m sure that there are Gaelic words for plum and apple. In the early days, a couple of farm hands came up to water the plants under Calum’s strict supervision and they had returned to cut the grass and make up the ricks nestling amongst the trees.

“Has Helga lost interest?” I asked.

“Helga’s away in New York nursing soldiers,” Morag told me, looking surprised that I didn’t know.

“Willi must be missing her. I’m glad he’s changed his mind about the vines.”

Morag gave me a strange look and suggested that we have another cup of coffee. She half rose from her seat but when I offered to get the refills she sat back down again with a grateful sigh. I think it may have been the first time in her life that Morag let a man wait on her and I resolved to talk to the doctor as soon as I got back into town.

Once we were settled with the fresh coffee, she told me that Erich and the lads that had volunteered with him had been the first from the district to be called up. A petition was raised by the widow Porter, but the lads had to travel to New York for training. Helga had decided that she should play a part in the War effort, so she had followed the boys east and was now training as a nurse. Calum had nodded off during this recital and I could see that the telling had wearied Morag.

I walked her into the kitchen and settled her in her rocking chair while I boiled water to wash the dishes. I finished up almost throttling her: no one but her had washed so much as a saucer in this house before and she had no faith in my ability to do the job properly. I had to show her every item before and after it was rinsed in fresh water! She was asleep by the time I’d dried the dishes and put them away.

There were two letters from Ellen waiting for me. They contained very little news because the AWO has closed the Minneapolis office. I had heard nothing from the union since I was suspended from duty, but Spade had told me that there was a battle between the leaders of the Agricultural Workers and the main board of the IWW. AWO is providing more than half of all the money supporting the Wobblies and they were demanding more say in the political stance of the main union.

Ellen told me a great deal about her social life and there was always a hint that If I left her alone to enjoy such a good time, I’d only have myself to blame if she accepted one of the offers thrust upon her. I told her that I’d been working undercover as a sort of secret agent, but I padded the letter with a description of my voyage with Jeb. I ignored her hints that I was slipping down the list of eligible suitors. The truth is that I don’t miss her although I enjoy her company when we are together.

I stayed late with my adopted grandparents but I slept in the hotel so I could catch the first train to Seattle. I was wearing my best suit when I entered the Governor’s office the following day to be given a certificate acknowledging me as a citizen of the United States of America. I was sworn in by the Attorney General as a special mark of honour. That evening, I dined with the Governor, the Attorney and the US Army Colonel who had been guarding the grain. Now the harvest was virtually complete the National Guard under his command are moving east to embark for France.

The State Detective had been invited but he couldn’t get away from his office until we had reached coffee and cigars. He had been interrogating Leggett, the man that had organised the union side of the Everett massacre. He was admitting to all sorts of misdeeds, and he was only too happy to name the people that had paid him to disrupt the efforts of workers to get decent working conditions. He had, as I deduced, recruited bums and drifters and paid them to sail to Everett; at the same time, he was working with Sheriff McRae to deputise the vigilantes that would meet the flotilla when it arrived.

I was treated to some high praise from the State Detective, endorsed by the Governor.

“I’ve a vacancy for a Captain in my unit,” the Colonel offered.

“Hands off!” the Detective told him in an aggressive tone. “If Ewan’s goin’ to join anyone it’s the Washington police service!”

This was my first test. Spade had been most insistent that I had to keep my employment with the Bureau totally secret. I was in the company of important men, but I didn’t think that would sway Spade: a secret’s a secret. I waffled on about the importance of my work with the union in keeping troops and civilians fed and they let me off with no more than a few funny looks. I left soon after feeling that I may have given the impression that I lacked courage. I’ll feel easier in my mind when I’ve been formally inducted into the Bureau. It’s hard to let people you admire form an unfavourable opinion of you.

I went into my favourite diner and told the waitress the courses we had eaten at the Governor’s table while I drank my coffee. Her husband is an engineer on one of the new trans-continental locomotives and he had left that morning to haul freight cars to New Jersey. They had two engineers on board and one drove while the other slept in a bunk in the caboose. The round trip would take five days.

She and I discovered we had a lot of personal stuff to discuss, and I only just had time to get back to my hotel to settle the bill before I caught the noon train to Yakima the next day. I went straight to the hotel from the depot since I’d had no sleep the night before. Next morning the street was quiet, and it took a moment for me to notice that there were no grain wagons waiting at the depot. I strolled down that way, now wearing my working gear and chatted to the hobos in the jungle.

The harvest workers were waiting to hop on a freight train to their next job. We’re pretty much the last of the wheat-growing areas to be harvested so some of them were heading for home. Many of the others were heading north to work in the forests but there were about forty men that were planning to go east to join the army. They were happy with the treatment they had received from the farmers in the Yakima area, singling out Willi Fassbinder for the quality of the grub he served up!

Back on the main street I saw Sheriff Ed leaning into an automobile chatting to the driver. I would have passed by with a wave, but he beckoned me over. The doctor was driving himself and he invited me to get in beside him. Ed asked me to call in to see him later and the doc drove off.

“I wanted a word,” we both said and laughed at the coincidence.

“About Morag,” I added. He leant across and took one hand off the steering wheel to pat my knee. We drifted across the street until he put both hands on the wheel and wrestled the vehicle into submission. By tacit agreement, neither of us said another word until we were stationary in front of the doc’s house.

“Morag’s had a few little strokes. She’s over eighty and she’s had a hard life so it’s not so surprising. You can’t stop her aging any more than I can, but you might persuade her to let me send a girl up to cook and clean.”

He later introduced me to Bethesda, a lively fourteen-year-old, and I treated Morag to my impersonation of a concerned grandson until she relented and offered the kid the job of housekeeper. I had a feeling that the two women had taken a liking to each other from the start and had accepted the outcome before I opened my mouth! I’ll bet they laughed at my bumbling efforts at persuasion when I left them alone and joined Calum outside. Bethesda’s dad has been a hobo since she was four and her mum is the doctor’s receptionist and housekeeper.

Once Morag was settled the doc staggered me with a series of revelations. I remember thinking that nothing much changes in Yakima from decade to decade, but I had only been gone about nine weeks and the foundations of part of the Valley had shifted. I would also have thought that it was impossible to keep a secret for an hour, but the doc and Ed between them were party to a just solution that was illegal and unknown to even the most proficient gossips.

It began when Erich Fassbinder and his friends went to Spokane in a fit of drink-fuelled patriotism and enlisted in the United States Army shortly after their country entered the war in April. They were sent home to await call-up to the colours; there was a move started by the widowed mother of one of the boys, to have the enlistment papers torn up or to have the lads recognised as essential to the agricultural success of the community.

All the eligible men that waited until they were drafted were excluded while they remained in work growing or distributing agricultural products. It came as a major shock when the volunteers were ordered to travel to New York for a medical examination before beginning their preparation for transportation to France and the trenches. Since they had volunteered their status as agricultural workers was no longer relevant: they wanted to fight, and Uncle Sam was pleased to oblige them.

The families might have accepted the outcome, but the medical examinations resulted in the group being broken up. Two of the lads had shadows on their lungs and were deemed unfit for active service; two were passed fit to fight. That left Erich who was rejected on account of having flat feet. The widow’s son was one of those pronounced fit to fight. A second attempt to get him exempted failed although he was the sole support of his mother and would not have been drafted for that reason alone.

The two lads with shadowed lungs returned home and are presently being treated by the doc who is quietly optimistic about their future. They are two of the three men employed by the Winery where the work outside in all weathers will help to control their condition.

Henry Porter and Malcolm Stewart, the two fit men were given uniforms and wooden guns to learn the craft of soldiering. Erich stayed in the east and is reputedly dealing blackjack in Atlantic City. There was almost a sense of inevitability when the news spread that Stewart had contracted pneumonia and was fighting for his life in a hospital in New Jersey. It was at that point that Helga packed her bags and went east to learn nursing. The doc had recommended her to the matron of the hospital where he had trained.

This much and the death of Malcolm Stewart are common knowledge in the town but the next twist in the sorry story has been kept very quiet. Henry Porter was now the only one of the original five in uniform and on the day the wire arrived notifying his mother that he was on a troop ship sailing for Le Havre, she went storming off to the ranch to say a word or two to Willi Fassbinder. She is still there acting as his housekeeper in the story supported by Ed and the doc.

She comes into town to do the marketing and is content to do her bit for Willi, devastated as he is by the loss of both his children and the effects of a hunting accident. This tale is endorsed by the storekeeper, Henry’s former employer and Mrs Porter’s protector. It is said that he suspects a romantic entanglement between the widow and her new employer but that may simply be malicious gossip supported by the contented smile that now graces his wife’s face.

I only learned more because I received a pressing invitation to have lunch with Willi at the ranch. I’d have politely declined but my appointment to the Bureau has been delayed. I must be approved by Congress by appearing with the Director before two Senators. The legislators were on their summer holiday, so I was left kicking my heels in Yakima awaiting their return. I hate being idle so I accepted Willi’s invitation to lunch – it would be interesting to hear what he has to say about our last meeting!

On enquiry around the town, I found that he hadn’t been seen very much lately but that was not so unusual as to raise comment especially when he had hurt his leg tracking a mountain lion that had been seen near the ranch. When Mrs Porter showed me into the drawing room Willi was reclining on a chaise longue with a blanket over his knees.

“Ed tells me you’re going east in a few days. I want you to do me a favour.”

I was still standing in the middle of the room when he spoke. The last time we had met he was pointing a shotgun at my chest and ordering me off his land. After that he left a bunch of plants to die, and I spent all my savings rescuing them. It was hard for me to quickly think of a single reason why I should do him a favour.

“Sit down, have a drink and I’ll tell you what I want.”

He almost sounded his old, dogmatic self but there was something in his look, some slight quaver in his voice that had me intrigued. I sat and took the beer that Agnes Porter offered and sat on an armchair facing him. She sat on the edge of a settee and folded her hands in her lap. It looked as if the storekeeper was right about something going on between the widow and the old rancher.

“I want you to go and see Helga,” he said, and there was now a noticeable pleading in his tone.

“She may not want to see me. She and I haven’t always got along.”

He pulled a letter out from under his blanket and waved it at me.

“I wrote to her when I heard you’d got back, and she really wants to see you.” I must have looked my scepticism, because he added, “You can read the letter if you like.”

I reached out my hand and he offered me one sheet but when I didn’t take it, he held out both pages of the letter. It was written in large, looping script and it began without heading or salutation.

It will be great if Ewan Clooney comes here, Dad, but I don’t see why he’d agree to help the Fassbinders. You say he has a soft spot for me but the only spot he’s touched so far is my derriere – with a riding crop!!

Perhaps if you explain about the money and the directorship and everything he’ll understand. He’s about the only man I’ve met that hasn’t been gelded – well the only young man, at least!!

This ended the first page and I turned to page two intrigued to find what it was that Willi had tried to keep from me.

I think he’s the only one that can help me find Erich and persuade him to come home. At the very least he’ll avenge the insults I’ve had hurled at me when I’ve gone to Atlantic City looking for my stupid brother!! Helga xx.

I handed the letter back to him and sat silently waiting for him to explain. He cleared his throat a few times, but nothing further happened. I let the silence stretch until it was broken by the widow.