Chapter 2

Friday, April 1, 1892

With the warmer weather, Malik and his wives had moved from Ranch Home back to Waypoint, bringing the two newest family members, Robin and Gunnar, to their home at the top end of Jackson Street.

Malik had spent the work week in his law office, across from the courthouse. That morning, at a quarter ‘til noon, his telephone rang.

“Yes, Missus Fang?

“Undersheriff Schroeder is here and would like to speak with you.”

“Sure, send him up.”

Malik initialed the corner of a handwritten page, then slid it into a manila folder and dropped the folder in a basket near the front edge of his desk. Then, as he stood and walked toward the door, he re-buttoned his collar and straightened his tie.

About the time he reached the door, Dick Schroeder walked in from the stairwell. Malik offered his hand.

“Hey, Dick, I was wondering if you were still around.”

Schroeder looked a bit uncertain. “Yeah, I had the rural duty during March and I’m still trying to get to know everyone. I spent a week at the office in Ranch Home, but I think you were off robbing old ladies up in Colorado, or that’s what folks were saying, anyway.”

“Ha! Sounds like you’ve been talking to that ne’er-do-well brother of mine.”

Of a sudden, Malik paused and said, “Hold on here, a second, Dick. Did my brother send you over here as part of some hare-brained scheme to make me look more ridiculous than I already do?”

“Uh, no. I haven’t talked to Andy since I was out at Ranch Home. Why? What do you mean?”

“It’s April Fools’ Day. He’s usually not happy until he’s messed up my day in some fashion.” Malik chuckled. “Not that I wouldn’t do the same to him.”

Grinning, Malik added, “Somebody tied my shoelaces together this morning, but I’m pretty sure that was Aspen. And then the twins were answering to each other’s names, but they giggled every time they did it.”

“Oh!” Schroeder exclaimed. “That’s why Molly’s fried chicken pieces look like they have legs and a tail.”

“Yup. She does fried ‘rats’ every April first. She pokes strips of carrot into the chicken pieces before she batters them. I’m taking some home tonight for the family.”

“Oh, ah, um...”

“What? What is it?”

“I wanted to talk to you. In private. I brought a couple box lunches, fried chicken, or fried rats, I guess.”

“That’s no problem. Having Molly’s fried chicken twice in one day is not a hardship. Do you want to eat here?”

“Ah, I thought maybe we could go over to your office coach.”

“And you swear this isn’t one of Andy’s schemes, or some tomfoolery you’ve cooked up, yourself?”

“I only wish it was.”

“That sounds ominous, So, let’s go. Did you bring anything to drink?”

“You don’t have Doctor Pepper out here, but Molly had a new one, called a cola.”

“Then we’re all set. Let me get my coat.”

Malik retrieved his shoulder holster from his desk drawer and slipped it on, then grabbed his coat. “Where’s your stuff?”

“I left it downstairs with Missus Fang.”

Peng followed them from her desk outside his door.

“Do you want to eat and talk, or eat first and talk after?” They were seated at the low table in the Chen Niao. Peng was outside.

“I need to get this off my chest, so I’ll just try to tell you as you eat. My appetite’s not that lively right now, anyway.”

Malik lifted a fried potato slice from the wax paper-lined box and said. “Sure. You have the floor.”

Wringing his hands, looking down, Schroeder said, “Well, you got ‘a understand, I didn’t mean for this to happen. I never even saw it comin’. And now that it has, I’m in a real fix.” He looked up at Malik. “I’ve fallen for a woman. And, there’s a race thing and, uh, maybe other problems.”

Malik shook his head, with a quizzical expression wrinkling his face. “Are you speaking of Lee Kwan? I know you were spending time with her.”

“Kwan? Oh, no. She’s a great gal, helped me through, uh, things. But she’s got a beau in Summer Lake. No, I’m talking about ... Matilda Tsosie.”

“Tilda!” Malik exclaimed. “When the hell did that happen?”

Schroeder was startled. “I knew you’d be upset. I’m sorry. I know about her husband being your best friend and all.”

But Malik wore an embarrassed frown. He said, “Nah, none of that. I should be the one apologizing. I didn’t mean to explode like that. It just,,, surprised me. Forget my outburst. It was thoughtless.”

“Well, I don’t blame you. I know you and Cowboy were like brothers, so I imagine you see Tilda as a little sister you need to watch out for, and I think that’s fine. Everybody needs somebody watching out for them. She’s lucky to have you.”

“I take it the affection is returned?”

“I believe so.”

“So, why haven’t I heard about this from the women?”

“Well, frankly, we’ve both been worried about your reaction, so we’ve been playing our cards close to the chest. Plus, she’s feeling guilty about not being loyal to Cowboy.”

“Oh, yeah, I know how that is. Christina’s the one she needs to talk to about that. She sure settled my hash.

“As to my reaction,” Malik smiled sheepishly, “I guess you saw the scary part. But my hand never even started for my gun.”

“I know. I was watching.”

Malik laughed. “Am I that bad?”

“You can be pretty intimidating.”

Malik chuckled, shaking his head. “Sometimes it works to my advantage. This is not one of those times. So, are you, what? Asking my blessing, or something?”

“Not so much that, as much as making you aware.”

Malik nodded. “Well, I’m aware. And good luck. Are you actually courting?”

“That’s another hurdle. I don’t know if I should talk to Jacob Baylor or not.”

“Huh? That is an interesting question. I don’t know either. Maybe you should talk to Tilda’s mother. I know: ask Christina.”

“Good idea. That leaves just one major barrier: my folks. I don’t know how they’ll deal with me being with a colored woman.”

“Oh. Yeah. That’s a tough one. How do you think they’ll react?”

“Probably not well. They never had any truck with slavery, but they’re old south. I used to play with some colored boys, when I was a kid, never thought a thing about it. But, when I turned twelve, Pa made me stop, said it wasn’t right, mixin’ races.”

Malik snorted. “No, that doesn’t sound promising. Is your mother of the same conviction?”

“I’m pretty sure. When I protested Pa’s dictate to her, back then, she agreed with him. But I don’t know if it was a wife agreeing with her husband’s decision or if she actually felt the same way.”

Malik looked off into the middle distance. “I reckon my brother and I were fortunate. One of the things our Pa loved about this country was the mix of all the races. Where he’d come from, in Poland, everybody was white, of one shade or another. Getting along with another race was never at issue. Well, except that everybody hated the Turks, if they’re even a different race. Anyone else they hated was white.”

Malik sighed. “So where does that leave you?”

“Between the devil and the deep blue sea.”

“Yeah, I can imagine. But, listen, I don’t want to be a wet blanket, but how serious are -- never mind. You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t serious.

“Have you thought about how you’ll handle it? Your parents, I mean?”

“Thought and rethought. I imagined the scene at home, when I’d tell them. It wasn’t pretty.” He shook his head. “I’d considered writing a letter, but that seemed a bit cowardly. Then I had seconds thoughts.

“If I go down there and tell them, and they’re as upset as I fear they might be, then some hard words might be said, in the heat of the moment. Harsh words that might not be said if one had to go through the trouble of writing them down and taking them to the post office. I don’t expect welcoming arms, but I would like to avoid cutting myself off from my family altogether.”

“I see your point. Even if they’re angry, they’ll still have time to cool off a little, before putting pen to paper. I think you’re right. You don’t want a confrontation as much as a conversation.”

“To be truthful, I was going to ask your advice about how to put things.”

“No, that’s not me. I’m the one you want to see when you want the wording to leave the other fella twisting in the wind.”

“So, who, then?”

“Probably Christina.”

(Friday, April 1, 1892)

Wednesday, May 11, 1892

In family conference the prior autumn, the Malik family had decided to put off major expenditures pending the anticipated economic crisis. Their strategy was twofold. First, they would hold on to cash that might become scarce in the years ahead. Second, an economic fall-off could present an opportunity for lower prices, in some areas.

With that in mind, Beatrice, who had finally decided she would prefer her professional office to be in a railroad coach adjacent to Waypoint’s shaded Old Freight Dock Mall, instead moved her professional accoutrements into the second floor of the Malik Real Estate office, at the corner of Jackson Street and Wagon Road Avenue. The railroad coach was still part of the plan, but the larger economic picture would influence their strategy for the immediate future.

Her preference for a railroad coach had several purposes. As an architect’s office, Beatrice felt the coach would set her apart from other architects. Beyond that, its usual parking spot, on Malik spur No. 1, behind the Waypoint depot, would be accessed via the wide walkway that had once been Depot Way, a short street behind the depot that had led to the former depot freight platform, but was now re-created as the Old Freight Dock Mall. It was a covered, open-air walkway with decorative landscaping, benches, and a small fountain. Even in winter, licensed food vendors plied their trade from carts. On Saturdays, market day, there were often itinerant musicians, or even the fire department’s brass band, who would play for the busked donations.

As a final consideration, the Old Freight Dock Mall and the second story of offices that now capped the depot and extended over the Mall and the Malik rail spurs, was all of Beatrice’s design. It would serve as an example of her work, of which she was justly proud. It was a unique project, demonstrating not only her skills, but also how a utilitarian, virtually industrial space, could be reimagined as a comfortable and refreshing small park for people’s enjoyment.

Malik had, in practice, outgrown the Chen Niao, as he tended to travel with several railroad people or other business associates. He thought he might sell the Chen Niao to Beatrice, and Malik would have a new, longer coach designed, more along the lines of the Lincoln Falls Loop. Then the Chen Niao would be remodeled to Beatrice’s specifications.

Both jobs would be given to the Pullman Company, when the business drop-off would, hopefully, have brought down prices.

At the moment, though, they were in her studio above the real estate office. Malik was looking over Beatrice’s shoulder as she pointed out features of her proposed junior colleges design, on her drawing board. She had taken on the task pro bono, though that presented the peculiar situation of Beatrice refusing the family’s own money. Nonetheless, it was time she might have devoted to paying projects.

Malik commented, “The same floor plans for every location makes sense, but tell me more about the varying construction materials.”

She looked up at him and explained, “I was considering using materials common to each area. For the five southern locations, a cement-reinforced adobe, for Medicine Bow, natural stone and peeled logs, and for Colorado and Kansas, brick. The brick structures will be Federal in style, the others Rustic. The brick and the log structures will have pitched roofs. The logs will be on a four-foot base of field stone.”

“Field stone? Won’t that lengthen construction time?”

“No more than laying the brick or making and laying the adobe blocks.”

“Then why?”

“I had an idea about that. What if we waited until unemployment became a problem before we even started construction? Keep in mind that new construction is usually among the first casualties in an economic downturn. Not only could we save a few dollars, while still paying a living wage, but we could also let future students work off their tuition.”

“What? Are you saying that the students should build their own college?”

“Yes, by working as assistants or even apprentices to professional construction workers and laid-off railroad employees.”

“Huh. I’ll have to explain it to Father Ramos, but yeah, I like that approach. Yeah, I like that a lot. Very clever, wife. It makes me look smart for marrying you.”

(Wednesday, May 11, 1892)

Friday, June 3, 1892

“Stone Raven Maize, Bachelor of Science, summa cum laude,” the Dean of the School of Engineering called, as Stone Raven advanced across the stage in his graduation gown, under the warm California sun. Out of the corner of his eye, Malik watched Blue Maize’s beaming face as a tear slipped from the old man’s eye. Malik reached behind Wren, who was holding the sleeping Robin, and put his hand on the chief’s shoulder, giving it a brief squeeze. Blue Maize smiled at him, but was too choked up to say anything.

Several minutes later, Juniper walked up the steps. Wren sat up straighter in her chair. “Juniper Tsosie, Master of Science, with Distinction,” the Dean announced. To Malik’s left sat Tilly Tsosie, with Sargent just beyond. Both were smiling happily, tears running freely. Malik offered his right hand to Sargent and said, “Everyone in your family is to be recognized for this achievement, Uncle.” It was Malik’s way of citing the otherwise unmentionable dead -- Juniper’s father, Scout, his Aunt Rebekah, and half-brother, Cowboy -- among other family members, both living and dead, who helped raise Juniper.

“Aunt Tilly, you must be very proud. And not just of Juniper. I know that all of the children of your family bring honor to you.”

“Yes they do, Nephew.” Then the former slave said, “Thank you, Shadow. Thank you for bringing us here.” She reached up and brought his head down so that she could kiss his cheek.

Sargent, the Navajo blacksmith and rancher, reached past Tilly and behind Malik, taking a gentle grip on his neck with his oversized blacksmith’s hand. “And you honor your family name too, Nephew.”

“Thank you, Uncle.”

(Friday, June 3, 1892)

Monday, July 11, 1892

Malik had joined Juanita Garcia and Dmitry Kozlov at the site of the Old Courthouse Inn. The new building was sixteen feet wider than the burned-out former structure and now carried a third story. They were contemplating a collection of boxes and crates marked “Otis Brothers and Company.”

Kozlov was saying, “The mechanics will be here on the southbound, today. They expect the installation to be finished by Friday.”

“That quickly?” Malik commented.

Kozlov explained, “Essentially, it’s a manufactured kit. As long as the shaft is built to precise specification, which I can assure you, it is, the rest of the installation should go rather quickly.”

“But you haven’t, ah, well, I mean, this is the first elevator you have installed, isn’t it?”

“Yes. But I was on hand when one was installed in the new Watchtower Hotel in Fort Birney. The difference is that theirs is half again as large as this one and it serves four floors, plus the basement.”

Juanita said, “I’m glad we decided to have this one go to the basement. Our food deliveries should be much easier, now.”

“As long as they don’t interfere with guest use,” Malik said.

Juanita gave him a withering look.

“I’m sorry, Juanita. As soon as the words were out of my mouth I realized that you knew that, and probably better than me.”

She grinned at him. “I know you know, Emil. I’m just putting you on.”

Malik asked, “What about the kitchen? Are the Delvecchios happy with the layout?”

“He says it will be ‘the kitchen from which dreams are made.’ I don’t know if he meant it was the kitchen of his dreams or if he would be able to produce wonderfully creative dishes there.”

“Likely both. I won’t say their abilities were wasted on our family, but I think a hotel restaurant kitchen will be a better venue for their sophisticated talents. In addition, moving Missus Delvecchio’s desserts a mile away from our table will ease the pressure on my trousers’ waistlines.”

“Will Mister Wu be able to handle all your cooking?” Juanita asked.

“With one hand tied behind his back. He’s another who could serve a more demanding outlet.”

She looked away, for a moment, then looked at him, again, and said, “What if we did something like they’re doing down at the Spa? You know, with Stands-To-Cougar cooking for their Wild Game Night menu?”

“Like what? A Chinese Night?”

“Well, yes, that’s what I was thinking.”

“Do you think people would try Chinese food?”

“Maybe if we ... I’ve an idea. We put a small amount on a dessert dish as a free appetizer, and not tell people it’s Chinese, but just call it by name, like his fuyong omelet. Tell them we’re thinking of adding it to a special menu. If we can find several dishes that people like, we can feature them on a ‘Special’ menu night. Then we can play it by ear about how to publicize it.”

“You should make sure that the Delvecchios won’t mind,” Malik said.

“Are you kidding? They love his dishes.”

(Monday, July 11, 1892)

Friday, August 12, 1892

“Mister Malik! What a pleasant surprise. Please, come in, sit down.”

“Good morning, Sister Mary Concordia. I trust you are well?”

“I most certainly am, Mister Malik. Is there something I can do for you?”

“Possibly. How is it working out, with you being the principal both here at Waypoint and at Ranch Home?”

“Surprisingly well. In fact, I think I could spend most days down by the river, fishing, and hardly anyone would notice.”

Malik chuckled. “Do you have a special fishing habit, or must you angle in full regalia?”

“Full regalia, I’m afraid, but I do wear my oldest habit. And, I must confess that I have been known to be so daring as to remove my wimple on the hottest days, at least for as long as it takes to wipe my brow.”