Chapter 9

Thursday, August 17, 1893

It was at the Executive Committee meeting that Arnie Yeats asked, “It just arrived in the mail? There was no explanation?”

“Yes,” Castillo replied, “it arrived yesterday. And I imagine the lack of explanation is due to Mister Sweeney’s desire not to incriminate himself. But I have no doubt that he wished to make amends for the role he played in the various attacks as he attempted to extort us.”

Pete Pottinger said, “What a strange man.”

“Indeed,” Malik agreed.

Yeats asked, “What percent do the controlling shares amount to?”

Dixie Yeats replied, “Eighty percent.”

Her father said, “So that would even control a two-thirds majority vote. In effect, we own that railroad.”

“Yeah,” Pottinger growled, “but do we want it? I mean, times are rough as it is. Do we need to add a new division to this mess? Does anyone even know anything about it?”

Arnie Yeats said, “I’ve ridden it, a couple times, on sales trips. It extends down to Neosho along the western foothills of the Ozarks, mostly gentle grades, except toward the south, and small communities, a few bigger towns associated with mining, coal, mostly, so there’s a good deal of bulk traffic. I don’t recollect an uncomfortable ride, so I’d surmise the track’s in good repair, and the crews were personable, at least I don’t recall them being otherwise.

“But who are the other shareholders?” Arnie concluded.

Dixie said, “I wired their head office, in Kansas City. Fifteen percent is held by their chief operating executive and five percent is held by a mining consortium.”

“That’s a good sign,” Arnie said.

“What’s the stock worth?” Pottinger asked.

Castillo said, “In today’s market? Maybe eight or nine million. Realistically, as much as fifteen million, at least it was last December.”

“Would we be better off with the cash?” Pottinger persisted.

That brought the table to silence.

After several seconds, Arnie Yeats said, “I think we should at least take a look at the road before we decide what to do.”

Pottinger gave a crooked shrug and, with eyebrows raised, said, “Yeah, I reckon that would bereasonable.” Then, after a brief pause, he added, “What do you reckon? You, me, and some of our folks? Go do a survey for a week or so?”

Arnie Yeats nodded, saying, “Sure. When do you want to go?”

“Monday? And we should let them know, so they can put on their bib and tucker.”

Malik asked Pottinger, “Can you take Juniper and Raven along? I’d like to hear their view of things, too. And it will give the Western Missouri folks an opportunity to deal with our racial diversity. For that matter, better take someone along to look at the books. Maybe take Missus Wu Nuan from down in accounting.”

Castillo said, “Dixie, maybe you ought to go, too. And pick someone from Security who can review that aspect.”

There were grins around the table, as Dixie’s romance with Inspector Frank Tremaine was well known.

“If you insist, boss.” She, too, was smiling.

Arnie asked, “What about you, Emil? Going with us?”

“No, I don’t think so. I’m going to go home and spend some time with my family and my responsibilities in Waypoint. I’m still trying to catch up from that whole RAIL Brotherhood melee.”

He asked Castillo, “How about we meet two weeks from today to go over everyone’s thoughts on the Western Missouri? That’s the thirty-first, right? Do ya’ll reckon that’s enough time?”

“Should be,” Arnie Yeats said.

“I would think so,” Pottinger agreed.

(Thursday, August 17, 1893)

Tuesday, August 22, 1893

Malik’s office telephone rang at ten thirty-three that morning.

Lifting the earpiece he said,

“Malik here.”

“Both of them are here, Missus Fang?”

“Please bring them up. See if they’d like a coffee, or lemonade, or--”

“Thank you, Missus Fang.”

Less than a minute Later, Delan Fang, Peng Yan’s younger sister and the receptionist for the law firm, stepped through the door and announced, “Mister and Missus Baylor, Mister Malik.”

Malik was already on his feet and coming around the desk when the florid-faced Jacob Baylor and his wife, the former slave, Hannah, nee Isely, came through the door. Baylor was in a three-piece charcoal-gray business suit with a white shirt and lavender four-in-hand tie. Hannah wore a stylish business-appropriate ensemble that consisted of a short, colorful, flower-embroidered jacket over a white blouse with a ruffled front, and straight, floor-length navy-blue skirt. Her pink gloves matched a prominent color in the embroidered flowers. Both carried woven frass hats in formal styles.

Grasping Baylor’s hand, Malik said, “Don’t you two look fine. Jacob, it’s good to see you. Hannah,” he continued, as he turned to her and gave her a gentle hug, “your suit is most becoming; you look quite lovely. I hope you are well.”

She said, “Thank you, Emil. We’re doing fine, at least for a couple doddering old fools.”

Malik scoffed, “Don’t give me that. You two are still the commercial heart of this town. But please, sit. Missus Fang, did you...?”

“I’ll bring some lemonade in a moment, Mister Malik.”

“Thanks, Missus Fang.”

Malik held one of the guest chairs for Hannah, then returned to his desk chair. As he seated himself, he asked, “So, what brings you two up here to my lofty aerie on this very warm morning?” Malik’s second-floor office overlooked the courthouse square, through a set of tall bay windows, their awning panes open to the warm breeze...

“Ah,” Baylor said, reaching into his inner suit coat pocket, “somethin’s come up. I wish you’d take a look at this.” He brought out a bi-folded packet of several pages and slid it across the desk to Malik.

Malik picked up the papers and unfolded them to their fourteen-inch length, quickly taking note of three pages of printed text with signature lines at the bottom of the third page. Going back to the first page, he looked again at the decorative heading, in heavy, stylized script that formed an arc across the page: The Great Atlantic and Pacific Tea Company.

“A and P?” He said, then glanced at Baylor, who simply scowled at him, the merchant’s typical facial expression when he was ill at ease.

Malik began reading the text of the document. After turning to the second page, he looked up at Baylor and said, “This is an offer to buy you out, Jacob. Is this something you’re interested in doing?” But Baylor, ever intractable, continued to scowl silently.

Hannah said, “It’s an offer to buy both the Mercantile and the Bakery, Emil. And yes, we’re interested.”

At this point, Fang Delan brought in a tray with a pitcher of lemonade and three glasses. She set it on Malik’s desk and filled the glasses, which had ice chips in them.

Hannah said, “Thank you, dear,” as she reached for a glass. Fang looked at Malik and asked, “Will there be anything else, sir?”

“No. Thank you, Missus Fang.” The receptionist turned and left.

With another glance at Baylor, Malik returned to reading what amounted to a sales agreement.

After another few minutes, he set the pages down and looked up at his two guests. “It seems pretty straightforward. They want you each to stay on for ninety days and train the new managers, and they want to use the name ‘Baylor’s A and P’ for one year. Finally, there’s a non-competition clause that prohibits either of you from operating a similar business within a hundred miles of an A and P store for ten years.”

Then Malik shook his head, “But this offer surprises me. Unless I am missing something in the value of your stores, it seems more than fair, especially considering the times. But is the A and P going more into the grocery business?”

Hannah said, “Their offer is about right, or would have been, before business began to fall off. Still, we’re getting along.”

Then she explained further. “The A and P people want to try something new, and in what they call a ‘new market.’ I think that means the Southwest, where they have no stores. The man said they were planning on buying another couple shops in New Mexico and Arizona Territories. He said we were ideally suited as we were big enough but also isolated enough that other factors could be controlled, whatever that means.”

Malik nodded, then looked directly at Baylor, “Jacob, tell me what you think of all this.”

Baylor looked down and shook his head, then looked up and said, “I’m a storekeeper, a merchant. I’ve been one for thirty-two years. It’s who I am. If I’m not a merchant, then what am I?” He suddenly leaned forward and said, with vehemence, “I’ll tell you what: I’m a nobody! Just some schmuck who’s not worth spit.”

“Schmuck?” Malik asked, bewildered.

Hannah said, “It means just what it sounds like. Doctor Kagan uses it. She says it’s a Yiddish word. I guess that’s a European Jewish dialect.”

Malik chuckled and shook his head. “Jacob, the day you’re a ... schmuck, is a day I don’t expect to live to see.” He grimaced, shaking his head again. “Jacob, you were the only viable commercial business in Waypoint for years. Heck, you’re a pioneer. That’s a status that doesn’t go away.

“You and my father were the two people who breathed life into this town after the railroad laid out Waypoint’s skeleton. And all that was despite the machinations of the yahoos that ran the county government. Any business in town that’s been here for more than ten years owes it’s existence to your commercial sense and perseverance, and that includes me. Moreover, I think most folks know it, at least those with enough sense to come in out of the rain.”

Baylor’s glower seemed to soften, but he still protested, “But what am I to do, if I don’t have my store?”

Malik was nodding, again, and his expression suggested a new appreciation of Baylor’s plight. “I think I understand what you’re saying. In a very real way, the store is part of you, it’s your creation. You’ve kept it going for nearly a quarter century, through good times and bad. It would be almost painful to not have it as part of you, anymore.” He grimaced and shook his head in frustration. “Ah, maybe I’m not saying that right.”

Baylor, though still frowning, nodded. “You said it right enough.”

Shaking her head, and with a sour look, Hannah said to her husband, “That’s what I’ve been saying, you big lummox.”

He looked at her and said, in softer tones, “I know, I know. I guess I’ve gotten so used to you being right about things, I just take it for granted. But then, when Emil said it ... For a fact, I think Emil just said it without the feelings that you put into it. You’re comforting like a warm blanket. He’s a bucket of cold water dumped on my head.”

Hannah laughed, reaching over to hold her husband’s hand. “Next time I explain something, I’ll dump a glass of cold water on your head at the same time.”

Baylor laid his other hand on top of hers and squeezed it gently. “Maybe you ought ‘a,” he said. But then he looked back to Malik. “Throwing a rope ‘round my problem doesn’t get it hogtied, though.”

“No,” Malik replied. “But maybe you can find something to take its place.”

“Like what?” Baylor demanded.

“We’re supposed to travel. I want to see Paris,” Hannah interjected.

“I haven’t forgotten. We’ll travel. But even if we go to France, and England, and Italy, we’ll still only be gone a few months. Then what? And we haven’t even sold the store yet, so let’s not be packing our bags, already. They wants us for three months.”

“Just so you don’t forget the travel plans,” she said.

Baylor then turned back to Malik, and with a resigned note, asked, “So what about this sales contract?”

Malik shrugged. “It’s pretty straightforward. The only special provisions are in the non-competition clause, the three-month consultation requirements, and the use of your name. It’s cash up front. I don’t see anything to be concerned about.

“As to the store itself, from all I’ve heard, A and P is a pretty good outfit, so I think the business will be in good hands. That’s not to say they won’t be making some changes. I’m sure they will; everybody has their own way of doing things. You’ll need to live with that. But maybe you can teach them one or two things, too.”

“Actually,” Baylor said, “I visited one of their shops, in New York City, just before we moved out here, in ‘seventy-two. They were growing fast and I wanted to see if I could pick up any ideas.”

“And did you?”

“Ah, not so much. They depended more on touting their own brands, like their Thea-Nector tea and the Eight O’clock coffee. And they could get better deals because they could buy so much at once. Hell, they could buy some things straight from the producer, so there was no middleman with his fingers in the pie. Their methods worked better back East, in the big cities, and with so many newspapers competing for advertising. I learned to depend more on quality and hard bargaining, both buying and selling. But I agree they’re a good company, else I’d never have considered selling to them.”

“What about you, Hannah? Are you ready to give up the bakery?”

“You mean give up getting up at three o’clock every morning but Sunday, mixing and kneading twenty pounds of dough before sunup, working around hot ovens all day, carrying coal and shoveling cinders, washing cake pans, and cookie sheets, and bread pans and muffin tin” You mean, will I miss all that? Like I’d miss a sore tooth. If I want to bake, I have my own kitchen.”

Then she sighed and looked wistful. “I will miss visiting with the customers. Some have come to feel like real friends. But we’re selling the whole building, including our apartment, and we figure to build or buy a small house out at the ranch. I plan to sit on the front porch and say howdy to everyone who walks by, and make cookies for my grandbabies.”

Malik smiled. “That sounds good to me. Will you make those oatmeal crisp cookies?”

She chuckled. “I’ll try to keep some on hand.”

Turning back to Baylor, Malik asked, “So, are you going to sign?”

“I reckon.” Then he shook his head and groused, “This town’s changing so damn fast. It’s nothing like it was. Your pa...” Baylor’s breath seemed to catch in his throat and he looked down and was quiet for a few seconds. Finally, he said, “It’s been different ever since your pa died. Nothin’ against you an’ Andy, now, but your pa was the pioneer. Him an’ Adolf Kuiper, yeah, they were the real pioneers. Your pa at one end of the valley and Adolf at the other, they anchored things, kept them from getting too wild.”

Baylor’s eyes drifted to the windows and the cloudless sky beyond. His voice took on a more urgent tone. “A’ course, I never knew poor Adolf, but I heard the stories. And your pa, he for certain walked tall, and he was the best man to have on your side. I heard tell of when he an’ Pete Hanson, an’ a few others decided to go after some rustlers. It was after one of the Sonora freehold families had all been killed by the gang. You were still a younker, then, an’...” He stopped, suddenly, blinking. He cleared his throat, then looked at Malik, sat back in the chair and, in a calmer tone said, “Well, I could tell some stories, I reckon, but, like I was saying, things are changin’ awful fast.”

Now Malik was silent, but he peered speculatively at Baylor. After a few long seconds, he said, “That gives me an idea, and it might be something you’d both be interested in. I know your daughter Christina’s interested.”

“What, Emil?” Hannah insisted.

“A county historical society. It could collect stories like that, get people to tell them and then have others to write them down. Collect old photographs and drawings, even documents and maps. Half the basement in the opera house is still empty. It’s got good light, since the first floor is raised four feet above grade. It could be made into a museum, to display things and to store collected items while they’re prepared for display.”

Baylor, with a doubtful grimace said, “What kind a’ ‘display things’?”

“Well, uh, what about Fever Bob’s arrowhead collection?” Fever Bob was actually Moses Elgin, the former slave who owned Fever Bob’s livery stable. Elgin chose the name for the stable as a way to attract attention to it. As a consequence, he was sometimes referred to by the name of his business. “Moses must have a hundred fifty arrowheads, and spear points, and various stone blades and axe heads. Things like that.”

Hannah chuckled. “There’s a woman comes into the bakery who says her husband collects different types of bobwire.”

Baylor turned his head to look at her. “Really?” He shifted in the chair to better face her. “I’ve only seen six or seven different types, in the samples of drummers selling me store stock.” He smiled, shaking his head. “I figured bobwire was just bobwire, but oh, no. It surprised me every time they’d show me a different twist.” He focused again on Hannah. “How many does that woman’s husband have?”

“I don’t believe she’s ever said, but she did say he has them mounted on two boards that are each four-foot long.”

Baylor sat back in the chair and looked off into the middle distance. “Huh. I’d like to see that.”

(Tuesday, August 22, 1893)

Thursday, September 21, 1893

Raul Castillo was addressing the K&ASR Board of Directors regarding the need to further reduce train schedules.

“I offer two options for your consideration.

“First, that we cut wages another five percent beginning October first.

“Or, as an alternative, that we reduce our work force, at each pay grade, by five percent. At the same time, we implement the company scrip, and offer the released employees work on the construction of the temporary housing and the college buildings, as well as in the various agriculture-related activities, all payable by scrip and further compensated by accommodation in the temporary housing.

“I recommend the second option,” Castillo concluded.

Lincoln Hawksclaw asked, “The temporary housing means the one-room cabins with the bard sidewalls and the canvas roofs?”

“That is correct,” Castillo replied.

After that, the directors were all quiet, looking from one to another in uncertain silence.

After a few moments, Pauline Jones said, “Emil?”

Malik smiled wanly and said, “Actually, the second option is my preference, too.” Then he turned toward Fergus Healy. “Fergus, what do you reckon the employees would prefer?”

Healy drew another thoughtful pull on the long-stemmed ceramic pipe, then moved the stem away from his mouth and gently blew the smoke toward the ceiling. He said, “An’ I’m not thinkin’ I’d be usin’ that word, ‘prefer,’ but if I had to guess, an’ that I do, I’d be guessin’ the employees might better tolerate the second choice, don’cha know.” He immediately returned the pipe stem to his lips, first nodding his head in affirmation, then shaking it in sad resignation.

Jones moved for approval of the second option and the directors passed it unanimously.

Malik said, “The next item is the question of whether to sell or retain the controlling shares in the Kansas City and Western Missouri Railroad. The details are in the report that is Appendix C on our meeting agenda.

“Dixie Yeats prepared that report, which resulted from the visits of two teams. One looked at the physical properties of the road, the facilities, and the rolling stock, while the other team looked at the business aspects. The teams were led by Pete Pottinger and Arnie Yeats, respectively. I’d suggest that, if you have any questions, you ask one of those three directors.”

“Nice try, Emil,” Pauline Jones said. “But I want to know what you’d counsel?”

Malik closed his eyes and sighed. Then he looked up at Jones. “I’d keep it. It has the potential of being our most profitable branch. If we do hold on to it, Raul and I plan to try to buy the fifteen percent bloc of shares ourselves.”

There was a brief pause in the conversation, then Dixie said, “It is generally the opinion of everyone who was involved in the appraisal that the KC and WM would make a valuable addition to our road. Certainly,” she chortled, “the price is right.”

Then she sat up a little straighter. “The only real fly in the ointment is their General Superintendent, Maximilian Freiling. Though they would be hard-pressed to provide sufficient evidence for a court of law, some of our staff are nonetheless of the opinion that Mister Freiling is getting kickbacks from some suppliers and extracting bribes from some of the customers.”

“What arouses that suspicion?” Dr. Lee Wuying asked.

Arnie Yeats said, “Among other things, purchasing agreements that call for certain grades of materiel, but the delivered goods are of lesser quality. At the same time, some haulage appears to consistently exceed the recorded weights or mileage that were actually charged.”

Healy said, “Now wouldn’t that be meanin’ that some of the boyos doin’ the work would have to be actin’ hand-in-glove with his nibs?”

Arnie replied, “Yes, but not always willingly, Fergus, especially as a few of those employees were the source of our suspicion.”

“So why not simply fire Mister Freiling?” Hawksclaw asked.

“Because,” Dixie explained, “Mister Freiling owns all of the outstanding shares, and, more significantly, he holds an employment contract that requires the purchase of that stock plus a one million dollar premium if he is dismissed from employment for any reason whatsoever.”

That brought a lull to the discussion.

After a half minute, Castillo asked Dixie, “How sure are we of Mister Freiling’s malfeasance?”

Arnie Yeats said, “Three different employees mentioned their suspicions. One was a woman in the billing department, another was a scale operator. They each described some odd patterns where Freiling would intervene, personally, in their normal procedures when dealing with specific customers. The third was a security officer Frank Tremaine interviewed. The officer had overheard a conversation in a tavern between three of their shippers. He admitted the men were drunk, so the officer wasn’t sure how much faith to put into their story-telling, but they were boasting about how little they had to pay in kickbacks to Freiling, each trying to undercut the other in the bragging.