| General Fiction posted April 28, 2024 | Chapters: |
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A calling is without repentance.
A chapter in the book Right in the Eye
Right in the Eye, ch 17
by Wayne Fowler
In the last part Ben Paul read some of Martha’s account of what Livvy had told her. Martha was Livvy and William’s daughter, Sylvia’s mother. Sylvia nfound her mother's notes and allowed Ben Paul to read them.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Ben relayed as many of his father’s Chicago activities as he could remember: the bordello women rescued, the street preaching, and the battle with the gangster resulting with him getting run over and killed. Then he told of Ben’s being shanghaied. Sylvia was gaining increased respect for the man of God, Ben Persons, Sr.
Feeling he’d earned the right, Ben resumed reading Martha’s pages.
Mother was pregnant with me when Max and Jones kidnapped her and took her to Ophir, a new mining town. Mason Salinger was behind it. His plan was to kill Ben. Ben was shot in the chest. Jones had a head wound. Max was killed, and Salinger wounded, but he got away. Jones recovered but lost his speech. He became a devoted helper to Ben. Ben’s friend Arville Johnston was a man Ben prayed for his healing. He was a stagecoach shotgun and would have died. Arville and Ben were in business together and Arville and Mother and Jones tried to get Ben to a doctor in Silverton. Ophir Pass was impossible with a swollen Mineral Creek. That’s when a band of Ute Indians took Ben to heal him. Ben had befriended them some time back. They kept Ben all winter and he got them converted.
Ben had heard part of this, but not all, certainly not the part of how Jones came to be his helper, or anything of Arville. Ben’s pain over never having the pleasure and privilege of meeting his father was growing worse. He and Sylvia were making a full story from two points of view when her phone rang, a friend of Sylvia’s who lived closer to Main Street. The Creede Hotel was on fire.
“Let’s go, Ben. Maybe they’ll throw your things out and you can retrieve them.”
“Let’s pray first. I have a bad feeling.”
Sylvia was both antsy and non-committal about praying when there was action to take. Nevertheless, she joined with Ben’s outstretched hands as he prayed for any lives in potential harm.
“Oh! We have to go!” Ben said, running to Sylvia’s car, jumping in the passenger seat as he willed her to hurry.
They had to stop a block from the hotel, but Ben ran on as if forty years younger. Naturally, since Ben was just some old man, and an outsider at that, no one would stop and listen to him. “You have to get into the attic!” he insisted.
The building was full of smoke, but without visible flames.
Since all occupants had been accounted for, their only interest was trying to figure out why the electricity failed to disconnect. What they didn’t know was that when the building was electrified, someone connected a line to the neighboring building through the shared wall. Upstairs in the attic was a young girl that God had shown Ben. Someone had tapped the stolen line and connected it to a hotel line to make a 220-volt outlet for a hot plate, alternating to use for a space heater in the winter. Though there were visible sparks in an attic dormer, they were making every effort to control the issue without chopping a hole in the roof, or unnecessarily dousing the historic building.
Ben ran to the back of the building. Behind the shared wall he found a half of a wooden extension ladder. It was old, but he figured it would hold his lanky frame. He made it to the first floor of the hotel fire escape. From there, he made it to the third floor, the hotel’s highest. The fire escape only reached the top floor, not the attic. Ben broke the glass and entered, choking on smoke as he made his way to the attic.
“Hey! Anyone?” Ben yelled as he inched his way across the space, glad that it had wooden slats for decking. Toward the front, there was a wall with a door. Inside the door was a room filled with acrid smoke. Sparks were zapping from a wall plug near the front window. Ben picked up a chair and threw it out the window, shattering it.
“Hey! There’s someone up there!” a spectator shouted.
Ben quickly found a small person who was on the floor, unconscious. He didn’t know until he picked the person up that it was a girl, a young lady, probably Indian or Mexican. With her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, he made his way down the staircase. It was more like a ladder, but about a third of the way down, doing his best not to rake her on the sides, a man came to his aid from below, taking the girl to rush her out to safety and medical assistance. Another firefighter helped Ben out of the building. Ben was sweaty and filthy, and cut fairly deeply across his back where window glass cut him.
“There’s an ambulance on its way from Alamosa,” a firefighter told Ben. “They can take you both.”
“I don’t need…”
“Yes sir, you do.”
Just at that time, Sylvia made it to Ben, having heard the fireman. “Ben! You need stitches in your back. And you’re …”
“81 years old,” he finished for her.
“And you have the x-rays to prove it.”
Someone wanted Ben’s name and contact information. Partway through, another firefighter interrupted. “Ben Persons?
You’re Ben Persons?” His incredulity was apparent. “I’m Oroville Johnston. Arville was my grandfather.”
Ben figured that Oroville was about 50 or 60 years old. The age matched.
“I have a mine up Bachelor Loop. I’m a volunteer firefighter.” He had his hand out to shake Ben’s. “Can I talk to you before you leave town?”
“He’ll be at my place,” Sylvia said.
Oroville smiled. “Kinda figures, doesn’t it?” Sylvia and Oroville both smiled.
Ben was just then beginning to feel pain in his back, feeling Sylvia’s pressure on the cuts across the back of his shoulder.
It was late when they finally returned to Creede in Sylvia’s car.
“Now, not one word of argument,” Sylvia said. “It’s a one-bedroom and that’s that. We’ll clean you up. They should have at the hospital, but they didn’t. We’ll clean you up and get you into bed. Your pain medicine will be wearing off. Probably is already. A pill, and you won’t even know I’m beside you.”
Ben raised his head slightly.
“Ah, ah. You stay on your side, and I’ll stay on mine.” Sylvia had a slight smirk in her tone.
Ben smiled, knowing that his virginity would remain intact.
In the last part Ben Paul read some of Martha’s account of what Livvy had told her. Martha was Livvy and William’s daughter, Sylvia’s mother. Sylvia nfound her mother's notes and allowed Ben Paul to read them.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Ben relayed as many of his father’s Chicago activities as he could remember: the bordello women rescued, the street preaching, and the battle with the gangster resulting with him getting run over and killed. Then he told of Ben’s being shanghaied. Sylvia was gaining increased respect for the man of God, Ben Persons, Sr.
Feeling he’d earned the right, Ben resumed reading Martha’s pages.
Mother was pregnant with me when Max and Jones kidnapped her and took her to Ophir, a new mining town. Mason Salinger was behind it. His plan was to kill Ben. Ben was shot in the chest. Jones had a head wound. Max was killed, and Salinger wounded, but he got away. Jones recovered but lost his speech. He became a devoted helper to Ben. Ben’s friend Arville Johnston was a man Ben prayed for his healing. He was a stagecoach shotgun and would have died. Arville and Ben were in business together and Arville and Mother and Jones tried to get Ben to a doctor in Silverton. Ophir Pass was impossible with a swollen Mineral Creek. That’s when a band of Ute Indians took Ben to heal him. Ben had befriended them some time back. They kept Ben all winter and he got them converted.
Ben had heard part of this, but not all, certainly not the part of how Jones came to be his helper, or anything of Arville. Ben’s pain over never having the pleasure and privilege of meeting his father was growing worse. He and Sylvia were making a full story from two points of view when her phone rang, a friend of Sylvia’s who lived closer to Main Street. The Creede Hotel was on fire.
“Let’s go, Ben. Maybe they’ll throw your things out and you can retrieve them.”
“Let’s pray first. I have a bad feeling.”
Sylvia was both antsy and non-committal about praying when there was action to take. Nevertheless, she joined with Ben’s outstretched hands as he prayed for any lives in potential harm.
“Oh! We have to go!” Ben said, running to Sylvia’s car, jumping in the passenger seat as he willed her to hurry.
They had to stop a block from the hotel, but Ben ran on as if forty years younger. Naturally, since Ben was just some old man, and an outsider at that, no one would stop and listen to him. “You have to get into the attic!” he insisted.
The building was full of smoke, but without visible flames.
Since all occupants had been accounted for, their only interest was trying to figure out why the electricity failed to disconnect. What they didn’t know was that when the building was electrified, someone connected a line to the neighboring building through the shared wall. Upstairs in the attic was a young girl that God had shown Ben. Someone had tapped the stolen line and connected it to a hotel line to make a 220-volt outlet for a hot plate, alternating to use for a space heater in the winter. Though there were visible sparks in an attic dormer, they were making every effort to control the issue without chopping a hole in the roof, or unnecessarily dousing the historic building.
Ben ran to the back of the building. Behind the shared wall he found a half of a wooden extension ladder. It was old, but he figured it would hold his lanky frame. He made it to the first floor of the hotel fire escape. From there, he made it to the third floor, the hotel’s highest. The fire escape only reached the top floor, not the attic. Ben broke the glass and entered, choking on smoke as he made his way to the attic.
“Hey! Anyone?” Ben yelled as he inched his way across the space, glad that it had wooden slats for decking. Toward the front, there was a wall with a door. Inside the door was a room filled with acrid smoke. Sparks were zapping from a wall plug near the front window. Ben picked up a chair and threw it out the window, shattering it.
“Hey! There’s someone up there!” a spectator shouted.
Ben quickly found a small person who was on the floor, unconscious. He didn’t know until he picked the person up that it was a girl, a young lady, probably Indian or Mexican. With her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, he made his way down the staircase. It was more like a ladder, but about a third of the way down, doing his best not to rake her on the sides, a man came to his aid from below, taking the girl to rush her out to safety and medical assistance. Another firefighter helped Ben out of the building. Ben was sweaty and filthy, and cut fairly deeply across his back where window glass cut him.
“There’s an ambulance on its way from Alamosa,” a firefighter told Ben. “They can take you both.”
“I don’t need…”
“Yes sir, you do.”
Just at that time, Sylvia made it to Ben, having heard the fireman. “Ben! You need stitches in your back. And you’re …”
“81 years old,” he finished for her.
“And you have the x-rays to prove it.”
Someone wanted Ben’s name and contact information. Partway through, another firefighter interrupted. “Ben Persons?
You’re Ben Persons?” His incredulity was apparent. “I’m Oroville Johnston. Arville was my grandfather.”
Ben figured that Oroville was about 50 or 60 years old. The age matched.
“I have a mine up Bachelor Loop. I’m a volunteer firefighter.” He had his hand out to shake Ben’s. “Can I talk to you before you leave town?”
“He’ll be at my place,” Sylvia said.
Oroville smiled. “Kinda figures, doesn’t it?” Sylvia and Oroville both smiled.
Ben was just then beginning to feel pain in his back, feeling Sylvia’s pressure on the cuts across the back of his shoulder.
It was late when they finally returned to Creede in Sylvia’s car.
“Now, not one word of argument,” Sylvia said. “It’s a one-bedroom and that’s that. We’ll clean you up. They should have at the hospital, but they didn’t. We’ll clean you up and get you into bed. Your pain medicine will be wearing off. Probably is already. A pill, and you won’t even know I’m beside you.”
Ben raised his head slightly.
“Ah, ah. You stay on your side, and I’ll stay on mine.” Sylvia had a slight smirk in her tone.
Ben smiled, knowing that his virginity would remain intact.
Ben P. Persons: 81-year-old son of Ben Persons
Sylvia Adams: grand-daughter of Livvy and William Ferlonson
Martha Crawley: Livvy's daughter, Sylvia's mother
Jones: hired thus of Salinger turned mute helper for Ben after headshot
Billy Harper: young man helped by Ben who helped Ben kill Salinger
Thomas Coleman/ James Coley: stagecoach robber turned preacher thanks to Ben. He then helped Ben kill Salinger
Arville Johnston: stagecoach shotgun that Ben prayed for. Became Ben's friend and business partner. Helped save Ben when he was shot
Oroville Johnston: Arville's Creede resident. Grandson of Arville
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Sylvia Adams: grand-daughter of Livvy and William Ferlonson
Martha Crawley: Livvy's daughter, Sylvia's mother
Jones: hired thus of Salinger turned mute helper for Ben after headshot
Billy Harper: young man helped by Ben who helped Ben kill Salinger
Thomas Coleman/ James Coley: stagecoach robber turned preacher thanks to Ben. He then helped Ben kill Salinger
Arville Johnston: stagecoach shotgun that Ben prayed for. Became Ben's friend and business partner. Helped save Ben when he was shot
Oroville Johnston: Arville's Creede resident. Grandson of Arville
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