| General Fiction posted January 23, 2025 | Chapters: |
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Home Sweet Home, but not for long
A chapter in the book Ben Paul Persons
Ben Paul Persons, ch 21
by Wayne Fowler
In the last part, Ben Paul and Sylvia discuss an author who wrote a book loosely and poorly based on Ben Persons and his efforts to rescue women of the night in Chicago in the 1800s. They visited Fort Union and then made it to Cerrillos to visit Slim and Mary. With snow on the road, Ben Paul felt led to have Sylvia drive them into the Wasson Ranch headquarters, where they met the grandson of Charlie Harper, a man befriended and helped by Ben Paul’s father.
Chapter 21
“Well, Sylvie, darling. I think we’ve made it through winter. My first in the Rockies.”
“Don’t be counting chickens just yet. May Day might bring spring flowers in California, but likely as not, up here at elevation, they might get a foot of snow on them,” Slyvia replied. “But we’re probably safe to do anything you’d like. You still thinking about a trip?”
“I’m ready to face Alaska. And truly bury the bad man who killed my father, the great Ben Persons.”
Sylvia cleared throat. “Ah-hem. I married the great Ben Persons.”
They kissed.
“We could drive out to Santa Rosa, see the sights and introduce you to my sister, and then drive Ben and Beth’s route north. We can decide whether to get on a cruise ship or fly.”
“The cruise ship would limit our shore time. That might be a big problem,” Slyvia said.
“Flying, we’d go to Juneau and from there, take a ferry to Skagway.” With that, Ben Paul noted the two places of significance. The city where the gunfight took place, and the town where his father and Beth lived, and where Ben Persons was buried.
Sylvia let him have his moment.
+++
“So, you’re the one who finally lassoed Ben Paul. Have to tell you, you’ve done what many others have tried. Congratulations. The spare room’s ready. Make yourself at home. Freshen up, or whatever, and you can help me with supper. But I have to warn you, I’m a baker, not a cook.”
“Don’t let her fool you, Sylvie. And after supper maybe we can stroll around Luther Burbank Gardens. Looks like a beautiful northern California evening.”
“I’d love to. And of course you’ll join us, Susan?”
“Ordinarily I would, but I’m afraid I wasn’t as blessed with the good bones Ben Paul has. My hips would give out in five minutes. No, we can enjoy the morning on the deck, and you two can enjoy Burbank’s flowers.”
“Beautiful doesn’t describe it enough,” Sylvia exclaimed, surrounded by the magnificent gardens. “And it was like this when your father was here?”
“Well, no, actually. Sonoma County experienced more severe devastation than San Francisco in the ’06 earthquake. Believe it or not. My home, the one my grandfather built, was one of the very few not leveled.
“Tomorrow we can drive past where my father worked for Burbank on our way to the ocean. It’s beautiful out there on the bluffs, watching the waves crash. And the ocean’s only thirty minutes away from here.”
“Do you miss living here, Ben Paul?”
Ben Paul thought a minute. “I won’t lie. There were moments this past winter… But the Rockies are so magnificent. And to see them covered with snow… No, I don’t miss Santa Rosa enough to move back. Besides, my house is burned to the ground, scraped clean and someone else already has a new home on the land.” Ben Paul chuckled.
+++
“There’s San Quentin right down there,” Ben Paul said. “Here, pull into this parking area.” They had just crossed the Golden Gate Bridge after having toured San Francisco. Driving north back toward Santa Rosa, the prison was on the right, down at water level.
“He broke out of there?”
“Well, sort of. The outside wall of his chapel was blown up, and a prisoner named Tom Thumb carried him out unconscious.”
“Amazing how God worked in his life… and yours.”
“God is a good God.”
“And blessed is the man, or woman, who trusts in him.” Sylvia replied with the scripture that they’d heard in the past Sunday’s sermon at Ben Paul’s old church.
“Do you still want to leave in the morning?” Before he could respond, Sylvia continued. “Because I’m ready if you are.”
Ben Paul reached for her hand. “Have I ever told you I love you?”
“But darlin’, I’m telling you now,” Sylvia responded.
They both laughed.
+++
“Garberville,” Ben Paul announced as they passed a sign indicating mileage. “Just up ahead, where you can see the stream on the left, is where Beth found the missing toddler.”
“It’s so beautiful up here. The trees… they’re every bit as majestic as the Rockies.”
They spoke little the next while, both appreciating the scenery.
Ben Paul broke the silence. “Fortuna up ahead. We can eat. That’s where my father killed a man, and Beth humbled Hank Larabee. And took his gun from him.”
Sylvia shot Ben Paul a look of amazement.
“I’ll tell you the story of how they almost settled here after we gas up and have lunch.”
“I’ll hold you to it,” Sylvia said.
On the road the next day, having reviewed the map for their options, Sylvia asked if they had time to drive the coast.
“Sure. And if we miss our flight, then we’ll just make another one.”
“Ben Paul, I hate that we’re spending all your house insurance money.”
“Don’t be silly. We have your house, don’t we? Besides, we’re just barely tapping it. Let’s drive the coast as far as Lewis and Clark’s encampment, where they reached the sea and boiled seawater for enough salt to make it back home.”
“Great,” Sylvia said.
When they reached Crescent City, Sylvia couldn’t be contained. “What a beautiful town! It’s gorgeous. Why wouldn’t everyone want to live here?”
“It is beautiful,” Ben Paul agreed. “Pick where you want to stay the night. According to the map, this is as far as we should go if we want nice accommodations tonight.”
“I want to spend time here, anyway,” Sylvia declared.
+++
“Ladies and gentlemen, an emergency has been declared. Please proceed to the lobby section of the airport and exit the building. This is an emergency. All outbound flights have been delayed indefinitely. Inbound flights have been either delayed, or diverted. This is an emergency.”
The notice was repeated over and again as Ben Paul and Sylvia complied. They had been sitting in the gate area for their flight, waiting to be allowed to walk outside toward their Boeing 727.
“Probably a bomb threat.”
“D. B. Cooper,” Sylvia said. “You think it’s him, he’s come back for seconds?”
“His hijacking was from Portland last time.”
“But it would make sense to go to a different city, where witnesses hadn’t seen you.”
“Or,” Ben Paul said, “it could be a bomb threat of the building, not a plane. Who knows.”
There was a scream just to their left and a little ahead.
“Oh dear. A man fell. It must be his wife screaming. I’m going to see if I can help,” Sylvia said, pulling Ben Paul along.
In just a few strides, they were at the fallen man. “Are you a doctor?” someone asked Ben Paul. Ignoring the question, Ben Paul kneeled down to feel and hear whether the man was breathing as Sylvia consoled the wife, calming her. Exiting passengers treated them like a boulder in a stream. The couple seemed to be in their fifties.
“He’s breathing,” Ben Paul stated, turning toward the wife and Sylvia. “I expect someone has called for an ambulance.” Ben Paul removed the man’s necktie and unbuttoned his top button. He then checked the man’s pulse. It was beating. He elevated the man’s feet on what Ben Paul figured was his carry-on luggage.
“Ma’am, does your husband suffer an illness?”
The woman shook her head.
“He’s breathing and his heart’s beating. I’m not a doctor. It could be a stroke, a heart attack, or an anxiety attack, or something else entirely. What I am is a minister. Would you like me to pray for him?”
The wife nodded vigorously, her eyes pleading.
“Lord Jesus…” Only a minute into the prayer, the man made a moderate convulsive movement, sucking in lungs full of air. He remained unconscious but seemed fine. “We’ll stay with you until medical help gets here.”
“Thank you,” the woman said, the first she’d spoken.
“Are you all right?” Ben Paul asked.
She nodded twice, but changed to wildly shaking her head no. “I am not,” she said. “We were flying to Minneapolis for tests. The doctors said they thought I have cancer… some kind… I don’t know.” Then she began crying.
“Lord Jesus, again we call on your holy name…” At that point, Ben Paul reached and touched the woman’s midsection just below her ribcage. Ben Paul continued praying and when he declared power over the disease, rebuking it and commanding it to leave and not return, the woman heaved, retching not food, but bile – an orangish, chunky bile. Before Sylvia could wrap her arms around her, stabilizing her, she had managed to hit all four of them with the filth. Ben Paul handed Sylvia his handkerchief which she used to attend the woman’s face.
Ben Paul found his carry-on bag and extracted an undershirt that he handed Sylvia for herself, and used a pair of undershorts for himself. The crowd, by then, had mostly all vacated the area, and they could hear noises that were obviously medical attendants approaching. When they arrived, Ben Paul allowed them to make their own assessment... without his guesses.
“Well, my wonderful man?” Sylvia said. “Do we go into a restroom and clean up, and maybe get blown up, or get Tank out of long-term parking and get a motel to wash up more properly?”
Ben Paul sniffed at the shorts he’d wiped up with. “I don’t smell anything. Do you?”
She didn’t.
“What do you say we just wash up? My guess is that by the time we finish, our flight will be back on schedule.”
Sylvia gazed at Ben Paul. “Do you think God called in a bomb threat and struck that man down just so you could pray healing into that woman?”
Ben Paul smiled, “Let’s find restrooms.”
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/D._B._Cooper
photo is my own
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. photo is my own
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