One Man's Calling : One Man's Calling, ch 61 by Wayne Fowler |
In the last part Ben miraculously escaped the area of San Quentin and then hopped a train to the north, getting off in Santa Rosa where he met Luther Burbank, accepting a job offer. ^^^^^^^^^^ “Ben, have a seat. That can wait.” Luther motioned to a crate for Ben to sit on while Luther himself squatted on his haunches. “I know that you’ve been working extra hours. You probably think that the time is to pay for your room in the shed, which was doing nothing before you moved in, costs me nothing for you to use. And for the vegetables you eat. “Ben you are wasting away. Plain enough to see. You need grains and meat. And you haven’t said three words beyond good morning since you’ve been here. Your eyes smile at meal time, so I know it’s in you. Now, what can we do?” “I’m an escaped murderer.” Ben’s lip quivered with the guilt that had been consuming him. “Ahh,” Luther reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew two newspaper clippings. Handing one to Ben, he said, “This one?” It was an article about the San Quentin prison break, detailing Ben’s charges and conviction, as well as the other one who’d managed to remain on the loose. “Something didn’t add up, so I did a little research.” Luther handed Ben the other newspaper article, the one written by Henry Halleck. Ben sighed and nodded, settling his chin on his chest. “Wanna tell me?” Luther asked. After a moment, Ben responded. “Can it wait until after work? I’m in a kind of fog about the whole thing, my life.” Luther said ‘certainly’ and stood up to go about his business. Ben read through both articles once more. +++ “You deserve to know,” Ben told Luther. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me.” Ben told of his San Francisco experience, only briefly noting that he’d been shanghaied. He only touched the highlights of organizing the Awakening meetings and his own San Francisco ministry, detailing what was relevant to the murder charge, and then his unconscious escape. “So, you’re a preacher?” Ben grimaced, not feeling like a man of God. “Look, Ben. I don’t know why, but I believe you. And I trust you, obviously. I bought eighteen acres out in Sebastopol, seven miles west of here. Some of the best soil … You know, this region is the chosen spot of all the earth, as far as nature is concerned. “Anyway, I can hire someone to do your job. I’ve had three applicants this week alone. I need you to help me clear those Sebastopol acres. And… getting out of the center of town might not be a bad idea.” Ben nodded, then looked Luther in the eyes. “I just need some winter clothes and the address.” Luther smiled. “Try on a set of my clothes and boots so I’ll know the sizes. I’ll get your things from the Montgomery Ward's and take a little out of your wages each week?” Ben nodded his gratitude. “And if you will limit your work to no more than ten, twelve hours a day… and eat some mutton, or something every day. I say mutton because there’s a lot of local sheep. But get your strength and stamina.” Setting Ben up for an obvious joke, he made fists and donned an exaggerated expression. “You never know when you might need to run with the wind!” He laughed until Ben finally smiled. The next day the two rode a carriage to Sebastopol. After showing Ben the ramshackle cabin that came with the acreage, Luther showed where to emphasize the clearing work. “Would it be all right if I made friends with a neighbor, or two? Found out who had a mule we could borrow to pull stumps?” Ben asked. “Also, I’ll need a bucksaw. And a logging chain. I think we have everything else I might need.” “Yes, yes, and yes. I didn’t think about a mule. We have Sally in town.” “Mule would be better, most time,” Ben said. “Sally’s fine, but this out here would probably put her down.” Luther nodded agreement. “Tell you what. If someone will sell us a mule, do it in my name. I’ll be out here to help a few days a week once I get your replacement trained.” They’d been walking the property, so Ben returned to the carriage to unload supplies. Soon Luther was returning to Santa Rosa as Ben resumed punishing himself with work. +++ One day while Luther explained on a tablet how various fields and orchards would be laid out, Luther asked Ben off-handedly, “So preaching didn’t lend itself to marriage?” “Divided focus,” was all Ben replied. “Ahh. A man in service to the Lord shast not turn his head from the plow.” “Ben chuckled. “Well, close enough in my case.” “Oh, I’ve read the Bible. But I find Darwin’s Variations of Animals and plants Under Domestication of far more practical application. Read the Bible without the ill-fitting colored spectacles of theology, just as we read other books, using our judgment and reason, I say.” Not wanting to argue, Ben merely nodded. “What? No theological retort?” “Not with the man who feeds me,” Ben replied sarcastically. “Besides, a person who only believes what he’s been told, will believe whatever he’s told next. No, God doesn’t want us to shut off our thinking. He wants our best thoughts, whatever is true.” Luther let silence prevail for a moment before returning to the subject of marriage, without segue. “Ahh. Myself, I’m looking until I find a charming woman, not necessarily a lady mind you, one who cares more about weed eradication than her fingernails.” Ben looked at him and smiled. “I’m sure she’s out there, but you might have to go to Arkansas to find her.” Luther laughed. “Perhaps. Perhaps.” Making Ben shake his head with subject hop-scotch, Luther returned to the previous issue. “You know, less than fifteen per cent of the people do any original thinking on any subject. The greatest torture in the world for most people is to think." With only a second’s delay, Ben quipped, “You know. I think you might be right.” They both laughed. Ben thought it a wonder that Luther could keep so many horticultural projects, in their nearly infinite stages of progression, active in his mind. Ben’s peace quickly escaped him as he returned to the torment of his conscience of only moments before. +++ One day in late February Luther drove out to the Sebastopol acreage that he’d named Golden Ridge Farm with a visitor, introducing him to Ben as Clarence Stark. “Ben, Clarence here says weeds and flowers are all plants, useless unless you can eat them.” Eventually, Ben learned that Clarence was one of the Stark brothers of the Stark Brothers plant catalog company. Clarence began to protest the deliberate mangling of his comment as Luther over-rode him. “I say, the difference between a weed and a flower is that the flower is an educated weed!” “Learned what to do to prevent uprooting?” Ben offered to the delight of both men. A couple hours later, after much explanation and illustration of his plans and dreams to Clarence, Luther turned to Ben, taking advantage of Clarence’s time away making valuable use of a distant oak. “Take his offer, Luther. His company will not compromise your work in the least. And his resources will allow you to concentrate on your real work, and not worry about ten cent seed sales, or your roadside stand, not that I didn’t greatly appreciate that stand last fall.” Ben smiled, the first time in days. Luther nodded. “I will. Thank you.”
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Wayne Fowler
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