Auraria: A Novel (18 page)

“You’d trust him to come back to your tavern, given his head-collecting proclivities?”

“We don’t allow that sort of behavior at the Old Rock Falls, and he wouldn’t desecrate the place.”

“Why doesn’t he try to take your head?”

“I like ghosts,” said Abigail. “And I’m a face from his happier life.”

“And if I liked ghosts, he wouldn’t try to kill me?”

“I don’t think you could make friends with a spirit. Just see how you treated Mr. Bad Thing. Most people can’t leave behind the ghost stories and come to know the ghosts.”

Chastened, Holtzclaw fell silent for a few moments. He brooded, then could not hold back. “How does he speak if he has no head?” he asked.

“How does he eat or drink or see or breathe?” said Abigail.

“It isn’t natural.”

“It’s perfectly natural for a ghost.”

Chapter Ten

              The rest of the ride to Dahlonega was uneventful. Holtzclaw felt himself nodding in the saddle as they passed identical miles of acceptable road. Every tree branch was only a tree branch. Every sound of water was only water. Morning broke over Dahlonega just as the pair rode into town. The clock tower at the railroad depot read six o’clock. Abigail escorted Holtzclaw past storefronts and houses that promised only quiet industry and ordinary provincial living. There would be no place for moon maidens to bathe here.

“Is it goodbye then, Mr. Holtzclaw?” she said, when they reached to the door of Shadburn’s temporary offices.

“I’m afraid so. I shouldn’t want to keep you waiting. I would invite you to a breakfast—” he flushed; she flushed—“or a coffee, let’s say, but I don’t know how long my employer will keep me. I’m sure that you too have your duties.”

“And you can get yourself back to Auraria all right?”

“If that is among my employer’s wishes.”

“Well, if your employer wishes it.”

She held out her hand. Holtzclaw shook it.

Without a further word, she departed, her second horse hitched up behind the first.

Holtzclaw had no time to consider the meaning of their farewell; he brushed off any concerns along with as much of the dust of the road from himself as he could, then knocked at Shadburn’s door.

“Not a minute too soon!” said Shadburn. “Why, you are a frightful sight. Grubby. Most unlike you. Not very respectable.” Shadburn looked uncharacteristically smart. His tie was properly done and his shoes were spit-shined. They gleamed in condemnation of Holtzclaw’s.

“I came directly when I received your message,” said Holtzclaw, glossing the truth. “Rode through the night. I haven’t slept. I haven’t breakfasted. I haven’t had a moment to tidy up.”

“It’s a hard life, Holtzclaw, it surely is. Well, we shall get you a cup of coffee on the run. The railroad men are already here.”

“At six o’clock in the morning?”

“Railroad time! These men are busy, very busy. They have a seven o’clock train back to Atlanta, so we must present our case now.”

“Our case? What is our case?”

“The land, the dam, the lake, the hotel, the railroad, clearing the town—the whole of it! There is no need for secrets with these men. They know the lot of it already, I imagine. I’d heard that they might be sniffing around Auraria—that was the rumor that compelled our present action, whether or not we were truly ready. Ah, but we’ve come so far, haven’t we? We’ll make something splendid, something that they never would have thought possible. Certainly something far better than what those railroad men may have been planning—and we get the first go, by going first.”

Holtzclaw ignored these almanac aphorisms; the sudden flood of new information left him flustered. “You haven’t told me anything about this.”

“There’s hardly time now,” said Shadburn. “Already it has taken us two minutes to cross this foyer. The railroad men must think we have fallen into a pit, and their coffee has gone cold. Will you get them a fresh pot, Holtzclaw, then come straight in?”

Shadburn vanished through a door at the end of the hallway, closing it behind him.

Holtzclaw stood helpless for a moment, not remembering where the kitchen was. He opened doors at random, first into a closet stacked with brooms, overcoats, and hats, then into a workroom that was overgrown with papers. From one of the remaining doors, a serving boy emerged, carrying a coffee pot on a polished tray. Holtzclaw took it from him with profound and repeated gratitude; he even fished into his pocket for a coin. Holtzclaw took the coffee into the salon, where Shadburn, standing, was in conversation with two men on a settee. Holtzclaw recognized them. They were the twins that had dined at the Old Rock Falls Inn when he’d first arrived in Auraria.

“At last!” said Shadburn. “Holtzclaw, my associate. Please allow me to introduce Messrs. Johnston and Carter from the railroad. Holtzclaw has come to freshen your coffee, gentlemen.”

Pouring the coffee into their outstretched cups, Holtzclaw wished that he had let the servant do his job. The twins—Shadburn hadn’t specified which was Johnston and which was Carter—accepted the hot beverage. They tipped their heads and offered their hands to Holtzclaw, as though meeting him for the first time. Holtzclaw supposed that that was proper—in the Old Rock Falls, they had not been introduced.

“Gentlemen,” said Shadburn, “I hope you’ll forgive if we dispense with the pleasantries. We are all busy, I’m sure. There is a town a few miles down the road. Its name is Auraria, and my associate and I have been acquiring property in the town and the surrounding Lost Creek Valley with an eye toward a major development project. There is promise in that place. Wouldn’t you say so, Holtzclaw?”

“Oh yes, great promise,” said Holtzclaw. “I have seen it. Very much promise indeed.”

“I have a vision of a recreational center that would take advantage of all the natural advantages of the valley,” said Shadburn. “The area is rich in timber and game, so it is a natural site for sawmills and tanneries, neither of which it has now. These natural resources are also enjoyed by the tourist. The high climate is both healthful and scenic. It is also a wet place, wouldn’t you say, Holtzclaw?”

“It’s the dampest place I’ve ever visited that wasn’t underwater. Never have I dipped my fingers in so many creeks.”

“But it’s a healthful dampness, yes?” said Shadburn.

“It’s not a swamp. There are many springs and tributaries, all swift. Many of these paint a sublime picture for the tourist’s eye.” Holtzclaw was thinking of the Cobalt Springs Lake.

“It sounds a proper treat,” said either Johnston or Carter.

“What do you need from us?” said the other.

“Industry and tourism cannot develop until there is a railroad,” said Shadburn. “And the railroad will not run until there are industry and tourism. It is that old dilemma, the chicken and his house.”

“Chicken and egg?” offered Holtzclaw.

“Yes, exactly. Which do you eat first, the chicken or the egg?”

“The egg because it is breakfast,” said either Johnston or Carter.

“The chicken because it is tastier,” said the other.

“If you are hungry, gentlemen,” said Shadburn, “Holtzclaw will fetch you something from the kitchen.” Both men shook their heads to decline. “Well then, I propose that you build a railroad from Dahlonega into Auraria. You will be the egg, and then the chickens and the timber and the furs and the visitors and the mail will follow.”

“You are not the first developer we have spoken with, Mr. Shadburn,” said Johnston or Carter.

“Every landholder believes that his land is suited to riches,” said the other.

“I am prepared to bear a greater cost, gentlemen, than your average developer,” said Shadburn, working his thumb into the cleft of his hard chin. “And my vision is grander. We will build not just a railroad, but a dam too. The Lost Creek Valley will be the Lost Lake.”

Shadburn paused for a moment, as though hoping for an audible gasp, but none came. Either his pronouncement was too predictable, or as Holtzclaw decided, he’d flubbed the delivery.

“Wouldn’t this flood the town?” asked Johnston or Carter.

“Destroy every house in the village?” asked the other.

“Oh yes, and many farms too,” said Shadburn. “That’s essential. The whole valley and its old ways will be underwater. All who are now living at the bottom must be moved to the shores. We’ll put them up in modern company housing. A first-class hotel and series of minerals baths will be located right on the water’s edge, and that will be the chief industry, but Auraria has much promise for other development.”

Holtzclaw caught a shining dream in Shadburn’s eye. It must be the thought of gold. Hotels, sawmills, tanneries—the profit here was much smaller and more difficult. Why didn’t Shadburn list gold among the valley’s resources? Maybe he meant for it to stay a secret, but he didn’t know the secret was already out. The railroad men were more acquainted with Auraria than Shadburn supposed.

“It is a lot of land,” said Johnston or Carter.

“Expensive to acquire,” said the other.

“My associate has already bought all the key properties and many besides. Half the town is already in our possession. Yes, Holtzclaw?”

“For a few of the properties,” said Holtzclaw, “negotiations are ongoing, very near the end, with only a formality or two to conclude.” Now was not the time to confess his failures.

“Persuasion is our specialty, as railroads and dams are yours,” said Shadburn. “You built the dams at Toxaway, Burton, and Rabun.”

“We caused them to be built,” said Johnston or Carter.

“We did not ourselves pick up shovels,” said the other.

“Of course!” said Shadburn, chuckling a bit, though Holtzclaw was not sure that Johnston and Carter were joking. “My plan calls for a dam that is a sight higher than Toxaway. The lake would be deeper and longer too, though narrower than Lake Toxaway, because of the shape of our valley. The lake I’ve drawn is somewhat less than a mile at its widest point, two and a half miles long, sixty feet deep at the dam, but seventy or eighty in certain hollows, and covering seven hundred acres at full fill. A perimeter road of seven miles, accounting for arms and branches that result from the natural geography.”

Holtzclaw was surprised to hear Shadburn quote numbers. It showed more forethought than usual; Shadburn was accustomed to diving into projects, trusting to inevitable success, and leaving the figuring to his protégé. Holtzclaw could not check the math in his head, but he felt the figures were dubious. Was it mathematically possible for a lake of seven hundred acres to have a boundary of seven miles and rough dimensions of one mile by two and a half miles?

“And the lake is necessary?” said Johnston or Carter.

“It’s an immense effort,” said the other.

“A lake is essential,” said Shadburn. “First, for leisure. When the wealthy people of Milledgeville, Charleston, and Chattanooga take their leisure in this modern age, they want the water. Hunting and hiking are good enough. But the allure of boating, fishing, and swimming is greater. Second, for power. The flow of the Lost Creek has, heretofore, been wasted. There is hardly a water wheel propelled by it now. Our powerhouse will drive a host of electric wonders in the hotel. Finally, for aesthetics. For every leaf that Nature bursts into color or for every cupola that we polish on the roof of the hotel, the mirror surface of the lake creates another for free. You will forgive me, gentlemen, if I am effusive about the virtues of the lake. It is just that I see it as the heart of the project. I would abandon the whole enterprise right now, in total, rather than to give up on the lake.”

“Mountains must be sheared off,” said either Johnston or Carter.

“Tunnels excavated,” said the other.

“Who will pay for the expense?”

“Who will own the lake and dam and rails?”

“The rails you will own,” said Shadburn, “including the whole of the profit for every passenger, bag of mail, and ton of cargo that passes along. I don’t care for those revenues if you will build and service the line. I will pay for the construction on the dam—every penny—if you’ll build it for me. I want the highest quality. Spare no expense.”

Holtzclaw sputtered into his cooling coffee. Shadburn had promised them mountains of money, and what could he hope to get in return?

“You’ve met with no serious objections thus far?” said Johnston or Carter.

“No one who will buy and hold any of the essential lots?”

“Even if every detail of the project were printed on broadsheets and tacked up in the square,” said Shadburn, “I cannot imagine that we would have any opposition. All in the valley will benefit, and thus, no one will oppose.”

“I think we’ve heard enough,” said Johnston or Carter.

“We’ll build your railroad and your dam,” said the other.

“You won’t regret it. It will be a splendid profit for the people in Auraria,” said Shadburn.

“And for you,” said Johnston or Carter.

“An excellent profit, if all goes well,” said the other.

“Oh, I suppose so,” said Shadburn, “after a time. Our first expense is a retainer for you as a deposit on the construction costs. Holtzclaw, would you fetch the strongbox?” He pointed to a stained blanket in the corner of the room.