Fifty Years of Peace (Abrupt Dissent Series) (2 page)

New Louisville,
Indiana.

Mayor Trestle patted his face with his handkerchief before entering the coach. The morning air the day before the Festival was pleasant, but he’d been pressing the flesh since before dawn, scurrying to greet his constituents and helping shoulder the odd cartload here, or stake down a tent canopy there. The way he saw it, the people of New Louisville respected hard work and that was what he’d give them. It was really all he knew.

Things like meeting an assemblyman from the New States’ capital in Dallas were what knocked him out of his element. He liked to say he was an accidental politician, that he’d run for mayor because he enjoyed people so much and it was the best way he could think of to meet them. But Assemblyman Arnold had arrived with ten men in a steam coach, a recreational vehicle reclaimed from before the war that must have cost an ungodly amount of money to refit and maintain. Arnold had brought armed security with him, someone in charge of “communications.” There was even an honest to goodness reporter on the bus who was going around asking people questions about the Festival. The Texans had mostly kept to themselves while they were in town. They came to the bars and had dinner and he’d even seen one or two of them dancing, but they seemed to have something more serious on their minds.

All that Mayor Trestle knew officially was that Assemblyman Arnold was here for the Festival and would accompany Louisville’s produce back to Dallas by rail for redistribution. But the train would have run just as well without a politician, and the Peace Festival in a town like New Louisville didn’t seem to be any real reason to come in person. It made him think something was wrong, and that made him sweat.

He straightened his jacket, brushed some straw dust from his pant legs, and knocked on the trailer’s door. It swung outward, forcing the mayor back down a step. A thick Texan with a pistol strapped across his waist greeted him, then grunted and waved the mayor inside.

Arnold had decorated his camper’s interior with western scenes; a sunrise over a desert mesa with a lone cowboy silhouetted in the wilderness, a cactus springing from a stand of ochre rocks, and a coyote howling at the moon. But what interested the mayor most was the giant hand- drawn map of the New States that took up most of the wall above a small booth. Bordered by the Blue Ridge Mountains on the East, curving through the Midwest to the Rockies, the country was slowly piecing itself back together nearly three full generations after the war. The old ones like him still remembered a little of the war and its aftermath, and not with kindness, but there were so many post-threes now that the war’s starving and panic were more and more a distant memory. All the post-threes knew was peace and growth, and bless them for it.

Five more of Arnold’s men sat on the benches and tables that filled the trailer’s interior. He nodded to them and was about to make small talk when Arnold himself burst through the curtain that separated his living quarters at the back of the camper from the meeting space. The assemblyman wore a checkered shirt and dress pants that would have looked right at home on the capital’s streets in Dallas. A wide body, his eyes bulged under thick eyebrows and he walked with the bowlegged roll of those that logged a lot of horse time. His teeth hadn’t spread enough for his face, leaving gaps in the big smile he offered to the mayor.

“Mr. Mayor,” Arnold beamed in a high Texas accent. “It is certainly a great pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise Assemblyman, I’m glad you were able to get in this morning. I’ve been looking forward to passing some time with you before the Festival.”

“Absolutely! Would you care to have a seat? I can offer you some water with lemon, some sweat tea?”

“Tea?”

“They’re getting it to grow somewhere out in Idaho now. I’ve only got beet sugar, but I think it tastes better than cane ever did.”

“A sweet tea would be heavenly.”

He joined the assemblyman at a table next to one of the windows and they watched the backdrop being set up and leveled for the stage.

“This is going to be a mighty fine production,” Arnold said. “Mighty fine.”

“We take pride in what we do here sir.”

“You can drop the sir and assemblyman bit Mr. Mayor. Just call me Linden.”

“Oh. Well I’d be happy to do so Linden,” the mayor smiled. An aide brought his tea out from behind the curtain and Mayor Trestle sipped at it, letting the lukewarm sweetness slake his thirst. He smiled, remembering long ago nights sitting on his porch listening to baseball games on the radio with a cup of sweet tea poured by his mother. Every pre-war had those memories holed up in them somewhere, in the places they thought about on sleepless evenings.

“Something I can address for you Trestle? You look downright pensive.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just that the last time I tasted something like this was…well…”

“Before the war,” Linden finished for him. “You know Mayor, our boys, they’re doing well. Whole country is, really. Farm output is way up. Trade goods and manufacturing are growing. Defense is solid. And not a single computer or international corporation to muck things up anywhere.”

The mayor finished his drink and set the glass back on the table.

“Don’t we know it,” he said. “I’m awful proud of this town.”

“May I ask if that’s all that’s on your mind Mr. Mayor? I’m here to serve.”

“Well, now that you mention it, I admit I’m a little curious about why you decided to come all this way. We’ve been hitting quota every harvest, over quota, as a matter of fact. I hope that there hasn’t been anything that would have reflected poorly on us?”

“Oh no Trestle, absolutely not. New Louisville is doing just fine as far as I’m concerned. The trains come back stuffed, we get the food distributed to those areas that are still recovering, and everyone is happy.”

“You know I even heard rumors of asphalt coming our way.”

“That’s the good Lord’s honest truth too. We’ve got a mine producing in Texas, and another that we hope will come to us in Oklahoma. Soon enough, we’ll have highways again. Can you imagine it?”

“Things are going well.”

“That’s what happens when you focus on freedom and liberty, and letting the people live their lives. It’s something that makes us American, the generosity of your fellow man, of everyone helping us get back on our feet again.”

“Yes sir,” Mayor Trestle said. He was beginning to enjoy this assemblyman. Maybe politics wasn’t so bad after all.

“There is one thing, Mr. Mayor, on which I’d like to ask your attention.”

“Anything Linden.”

The assemblyman leaned a heavy forearm on the table. The mayor felt the man’s breath hot and thick.

“A man in your position knows about our friends to the east.”

“The United States. Yes sir.”

“The word I have is that they’ve turned their attention west again. Something has spooked them, and we’re spreading the word to keep an eye out for anyone who doesn’t share our values.”

“They’d never violate the peace treaty.”

“They’ve certainly said as much. Except that in the last six months, we’ve found more than a few Easterners poking around where they shouldn’t be. We think they’re sneaking over the mountains and riding the trains.”

“Why would they do that?”

“We don’t rightly know. I’d just ask you to keep an eye out for me.”

“I will,” Mayor Trestle said. His mind turned, thinking why on earth the U.S. would want to come west after such a brutal struggle had nearly wiped out both countries. He noticed the assemblyman looking at his watch, a fine timepiece with an inlaid leather band.

“I’m sorry Mr. Mayor, I have another appointment. Would you excuse me?”

“Of course, of course,” he said.

One of the aides opened the trailer door and the mayor called thanks behind him. But as he stepped down the bus’s short ladder he didn’t notice the milling crowds of his constituents, or the warmth of the sun on his shoulders. He felt only a sense of foreboding. Linden had come with a purpose, that was for sure, and he was here in person, which meant the threat was serious.

Mayor Trestle reached for his handkerchief, blotted it against his forehead. Then he put on his politician’s smile and went to help his people
.

Their cheese sold well that afternoon, and Jenny
found her lockbox growing heavier as farmers and townspeople and visitors handed over ten dollar coins stamped with the New States’ flag of a steam engine wreathed in wheat and corn. Manuel lured the passersby with samples while she handled the transactions.

The market was packed with more people than she’d seen in her life. They’d come from as far south as Alabama and as far west as Missouri, dressed in hand-dyed denim and homespun cotton, the grays and browns and blues that were the unofficial colors of the New States. They spoke in different accents she’d never heard before and told stories of traveling by train, of seeing the landscape changing from flat plains to green mountains. In spite of her shyness, she found herself asking more and more questions, getting to know her countrymen. And their answers made her yearn to see more than just what she’d known on the Two Star Ranch.

“Manuel, has Grandpa ever told you any of his stories from before the war?” she asked when their customers had slowed.

He shook his head.

“What do you think it must have been like when the country was all one?” she asked.

“I think it must have been hard. Isn’t that why we went to war in the first place?”

“I don’t know. They don’t talk about it much in school and Grandpa’s the only one I know who was around before the war. He could tell me but he never really likes to talk about it.”

“From the stories I heard from my father, I wouldn’t want to be the one to repeat them.”

“But why? What did you hear?”

Manuel bit into an apple he’d bought from the Wallops’ orchard stall next door, thinking.

“They starved Jenny. You and me, we’ve always had more food than we needed, but back then they didn’t. Something happened, and people had to fight each other just to eat. There were mobs, killings. People even ate each other Jenny. My father served in something called the National Guard, but he said he deserted because the government asked him to kill his own neighbors, and that they were just hungry. He said a lot of his Guard did the same, and that’s why Louisville ended up being able to rebuild so quickly, because they kept us safe.”

“But why don’t they tell us any of that? Why don’t they…”

“Now what are you two talking about?” a voice boomed.

Startled, she clamped one hand on the cashbox and spun to face the man just outside their tent. Mayor Trestle stood leaning against one of the guide ropes, smiling at them. He had a short beard trimmed back from his lips, and a blue jacket over his work shirt and khaki pants. His kind eyes blinked from under bushy eyebrows, happy to see old friends. The mayor had visited Grandpa at the Two Star Ranch many times, often staying overnight on his way to visit the farther ends of the County, and Jenny knew him well.

She stepped around their display and hugged the mayor’s solid stomach. Manuel shook the mayor’s hand and clapped him on the back.

“It’s been too long both of you. Jenny, where’s your grandpa?”

“He wouldn’t come.”

“Oh that’s a pity. Is he all right?”

“He doesn’t like to think about the war Mayor Trestle. He never even answers my questions.”

The mayor’s smile fell from his face. He scanned the crowd that was milling in the open field in front of the Festival stage. 

“Not many of us do,” he said. “But you’re going to hear a little of the story from Assemblyman Arnold tomorrow.”

“Someone from the Assembly is here?” Jenny asked.

“That’s right, came on a giant steam coach too.”

“Really?” Manuel asked. “I’ve been trying to get the old bus in the back lot fixed up in my spare time Jenny, have I told you that?”

“It’s right over there,” the mayor pointed toward the tent behind the festival stage. “I think they have a mechanic with them.”

“Jenny, do you mind?”

“Go ahead Manuel. It’s slow right now. The mayor can help sell cheese.”

“I sure can!” Mayor Trestle smiled.

Manuel undid his apron and set off to see the trailer.

“Mayor Trestle, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“How well did you know my grandfather before the war?”

The mayor’s face clouded, as if he were remembering some far off pain. Then he shook his head.

“I was a lot younger than you when it happened Jenny, just four. I didn’t know many people other than my parents. Why do you ask?”

“It makes him sad. I want to help him but he won’t tell me anything.”

“Well Jenny, sometimes people need to keep things to themselves. They’re worried, or hurt, but they can manage if they don’t think about what’s hurting them too much. Talking about it for those folks might be worse than keeping it in.”

She considered what the mayor was saying. One of the reasons she liked him so much was that he treated her like she was an adult in a conversation, and not a child to be ignored.

“You think that’s what he’s doing?” she asked.

“I do.”

“Do you do that?”

The mayor looked down at her with half a smile on his face.

“We all do Jenny. I need to be moving on now though, you have to visit every booth when you’re the mayor. Do you mind if I try the cheese?”

“Not at all!”

She smiled and held up the sample tray. The mayor picked a cube and popped it in his mouth.

“Delicious, as always,” he said. “Thank you very kindly Jenny.” He tipped an imaginary cap to her before walking next door to visit the Wallops family. The mayor was a good man, one who made you feel safe. She’d been about to turn back to the tent to cut more samples when she saw a figure dart from the back of the Wallops’ tent toward the festival stage. It was a boy about her age that looked dirty, with a tangle of greased brown hair bobbing on his head and mud stains on his olive pants. The boy dodged between members of the crowd who barely noticed him as they shopped and talked, ran down the slope toward the stage and ducked behind its curtains.

The boy could have been stealing. She bent to look for the mayor but he’d disappeared into the crowd. Someone needed to know what was happening.

“Jenny!” she heard. “Jenny!”

Leaning out of her tent she saw Jacob waving his clipboard as he made his way toward her booth.

“How are sales?” he asked as he neared.

“They’re wonderful. But Jacob can you help me?”

“Of course, what do you need?”

“Will you watch the tent? Manuel will be back soon but I need to go see something.”

“Of course.” He set down his clipboard and helped her untie the canvas flaps on the three sides of her tent that Manuel had opened. The last panel fell, shrouding the pair in dim light, and she bent to hide the cash box under a mound of burlap. When she stood up, she found Jacob standing close to her, smiling.

“I was wondering when I’d get a chance to see you alone,” he said. “And I was hoping I wouldn’t have to wait until tomorrow.”

She felt hot, flustered. Jacob was so handsome, and she’d loved spending time with him studying, but he’d caught her by surprise and she didn’t know what to say.

“Jacob…”

“Yes?”

“I’ll be right back, ok?”

“Where are you going?”

“Will you please watch the tent?”

“Of course.”

She ducked back into the sunlight and crossed the thoroughfare toward the stage. The carpenters had hung a banner that read “Fifty Years of Peace” with the Assembly seal below it, then hung tall red curtains that billowed in the slight breeze from the top of the stage’s scaffolding. She tried not to make a sound as she tiptoed to the edge of the drapery. Then she swept the heavy fabric aside and jumped backstage.

The boy she’d seen had been kneeling at the corner of the stage. When he heard her, he snapped around and aimed a pistol at her head.

“Who are you?” he asked.

He had hard blue eyes in a face that seemed prematurely weathered. A deep tan petered off where the throat of his shirt opened, and a layer of dirt grimed his hands and the edges of his face. The drab clothes he wore seemed of very high quality, with tight seams and uniformity at the shoulders and buttons. It was as if he was very wealthy but had come on a long, hard journey.

“My name…my name is Jenny Williams. I’m running the cheese tent across the way.”

The gun wavered in his hand.

“Why are you following me?”

She felt herself breathing too quickly, her heart pounding, she was scared. She stood frozen. She didn’t fear guns, they were tools commonly used on the ranch, but never had she had one pointed at her. Then she realized he was scared too. Terrified. And he was so thin, his cheeks looked sunken, with the wisp of a beard just starting on them.

“I thought I saw you steal from the Wallops’ Orchard tent, but I won’t say anything. I promise.”

“I don’t steal.”

“I believe you,” she said.

“We don’t hurt good people.”

“I…I believe you,” she said because it was true. Behind the boy’s hardness, she felt a kindness there, an understanding. “You look like you came a long way.”

“What does that mean?” His eyes narrowed.

“I’m…I’m just asking where you’re from. I’m sorry, I’m shy and sometimes I don’t say the right things…”

“I’m from out East,” he said.

“Where, Lexington?”

The boy’s mouth widened as if he’d made some kind of mistake.

“Uh… yeah, that’s right, Lexington. But we went down South first to visit some family before we came here.”

“Who’s we?”

His face hardened again, with anger tightening his mouth. The pistol wavered.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Please…” Tears rolled down her cheeks. She was trembling, her adrenaline stiffening her muscles. She wanted so badly to back out of the curtains and run for Jacob and Manuel and the mayor. 

“My parents were hurt... in an accident.”

“I know the doctor. Do they need help?”

“No, no they’re far from here now. I can take care of them.”

“Would you, could you please put the gun…” she said.

The boy blew out a breath, seeming frustrated with himself. Then he thumbed the safety and stuffed the pistol back in his waistband.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But I can’t talk to you. You need to go. Just…just forget you ever saw me.”

“Ok, ok thank you,” she said. But as she turned to leave she heard the boy’s stomach grumble. Grandpa had never turned down anyone in need. She turned back to him and he was sitting on the edge of the stage with his face in his hands.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

He lifted his face and tears ran down the dirt on his cheeks.

“We sell cheese,” she said. “Would you like some?” She regretted saying it immediately, it was a stupid thing to say. She’d never met anyone from Lexington though, maybe they were different. Maybe he’d even been to the United States. Permits were hard to get but she’d heard of some who’d gone. Maybe this boy would tell her about it.