Story: Colonel Williams, Ch. 7, pt. VII

“ ‘His office is just down the hall,’ Creedy replied. He must have pointed out the direction to Walters. I didn’t hear him say any more. Instantly, I heard the pounding of heavy footsteps approaching my door. The pounding on the floor became a pounding on my door. Walters must have knocked with a closed fist.
“I welcomed him in, had him sit down, and asked him what I could do for him. He proceeded to tell me the same story that you have just told me, although his description of the situation was much more colorful than yours, Bill. The man certainly can curse like a sailor when he wants to.
“Anyway, his basic complaint was that he hadn’t gotten the value he’d been promised out of the slave he’d bought. He wanted his money back and a new slave on top of that. I told that he could file a civil suit if he wished, but that I couldn’t do anything unless he or his lawyer filled out the necessary paperwork.
“ ‘Fine,’ he replied, ‘I’ll go get my lawyer and be back here within the hour.’ With that, he abruptly stood up and left without saying another word.
“So, Bill,” McDaniel concluded, “you may not have seen him heading off towards home. He may simply have been headed to his lawyer’s office and not back home.” He paused before continuing, “But, if you wanted to talk with him, you’re welcome to wait around here until he comes back.”
“We’ll wait, then, Paul,” Williams replied.
“That’s fine,” McDaniel said, “just sit outside my door. If Walters doesn’t talk to you on his way in to filing the papers, I’ll make sure that he does on his way out.”
Williams thanked the judge, and moved out to the hall along with Alejandro and Roderick. As they waited, Williams explained the entire situation to Alejandro. Just as Williams finished, the large form of Walters appeared from around the corner of the hallway.
Walters strode purposefully forward, moving quickly. A thin, pale man followed him, apparently his lawyer. The thin man looked nervous and sickly, as if he feared the sun and emerged only from his lair at night. He held a small briefcase in one hand.
Williams looked right at Walters, hoping to make eye contact and get a word with him before he went in to see McDaniel. Walters’ was so focused on his current mission, though, that he did not even notice the three men who sat on a bench just outside of the judge’s office. He knew why he had come, and he wasn’t interested in anyone or anything else until he had accomplished his task. He pounded on the door with two firm strikes of his closed right fist, visibly shaking the door as he did so.
“Come in!” McDaniel called from the other side of the door. Walters entered, and held the door open just long enough for his attorney to slip through before allowing it to close.
None of the three men who waited outside could overhear the conversation happening inside McDaniel’s chamber. The ride to and from his lawyer’s office had apparently allowed Walters to regain some control over his emotions, and while he still seemed angry, it was now contained just underneath the surface.

Story: Colonel Williams, Ch. 7, pt. VI

They stood there for a minute in silence. Alejandro was the first to speak. “I am guessing that he did not help us,” he said in Spanish.
Williams smiled at Alejandro’s understatement. “No,” Williams replied, “I’m afraid not.”
“What are we going to do, now?” Alejandro asked.
“Let’s try our luck downstairs. Maybe someone down there knows what’s going on,” Williams responded. He started to head back to the stairs, and translated the brief conversation for Roderick as they made their way down.
Upon arriving at the first floor, Williams headed straight for the office of Judge McDaniel. The door was shut, and Williams knocked, hoping that his friend might know something about Terrance Walters or his whereabouts.
“Come in,” McDaniel’s voice called from the other side of the door.
The three of them entered. Judge McDaniel looked up from his paperwork as they entered and smiled in greeting. “Bill, good to see you! What brings you to this part of town so early in the day?”
Williams quickly summarized the situation for his friend. “We know that he lives somewhere east of here because we saw him take the east road out of town,” he concluded. “We also know that he came in here right after leaving the market. We were hoping that maybe you had seen him or heard him.”
McDaniel motioned for them to be seated. “I think I’ve met the man you’re looking for,” he said; “he was in here about twenty minutes ago. It all started when I heard a man angrily storm into the building. I’m guessing that he went straight for the police department, since a minute or so later, I heard him arguing with Officer Creedy.
“ ‘You are sure that you can’t help me, Officer Creedy?’ the man, whom I later realized was Walters asked. He sounded frustrated.
“ ‘No, sir,’ Creedy replied, ‘I can’t. There’s no law against what he’s done, and while it’s not right, I can’t do anything to help you.’
“ ‘Surely there must be something,’ Walters argued. ‘Disorderly conduct, fraud, negligence, something…’
“ ‘Well, if there is, I’m not aware of it. You might want to take that up with Judge McDaniel. He’s our resident expert on the law around here.’
“ ‘Very well,’ Walters said, ‘I will. I’m disappointed that you can’t help me, Officer. Do you realize how much I could “help” the police department?’
“Creedy didn’t take the bait for the bribe. ‘The best help you can give the department, Mr. Walters,’ he said firmly, ‘is to obey the law. That will make our job a little bit easier.’
“ ‘You won’t help me, then?’ Walters queried.
“ ‘It’s not that I won’t sir,’ Creedy responded; ‘it’s that I can’t. My job deals with people who have broken the law. Mr. Johnson hasn’t broken any laws, at least as far as I can see. Like I said, your best bet is to talk to Judge McDaniel. He’d know if there’s anything you can do.’
“ ‘Very well,’ Walters said. ‘Where do I find this Judge McDaniel?’

Story: Colonel Williams, Ch. 7, pt. V

“What’s the hurry?” the clerk asked, intrigued, his gruff manner yielding slightly to a sarcastic playfulness. This was the first time in two weeks anyone had wandered into his office. He had a lot of grumpiness he wanted to get out. “Does he owe you money?”

“No,” Roderick answered, hesitating slightly, unsure of how much he ought to say, “but he may be able to help us locate this man’s wife.” He motioned to Alejandro.
“The man you’re after ran off with this man’s wife?” the clerk exclaimed, clearly enjoying being as difficult as he could.
“Look, sir,” Williams said, “we’re trying to be reasonable here. We want to find this man and talk with him about someone he purchased at Johnson’s market last week. We think he will want to talk with us about the matter.”
“This man’s wife bought someone that ran off with the man you seek?” the clerk said, deliberately misunderstanding.
“No.” Williams said with frustration. “We’re looking for the address of a Mr. Terrance Walters. Now, will you help us or not?”
The clerk looked Williams in the eye. “I’m not going to do anything to help anyone, Mister. My job is to take care of the records and release them only to those who need them. I can’t just hand out information willy-nilly. That would be irresponsible.”
“But surely you can help us.” Williams exclaimed. “We’re talking about reuniting a man with his wife! Is that not worth it?”
The clerk shrugged. “Worth it? Maybe. What do I care if some man can’t find his wife? Maybe he’s better off without her if he let her get sold into slavery, I mean, servitude.” He said the last word with a sarcastic propriety.
Williams was glad that Alejandro did not know enough English to understand that last comment. “The whole family was sold into slavery,” Williams explained, “and I was able to rescue this man. Now, we’re trying to find the rest of this family, and we’re convinced that Mr. Walters is the one who bought his wife.”
“Well, rescuing slaves,” the clerk retorted, “aren’t you special? Tell you what, Mister, the next time you feel like doing your ‘good deed of the day’, pick someone who knows where he can find his wife. That’ll keep you from hassling me and keeping from getting my work done. Now get out of here before I call the police.”
“But,” Williams began.
“Go!” the clerk yelled, standing up from behind his desk.
Williams and Roderick quickly scrambled out, Roderick grabbed Alejandro as they exited, just as the clerk stomped over to the door melodramatically and slammed it firmly shut.

Story: Colonel Williams, Ch. 7, pt. IV

They walked on to the Municipal Building. Entering through the main door, they walked up to the third floor. In the back corner of the floor sat the land office, a small room that was packed to near capacity with piles of paper. Its sole occupant was a clerk who maintained the records of who owned what within the town and the nearby region.
The clerk, a bored, spectacled old man, glanced in their direction as they entered. “Can I help you, gentlemen?” he asked in a brusque manner, not looking up from his work.
“Yes, sir,” Williams replied, “at least I hope so. We’re looking for information regarding Mr. Terrance Williams. We were wondering if you might know where we might find him.”
The clerk looked up from the paperwork in front of him. “Do I look like a tour guide?” he asked testily. “I don’t give directions.”
“We aren’t looking for directions,” Williams countered. “We simply wish to locate him. We have an important matter to discuss with him.”
“If the matter is so important,” the clerk responded, “why didn’t he tell you how to get to his estate?”
“He doesn’t realize that we’re seeking him,” Williams answered, “and we tried twice to catch up with him. Both times, he moved too quickly for us.”
“Well,” the clerk said, “you should learn to move a little more quickly yourself. If he’s not interested in telling you how to locate him, I’m not terribly interested in helping you, either.”
“Please, sir,” Roderick broke in, “it’s imperative that you help us. We must find this man and find him soon.”

Story: Colonel Williams, Ch. 7, pt. III

Roderick and Alejandro caught up with Williams a few moments later. They had taken a less direct route and had avoided the unpleasantness that Williams had endured.
“I didn’t catch up to him,” Williams informed them sadly, translating the remark in Spanish when it was clear Alejandro did not understand.
“So, what do we do now?” Alejandro asked in Spanish.
“We have his name,” Williams replied, “so maybe we can go to the Municipal Building and look up his name in the local land records. Perhaps we can find his address.”
“If he is looking for slaves, then he probably lives on a farm, though,” Alejandro said. “Will he be in those records?”
“I don’t know, but we have to try.” Williams answered. “It’s the only option we have. Follow me.” He started walking towards the Municipal Building. As he did so, he explained his idea to Roderick.
An idea occurred to Williams. “Was the man you saw the one who bought your wife or the one who bought your daughter?” he asked Alejandro.
“It was the one who bought my wife,” Alejandro responded. He turned his downward and strolled forward, thinking.
They walked in silence over to the Municipal Building, all of them discouraged. As they neared their destination, they heard the clopping of horse hooves and the rattling of the stagecoach wheels. It was rapidly approaching them; its occupant clearly was in a hurry.
As the coach sped past them, they all recognized the man riding inside of it. It was Walters! Apparently he had just left the Municipal Building after conducting some sort of business there. Where he was going now was a mystery, but the road he was on led to the east, an area with few farms. Alejandro tried to run after the cart to stop it, but Walters’ errand appeared to be very pressing. No one could have caught the coach at its present speed.
“If only we had driven over the building instead of walking!” Williams exclaimed in frustration. “We might have been able to follow him.”
“We still might find record of him in the land office,” Roderick reminded Williams, “and even if we don’t, someone in the Municipal Building might be able to tell us more about him. He seems to have just come from there.

Story: Colonel Williams, Ch. 7, pt. II

As they moved through the crowd, it became menacingly thicker, so much so that several times they nearly had to shove men out of the way in order to make any progress. Every stop brought them closer to the front, and no one wanted to give up his prime spot. Even as they advanced, though, they could see no sign of the man they sought.
Suddenly, Alejandro stopped. They had reached the front of the crowd. A rope running around the entire platform kept the throng back several feet from it. Nowhere could they see their quarry.
“He must have gone another direction,” Roderick said, stating the obvious.
Williams turned to Alejandro. “Are you sure you saw him?” he asked.
“Yes,” Alejandro answered emphatically, “I recognized the face, and he should be here somewhere. We need to keep looking, and I am sure that we will see him.”
They started to turn around to continue to search the crowd when a great commotion arose from off to their left at the base of the platform. Two voices shouted in anger. Looking back towards the source of the disturbance, Alejandro cried out, “It is him!”
“Where?” Williams asked.
“There,” Alejandro said, pointing towards the two men who stood inside the rope barrier, arguing vociferously. “He is the one arguing with Mr. Johnson.”
“Let’s get closer,” Williams said in Spanish, motioning for Roderick to follow.
They ducked underneath the ropes and started to make their way towards the argument, moving slowly to avoid drawing attention to themselves. As they approached, they could hear the contents of the discussion.
The man they sought was speaking. “No refund!” he bellowed. “Mr. Johnson, this is absolutely unacceptable! I purchased the work, not the person, and she has not done a minute’s work since the day I took her back to my farm. All she does is cry. I demand a refund!”
“I do not give refunds, Mr. Walters,” Johnson answered angrily. “That has been my policy, and it’s clearly set forth in the contract. Now, I would be glad to give you a 10% discount on your next purchase if you would like.”
“Ten percent!” Walters exclaimed. “Do you take me for some rube like the idiots you trick into selling themselves into slavery?”
“Servitude,” Johnson interrupted, “indentured servitude.”
“Whatever. The point is that I will accept nothing less than a full refund.”
“And I’ve already told you that it’s strictly against my policy to issue refunds.”
Walters frowned. “You will not make an exception?” he asked rhetorically. “Very well! I’ll leave for now, but I will be back. You’ll regret the day that you crossed Terrance Walters!” He stormed back off into the crowd.
Williams moved quickly to follow him, trying to catch up. The crowd, however, did not appreciate having two men both try to force their way against the grain. Williams had not made far before a large, stupid-looking man decided that he had endured enough shoving for the moment.
Instead of yielding to Williams' attempts to push his way through, the man grabbed Williams’ arms and tried to throw him back the way he came. The military training of Williams kicked in instantly, and he quickly switched his weight to allow the man’s own throw to carry him on forward past Williams. The man stumbled ahead, banging into several people ahead of him, who were displeased at the encounter, to say the least.
The entire incident took a few seconds, but those few seconds cost Williams a great deal of distance. By the time he made his way to the back edge of the crowd, Walters had already reached his carriage and was rattling away at great speed.

Story: Colonel Williams, Ch. 7, pt. I

Chapter 7 – The Trip to Market

Market day came. Colonel Williams, Roderick, and Alejandro all boarded the cart for the ride into town. All the arrangements for Jayson’s arrival had been made. José had been instructed to let Jayson know where they were should he arrive before they returned.
One the ride into town, they worked out the details of their plan. The three of them would try to stay together in the crowd. Alejandro would look for a familiar face, and once he spotted one of the men, Williams and Roderick would approach the man. Despite the low probability of success, all three were confident that they would find one of the two men whom they sought.
They arrived at the slave market about an hour before the auction was to begin. Even at that early hour, the market already bustled with activity. Men from all over the region had come, even more than usual. The cacophony of the various voices all talking—and yelling—at one another as they packed into the courtyard assaulted Williams’ senses. The closest analogy to what he was seeing now was the battlefield in the midst of battle. The organized chaos of the crowd presented a formidable obstacle to their plan.
As they slowly advanced into the crowd, they found it difficult to keep together. Every man there fought to maintain his position; no one wanted to give enough room for one person to get through, much less three. Position mattered at these auctions, for the closer to the front and to the middle a bidder was, the more likely it was that a bid would be recognized.
In the midst of the loud noise, Williams shouted to the others, “If we get split apart, keep an eye on each other. If you lose the other two, head back to the main entrance.”
Roderick nodded, but Alejandro, who only knew a week’s worth of English, did not understand. Williams had to repeat the instructions in Spanish. They continued forward slowly, pushing between people as Alejandro glanced at the faces.
Suddenly, he exclaimed, “¡Allá está el hombre!” He pointed in a direction off to their left and a little ahead of them. The man was also fighting his way forward through the crowd.
“Where? Which one?” Williams asked in Spanish.
“The one headed towards the front,” Alejandro replied. “Wait! I have lost him.”
The man had walked behind a group of taller men who had been reticent to break up their clique. He was now out of sight of Alejandro, and only Alejandro had managed a good look at the man’s face.
“Did you see which way he went?” Williams asked.
“Yes, I think so. This way,” Alejandro replied. He led them to the left of their previous course, pushing his way as best he could through the wall of humanity.

Story: Colonel Williams, Ch. 6, pt. V

The next day, Williams went to Andrews’ plantation to see if he could buy Pedro from Andrews. The meeting went similarly to the one involving Alejandro. Williams bought Pedro from Andrews for a relatively small amount and took him back to Providence.
As Williams entered the house, Roderick met him, bearing a letter addressed in a firm hand. It read:
Colonel Bill Williams
Providence Estate, Georgia
The return address was familiar to Williams; the letter came from his son, Jayson Williams, a lawyer in Atlanta.
Williams opened the envelope excitedly. He heard from Jayson about once every other month, and each letter consoled him a little because in Jayson he saw—and heard—pieces of Keren. Each letter was a pleasant reminder of her.
He read the letter:
Dear Dad,
I hope that this letter finds you well. I wanted to let you know that Daria and I plan on being down in your area next week, on the twenty-first. We plan on stopping by to see you, if you will be around.
Business is going well. I am seeing my practice flourish greatly. I also have exciting news of another sort, but I want to tell you that in person.
Until the twenty-first, then.
Jayson
P.S. If the twenty-first will not work, please reply immediately.

Williams looked at Roderick. “It appears that Jayson will be here next week on the twenty-first.”
“Yes, sir,” Roderick replied calmly. “I’ll prepare to welcome him while you’re in town.”
“In town?” Williams asked, confused. “Why would I be in town?”
“Because the twenty-first is the next market day,” Roderick answered.
Williams’ eyes lit up with realization. “You’re right! But I want you to come with us, Roderick, so you couldn’t welcome him. Perhaps it would be better if I told Jayson to come another day. Unless…” he paused for a moment, deep in thought. “Unless we have José welcome him. Jayson may be able to help us,” he concluded.
“Do you want me to make the necessary preparations, sir?”
“Yes, see to it that everything is in order,” Williams said. He walked quickly back to his office.

Story: Colonel Williams, Ch. 6, pt. IV

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Two days later, Colonel Williams sat in his office, reading another of the books that lined his walls. It was about ten in the morning. Slowly, he became aware of a commotion going on outside. Loud voices shouted angrily, alternatively in English and Spanish.
“Tell him that he’d better get back here fast, José!” an angry voice yelled.
“No quiero,” an equally angry voice – not José’s – shouted.
“What’d he say?” the first voice asked. “You know I can’t understand that mumbo jumbo.”
“He said that he does not want to go,” José answered.
Williams by this point had put his book down and was walking to the front door.
“Oh, he’s going to want to go somewhere in a minute, alright,” the first voice said. Williams heard the sound of a gun cocking. “He’s going to want to come with me.”
Williams sped up and arrived at the front of the mansion in time to hear José say, “He is not going anywhere until you talk with Colonel Williams. He is in charge here, and he decides who stays and who goes, even trespassers.”
Williams arrived at the scene of the confrontation. John Fulton, Andrews’ foreman, stood about five feet from both José and a dark tan man, who cowered behind José. Fulton’s gun pointed at José menacingly.
“I am in charge here,” Williams said authoritatively, picking up on José’s thought, “and I want to know what’s going on here, Fulton.”
“Well, Colonel Williams,” Fulton replied in his thick, Southern drawl, not lowering his gun, “this servant of yours is harboring one of Mr. Andrews’ field servants. He ran away about an hour ago, and I’ve just now tracked him down here. I’ve got to get him back to our own fields as quick as possible.”
“Why did he run away?” Williams asked.
“Dunno. Don’t care. I just know that he’s a part of my team, and I need him to work the fields. Now, let me take him and get home before I lose any more time.”
Williams frowned. There was not much that he could do. Under the law, a runaway slave had to be returned to his master. “Will you let me talk with him a minute, Fulton?” he asked.
“No, Colonel,” Fulton answered, “I won’t. The last time I let you do that, I lost myself a worker.”
“Just give me a minute to calm him down and explain what’s going on.”
“Alright, Colonel, but nothing funny this time. I’ve got to keep some of my crew together.”
Williams nodded and addressed the fugitive. “What is your name and why are you here?” he asked in Spanish.
The slave’s face lit up in surprise at Williams speaking to him in his native language. “I am Pedro Garcia,” he replied, “and I am here because I heard how you rescued a man named Alejandro from slavery to Señor Andrews. I want out of slavery as well, just like you did with Alejandro.”
“Pedro, why are you running away? Why not finish out your servitude with Mr. Andrews?” Williams asked.
“Because he is a cruel man,” Pedro replied. “I have already worked five years for him to pay off my debt, as we had originally agreed. But every time I try to leave, he claims that I also owe him for room and board while I worked for him. I am just as much in debt now as I was when I started being a slave.”
“That’s how Mr. Andrews is,” Williams said sadly. “What would you do if you now longer were a slave to him?”
“I do not know,” Pedro responded, “except that I would start over and avoid the mistakes I made that got me into debt in the first place. All I know is that being trapped under the cruel will of Mr. Andrews is more than I can bear. Please say that you will help me!”
Williams paused to think. He did not have enough money to buy every malcontent slave who happened his way. If the news spread that he was buying unhappy slaves, he was pretty sure that every slave in the region would be pounding on his gates. Remember, a voice inside him said, you don’t have enough money to buy everyone. Don’t set a precedent now. You’ll only wind up in trouble.
That thought was quickly countered by another. But the chance to redeem even one more is worth it, it argued. And so what if every slave in the entire state of Georgia comes here? Maybe you can’t buy them all, but you can at least rescue some and make their lives better. What else could you do with all of your wealth? You don’t need a bigger house or better stuff. These people are in greater need.
It’s not worth it, the first argument retorted, and it’s just plain crazy! You have to have some money to live on, and you have to pay all of your employees. What good is going to do them if you bankrupt yourself rescuing everyone else?
You won’t go bankrupt, countered the second voice. In the past week, your investments alone have already covered the cost of paying for Alejandro. You can easily afford to rescue at least one more. Remember, you can’t help everyone, but you at least should help those whom Providence has put in your path.
Before the internal debate could continue any farther, Williams stifled it. He had argued with himself on enough occasions to know that this sort of thinking would not help him solve the task at hand. He had to make a decision, and he had to make it immediately. He looked at the very impatient Fulton, who looked like he could already feel the whip on his back from not meeting his quota for the second time in two weeks.
“Fulton, would you please tell Mr. Andrews that I will be coming by tomorrow to discuss the matter of Pedro?” he said.
“Not again, Colonel,” Fulton said. He started to raise his gun again. “If you plan on keeping him here, there’s going to be trouble.”
“Put the gun down,” Williams responded. “You can take Pedro with you right now. I will come by tomorrow to see if Mr. Andrews and I can reach an agreement that will allow Pedro to come under my authority.”
“Fine, Colonel, I’ll let Mr. Andrews know that you’re going to come by tomorrow. Now, can I take this man and get back to my fields before I lose any more time?”
Williams smiled at the one-track mind of Fulton. “Yes, Fulton, go ahead, take him.”
Pedro, who understood enough English well enough, even if he did not speak it well, realized that he had to return with Fulton at this point. Stepping out from behind José, he walked slowly back towards the front gate, a small glimmer of hope in his eyes. Fulton followed him, coaxing him to walk faster.
After the two had disappeared through the gate, José spoke up. “Interesting, Colonel, most interesting. Do you think that you will be able to buy this man from Mr. Andrews as you bought Alejandro?”
“I’m not sure,” Williams answered, “but I know that I have to try. I have the resources; I might as well use them.”
José agreed. They talked for a few minutes about the state of the crops and the workers. Then, José headed off to the fields, and Williams went back to the house.

Story: Colonel Williams, Ch. 6, pt. III

After the lunch dishes had been cleared and Alejandro and José had gone off to begin English lessons, Williams and Roderick sat the table, talking. Roderick had yet to hear the full story of what had happened in town.
After Williams had finished the story, Roderick asked, “Given his past roaming, sir, are you sure that it was wise to let him roam around the estate this morning?”
“I think so,” Williams said. “He seemed to have learned his lesson after that incident yesterday, based on our conversation during the ride back from town. I don’t think he’ll try anything that foolish again, not when he knows that there’s a plan to find his family.”
“Then what is the plan, exactly, sir?”
“You, Alejandro, and I will head to the market on the next market day. Alejandro thinks he can recognize the men who bought his family. Once he’s spotted one or both, we’ll try to talk with them and see if we can arrange to bring Maria and Emilia here.”
“How do we know that they’ll be at the market?”
Williams frowned slightly. “We don’t, but it’s the only option we have, really.”
“I guess so, sir,” Roderick agreed after some thought, “but it is a long shot.”
“No longer than the one we faced when we had to rescue your son,” Williams countered, smiling.
“Yes, sir,” Roderick answered, smiling in his reserved manner.
“I still remember when Keren and I rescued you from slavery. You were in just as desperate a position as Alejandro.”
“Yes, but at least I did already speak English,” Roderick said jokingly.
Williams chuckled in agreement.

Story: Colonel Williams, Ch. 6, pt. II

His primary activity that morning was reconciling accounts and balancing books, a necessary business that he had always disliked. Before her death, Keren had taken care of the books, handling all those details that seemed too dry for his action-oriented military mind. For the first two months after Keren’s death, his son had come back from his law practice in Atlanta to help run the estate. Then, though, he had to return to his business, and Williams was left to himself to do the work of two people.
At first, he had spent twice as long as necessary on the task, his work slowed by his own unwillingness to accept that he had to do this. It was unfair, he protested to God, that he should be left with a double share of the work, that he had to work alone on a job that required two. The only answer he ever thought he had heard was a verse out of the Bible, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.”
After that, he slowly let go of his resentment at having to do the work, but if you asked whether he enjoyed it, he would say no. Yet, he thought, doing the books had one advantage: it reminded him of Keren. How he missed her! Twenty-five years of marriage had flown by, full of pain and joy, mostly joy. Now, all that remained of those wonderful years was the ledger. When he worked on it, he re-lived those days, and she did not seem to be gone. It was the closest this side of eternity he would ever come to being with her again. Maybe he enjoyed doing the books more than he thought.
Today was a longer task than usual because of all his activities over the past few days. Between the money spent for Alejandro and the time taken to head into town for three consecutive days, he had much work to do. As a result, he had worked on the task for nearly two hours when a knock at the door interrupted him.
“Beginning your pardon, sir,” Roderick said, sticking the upper half of his body through the partially-opened door, “but Alejandro is looking for you, sir.”
“Show him here, Roderick,” Williams replied. “I could use the break.”
Roderick nodded and left. A few minutes later, Alejandro pushed open the office door and entered.
“Alejandro,” Williams asked in Spanish, “what can I do for you?”
“Señor,” Alejandro answered, “I am greatly in your debt for all you have done for me. I want to know if there is anything I can do to help you.”
Williams smiled. “Please, sit, Alejandro,” he said. After the Cuban sat, Williams continued, “Right now, you are my guest; you do not have to do anything for me. My workers already tend to the fields, and I have people who help here in the house. I don’t need anything.”
Alejandro’s face fell. The prospect of days of doing nothing until the next market day discouraged him.
Williams had not finished his thought, however. “I don’t need anything,” he repeated, “but there is something I would like you to do. There is another worker here who speaks both Spanish and English. I want you to start learning English from him. The more English that you can learn, the easier it will be for you to start a new life in this country with Maria and Emilia.”
“Oh, thank you, Señor Williams!” Alejandro exclaimed happily. “I would be gald to do this. When can I start?”
“This afternoon,” Williams said. “I’ll talk with José at lunch and prepare everything.”
“¡Qué bueno!” Alejandror exclaimed. “Thank you so much. You do not know how great a blessing this is!”
“You’re welcome, Alejandro. Study well!”
“I will, Señor.” Alejandro paused. “Is there anything I can do until lunch?”
“You’re free to walk around the estate until then, but make sure that you don’t leave my property.”
“Okay,” Alejandro responded, “I will. See you at lunch.” He stood up and walked out, a bounce in his step.
Williams returned to his work, finishing about twenty minutes before lunch. He arose from his desk and spent the remaining time reading through some of the old books which lined the wall of his office.

Story: Colonel Williams, Ch. 6, pt. I

Chapter 6 – The Wait

He was at the market again. Colonel Williams found himself alone in the middle of the empty market, standing underneath a threatening sky. If he strained his ears, he could hear the faint scribbling of a pen and the soft rustle of money as Johnson tallied his day’s receipts. Williams stared at the empty platform on which so many people had sold their lives in the hope of freedom, only to find a slavery worse than they had already known.
Presently, Johnson emerged from his lair, whistling softly to himself, a bank bag under one arm and a revolver strapped to his side.
“Colonel Williams,” he said, “I’m surprised to see you here. Is there something I can do for you?”
Williams looked over to Johnson. As he did, his eyes saw the gun strapped to Johnson’s side. The scene abruptly changed. Williams now stood in a noisy crowd of people. Up on the platform stood the same young man Williams had seen in court during the day.
“Look out, Bill, he’s got a gun!” Keren’s voice screamed.
He heard the shot and felt himself being knocked to the ground. The shock of his collision with the ground awakened him. Once again, he was in his room at Providence.
The first rays of sunlight were shyly peeking over the horizon and into Williams’ bedroom. They cast a pale, yellow glow throughout the room, shining brightest on a portrait of Keren that was painted only a few months before her death. In the distance, Williams could hear the wind faintly rustling through the trees and the birds breaking forth in joyful song to welcome the dawn. The world was awake, and, ready or not, it was time for him to be, too.
He did not want to get up, not at first. The dream had driven his thoughts back again to the incident at the market, and he at first forgot that the even was long past. Slowly, however, the memory faded into the dull shadows of the past. With a silent prayer for help, he arose and began his day.

Story: Colonel Williams, Ch. 5, pt. III

“What’s going on, Alejandro?” Williams demanded.
“Please, Señor Williams, do not let them arrest me,” Alejandro replied, not answering Williams’ question.
Before Williams could find out more, Johnson burst into the building, huffing. “There, there, officer, there is the man who I saw climbing out of my office window. Arrest him!”
Right after Johnson arrived Officer Creedy, the primary patrolman in the city. “Are you sure, Mr. Johnson?” he asked. Johnson had a history of wild accusations against individuals he did not like.
“I’m sure, I’m sure,” Johnson answered angrily. “I had just left for when lunch when I realized that I forgot something. When I got back to my office, I saw his head disappearing around the corner of the alley.” He gestured violently at Alejandro as he spoke.
“You said you saw the back of his head?” Creed asked. “You didn’t see his face? Or anything else identifiable?”
Johnson stared at Creedy as if Creedy had just asked him what color the sky was. “No, just the back of his head,” Johnson said, “but I’m sure that it was him. He was in my office earlier today with Colonel Williams looking for information on his wife and daughter. Naturally, I told them that such information was held…”
“In the strictest confidence,” Creedy interrupted. He had heard the speech too many times before. “So, you think that this man broke into your office to try to steal your files?”
“Yes, yes,” Johnson said, not sure if the policeman was pedantic or not, “that’s what I’m saying. Now, will you do your duty and arrest him?”
Creedy shook his head. “Hang on Mr. Johnson, let me talk to him first.”
Williams spoke up, “He won’t understand you, Office Creedy. He doesn’t speak English, only Spanish. He’s one of my servants.”
“Only Spanish, you say, Colonel?” Creedy echoed. He turned to Mr. Johnson and asked, “Mr. Johnson, why would a man who couldn’t your files break into your office?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care, Officer Creedy. I just want him arrested!” Johnson replied.
Creedy shook his head again. “I need something more definite to arrest a man for doing something that it doesn’t make sense for him to do. Now, are you sure that someone was in your office?”
“Of course I am! The window was open, and I always close it before I leave! Quit questioning me and arrest the man!”
“But was anything disturbed inside?” Creedy asked.
“Well,” Johnson answered hesitantly, “I don’t think so. I didn’t see anything that looked as if it had been bothered. Just the open window and the back of that man’s head disappearing around the corner.”
“Mr. Johnson,” Creedy began, using his “I’ve heard enough” tone.
“What? You’re not going to arrest him!” Johnson demanded.
“There’s no evidence that your office was broken into, Mr. Johnson, and even if it was, there is no evidence that it was this man who you saw. I’m sorry, but I can’t do anything.”
Johnson exploded into a tirade of profanity. “I can’t believe,” he added. “You disappoint me greatly, Officer Creedy.” With that, he stormed out of the building, muttering to himself.
Creedy shook his head in disbelief. “I’m sorry about that, Colonel. Mr. Johnson’s sort of the daily entertainment around the police department. Yesterday, he claimed a man purposefully sent his dog after him. It turned out that the dog was a stray who happened to come from that man’s direction. He’s notorious for his false reports.”
“It’s all right, Officer,” Williams replied. It’s not the first run-in I’ve had with Mr. Johnson.”
“Just wish that people like him could be run out of town,” Creedy said, shaking his head yet again as he walked back to his office.
Williams turned to Alejandro. “Now, Alejandro,” he said, “tell me exactly what happened.”
“Well,” Alejandro began slowly, “I was not quite sure what to do. I wanted to find out more information on Maria and Emilia, and when the judge said that he could not help us, I thought that my only chance was to try to see the records myself. So, I went to the slave market. I saw Mr. Johnson leave the market, and I tried to the front gate, but it was locked. I went around to the back, and I found the window to his office unlocked. I pushed it open and began to climb in. But before I could get through the window, I heard a key unlocking the front gate. I quickly jumped back to the street and ran back here. I did not realize that I had been seen. I am very sorry, Señor Williams, but I had to try something.”
“That was a very foolish thing to do, Alejandro,” Williams said. “You easily could have been charged with a crime if you had entered that office, and you should be glad that Officer Creedy did not believe Mr. Johnson’s report.”
“I know,” Alejandro replied, “but what else could I do?”
“You could have waited until I finished what I was doing. Then, we could have come up with some legal plan that would have allowed us to track down your family. Promise me that you won’t try anything that foolish again.”
“Okay,” Alejandro replied, “I promise.”
“Now, there may be a way,” Williams said thoughtfully. “Do you think you could recognize the face of the men who bought Maria and Emilia?”
“Yes, I think I could, but what good would that do?” Alejandro asked.
“If we come back on the next market day,” Williams answered, “we might be able to spot of the men who bought them. If we can talk with them, perhaps we can work out an arrangement to buy them just as I bought you from Mr. Andrews.”
Alejandro’s face lit up. “I like it! I should have waited for you. That is a great idea.”
Williams smiled. “Let’s go home, then, and come back on the next market day,” he said.
He and Alejandro walked back to his cart and rode back to Providence.

Story: Colonel Williams, Ch. 5, pt. II

Meanwhile, Colonel Williams sat in court listening to the proceedings. As the bailiff led in the convicted slave, Williams felt an odd mixture of pain and pity. Here before him stood the man who had caused him such great anguish. Four months ago, Williams had seen this man on the platform, wrestling with a security guard for control of a gun. Now, that man stood passively, clad in the drab clothes of an inmate. This man had wounded Williams deeply. Seeing the man again filled Williams’ heart with pain almost unbearable.
Yet even as the pain welled up, Williams felt an unexpected pity for the man. No doubt he had never meant for things to come to this. He had simply wanted to live a good life, to enjoy the fruits of his labor. Overreaching his meager means, he wound up in great debt, which had led him to the fateful choice that had now brought him here. This man held no ill-will towards Colonel Williams, and he probably never meant to hurt anyone. He only wanted to get out of his terrible situation.
As he walked in, shoulders slumped, eyes dull, he looked little like the desperate, angry young man that Williams remembered from the market. This man’s battles were over, and all that was left for him was life in prison or death. No hope glimmered in his eyes.
Judge McDaniel entered, everyone rose. With a motion, McDaniel asked everyone to sit. After both judge and audience settled into the seats, the district attorney began his opening speech, launching into a litany of the man’s crimes and the state’s recommendation for the death sentence.
Colonel Williams, though, heard nothing of the prosecutor’s speech. His mind had wandered involuntarily back to the terrible day at the market. From the moment of the man’s arrival up until the firing of the shot, the entire scene replayed itself in his head. He could not go farther, though. His mind simply would not allow him to think about the results of that one gunshot. Tears welled up in Williams’ eyes, and with great effort, he stopped them. He needed to stay in control emotionally.
The district attorney finished, and the defense attorney rose. He spoke at great length of the convict’s history and of his remorse for all of his poor choices. He concluded by pleading for mercy.
McDaniel sat in thought for a moment. Then, he spoke. “The convict will arise. Porter Blythe, you have already been found guilty, and for your actions the law specifies either life in prison or death by hanging. In light of your remorse for your actions, I sentence you to life in prison.” He slammed the gavel down to adjourn the hearing.
Colonel Williams rose from his seat, feeling no relief at the sentencing of Blythe. No punishment could undo what had happened. He exited the courtroom.
Just as he exited, he ran into Alejandro walking back in, looking flushed, as if he had just been running.

Story: Colonel Williams, Ch. 5, pt. I

Chapter 5 – Alejandro’s Adventure

Alejandro’s heart raced as he headed back to the center of town. As he walked, an internal debate warred within him. He knew the danger of the action he took. If someone caught him, then nothing Colonel Williams could do would save him. Still, he had to try! He could not leave Maria and Emilia out there, not when he was so close to finding them. Who knew how their owners might be treating them? That thought spurred him onward; he walked faster.
What was he going to do, though? He could not simply walk in and demand to see the files. And even if he did, he could not read English, so how would he know when he had the right ones? And what would he do once he found the right ones? His partially-formed plan was sounding less and less hopeful with each passing moment.
Maybe he should turn around. Maybe it would be better to wait. Colonel Williams was a resourceful man, he reminded himself, and he might come up with a good plan. Yet they had been so close! Just inches away from them had been the very information they needed, their path to it blocked by a recalcitrant villain. To Alejandro, that man had the only key that would open the door to seeing his loved ones again. He had to see those files! It was a risk, but he had to find a way to do so without Johnson catching him.
How? He racked his mind to try to find a plan, but nothing came to mind. He could wait all day outside of the market, and Johnson might never leave. A horrible thought occurred to Alejandro – What if he lived there? Besides, his mind argued, Colonel Williams would not be that long at the courthouse and would come looking for him when Williams found the judge’s office empty. What were the odds that he would have a chance to get in?
Suddenly, Alejandro found himself approaching the market. He had thought so long that he had walked back to the slave market without realizing it. He now had one last chance to turn around. He did not take it. Approaching the front of the market with caution, Alejandro heard the town clock strike noon.
As the echoes of the twelfth stroke faded away, Alejandro heard footsteps walking across the inside of the market. Alejandro quickly hid himself in the space between the buildings. Just as he managed to hide himself, Johnson emerged from the market. Pulling the main gate shut and locking it with a strong iron chain and pad lock, he slid the key into his pocket and sauntered down the street.
Alejandro had his chance. He tried the gates, but they were securely fastened. Roaming through the alley to the back of the building, he noticed three sets of windows set in the back wall. Perhaps one of them was unlocked.
He tried the first one, but it was shut tightly. Moving to the second, pushed tentatively on it, and it moved slightly. It was unlocked! He pushed it the rest of the way open. He could clearly see the inside of Johnson’s office. This is exactly what he had hoped for. He began to climb in the window.

Rabmling: A Week's Delay

Apologies for not posting sooner, but I have been on a mission trip to the Mexican border town of Reynosa for the past week. It was good, and more about it later.
I will try to start posting frequently now, since I have quite a bit to write about between the mission trip and the story (which has progressed on paper in the past week).

Story: Colonel Williams, Ch. 4

Chapter 4 – The Municipal Judge

The municipal building was on the eastern edge of town, and it took them about five minutes to arrive there. It stood a little back from the road, an unimpressive two-story building made of red brick. The building held not only the municipal court but also the mayor’s office, the police department, and the jail. A small barber shop rented space from the city in one corner of the first floor.
As the cart pulled up to the front of the building, Williams saw a familiar face walking up to the entrance. It was his friend, Judge Paul McDaniel. McDaniel had served as the town’s only judge for the past twenty years, turning down promotions in order to remain in his ancestral home on the edge of the town limits. His reputation for being fair yet strict gave him favor with most people throughout the surrounding region.
“Paul,” Williams called to the man.
“Bill!” McDaniel exclaimed. “I didn’t expect to see you in town again so soon. Weren’t you just here yesterday at Gurdy’s General Store?”
“I was, but I’ve got an important matter that I’m working on. I could use your held on it, actually.”
McDaniel waved one of his large hands in a gesture of invitation. “Sure, Bill,” he said, “I’ll be glad to do what I can. Come on in to my office.”
Tying the horse up at a nearby post, Williams and Alejandro made their way to McDaniel’s office. By the time they had arrived, McDaniel had hung up his coat and hat and had sat down to review his caseload for the day.
“Now, what can I do for you, Bill?” he asked.
Williams launched into Alejandro’s entire story from the moment Alejandro had left Cuba until their recent encounter with Mr. Johnson at the slave market. “Other than trying to get us to bribe him, he wasn’t terribly helpful. He refused to allow us to see the records and told us he wouldn’t let us find anything out without a court order.”
“Johnson is a crooked man,” McDaniel said, “but he is crafty. He knows the law, its limitations, and how to work it to his advantage. Unfortunately, Bill, he’s right. He has no obligation to share his records with you, although a lot of men would’ve done so anyway without all the hassle.”
“Can you give us a court order to see those records?” Williams asked.
McDaniel shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. The law is clear. Those who sell themselves into indentured servitude have no rights under the law, except in cases of owner abuse. That’s difficult to prove, too. So, there’s not much I can do. Unless you can convince Johnson to show you the information, you’ll have to try something else.”
Alejandro had been listening to the conversation with concern, understanding none of the words but understanding the tone of McDaniel perfectly. “Is there nothing he can do to help us?” he asked Williams in Spanish.
“No, there isn’t,” Williams replied.
“Surely there is something!” Alejandro exclaimed emotionally. “We cannot let Maria and Emilia stay out there. Do something, Señor, anything; I do not care, even if it means breaking the law. I want to see my wife and daughter again!”
“Calm down, Alejandro,” Williams said reassuringly. “There still might be something that we can do, but I need time to think.”
Alejandro said nothing more, but sat back in his chair, lost in a mixture of despair and thought.
McDaniel spoke in the subsequent silence. “Is he going to be okay, Bill?”
“I think so, Paul, but I’m not sure.”
“I can’t imagine the pain he’s going through.”
“No one can. Each person handles loss a little differently.” After a thoughtful pause, Williams added, “Are you sure you can’t help us?”
McDaniel’s face became melancholy. “Yes, I’m sure,” he said. “I’m not going to undermine the law as if I sit above it and can change it at a whim. That’s how society wound up in this mess in the first place. I’m sorry, Bill, but there’s nothing that I can do.”
“It’s okay, Paul,” Williams said, “I understand. We’ll just have to find some other way.” He rose from his chair. “Thanks for letting us take up some of your time.”
“Anytime, Bill, anytime,” McDaniel responded as Williams turned to leave; Alejandro followed, still pensive.
Suddenly, McDaniel shouted, “Bill, wait!”
Williams was almost out of the door. He spun around so quickly that he nearly collided with Alejandro, who was so lost in his own thoughts that he had not heard the judge’s shout. Side-stepped the mentally-absent Cuban, Williams re-entered the room.
“What is it? Have you thought of something?” he asked.
“No,” McDaniel replied, his voice a little tentative, “it’s something else – this.” He handed Williams the docket. “Look at the third item,” he added.
Williams quickly skimmed down to the third item on the list. As he read it, his face became pale and his hands clenched the paper so tight that his fingers nearly punched through it. “His sentencing is today?” he asked, his voice distant and pained.
“Yes,” McDaniel replied, “I thought you would want to know.”
“I want to speak at the hearing,” Williams said, his face starting to return to its normal color.
“Are you sure, Bill? It hasn’t been that long.”
“It’s been long enough,” Williams answered determinedly, “and I alone know exactly the amount of pain I’ve suffered because of that man’s actions. Besides, don’t I have a right to speak at the sentencing if I wish?”
“Under current law, yes, but are you up to it?”
Williams’ face became grim, a flicker of pain played across his face. “I…I don’t know. Maybe I’m not ready, yet. It’s been almost four months since that terrible day, and I’ve been trying to forget it for too long. I need to start facing reality.”
McDaniel thought for a second. “How about this,” he said. “You can come in and watch the proceedings. If you want to speak, just let the district attorney know before the sentencing is over.”
“Okay. What time does the hearing start?”
“Probably about 11:45, but it depends some on how fast the previous cases move.”
“I’ll be there,” Williams said, “if I can figure out what to do with Alejandro. I don’t want him to have to sit through a long proceeding that he won’t understand.”
“He could wait in here,” McDaniel said. “I bet we could find him a Spanish-language newspaper – or something like it – at the market.”
“That sounds good to me,” Williams said, “but let’s make sure that Alejandro is okay with it.”
He explained the situation to Alejandro, who agreed to wait in McDaniel’s office. “It will give me some time to think,” he said. “Maybe I can come up with a good idea for what we can do next.”
With that settled, McDaniel put on his judge’s robe and went to work. Williams and Alejandro left the municipal building and walked down the road to the general store. They searched for several minutes through the various isles, trying to find something that Alejandro could read. Finally, they stumbled across a two-day-old copy of a Cuban newspaper from Havana.
After purchasing the paper, they headed back to the municipal building. Upon arriving, Williams headed straight for the courtroom, while Alejandro started towards the judge’s office. Upon reaching the front door of the office, Alejandro stopped for several seconds, his face frowning in some great internal debate. Slowly, he turned and put the newspaper on a nearby bench. For a brief second, he stood there by the bench, an immobile statue of pensiveness. Then, he quickly started walking towards the front of the building, leaving through the main entrance.

Story: Colonel Williams, Ch. 3, Pt. II

[Sorry for the delay. I was out of town at the Association of Classical and Christian Schools conference in Memphis. I had a great time, by the way. Anyway, here is the rest of Chapter 3. Enjoy!]
Early the next morning, Williams and Alejandro climbed aboard the horse-drawn cart for the twenty minute ride into town. Alejandro was excited, confident that he would soon see his family, while Williams’ stoic face betrayed no emotion.
As they rode into town, Williams told Alejandro some of the history of his family and the estate. His great-grandfather had bought the farm, he explained in Spanish, a hundred years ago, before the Great Collapse and the ensuing chaos. Throughout the hard times, he had held onto the land, but it had not been easy. More than once, war had threatened to engulf the land and destroy it. Even when the post-Collapse government attempted to confiscate all land in the interests of “national security”, his grandfather had refused to allow them to proceed, taking the government to court to stop the annexation of his land. Only part of the land had ever been farmed, the rest remaining open woodlands, per the wishes of his grandfather.
“Why is it called Providence?” Alejandro asked.
“I’m not sure,” Williams replied. “My great-grandfather called it that when he bought it. I don’t know if he had the town in the Northeast in mind or if he was honoring God for providing him the funds to buy it. Maybe he just liked the name.”
The conversation fell silent for several minutes before Williams finally remembered how to ask, “What was your employment in Cuba?”
Alejandro replied, “I was a farmer, and I grew sugar and fruit, especially bananas and oranges. Perhaps you remember hearing about the war that broke out in my country about a year ago between democratic rebels and the communist government. My farm was in the middle of the fighting. I lost most of my crops. Thankfully, enough was left that I could sell it at the market in La Havana and buy passage for my family and myself to the port of Savannah.”
“And when you got to Savannah, the man who brought you here tripled his fare?”
“Yes. He said that because there were three of us, we cost him three times as much to transport. He obviously thought that I had more money than I did. When I told him that I could not pay, he took all three of us to the market in Savannah. There, he arranged for all three of us to be sold in order to pay what we owed him. I asked the market owner not to permit my family and me to be separated. He agreed, and sold the three of us to a fat man with no hair. He brought us here and sold us. I asked him, too, not to separate us, and he said he would not. Of course, he lied. I was sold first, then my wife, and then my daughter.
“I was angry, but what could I do? I could not understand what was going on, and I could not understand the name of the man who bought them. I hope that this man at the market has a record.”
“I’m sure he does, Alejandro,” Williams replied, “but it may take a little effort to get him to tell us who it is. He is not a very honest man.”
“You’re telling me!” Alejandro exclaimed in Spanish.

They arrived at the market in town. The main doors leading into the market area sat wide open. Mr. Johnson, the market owner, left the main doors open in case any debtors came in to sell themselves. Williams and Alejandro entered through the gate and went straight for the main office. Williams knocked on the door.
“Come in!” bellowed a deep male voice. As they entered, Mr. Johnson greeted them, shaking Williams’ hand with a tight grip. He was a short, fat man with no hair and tobacco-stained teeth. “Colonel Williams, I’m surprised to see you here. What can I do for you on this fine day?”
“I’m looking for information on the location of a couple of slaves you sold two days ago,” Williams replied.
“Slaves?” Johnson said with a hint of anger. “Slaves, Colonel? You know that I don’t sell slaves. I provide interested parties with indentured servants, who are to be released as soon as their debts are paid in full. I don’t sell slaves.”
Williams fought the urge to roll his eyes at the doublespeak. “I’m not interested in semantics, Mr. Johnson. I want information on a woman and her daughter who would have been sold here two days ago.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’ release that sort of information to you, Colonel. Such information is kept in the strictest confidence. That’s our policy, and it’s because of that policy that more people come to me for their labor needs than anywhere else in the region. No, I’m afraid I can’t help you.” He looked back down at his paperwork as if to indicate that he had finished discussing the matter.
“Could you give that information to a family member?” Williams asked.
“A family member?” Johnson asked. “Are you telling me that you’re looking for a family member?”
“No, I’m looking for this man’s family.” Williams said, motioning to Alejandro. “They would’ve been sold here on Tuesday to two different men.”
Johnson lit a cigar and stared at Alejandro for a minute. “Didn’t this man offer his services here two days ago?”
Williams nodded. “He did, and I bought those services from Mr. Andrews. I’m trying to help him find his family.”
Johnson suddenly had a shocked look on his face. “Why do you care, Colonel, he’s obviously no relation of yours.”
“He’s a man in need, Mr. Johnson, an alien in a strange land, and I believe it’s a divine law that we’re supposed to help people like this.”
Johnson shook his head. “I’m sorry, Colonel, but I can’t help him. I told you already that all information on sales is held in the strictest confidence. I can’t release that information. Not to you. Not to him. Not to anyone unless he had a court order.” He sat back in his chair and puffed on his cigar. After a pause, he added slimily, “Of course, I might be willing to make an exception to my policy, but it’s going to cost you.” He fully expected Williams to start offering him money just as everyone else in Williams’ situation had.
Williams said nothing in response but thought for a minute, trying to come up with some line of argument that he could use to convince Johnson to help them. He was not going to give in to Johnson’s requests for bribery; he was not going to stoop down to Johnson’s level. No matter how hard he thought, though, he could not come up with an argument that would convince the man who cared only for himself to help someone else. “Well, then, Mr. Johnson, I guess that I will just have to get that court order,” he finally said.
Johnson laughed to hide his shock. He couldn’t believe that Williams had not tried to bribe him. Who did he think he was, anyway, to break the traditions of modern society? He said, “You honestly think that the courts are going to help you, Colonel? There’s no protection in the law for families who become voluntary servants. You know that. No judge in his right mind is going to give you an order to see those documents.”
“I’m still going to try, Mr. Johnson.”
“Go right ahead, Colonel, but don’t strain yourself too hard. The courts are on my side on this one, and you’re only wasting your time and money on this foolish pursuit. I just can’t understand why you’re taking such an interest in this man’s situation. If that is all, I have important work that I need to return to. Good day!” He returned to his paperwork with such diligence that it was clear he was through with the matter.
Williams motioned to Alejandro that they were leaving. On the way back to the cart, he explained the situation to Alejandro.
“So, he is not going to help us?” Alejandro asked, tears collecting around the edges of his eyes.
“No, Alejandro, he’s not. He doesn’t like slaves, and he doesn’t have any desire to help them. The only way we could get what we want is to have a judge order him to.”
“How would we do that?”
“Well, I know the judge. Our only hope is to go ask him,” Williams said. He left unsaid how slim a hope that it was. He knew that Johnson was right about the law not having any protections. He only hoped that his friend knew of some obscure legal trick that might grant Alejandro access to those records.
He and Alejandro climbed aboard the cart, and set off for the municipal court.

Story: Colonel Williams, Ch. 3, pt I

Chapter 3 – At the Market

It was a cloudy day, with threatening rain clouds on the southern horizon. Colonel Williams found himself walking alone down the main street, which was mysteriously deserted. The slave market appeared on his left, a large open area accessed through a wide, square gateway made of red brick. As he entered the market, he noticed a large crowd of people. At the far side of the open market, he saw the business office, a well-constructed building made of wood. Next to it sat a shabby, poorly-constructed building that held the slaves who awaited their turn to be sold on market day.
As he walked farther in, he began to hear the sounds of slaves being bought and sold. On the block was a frightened young man who looked to be in his early twenties. He was dressed merely in a ragged pair of short trousers, which was normal procedure for the sale of all male slaves. The market’s operator wanted owners to get a good view of the physique of the “item”.
The nervous-looking young man glanced around to the left and right, apparently in agony at his circumstances. Without a doubt, thought the Colonel, here stood a man who had overburdened himself with debt and now stood in this humiliated state. How sad that he chased too quickly after too much, greedy for temporary happiness! Now, he had nothing, not even his dignity as he stood barely clothed before rough and hostile men. Williams drew closer, and he could hear the market’s operator just beginning to describe the last offering.
“Gentlemen, here we have a young man, twenty-four years old, in good health. Don’t let his appearance fool you; he is a hard worker, although he is probably better suited to the office than to the field. He is well-educated, originally trained in finance, and thorough with his work. Now, what do you say that we begin at $25 million?”
Williams stopped listening as the bidding began. He had heard it too many times. Too often, he himself had been a participant in these auctions, and even though he was not cruel and not crooked as many of the other plantation owners were, he still hated this market.
Just as the bidding wound to a close – the young man wound up selling for $10 million – Williams heard a beautiful female voice speak behind him. “So, sad, isn’t it, dear, to see such potential wasted as the result of unchecked greed.” The voice was sad and frustrated, and yet underneath it there was a hint of joy, coming from a source far deeper than the worries and cares of this life could touch. Williams knew it in an instant. It was Keren! But how? She was dead. What was going on?
Before he could say anything, she spoke again, “Oh! Look out, Bill, he has a gun!” Williams looked up to see the newly-purchased young man now holding a revolver. Where he had gotten it from, Williams had no idea. Before he knew what was happening, the man took aim for the owner of the market. The security guard that stood at the base of the platform jumped up and struggled with the man. The two wrestled, the younger man showing surprising strength, possibly brought on by the insanity which gripped him. The two staggered back and forth across the stage, the guard nearly taking the control at times, the young man nearly breaking free to begin his rampage at others.
Somehow, in the midst of the struggle, the gun wound up facing towards Williams. He could see it clearly in between the four sets of hands that fought for sole possession of it. Suddenly, a loud bang issued from the gun.

Colonel Williams awoke with a start, grabbing his chest to see where he had been hit. Then, he realized that he was in his room at Providence Estate and that the incident with the slave and the gun had happened four months ago. It had seemed so vivid. Keren’s voice had been so real, its melodious tones so dulcet that he could still hear their faint echoes in his head as the adrenaline rush from the nightmare faded. As he rolled over in his bed and tried to get back to sleep, Williams tried to put out of his mind the aftermath of that gunshot. They were terrible to remember, and he was not ready to deal with them, not yet, not even after four months. With great effort of will, he distracted his mind with anything and everything he could think of, from childhood stories to Bible verses. Soon, he fell back into a deep sleep.

Story: Colonel Williams, Ch. 2, pt. II

Williams walked back to his cart while Fulton mounted his horse. He grudgingly allowed Alejandro to ride with Williams back to the main house of the estate.
As they approached the house, the slanted sunlight of a spring evening provided a warm beauty to the structure. Like the Colonel’s, it was white, but it was built in a more modern style, three stories tall with no front porch. Smoke rose lazily from the back chimney. Off to its right, numerous poorly-constructed shacks marked the slaves’ quarters. Cotton, bean, and tobacco fields spread in every direction for almost as far as Williams could see. The holdings of Mister Bryce Andrews were vast, far greater than his own, and he knew that Andrews had a reputation for being a cruel, dishonest man. He only hoped that he could buy Alejandro from Andrews for less than twice what Andrews had paid.
As the arrived at the front entrance to the house, they dismounted. With a stern reminder that Alejandro had to stay outside, Fulton entered.
“Wait, here, Alejandro,” Williams said in Spanish, and then he, too, went inside.
The inside of the house was nowhere near as beautiful as the outside. The main hallway was decorated haphazardly, with hunting trophies, weapons, and portraits hanging randomly on the wall. A painting of Andrews’ great-grandfather hung between a firearm and the giant head of buck, perhaps to indicate this was the man’s prize catch. Neither animal nor weapon hung next to Andrews’ portrait, a picture obviously painted many years ago, when Andrews was in his twenties. If any were to hang there, thought Williams, the animal would be a man and the weapon would be a crooked ledger sheet.
Fulton led him down the hall to the second door on the right, a double door of solid oak, stained deep brown. Knocking on the door, he waited for his boss’s acknowledgement before entering.
“What is it, Fulton?” demanded Andrews, a heavyset man with receding hair and thin eyebrows.
“Mister Andrews, sir, I was disciplining one of the new servants we have here on the plantation when Colonel Williams here interrupted me, claiming that the man did not understand. I told him to mind his own business, but he wouldn’t listen. He talked to the man for a minute or so and then insisted that he meet with you for some reason.”
Andrews frowned. “You do realize, Colonel,” he asked in a quiet yet threatening manner, “that I would be within my rights to have you arrested for trespassing and sabotage for your interference in the running of my plantation? I don’t appreciate people interfering in my business anymore than I imagine you like people involving themselves in yours.”
“I realize that full well, Mister Andrews,” Williams responded, undaunted by Andrews’ threatening calm, “but your foreman was beating a man who did not understand what was being asked of him because he speaks no English. This man was separated from his family at the market yesterday, and all he wants is to be reunited with them…”
Andrews interrupted before Williams could continue, “Ah, yes, a sob story.” He rose from his chair, turned his back to Williams and stared out the windows. “Do you realize how many tragedies I have heard in my life, Colonel?” he asked rhetorically, assuming a more formal speaking style. “More than a few, and they mostly are excuses concocted by lazy servants who wish to do as little as possible to get themselves freed from their contract of servitude as quickly as possible. This man’s story, I am sure, is nothing that I have not heard before. I would not take his word so quickly. After all, he did get himself into deep debt. How honest can he be?”
Williams shook his head. “You can disbelieve him if you wish, Mister Andrews, but I believe him. I’ve met many crooked and dishonest people in life, and Alejandro seems forthright to me.”
“So might the fox seem to the hounds, Colonel,” Andrews replied, turning to face Williams. “He could well be a skillful liar.”
“Have you ever talked with him, Mister Andrews? Have you heard his story?”
“I don’t talk with my servants in that way, Colonel. It only weakens my authority and makes me appear soft. Unyielding law and a just hand wielding it, those are the tools that bring about an ordered world, whether on a plantation or in a government.”
“I’m not here to discuss your philosophy of government. I’m here to help Alejandro.”
“Help him?” A puzzled look flashed across Andrews face before narrowing to uncertain suspicion. “How?”
“I intend to help him reunite with his family, which is why I wanted to talk with you.”
“Colonel,” Andrews said, smiling slightly, “If you think I know where his family is, you’re mistaken. I’ve no idea what I can do to help you find them. I bought him from the market owner, Mister Johnson, in town. He was by himself at that point, and if he had any family with him, they were nowhere to be seen.”
“I don’t want information from you on his family, Mister Andrews. I want to buy him from you,” Williams replied.
Andrews thought this over for a second, wrinkling his forehead into many tiny ridges. “Leave us, Fulton,” he ordered his foreman.
“Yes, Mister Andrews,” Fulton replied, exciting quickly and shutting the doors behind him.
“You want to buy this new man of mine, Colonel? Well, it’s not going to be inexpensive. This man indebted himself greatly to arrive here in the United States, and I paid off his debt. In return, he owes me seven years of labor. The only way I could part with him would be for what he will be worth to me as a worker.” He stopped, hoping that mentioning such a staggering figure would daunt Williams.
It didn’t. Andrews did not realize how wealthy Williams was. “How much are we talking, exactly, Mister Andrews?”
“I would say that twenty million dollars should cover it,” Andrews replied, a small, greedy grin filling his face.
Williams fought the urge to laugh. Was that all a slave was worth to Andrews? A few years of a common laborer’s salary? “All right, Andrews, you have a deal,” he said. Pulling out his checkbook, he wrote out the necessary check.
Andrews laughed. “I don’t understand why you’re really so interested in this guy, Williams, but he’s all yours now.” He resumed a serious demeanor. “If you’ll excuse me, Colonel, I have other matters to attend to.”
Williams replied, “Of course, Mister Andrews.” He walked out of the man’s office, heading back out to the front of the house. Alejandro waited there, still sitting in the cart.
“You’re going to come with me, now, Alejandro,” Williams said in Spanish.
A huge smile spread across Alejandro’s face. “Are you going to help me find my family?”
“I will try, Alejandro,” Williams replied, climbing on the cart and starting to drive back to Providence.

The sun cast glorious shades of orange and red across the western horizon as the cart rattled to a stop in front of the carriage house. Roderick met Williams there; he clearly had been waiting for his employer to return with some concern.
“Where have you been, sir?” he asked. “Supper has been ready for a while, and we have been expecting you.”
“I’m sorry, Roderick,” Williams replied, “but I saw Alejandro, here, being mistreated by Bryce Andrews’ foreman and felt led to intervene. I’ll tell you the whole story inside over supper.”
“Come in and eat with us, Alejandro,” he added to the Cuban.
Over supper, Williams explained the situation to Roderick, who ate with Williams, as was his custom. As he finished explaining the situation, Roderick’s face became concerned. “Sir, how do you plan to find this man’s wife and daughter?”
Williams replied, “I’m not sure, Roderick. Alejandro couldn’t understand what was going on, since he knows no English. But I think that we should be able to go into town tomorrow and convince Johnson, who runs the market, to let us look at the sales records to see who bought them.”
“I hope it will be that easy, sir,” Roderick said.
Williams sighed. “Me, too, Roderick. Me, too.”

Story: Colonel Williams, Ch. 2, pt. I

Chapter 2 – Alejandro

The next day, the green fields again shone in the bright sun as Colonel Williams rode home from an errand in town. It was close to five in the afternoon. He sung softly to himself as he approached the fields of the slaves, remembering the songs that he had heard them sing on the many occasions. Today, though, there was no singing as he neared the fields. All he heard was shouting. Loud pleadings of mercy interwove with cruel shouts of anger and the intermittent crack of a whip.
As the fields came into view, Williams saw the reason for the turmoil. A new slave, small in stature and dark tan as one from the Caribbean, cowered on the ground. Towering over him was the overseer, enraged and off his horse. The whip in the overseer’s hands rose and fell on the slave’s back again.
“Up, you lazy good-for-nothing,” the foreman shouted at the slave. “You’re far behind the others in weeding your row, and you’re going to get me whipped if you don’t get your lazy butt in gear.”
The slave looked up at the foreman in bewilderment. It was clear to everyone but the foreman that he had no clue what the foreman was saying. Tears filled the slave’s eyes, and the distant look in his eyes told of a pain far greater than that of a few whip blows. Though he knew it would not work, he addressed the foreman once more in Spanish, “No entiendo, Señor. No hablo inglés.”
The foreign language further incensed the irate foreman. “Shut your mouth or speak in English, foreigner,” he screamed. He proceeded to curse the slave with various slurs as he raised his whip to deliver another blow.
The blow never fell. Colonel Williams’ strong hand grabbed the foreman’s arm just before it began its downward swing. The two men strained against each other, the foreman determined to finish his interrupted stroke. Being so focused on the recalcitrant slave, he had not noticed the arrival of Williams.
“Enough! Enough, Fulton,” Williams said, grunting with the strain of restraining the other man’s arm. “It’s perfectly clear this poor man has no idea what he’s done wrong or why he’s being beaten.”
Chad Fulton, the foreman, swore. “And it’s perfectly clear that you’re meddling in business that has nothing to do with you, Colonel Williams. This servant hasn’t been doing his job, and it’s my job to make sure he does it. So, let me finish my job and get the rest of my crew back to work.” He fully expected to be able to overcome the older Williams, and the Colonel’s strength surprised him.
“I’m not going to let you beat him, Fulton,” Williams replied, sweat on his forehead and a glint in his eyes. “And I’m going to stand here as long as I need to in order to keep you from beating him more.”
“This isn’t your business, Colonel,” Fulton repeated. “Mister Andrews isn’t going to take kindly to your meddling in his affairs.”
“Let’s deal with Andrews in a minute, Fulton. For now, you’re done. Let me talk to the man and at least try to explain the situation. If you don’t make your quota, I’ll intervene with your master so that you don’t get beaten.”
The promise of protection seemed to satisfy Fulton a little. He stopped straining and dropped the whip to his side.
“Now, what’s going on here?” Williams demanded.
A slave spoke up, “Well, Colonel, this new guy was brought in here today…”
Fulton interrupted, “Silence, sla…servant!” With his whip, he lashed the shoulder of the slave who had spoken. “Let that teach you to speak out of turn!
“What’s going on here, Colonel, is that Mister Andrews purchased this man’s services yesterday in town, fair and square. The man cried all night and has only gotten half a day’s work done in near a day’s time. I’m just trying to discipline the laziness out of him.”
Williams stared at the foreman in amazement at the man’s cruelty. “Did it ever occur to you, Fulton, that this man hasn’t understood a thing you said and that he’s mourning for a good reason? Did it ever occur to you to find out what’s bothering him?”
“I don’t rightly care, Colonel,” Fulton replied, spitting some tobacco juice on the ground to accentuate his indifference. “My only concern is getting these fields tended the way Mister Andrews wishes. And I don’t care for any of that ‘I don’t understand’ nonsense. He understands this well enough.” He patted his whip.
“Let me talk to him a minute, Fulton. I know some Spanish from my years in the military.”
“All right, Colonel. If you can speak his nonsense language, go for it. I’m not going to make my quota as it is, but you’d better hold to your promise to speak up for me to Mister Andrews.” He turned to the rest of the slaves who were standing around in fear. “Everybody else back to your quarters. You’ll be fed at the usual time.”
The slaves wandered away, except for the man on the ground, whom Fulton dragged to his feet and held him back. “This here man wants to talk to you, ‘Al-le-hand-row’, so listen up good, ‘k?”
The bewildered expression of the man still indicated that he had clue what was going on, but he also knew better than to resist the force of the foreman.
Williams looked at the man with pity. “Who are you?” he asked the slave as best he could in Spanish. “Why are you here?”
“Señor,” the slave replied in Spanish, “thank you for keeping this man from beating me any more. I’m Alejandro, and I came from Cuba two weeks ago with my wife and daughter. Upon arriving here, the man who transported us suddenly tripled his fare. Unable to pay, we were forced to sell ourselves into slavery to try to pay off the debt. The man who ran the market assured me that he would keep our entire family together, but when our turn came, I was bought by one man and my family another. Now, I’m trapped here, separated from them, and I’m probably never going to see them again!” He began to cry again.
“Don’t worry,” Williams reassured him. “I know the man who bought you. I can buy your freedom, and then I’ll help you search for your family.”
“Oh, Señor, gracias, gracias,” Alejandro replied. “This is more than I could have hoped for. If you can do this, I will become your slave.”
“I don’t want a slave, Alejandro,” Williams said, “I want to help you.”
He turned to Fulton. “Quiero hablar…err…I mean, I want to speak to Mister Andrews as soon as possible, Fulton. And I want Alejandro to come with us.”
“All right, Colonel. You can come back with me, but Alejandro’s going to have to wait outside. We don’t allow field workers to come into the house.”

Rambling: A wife for Mr. Pi Thetahead

A student of mine recently suggested the following as the wife for Mr. Pi Thetahead. Meet Mrs. Delta Omegahead! Any thoughts?

Story: Colonel Williams, Ch. 1, Pt. II

Society had changed much in the hundred or so years following the Great Collapse, an event that helped define the twenty-first century the way the Great Depression helped define the twentieth. The moral foundation of American society had already partially eroded, and political power had shifted more and more to the globalizers, a small group of “progressive” thinkers who, despite good intentions, took the country away from the progress it had made, weakening the flourishing economy through a series of poorly-constructed trade treaties.
As moral anarchy and economic weakness increased, many people abandoned any semblance of virtue in favor of making money. The money did them little good, though, when the dollar collapsed in value, losing half of its worth overnight. Americans went to bed rich; they woke up the next morning poor. As inflation started to spiral out of control, emergency measures to prevent complete institutional collapse went into place. The measures did little good, though, for the damage had already been done to the global economy. Without the United States to consume as many of their goods and services, multiple nations saw their economies collapse. Even prosperous, developing countries like China and Saudi Arabia experienced horrible downturns. Unemployment soared to record highs globally. Charismatic leaders appeared in many of the nations, promising better times but only proving to be dictators who created better times merely for themselves. Terrorism increased, even in the United States, as angry, out-of-work people took out their frustrations in bombings and sabotage. These actions pushed the teetering global economy over the edge. A second Great Depression began.
Within fifty years of being at its most prosperous, the global economy hung in ruins, a crumbling colossus ready at any second to succumb fully to its own weight. By seventy-five years after the Great Collapse (for so the plunge of the dollar and the resulting anarchy came to be known), a new generation had grown up not knowing anything different. The lessons of history and the stories of more prosperous times became mere legends, repeated by grandfathers to their grandchildren, at least those grandchildren who knew who and where their grandfathers were.
With technology dying and the need for work rising, animal-power and man-power replaced machine-power, especially on the farm. Because of the economic inability to produce gasoline, transportation regressed to horse-drawn vehicles. Likewise, to aid in meeting the need for agricultural labor, Congress passed laws allowing for temporary indentured servitude for those who could not otherwise pay their debts. These indentured servants, though, too often became permanent slaves when the protections written into the law were not enforced. In an environment of moral ambivalence, law enforcement and the courts turned a blind eye to the plight of the people. The country became an oligarchy – power in the hands of a few – with a façade of democracy.
As the economy stuttered along, people unable to pay their debts – sometimes entire families – sold themselves into servitude with the hope of a better life. What they often got, though, was poor treatment, far worse than any that had been seen in the history of the vile institution of slavery. Even after the debts were paid off, many landowners in desperate need of labor found ways to keep their “servants” permanently in debt, working them until they died at an early age. As a result, the demand for new slaves remained constant, and the impoverished society provided ample supply.
So it was that every Tuesday in the town closest to Providence Estate, people sold themselves. For the last four weeks, Colonel Williams had gone into town to observe the market, and each time he had come back in ponderous thought.

“There must be something I can do, Roderick,” Williams said as he handed his supper plates to the butler to clean up. “I can’t let these people keep destroying themselves in this way. But what?”
“Begging your pardon, sir,” the butler countered, “but is there much that you can do? You cannot pay the debts of every person. And you know that the end of servitude would mean impoverishment for us all. In short, sir, leave the matter alone. You, at least, free those servants whom you buy, and often well before their debt is fully paid. Your wife, sir, would be proud.”
Williams face contorted for just a second in a spasm of pain. “Leave Keren out of this, Roderick. You know that she didn’t like the thought of any person bound even for a minute in the horrible shackles of servitude. She’d be just as passionate as I am about doing something. I must do something!”
Roderick paused before replying. Each week, the Colonel’s mood upon returning worsened, and each week, Roderick did what he could to distract the Colonel from his melancholy thoughts. “Well, sir,” the butler said, “if you must do something, be sure not to do something too rash. I would hate to lose an employer as kind as you.”
Williams had to smile at that. Roderick had worked for Williams ever since Williams married his wife twenty years ago. “And I’d hate to lose a butler as trustworthy as you, old friend. Don’t worry. Whatever I do won’t be so reckless as to endanger my estate.”
Getting up from the table, the Colonel returned to his study, sat down at his desk, and proceeded to pray and think well into the night.

Rambling: Technical Difficulties

I am posting this from another computer, as I am currently unable to get my computer to connect correctly to the Internet. Because of these technical difficulties and a wedding I am a part of this weekend, it will be Sunday night or Monday at the earliest before I can post the rest of Chapter 1. Sorry.

Story: Colonel Williams, Ch. 1, Pt. I

Chapter 1 – Market Day

A bright, spring sun shone down on the green cotton fields of southeastern Georgia. Out among the fields, slaves could be seen, bent over nearly double as they tended the still-tender plants. Dressed in mostly raggedy clothes of dark colors and light-colored, broad-brimmed hats, the slaves sang as they toiled. A person walking on the nearby country road could easily have heard the tune as it wafted over the otherwise quiet farmlands.
The songs they sang were old melodies refitted with new words to describe their plight or to encourage each other under the cruel eye of their overseer. He was a tall man who sat on a high horse. His muscular frame slumped forward on the saddlehorn as he watched his charges labor. From his posture, it was obvious that he did not care much for the slaves, his job, or their singing.
The slaves did not care what the overseer thought. They sang. From the time they got up until the last rays of sunlight snuck over the horizon, they sang. If you asked them why they sang when conditions were so dire, they would tell you that they were not sure. Maybe it was to distract them from having to think so much about their work. Maybe it was because it was the one act of defiance they would never receive punishment for. Or maybe it was because many of them realized that, for them, this world was not their home. Regardless, they sang unceasingly.
Many a passerby, whether on foot or in a cart, stopped for a few minutes to listen to the beautiful, bittersweet melodies of the slaves. However, today, a rare event happened. An open cart, dusty brown and pulled by a solitary horse, rolled right past the melodious fields, its driver too preoccupied to notice where he was. His horse knew the way home, and that is where the driver wanted to be as quickly as possible.
On another day, this man would have instantly commanded respect of all around him. Today, though, his somber face held an absent look as if his thoughts had stayed behind at the place of departure. Still, it was clear from his immaculate suit and strong features that he used to be a military man and an important one at that. Without a doubt, here rode a retired officer, for his hair was peppered with premature gray hair that too often comes with the stresses of battle.
The driver remained lost in thought as the cart reached its destination, his farm, if that word could describe so expansive a place. Encompassing nearly a hundred acres and including a large, colonial mansion, the grounds had ample space for roaming in the woods as well as for growing. The primary crops of beans and cotton took up some of the space, although plenty of land remained uncultivated, lying fallow as part of crop rotation. Only two entrances – one to the north and one to the south – broke the line of a twelve-foot-tall hedge that demarcated the property. A double gate guarded each entrance. These barred, iron gates were rectangular in shape, taller than wide, with an ornate pattern adorning the top. On the right-hand gate of each entrance, a large bronze sign hung, identifying the farm and its owner – Providence Estate, Colonel Bill Williams, esquire. It was to one of these entrances that horse, cart, and rider now arrived.
Stopping the horse, Colonel Williams stepped down from the cart and opened the gate that led into the estate. The gate swung open with little effort; it was well maintained. Leading the horse and cart through the gate, the man swung the gate back closed behind the cart, latching it shut from the inside. He wanted no visitors today.
Remounting the cart, he drove up to the carriage house, which was little more than a small, red barn remodeled. It stood a little removed from the mansion. After arriving at the house, he unhooked the horse and set it free to roam in the corral, leaving the cart sitting in front of the carriage house.
He approached the mansion. The late afternoon sun filtered through the trees and gave a pleasant softness to the great white pillars that marked the front of the two-story structure. The pillars supported the roof over the fenced-in front porch, a location where Williams and his few staff would gather during the warm season to enjoy the cool of evening. Two stories of windows sat evenly spaced within the walls on all four sides, and numerous chimneys indicated the presence of many fireplaces for heat during the winter. From only one did smoke rise, that of the kitchen at the back of the great house.

Williams quickly strode up the steps to the porch, entered by the front door, and went straight into his study. Volume upon volume of old books, some written in arcane dialects of English that few could read, lined the shelves of three walls. Sunlight streamed in through large windows on the fourth side. A large desk sat near the middle of the room, slightly closer to the windows than the door and facing outward to allow for a commanding view of the western woods and the small creek that trickled its way through on the way to the river several miles away. Most of the farming occurred in the eastern half of the estate, while the western half remained untouched forest.
Walking over to the large leather armchair in one corner of the room, Williams plopped down into it, sighing as he did so. He sat there for some time in a dark reverie, and it was a knock on the door and the question of a clear voice that rescued him from it.
“Colonel Williams, sir,” said the man at the door, “dinner is almost ready, sir. Will you come?”
Williams looked up. At the door stood one of his few staff, the ever-loyal butler. “So soon, Roderick? It’s too early, isn’t it?”
“No, sir,” replied Roderick in his New England accent, “It is actually late. It is after six o’clock now, and I know that you generally dine promptly at half past five.”
“How can it be after six? I just returned from town but a few minutes ago.”
“You have been lost in thought, Colonel, for nearly an hour and a half. It appears that time has gotten away from you.” Roderick hesitated for a second before continuing, “If I may, sir, something appears to be bothering you since you returned from town. You locked the front gate early, and I had to unlock it for the butcher’s weekly delivery. And you have been sitting there in your armchair, oblivious to the world ever since you came home. What is wrong, if I might ask?”
Williams frowned, his face darkening in a mix of sadness and rage. “It was market day in town, Roderick.”
“Yes, sir,” Roderick answered. He knew what market day meant, and why it saddened Williams. Market day meant the buying and selling of many items, including people.

Story: Colonel Williams, Foreword

Before I post the first part of the initial chapter of the new story I'm working on, I wanted to say a few things about it.
First, it is a rough draft, even in its current form. I've tried to go back and rewrite it enough to make it flow, but I reserve the right to go back and rewrite (and repost) any particular section of the story, as required by subsuquent story developments.
Secondly, I welcome comments. Tell me if something doesn't make sense. Tell me if somebody calls someone by the wrong name. Tell me if the dialogue sounds worse than Star Wars: Episode II. I don't mind. I'm not a professional writer, and I don't really aspire to be. This is just a hobby to alleviate the summertime blahs a little. So, fire away with your thoughts. It'll help me make the story more enjoyable.
Thirdly, and finally, I will do my best to update the story every couple of days. There will be a couple of times when that will not be possible, and I will do my best to let you know in advance when the delays will occur. Remember, though, that writer's block is always unscheduled. :-)
With those three ideas in mind, check back tomorrow for the first part of Chapter 1!

Commentary: Money, Money, Money

It's a sad, sad day in Kansas. The Kansas Supreme Court has ordered the State Legislature to come up with $285 million more for public schools. Apparently, an extra $124 million was not enough to be "adequate". The key word there is adequate. I disagree with this decision for three reasons.
First, I think the court has overstepped its bounds tremendously, telling the Legislature exactly what it is supposed to do. That sounds like the courts making the law instead of interpreting it. It is the Legislature's job to provide adequate funding. If districts disagree with what is adequate, then they may petition the courts and the courts can decide if the legislature has provided adequate funding. However, the court has overstepped its bounds by setting a specific amount and setting a deadline for doing it. Who's in charge around here?
Secondly, the extra money is not going to adequately fund education. If it is merely adequate funding that is necessary (not extraordinary funding nor amazing funding...the state could easily bankrupt itself if it had to provide that much funding), then the courts out to consider private schools and notice how much they spend per pupil. It is quite less than the public schools, even when special education programs are discounted. The problem with the public schools is not that there is not enough money. It is that, in many districts, the money is being used inefficiently. Adding more money will only lead to greater waste because people with bigger budgets tend to spend more, and the state of the education will not improve.
Thirdly, there is no extra money to give to the schools. The state has nearly bankrupted itself by giving an extra $142 million to education. Any additional money will have to come from raising taxes, which will be damaging to the recovering economy, prevent businesses from coming to the state, and prevent consumers from having money to invest in the economy. It is going to harm the state more than help.
Like I said, it's a sad day in bankrupt, overtaxed Kansas

Rambling: Episode III and New Story

I saw Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith today. I don't want to say anything about the plot in case there's actually someone out there who hasn't seen it, yet. However, I will say that it does a good job of completing the story of the prequels, setting the stage well for Episode IV. Does it do it perfectly? No. In my opinion, there are a couple of illogical/unmotivated occurrences in the story, and the acting/dialogue is a littled stilted at times.
Ratings (out of ten)
Story: 7 (Most of the lose ends tie up, but some actions seem unmotivated)
Acting: 6 (At times, the dialogue sounds more like a cold reading)
Cinematography: 10 (The visuals, as usual, are what Lucas does best)
Overall: 7 (Good action can't overcome stilted acting)

I'm working on a new story, but the initial two scenes aren't quite ready, yet. I'll try to have the initial scene out by the middle of next week, but no promises.