They had set up a camp kitchen under an open-walled tent nearby, and several New Faith women were in there along with townspeople Marsha Kimmel and Joanne Pettie turning out a midmorning snack for the crew: big buckwheat-and-potato-flour flatcakes rolled up with butter and jam, and rose-hip tea to wash it down. Brother Jobe steered me over to the face of the dam while the others got their food. It was about fifteen feet high. A trench ran up to it and I could see a new copper fitting that had been run up into the original supply pipe at the base of the dam below the frost line.
“I hear you had quite an adventure in Albany,” Brother Jobe said.
“We accomplished what we set out to.”
“Yes, it come out pretty well,” Brother Jobe said and cleared his throat. “I know that some people got hurt down there. From what Joseph told me, they asked for it. This is exactly the kind of lawless monkeyshines we saw everywhere coming up from Virginia. Gangsterism. Hostages and ransoms and whatnot. But I’m sorry you had to discharge a firearm at somebody.”
“He was aiming to kill me.”
“Quite a feeling, ain’t it? Getting shot at.”
“I would have been happy to pass on it.”
“Yeah, well, this is the kind of country we live in now, old son. Your own people who speak English and wear the same kind of clothes as you do aiming to blow your brains out for sheer greed and sinfulness. That’s why we have to build something lawful here, if we can. You see what I mean now?”
“I see where we’ve been pretty lucky here for the most part in recent years.”
“You’re goldurn straight,” he said and spit into the trench. Then his face lit up all smiling. “Speaking of which, your dam’s straight now too. Ain’t that something? We’ll be done with her before the end of the day if our Mr. Bullock manages to get one more length of new pipe up here.”
“That’s very good news indeed.”
“You wouldn’t believe what we dragged out of the intake,” he said and jerked his chin up the face of the dam. “A dead coyote. Turtle shell the size of a dadblamed wheelbarrow, among other trash. Don’t you all know that you got to pay attention to a system like this?”
“Things just slipped. Especially under Dale.”
“You all been drinking dead coyote juice for months. You’re lucky it didn’t start no outbreak. You better appoint a water commissioner or some such of a responsible party first thing, and get some volunteers to come up here reg’lar and clean the trash out—”
Just then, we saw a wagon lumbering up the hill, creaking loudly under its load. It was a flatbed behind a team of ghostlike gray Percherons.
“Looks like we’re in business now,” Brother Jobe said.
The final length of cast concrete pipe lay tied down and padded up in the flatbed. We went down there. It was driven by Bullock’s man Jack Hellinger. Jack leaped down from the driver’s bench and came straight over to me while others held onto the harnesses and worked the crane around to unload the new pipe.
“Mr. Bullock sends his greetings and regards,” Jack said, “and says that he wants to put on a grand levee tonight in honor of you and these brotherhood fellows who went and got back Tom and the boys in Albany. And if it isn’t asking too much, he says, would you mind getting up your bunch to furnish the music? What do you say, Robert?”
“Why, tell him I’m honored as to the first part, and I’ll be glad to arrange the second.”
“That will please Mr. Bullock, I’m sure. Festivities to begin in the early evening. He says he’ll send every wagon, carriage, and cart over to town to help fetch those that need it.”
“We’ve got wagons too,” Brother Jobe said. “Don’t forget.”
“We’re going to roast a whole steer and more than a few hogs,” Jack said. “The women are baking up a storm. And the liquor will flow.”
“Hot diggity,” Brother Jobe said. “You need any pointers in the barbeque department, we’ll be glad to lend a hand.”
Forty-three
The last length of cast concrete water conduit was laid down around two that afternoon. It was obvious we’d eventually have to replace more of the main trunk below, but for now the system was restored. We got the trench filled in and the worksite all squared away by late afternoon. Our boys put the word out around town about the levee at Bullock’s as they filtered home. Tom Allison sent his boy off on horseback to alert the farmers outside of town, and many of the successful ones like Deaver, Weibel, and Zucker, who employed townspeople, let their hands off work early. Brother Jobe sent a wagon around with two “sisters,” Helen and Emily, offering to take anyone’s little children to an evening of babysitting over at the old high school with the New Faith youngsters. Even the weather seemed to cooperate as a cooling northerly breeze cleared out the persistent haze and dropped the humidity.
I went around myself to alert the music circle members about the engagement at Bullock’s request that night-Eric Laudermilk, our guitar player, Dan Mullinex, flute and clarinet, Leslie Einhorn, cello, Charles Pettie, our bass player, Bruce Wheedon, second violin, and Andy Pendergast, who was delighted to hear we were called to play. I distributed the rest of those new wound steel strings I’d picked up in Albany. As far as I recalled, Bullock had a piano on the premises somewhere, but Andy wanted to bring his harmonium out just in case. On my way home, going down Van Buren Street, I ran into Loren pulling a handcart heaped with manure from Allison’s stable, I suppose for composting in the rectory garden. Loren’s face was bright red with exertion, and half moons of sweat darkened the underarms of his frayed blue shirt from pulling the load uphill. We both paused by the cemetery fence in the shade of a horse chestnut. “Remember Gatorade?” Loren said.
“You know me. I don’t think of the old days as much as you.”
“Well that stuff could really pick a guy up. I miss it. I really do.”
“Try some honey and sumac punch. That’ll work.”
“For what it’s worth, I never gave a shit about the chemicals or the fake coloring they put in it.”
“Give me an ice cold beer,” I said. “Straight out of a refrigerator. With dewdrops running down the side of the bottle.”
“Dream on,” Loren said.
Screen doors slapped and voices carried all over town as households prepared for levee, singing as they pulled clothes off the line, neighbors visiting among neighbors to borrow finery, harnessing their horses-the few who had one. Children caught the spirit and squealed as they were packed off for babysitting.
“We got the water back on again,” I said.
“Hooray for that,” Loren said. “I had to jump in the river last night or Jane Ann wouldn’t let me in the bedroom.” Loren looked momentarily uncomfortable, as though a passing cloud had brought on a chill. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “You’re quite the hero. First the fire, then you shove Dale off the plank, then the Big Breakout, and now the water system finally gets fixed.”
“Do you think I’m out for brownie points?”
“Gosh no.”
“We can’t not have running water,” I said. “That would be the last straw for civilized life around here.”
“It’s been a harsh week without it. I can tell you that.”