Chapter 8

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Matthew’s team plan went into effect immediately. Breakfast went much better than any of the meals the day before. Once everyone was on board, Matthew stood up and demanded everyone’s attention. “Boys!” he called, “we have at least two or three days left of traveling, and I absolutely do not want any more days like yesterday. So just settle down, do some reading or something – anything as long as it’s quiet. There will be no fighting, no throwing, no loud arguing, nothing!” He started to sit down but then faced them again. “Oh, yeah, I hope you all had plenty to drink at breakfast, gentlemen, because there will be no beverages served except at meal times. Any questions?”

“Yeah, Sarge, just one,” muttered Mack out of his father’s earshot. “When did I enlist? To tell ya’ the truth, I don’t remember doing it.”

They pulled onto the Pennsylvania turnpike at 9:00 sharp. The next two and a half hours were relatively quiet. The boys actually talked and joked a little, except Thomas of course, who sat off by himself strumming his guitar. Andrew produced a deck of cards, asking if anyone would like to go a couple of hands. Matthew asked if he could sit in. “Your old man can handle himself around a deck of cards, you know.”

“Yeah, we do know,” Andrew said, laughing. “That’s what got us into this mess.”

At 11:30, Sonny pulled into a rest area, over 150 miles further into Pennsylvania. The air was damp and cool, and there were still some patches of snow on the ground. Mack’s team challenged Andrew’s team to a game of football, so everyone went storming out for the game.

Annie was sleeping in the back of the bus until she sensed unusual movement. She was horrified to see Sonny bending over Joey. Having wrapped him in a coat and scarf, he picked up the boy and walked toward the door.

“What are you doing?” She lunged toward them, ready to snatch the boy out of Sonny’s arms. “It’s too cold for him outside. Are you crazy?”

“I got him wrapped up.” He brushed past her. “The kid’s not made of glass, ya’ know.”

She watched as he hoisted the boy on his shoulder, heading the opposite direction from where the others were playing. He swung over the fence five feet from a “No Trespassing” sign and headed down to a nearby stream. What a peculiar sight, Annie thought. Sonny’s expression was as grim as ever, but there he was, attending this fragile, helpless child. Across the park, Andrew, who had just taken a pass, pulled up and gestured in Sonny’s direction. Everyone stopped to gasp. This stranger defied any logical explanation.

Whatever the reason for Sonny’s uncharacteristic act of kindness, Annie resented it. She turned away from the window and began working over Becky who needed changing and feeding. This man did not have a sincere, caring bone in his body so why should he trouble himself with Joey? And now he’ll probably get an ear infection or something. Just what I need, moaned Annie, a sick child.

A half hour later, when Matthew broke up the game so everyone could eat, Sonny brought Joey back to the bus. They boy had bright red cheeks and was grinning from ear to ear. Sonny took off his wrappings without saying a word.

There were sandwiches, chips, and cookies for lunch. They ate hungrily and were soon on their way again. The boys settled down quietly, some even dropping off to sleep or just watching the picturesque countryside of western Pennsylvania slip by. They reached Ohio late that afternoon and pulled into their motel at 5:00 PM.

“Right on schedule,” Matthew proclaimed triumphantly. Fifteen minutes later, he and his sons were jumping into the pool, squealing and cavorting to their heart’s content.

When Sonny came carrying the last of the baggage into Annie’s room, Joey was laying on the floor and seemed to actually reach his arms toward Sonny. Annie thought he was going to ignore the boy, but he did squat down to tousle Joey’s curls. “What’s the story with him anyway?” he asked.

“With Joey?” she asked, taking him onto her lap. “The doctors would never admit it but probably something happened during delivery.” She was trying to undress him, battling the tremendous spasticity in his little hips and legs. Even his feet were curled. It was difficult to separate his scissoring legs to change his diaper.

“How old is he – two, three? He still wears diapers, can’t talk or nothing’?”

“Well, obviously he’s – well, handicapped,” she said curtly. What kind of stupid questions were these?

“You people have a lot of money, living in one of the biggest cities in the world – wasn’t there somebody who could do something for him?”

“Like what? Sure they told my parents they should try this or that, go to this doctor or that therapist, but my mother hated it. He was always sick with colds and ear infections. He is a very frail child. Can’t you see that? That’s why I’m so worried about living in a place that might not have electricity or heat or even running water. Now do you understand?” she demanded, fuming.

But he said nothing – just nodded disapprovingly and left. Once again, Annie felt cheated. There was so much more she wanted to say, but she was certain he didn’t care enough to stick around to finish anything.


Tuesday they drove across Ohio and Indiana, passing mile after mile of rich farmland, which otherwise would have been very boring and tiresome to the Winston’s. But this time, they gazed out their windows with much interest and curiosity. Would their farm look like one of these – neatly maintained white fences and red barns with baby calves sleeping in the pastures? They could only hope.

They pushed on past night fall, stopping for the night a few miles west of Chicago. All that lay between them and Mississippi was one hundred and sixty miles of Illinois. The word was passed quickly. Tomorrow they would be there.

After supper, Luke offered to take over the babies and get them settled for the night. Annie put on a nice outfit and even applied make-up. After all, she reminded herself, this is probably the last real civilization they would see for who knows how long. She went downstairs to the bar, noting she turned a couple of heads as she walked by. She felt a little giddy and daring so she asked her father to order her a drink rather than her usual diet soda.

“Pop was just telling us his fantasies of how this place will look.” Mack snickered. “He says it’ll have a big rambling farmhouse over-looking the river, of course, and a minimum of two of those huge barns like we’ve been driving past all day. And, oh yeah, lots of animals, like cows and pigs and probably a few chickens. Right, Pop?”

“It’s called livestock’,” Sonny said, “and I can’t wait till you’re out there at 5:00 AM, knee-deep in mud and cow shit.” He stood up then and finished the last of his beer.

Mack tried to appear undaunted, but he couldn’t stop the color from draining from his face. He gave his father one of those rueful I-don’t-believe-you-got-me-into-this looks. He then turned to give Sonny a piece of his mind. but he had already left. The others were laughing. “That sonofabitch!” Mack muttered, talking into his beer glass.

Annie fully intended to enjoy the evening. Her father was in very good spirits. They laughed and talked at the bar for a couple of hours. Later, when they were helping their father into bed, Mack pointed out that Sonny was not there. “Wonder what the hell that guy does off all by himself all the time?” Mack wondered, sounding accusatory. Andrew and Annie wondered, too, but they were too tired to debate it.




March can be a very troublesome month – totally unpredictable, when any kind of whether is normal. The old saying is, “In like a lion, then out like a lamb” and vice versa, but most mid-westerners hesitate to put much credence in that old cliché, since experience has taught them that no rules apply when it comes to the month of March.

So far, the skies were mostly overcast and the winds were cold, but thankfully, there hadn’t been any snow, ice, or rain, or mixture thereof – so far.

On their last day of traveling, everyone was rousted out of bed before dawn. Instead of their accustomed hot pancakes and sausage, they were given stale donuts and juice, so that the grumbling began earlier that day. And then, just as they stepped outside to board the bus, they were blasted by waves of icy rain. They huddled in their seats listening to the torrents of sleet pelt the windows.

Sonny sat hunched over the steering wheel in a trance of total concentration as he carefully negotiated mile after mile of slick pavement. They didn’t stop for lunch. Sandwiches were passed around but no one seemed very hungry.

The sleet turned to rain as the sun climbed higher behind its curtain of steel-gray clouds. Trickles of chatter could be heard as their fear wanned. They crossed the Mississippi into Iowa in early afternoon. There were still large chunks of ice floating in the dark, murky waters, making the river look very unfriendly and forbidden.

“I’m looking for the turnoff to U.S. Highway 61.” Sonny called to Matthew. “That’ll take us north to Dubuque County.” They turned off shortly and word was passed that it would be there in another hour and a half.

This new road was very choppy and uneven compared to the interstate. The bus bumped along, jolting and jostling its occupants mercilessly. Becky woke up screaming. Matthew bolted to the crib, picked up the infant, and began to pace. It was clear that he was too nervous to sit still any longer.

“I think it’s breaking up a little, don’t you think?” he said to no one in particular. “The rain is letting up, too.” He tried to sound hopeful, probably trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

The reality of where they were and how far removed it was from anything they had ever known began weighing heavier. Even the names of things were alien to them, like the villages of Maquoketa, Otter Creek, or Zwingle, and a river called the Wapsipinicon.

“Hey, that’s nothing,” sneered Thomas, who was looking over a map. “This state has rivers called the Fox and the Turkey. There’s even one called the Skunk!”

Shortly after they passed the sign that announced they were entering Dubuque County, they saw another sign that simply said, “HILL”.

“Maybe a decent hill is a big deal out here on the lone prairie,” Thomas quipped.

But the snickering was cut short as they swung over the top of that hill and dropped into a panorama of vastly changed scenery. The land bottomed out into beautiful wide valleys and sharply peaked bluffs that rimmed the landscape as though to separate this little corner of the world from the rest of the planet. There were immaculate farmsteads etched into the hillsides and cattle grazing on the barren, rocky inclines where it was too steep to plant crops. Narrow gravel roads trailed off across the countryside, disappearing where the hilltops met the sky.

As they neared the city of Dubuque, the roadside became dotted with houses and gas stations. However, before they reached the city itself, Sonny turned south onto a narrow blacktop road by the sign which said, “Shannontown: 18 miles”.

Matthew let out a loud, unrestrained whoop. “This is it! We’re almost there!“

The highway was part of a network called the Great River Road, which meant it closely paralleled the Mississippi’s curves and meanderings. It took travelers over high bluffs and across the valley floors. Even Mack and Thomas were quiet, intrigued by what they saw.

The first clue that they were nearing a town was a tall, white, spiraled church steeple rising above the treetops on a distant hillside. “Look, there it is!” someone cried. “That must be Shannontown!”

The town looked to be incredibly small, only a few buildings nestled between the river’s edge and high bluffs that towered behind it. The highway took them down the one main street that was lined with houses and businesses on one side and a riverside park on the other. As they drove along, they were through the town almost as quickly as they entered it, so Sonny turned the bus around to head back. “We’ll have to find someone who can tell us how to find the farm,” Matthew said, still pacing.

Sonny pulled into a corner gas station. “Sure, this will do,” Matthew agreed, standing poised at the door ready to leap out as soon as it opened. “Town like this, they’ll be able to tell us right off.”

Sonny opened the door and followed Matthew inside. There were two men sitting by an old wood stove. “Good afternoon,” Matthew began. “Would either of you happen to know where this place is located?” He showed them the deed.

They studied it for a few moments and exchanged surprised glances. “Well sure, mister. That would be the old Weatherly place,” one of them said. “Everybody knows where that’s at. Who’s askin’?”

Matthew took the deed and turned it over. “That’s me, Matthew MacAlister Winston II,” he said, pointing to his signature on the back. “I’m the new owner of the place. This is Sonny Jackson, my hired hand. We’ve been told that this is 420 acres of the richest, blackest dirt on God’s earth.” He finished with a grand flourish but neither man’s expression changed. Matthew’s smile faded, confronted by steady, scrutinizing stares.

He stepped aside so they could see the bus parked outside. “We’ve traveled from New York City to come out here and live.” The two men looked at the bus with all the children’s faces pressed against the windows and then stared at Matthew and Sonny again.

A slow, twitching grin spread across the older man’s face as he extended his hand. “Well, welcome to our little town,” he said, shaking Matthew’s hand. “I’m Jake Gibson, and I guess we’ll be neighbors, if you’re really serious about living out there.”

“Oh, I’m very serious, Mr. Gibson.”

“Ah, just call me Jake,” said the old man, smiling. He leaned forward on his cane. “Now, I don’t know what they told ya’ when ya’ bought that place but--”

“I didn’t buy it. I won it in a poker game. And I realized it probably needs a lot of work, but if you’d just give us directions, we’ll look the place over ourselves.”

“Well now, how many youngsters you got out there? A whole bus full, aye?”

“I have ten children and they’re quite anxious to see our new home,” Matthew said with strained politeness. “Now, if you could give us directions?” he pressed.

“Ten kids, huh. And this is your hired hand?” he asked nodding at Sonny. “You folks know anything about farmin’?” he wondered out loud. “Well, listen, I guess the best way is for you just to follow me home.” He opened the door, but then stopped to comment further. “But ya’ know, we’ve had an early thaw this year so gravel roads are pretty soft. Mel hasn’t had the maintainer out there yet. ‘Course the school bus makes it out there without much problems. But then, Bud’s been driving that route for years.”

While he was chattering, he was digging into his pocket. “That’s all right, Jake,” grinned the other man, apparently the proprietor, “You can take care of it the next time you’re in. I think these fellas are kinda in a hurry.”

The old man hobbled slowly out of his old Ford truck. “Now, we’ll be heading out south of town,” he said, pointing with his cane. “I’ll wait for ya’ to get that thing turned around.” Matthew nor Sonny answered. They just got in the bus.

“Now I know how John Wayne felt when he had to deal with Walter Brennan,” Matthew joked.

Old Jake Gibson drove as slow as he talked and walked, but he hadn’t lied when he warned them about the roads. Once they turned off the highway onto what was supposed to he a gravel road, they swerved and slid their way for another three miles. Then Jake pulled into a driveway of a lovely farmstead and stopped. There was a collective hopeful gasp, everyone wondering if this was their place. But it wasn’t. Jake got out of his truck, hobbled over and called to them. “Just keep going’, it’s right down the road there. See that stand of fur trees yonder? That’s the place.” He was pointing with his cane. “You’d better not try the lane. It hasn’t been worked in years. If there’s anything you need, just come up here. Me and the misses are home most of the time.”

Matthew shouted thank you as Sonny revved the engine and pulled away.

Everyone pressed their faces against the windows on the left side of the bus, straining to see the first glimpse of the place. The long row of large evergreens blocked their view, but as they drew nearer, they could see past them and there it was.

No one said a word as they stared at the dark and broken house, crowning the top of a bleak and colorless hill. Most of the windows and doors were broken. A few were boarded. Enormous trees surrounded the house, pointing their bare sinister fingers as if to warn passing strangers to stay away. Across from the house, were several shabby, dilapidated barns and out buildings, each of them in worse shape than the next. The bus rolled to a stop at the entrance of a long driveway, its occupants sitting in frozen silence.

But then Matthew jumped to his feet and reached for the handle. “C’mon, what are you waiting for?” he cried as he threw open the door. “Let’s go have a closer look.”

No one moved at first. “Is he serious?” moaned Mack. “Man! This is worse, a hundred times worse, than I ever expected! Don’t they have wrecking crews here?”

“Or matches?” sneered Thomas, standing up and reaching for his coat. “Or maybe these country boys just rub sticks together,” he quipped as he passed Sonny, who was still sitting and starring.

Annie was sitting and staring, too, feeling a little nauseated and light-headed. Matthew tapped on her window and motioned for her to come. She opened the window stiffly. “Daddy, I think I’d better stay here on the bus. The baby is asleep and Joey--”

“Nah, they’ll be alright, Annie,” he persisted. “I’ll send one of the boys to check them every few minutes. Come on. Don’t you want to see the inside of the house?”

She gulped frantically. No, she did not want to see the house at all. She was afraid she was going to throw up, but she reached for her coat and joined the others. Then, realizing there was probably no running water, she cringed at the sea of mud that laid between them and the house. “Be careful,” she called. “Try not to get too dirty.”

Undaunted, Matthew stepped forward, leading them slowly and tentatively at first. He seemed oblivious to their fears and horror. Then he began picking up the pace and they followed him, parading through the mud. He pressed harder, going faster and faster until they were all running, slipping and sliding up the hill.

And then they were there. They stood huddled together at the foot of the stairway leading to the wide, pillared veranda. No one spoke. The sound of their collective labored breathing was deafeningly loud. Matthew stepped forward and mounted the first step, but his foot fell through the rotten wood. He managed to pick his way up and approached the door. Ripping off the “KEEP OUT” sign, he tried to break away the other boards with his bare hands but they held fast. Sonny produced a hammer from beneath his jacket and together they managed to free the entrance. The door swung open, groaning appropriately.

They stepped inside into what appeared to be a large, high-ceiling foyer. There was an open stairway on the right side that swept gracefully around the far end of the room. Straight ahead, beneath the stairway, were four dilapidated French doors opening into the backyard. The Winston’s stood gaping open-mouthed at their surroundings. They were surprised to see that this had probably been a lavish mansion in some earlier time.

Without speaking, they broke off into little groups and wandered in different directions. Annie took Peter and Danny by the hand and tapped Andrew on the shoulder to come along. She went to the right into what must have been a formal dining room. A long table stood intact down the middle of the room. Its dark oak finish was marred by deep gashes and weathering. The chairs were gone, and the stained glass panels were smashed in the buffets ate the end of the large rectangular room.

She pushed through a swinging door, barely hanging by one hinge, and stepped into the largest kitchen she had ever seen. Of course, she hadn’t been in many, but this one was huge. There was a pantry area immediately to the left and to the right was a winding back stairway to the upper floor and a door which probably led to the basement. The remainder of the spacious, airy kitchen was bordered by long counters and cupboards. The large, rusted cook stove was repeatedly vandalized – its pipes and parts were broken, and there were names, dates and some vulgarisms scratched into its great belly. Still, even with the cobwebs and rubble, there was a hint of warmth and hospitality in this room. They quietly moved through the passageway-like indoor porch that took them outdoors.

Matthew and the other boys had gone left from the foyer into the living room. It apparently had once been quite elegant. The large open fireplace was the focal point of the room with its marble mantle and ornate fixtures. Off this room was a smaller one, probably a library or study with bookshelves from floor to ceiling on three walls, now barren and broken.

Near the far end of the foyer they found another doorway into another small square room with much plainer furnishings. There was a large desk and pieces of a wooden roller chair. “This was probably the office for the estate,” Matthew said. It had an exit leading outside, adjacent to where the doorways from the foyer and kitchen opened so that all the explorers rejoined each other there.

This large porch winged off into long verandas that ran the length of the house. There were a few steps down to the stone walkway that dissected the huge backyard. The grounds, now covered with refuse and overgrown with weeds, sloped gently toward the edge of the timber. At the end of the walkway was a ramshackle structure that had once been a small gazebo sitting near the line of tall evergreen trees which served as a boundary between the yard and the woods. There, the terrain appeared to change, pitching downward sharply.

“This is the edge of the bluff,” Matthew exclaimed. “The river and the valley must lay beyond. C’mon. There must be an opening here somewhere. ” He followed the tree line to the right with the others close on his heels. The purposeful intensity illuminating his face drew them along.

They came to a large rocky shelf that jutted out over the ridge. The stony floor allowed little growth so it afforded an excellent alley-way to view the valley that stretched out before them. There were the acres of the rich, black farmland that Matthew had told them about. Beyond that was the river, dark and imposing even at this distance. Though the landscape seemed desolate and barren in foggy hues of gray, it was a spectacle that left even the most unbelieving gasping and spell-bound.

“My God, this is it! This is it!” Matthew proclaimed, his voice at first small and hallow but swelling rapidly until it was booming and exhilarating, He stretched his arms out as though to embrace it all. “I don’t care what any of you say, we are staying!”

No one said anything. It would have been useless anyway. They stood there together, cemented by the resolve of one man. But then a cool breeze stirred the treetops, sending a shuddering chill through the little group as though reality was slapping them on the face.

“So now what?” someone said. None of them, not even Matthew, had the vaguest idea. As they had done already so many times these past few days, all eyes turned toward Sonny.

He was sitting astride one of the large tree trunks that served as a safe banister for this rocky balcony. He gazed over the valley with as much awe and reverence as Matthew. His jacket was opened but he seemed unaffected by the cold wind that swept over him. Then he became aware that they were all looking at him and his expression changed to business-like. He looked up at the threatening skies. “Well, we’d better get unloaded,” he said. “It’ll be dark soon, or worse, we’ll get hit by a thunderstorm.” Sighing deeply, he got up and led them back toward the house. It was time to get started.

Chapter 9

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