PART ONE ---New York City
Without a word, Nathan handed the cablegram to his son. Roy took it and walked away a few steps. He opened the envelope as he walked, dreading with every step, what he believed the cable would say; the Baron had died. The others watched quietly as he read, hardly breathing. The cable fell to the ground; Roy’s shoulders sagged, and he began to sob mightily. After a few minutes, he straightened his shoulders, shook himself like a wet dog, then turned to the others. All right gentlemen, I assume you all read what grandfather said; Tell Roy to stay the course, and that is exactly what we’re going to do. Michael, where do we go from here?
Offhand, Roy, I’d say Kentucky, but it’s your decision; except I don’t think you ought to be the one to go. How about you, Uncle Nathan?
I think you’re right; Roy needs to stay right here and look after MacTavish Enterprises like he’s supposed to. I had planned to go wherever we went, if Roy did, but since hell staying here, I reckon Ill go on to Virginia and rest a while. I guess that leaves you, Oliver.
Uncle Robert felt I owed him something, Oliver said, if I intended to take my rightful place in the clan; so he asked me to be the head of this new MacTavish division in this country. He’d been told there was a lot of open land and few settlers out west, and that’s where I should go. Also, Id be able to pay for land with gold without too many questions. I agreed with that, and said Id do it. David is all eager to go, so I guess that’s what well do.
PART TWO --- THE OLSENS
It was late in the day, August Twenty-first, eighteen fifty-six, and a perfect evening for fishing. A nice cool breeze barely ruffled the leaves on the trees providing shade for a man sitting beneath them in a strange looking chair; ostensibly, trying to catch his supper.
Oliver Olsen, once a sailor, now an adventurer; a banker; a farmer; a trader of livestock; a buyer of land; a builder; an entrepreneur extraordinaire; a man who wore many hats; was a man lost in retrospect. He found this happening more often lately, and if someone asked him why, would most likely answer, I’m trying to figure out how it all came about.
Suddenly, he was aware someone was jerking on his arm. He looked around and saw it was his two-year-old grandson, David Junior. His mother, Penny, was standing right behind the boy. Grandpa, Penny said. I don’t see any fish; you’ve been sleeping again, haven’t you?
I suppose you could say that, he replied, either that, or someone’s been standing beside me telling that same old story again. It don’t get any better with the telling. I’d sure like to hear something from David, wouldn’t you? It’s been three months since we heard from him and the boys.
