Restitution

By Greg Riley

Jake Cooper just wants to go home. It’s been six years. Six long years since he lived the peaceful life he loved, the life of a rancher in the young and untamed Texas. Jake wants to slip back into Cottenwood, the town his father made, and go back to living his life. Back to when things were simple. Jake Cooper wants to go back to the family ranch and return it to its former glory. Turns out, going home is not that easy. Cottenwood has changed, Jake has changed, and he quickly learns the ranch is no longer his. Jake learns, before he can truly come home, he must face his demons from the past, the town’s self-indulgent banker swindled Jake out of the family ranch, and the difficult widow who now owns his ranch.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Greg Riley
• Release date: Jan 29, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310084782

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RESTITUTION

Greg Riley

Copyright © 2015 Greg Riley

Published by Greg Riley at Smashwords

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hardwork of this author.

To Susan

1

Colby Knowles twisted his neck and looked skyward scratching his prematurely white beard. He frowned. Resting his forehead on the window pane, Colby grumbled as he looked out. He watched as people hurried across the street, in and out of buildings; holding hats, pulling coats close to help fend off the gusts of biting wind.

Why ain’t anybody coming in here?

Who are you talking too, dear?

Colby turned towards the back of the store where the voice was coming from.

Nobody. Everybody. I don’t know. Don’t know why nobody’s come in today.

Maybe you lying on the front window is scaring everybody off.

Colby smirked as he thought about what he must have looked like from the street. He snuck one last peek at the sky before leaning on his broom in thought.

The low gray clouds covering the sky were quickly moving north. It was colder than it should have been for early March. The clouds were not helping; blocking any warmth gained from the sun. The north bound clouds however, were a sign of things to come; a welcome marker of winter’s demise.

Colby walked away from the window and started to work his way toward the back of the store with short strokes of his broom when he stopped himself. He doubled back and checked the front door of the C.H. Knowles Mercantile ensuring he remembered to unlock it. Only then did he resume his move towards the back of the store sweeping as he walked. Finished, he placed the broom back in its corner; its bristles curved and worn from years of being raked across the rough hewn boards running the length of the Mercantile’s floor. The middle of the floor though, was now worn smooth from the years of the store’s patrons pacing up and down getting the supplies needed to survive the untamed wilderness.

The Mercantile was the focal point for the town though it was the women who spent the most time in the Mercantile. Normally they flocked around the bolts of fabric at the front of the long narrow store. Their conversations were loud and hurried. Their talk would alternate between the daily gossip and which dress pattern would, look good for the new Sunday-go-to-meetin’ dress they were making. The gossip and the dress patterns changed without predictability while the women never broke the steady cadence of their speech. Colby’s wife, Sally Knowles, was the one responsible for moving the bolts of fabric and the notions to the front of the store. She insisted he put them in the front and on the left side of the store by the window shortly after they completed their first year in business.

Now why would we do such a thing?

Because that’s where the good morning light is. And because I said.

Colby loved his wife dearly and always complied with her wishes. So, he promptly inched the canned goods back until he saw that knowing smile which told him she was satisfied. He then pushed the fabric and notions all the way to the front, where he was told.

When the men came in the Mercantile alone, they hurried in picked up what they needed, paid, and promptly left the Mercantile. When Sally was in the front, the men always stopped to greet her and politely answer her questions about their families. The men kept their answers short and to the point, some became notably nervous, all wanted to leave. Men accompanying their wives came with a different set of rules. Men would then either assemble by the gun case and talk in low hushed voices; or sit down around the small table in the back to carry on the somewhat more rambunctious conversations out of earshot of their wives. The small table in the back was where politics were hotly debated, or crop forecasts were made. The small table in the back is where cattle futures were questioned and most importantly where the best jokes were told.

Colby ran the Mercantile. He ordered the goods, stocked the shelves, and assisted the customers. He loaded and unloaded the wagons and dealt with the delinquent accounts. Colby ran the Mercantile, but his Sally kept the books. He knew Sally’s diligence in bookkeeping was why they survived the bad years and thrived in the good ones. Sally also possessed an uncanny ability to know the goods that would sell and those that wouldn’t. Colby ran the Mercantile, but Sally made it profitable. He prided himself on neatness and orderliness in his store. He loved his store and started every morning sweeping followed by straightening the long narrow store. He started on the left side of the store working from front to back. He would then start over at the front on the right side working his way to the back, meticulously turning labels so they faced the front, returning misplaced items to their proper place, and restocking any depleted items.

C.H. Knowles Mercantile was one of the first structures to be built in Cottenwood. It was both the pride of Colby and the town. From the day he took down the tent housing the Mercantile for its first 18 months of business and moved into this building, Colby knew this was the Mercantile’s temporary home. The noble building endured numerous spring squalls and blazing Texas summers and now was showing its age and need for repair. Colby didn’t mind. His new Mercantile, an imposing brick building, was nearing completion. The new Mercantile would be a block south of its present location in an area being redeveloped to handle Cottenwood’s expansion.

The north Texas town was not big, but it was growing fast. With railroad tracks on their way and a new train station breaking ground, the town of Cottenwood was on the verge of a serious boom. Tucked away in the rolling hills of northeast Texas, the town consisted of Main Street, three side streets on the west side, two on the east before getting to the five neighborhood streets on the east.

James Ranney owned a small watch repair and jewelry shop that sat on the corner Colby wanted his new Mercantile to sit. As a friend of James, knew he was having trouble keeping enough business coming in to keep his doors open. He approached James one afternoon and offered to buy his business and property from him. The offer stated James would continue to repair watches and sell jewelry in the Mercantile while working for Colby. He in turn would pay him a good wage and a percentage of the profit James brought in until the sale price for his business was met. James jumped on the deal. It permitted him to continue to do what he enjoyed most, fixing watches and clocks, while earning a steady income, without the worries of having to maintain books and watch his cash flow. A burden he bore since coming to Cottenwood. Colby loved the deal since it allowed him to expand his business without having to put up any money up front. His real motivation behind the deal was to get the prime real estate for his new store while keeping his current building. He could have a bigger and better Mercantile and a building he could rent out.

The new Mercantile would be the town’s first brick structure. Or at least the first completed. If everything went according to plan, the Mercantile would open its doors by fall. There were four brick buildings under construction and three more in the planning stage. Two of the buildings started construction last week, one financed out of Fort Worth, the other by Colby himself. Brant Silbaugh Jr., the town’s banker, started the fourth. He started construction on the bank’s new building the month after the Mercantile broke ground.

Brant was a short thick hairy man with an ego matched only by the chip on his shoulder. He wore a ruddy complexion and out of control mutton chops. He read the long wide sideburns were quite the fashion statement in the larger cities on the east coast, the cradles of high society where Brant thought he belonged. Brant grew up with money and grew accustom to its perks.

His father Brant Sr., owned Merchant’s Bank, the second largest bank in San Antonio and was, as a result, a very rich man. He accumulated his wealth financing the cattle barons in south Texas and Mexico who were sending vast herds to Missouri and later Kansas. Brant, born in San Antonio, spent his youth in boarding schools leaving San Antonio at age seven. His father Brant Sr. took Brant on a family vacation to New York City. Brant was taken by the large city and its trappings as he and his mother traveled around the city. A few days into the trip, his mother stayed at the hotel while Brant and his father went on what Brant’s father called a business trip. They rode the train all day stopping in a small town in the Adirondack Mountains. Brant, wearing a new suit held his father’s hand as the two slowly walked up to a foreboding iron gate in a brick fence. A gaunt man cracked open the gate. Brant’s father took to his knee and held Brant by the shoulders, Do as this man tells you.

He ushered Brant through the gate and walked back to the train station. It was not long before Brant discovered his father was not returning, and he would not be going home to see his mother. A large stone house sat behind the foreboding iron gate and was the dorms and class rooms for the private school. The dreary house and school were known as The Hawthorne Academy, and was to become Brant’s new home for the next ten years.

Brant was constantly in and out of trouble. He never fit in with the rest of the boys at school. His headmaster even wrote in his permanent record, Brant has not shown the moral or ethical propensity to remain here at The Hawthorne Academy. Brant did remain at The Hawthorne Academy since Brant Sr. saw fit to give large sums of money to the school. Brant saw his parents twice for a few weeks each during the summers the first three years. The winter of his fourth year, his mother grew ill quickly and died suddenly. Brant did not see his father again until he returned to San Antonio at seventeen.

Upon Brant’s return, he sought out debauchery and depravity in every dark corner and back alley he could. He enjoyed a quite lurid social life in San Antonio. He spent the evenings in the saloons gambling and drinking. The nights were spent with groups of women with questionable reputations. Brant Sr. only objected to Brant’s actions when he brought the garish women into his mansion just south of downtown.

Brant Sr. wanted to open a branch of his bank north Texas to capitalize on all the new farms and ranches popping up. He also saw it as a way to get Brant out of San Antonio. After dropping out of four colleges, and sitting idly in one of the offices in the bank, Brant Sr. sent his name sake to manage the bank in hopes he would grow up. His father knew all too well, if he did not sent him north, he would have spent the remaining years of his life on earth sprawled out on the floor of some seedy saloon or worse. Brant Sr., gave his son an ultimatum, go north or be completely cut off. Brant was livid. He would have to leave his cozy office in downtown San Antonio where he did nothing. The thought of going out into the wilderness to live scared him to death; however, being financially cut off scared him more. So he went north. He despised his father for sending him to such a desolate backwards part of the country. He missed the upscale bawdy life he was forced to leave in San Antonio. In Cottenwood, Brant was nothing.

From the beginning of his new job, Brant made more than a few bad loans to some of Texas’ most notorious residents. Brant would set up a note with one of his sordid acquaintances for a piece of land or some farm equipment; he would then place the loan proceeds in an account he set up in Fort Worth and give a 20 percent cut to his counterfeit loan applicant and then have them leave the state. It was simply too easy to disappear into the Oklahoma territory, Mexico, or parts west. It was also impossible to find the perpetrators and prosecute. Brant would simply default on the loan in a few months when no payments were made. Brant was safe; he always prepared and kept all the necessary documentation he needed to send down to the main bank in San Antonio. In his personal correspondence with his father, he would lament on how these people, these stupid stinking farmers, just wanted to carve out a life for their families… just a meager existence in this harsh land. Brant would go on about how the poor people either succumbed to weather, Indians, or thieves, and how this must be expected in such an untamed part of Texas.

The boom Cottenwood was experiencing gave Brant hope of the city and all its trappings coming to him. He determined he could not be part of the boom in the squalor of his current building. So he decided to build himself a modern brick building.

Brant desperately wanted to be the first brick building open in town. To beat Colby would be a sweet victory and boost his standing in the business community. But the building ran into problems early. Twice, Brant failed to pay the construction crew on time. The first time he didn’t pay his crew, he gambled the payroll away during a visit to Fort Worth a few days before payday. Brant eventually paid them what he owed a week later after foreclosing on a farm loan securing the needed funds. He drove a family out of its homestead, but covered his gambling loss with little notice. The second time, his crew walked off never to return. It took several weeks to hire enough men to put together another crew to try and finish the bank.

Brant also attempted to cut corners in the structure itself trying to beat Colby. Under his orders his second rate crew spread the wall studs too far apart trying to save lumber, and they used half as many nails as they should have. While they were adding the flooring to the second floor, the whole structure collapsed. There were lots of cuts and bruises, and the foreman broke his leg. The efforts of Brant resulted in the bank incurring a ten month delay in opening its new doors.

Brant possessed no moral reservation with what he was doing to his father’s bank or with his money. He needed the money to maintain his extravagant spending on his office and new home, and he needed the new bank building to fit his status. Bored with Cottenwood, Brant traveled to Dallas when opportunity arose to satisfy his societal needs. Brant’s comings and goings nearly put the bank under, but instead brought his father’s ire upon him in the form of a small salary to live on and his cousin Walter, who came into the bank as a senior partner, over Brant. This move drove Brant further into a state of abject bitterness, yet saved the bank.

Colby was at the front of the Mercantile re-wrapping the calico fabric around its bolt. He was muttering his distaste for Mrs. Andrews, under his breath, for he feared his wife hearing him. Lorna Andrews came in every week, and pulled out several bolts of fabric laying them everywhere. She would unwrap the bolts, study them as though her decision would change the course of history. Lorna Andrews wasn’t overly fond of Colby either; so in a small act of defiance, she never returned the bolts of fabric to their proper place. Worse, she never bought any fabric. Colby grew to really despise her and would have asked her not to come in anymore except Sally befriended her and protected her. Again, he loved his wife dearly, but he feared her more.

Colby finished with the fabric and moved on to the canned goods. In the midst of straightening cans, the tiny bell above the front door shook with life as it swung open wide letting in a rush of the brisk spring air.

Can I help you? Colby said without looking up. He said it so many times a day, it was automatic.

I just need to get some coffee ‘n flour, beans…just a few supplies.

The voice stopped Colby in his tracks. His brow wrinkled. It was a familiar voice; nevertheless he was having trouble placing it. It was tired and older and a long time since he last heard the voice. Colby cautiously looked up at the face. It surprised him when the face appeared much younger than the voice that went with it. The face under the long hair, hat pulled low, and the scruffy beard was familiar, but still couldn’t place it. The man’s face looked as ragged as his clothes did. His hair, under a sweat stained hat, was long, greasy, and curling in and out of the bottom of his collar. His jacket, frayed at the sleeves and torn at the shoulder, was by far his nicest piece of clothing. His shirt was thread bare, pants full of holes, and his boots showed the wear of many miles in the hot Texas dust.

Colby stepped toward the stranger with his familiar limp, hoping the stranger meant no trouble but ready if he brought it. His time in the Army, some of which was with the Confederate Army, was responsible for the slight limp when he walked. Even with his limp, Colby’s broad shouldered six-two frame dominated every room he walked in. He was still confused, but sensed no real danger from the stranger. He looked the stranger full in the face when an air of familiarity came over him. His face was much thinner than the last time he saw it, but he had seen it, and he knew it well. Then it came to him…

Jake? Jake Cooper? Is that you?

Yessir, it’s me.

Wh-what are you doing…in town? Are you back? Colby was struggling with his words.

Yessir.

Wait just one minute. Did I hear you right? You here to stay?

Yessir. I figured it was time for me ta come home.

Colby walked up to Jake and extended his hand, Proud to see you son, real proud.

Jake looked down at Colby’s hand and then into his eyes. He smiled, relaxed his shoulders, and gripped Colby’s hand hard. Colby pulled him close and hugged Jake with his other arm.

It feels good ta be back. Jake relaxed and took in the hug.

Heard stories Jake. Didn’t know if you was alive or, or what. Colby’s voice trailed off betraying his deep concern. Jake shuffled his feet and shoved both hands deep into his pants pockets pushing his coat back revealing his Colt Peacemaker revolver. Jake’s revelation went unnoticed by Jake but not by Colby. It was as much a part of Jake as were his boots. If asked, Jake would not have been able to tell the last time he unstrapped the Peacemaker from his waist. Colby frowned and stroked his beard when he saw the Peacemaker and the several notches in the handle.

Been worried sick. Colby said with a hard tone, a tone more familiar coming from a father.

I’m Fine.

You in trouble boy? Colby said as he furrowed his brow.

No sir. Not that I’m aware of. Jake said without much thought pushing his hat up a little higher on his head looking around for needed supplies. Jake walked over, grabbed a sack of flour, and threw it over is shoulder.

In fact, ya might say things is lookin’ up.

Everything alright Colby? A voice from the back room called out. Time did not dull Jake’s memory. He recognized the voice immediately. It gave him a cold chill. The voice was not objectionable, actually it was rather pleasant, and it belonged to Sally, Colby’s wife. Jake had known Sally since he was a young boy. In fact, he could not remember her ever being out of his life. His mother and Sally were best friends since before he was born.

His mother and father, Colby and Sally, and seven other families came to Texas from Tennessee after the war. The families came to Texas to establish Cottenwood and to start a new life. Even though Jake’s parents were older than Colby and Sally, Colby and Jake’s father shared an unusually tight bond. As a lieutenant, Colby served under Jake’s father, Jedidiah. He was known simply as Jed to his friends and as Captain when he served in the Confederacy and to a select few after the war. Like most veterans, neither would talk about what happened during the war. Jake would ask his father about it from time to time, and all his father would say was, Jake my boy, I saw and did things I hope you will never have to see or do. Jake’s mother told him after his father’s death, his father and Colby survived a month long siege in a small town outside Atlanta. The constant barrage of Union cannon fire, the endless charges by Union troops, killed close to three-quarters of their company. Jed and Colby survived the assault only to be captured and sent to a prisoner of war camp for confederate soldiers.

It was a common Union practice to keep prisoners of war in the old forts along the east coast. The grand forts were thought to be needed protection for ports and coastal cities, and virtually impregnable even through the start of the Civil War. These old citadels carefully constructed of stone and brick, were the cornerstone of war for over a thousand years until one fateful day at Fort Pulaski, off the coast of Savannah, Georgia. Not only was Fort Pulaski a bastion of mortar and brick, it was built in the middle of a swamp. The soft wet ground made it impossible to bring in artillery close enough to have any effect. Ships would be left exposed and in mortal danger if brought in, and the nearest dry land was over a mile away.

The Confederate army was left feeling safe behind the seven and a half foot thick walls. However, in April 1862, the Union army brought in its newest invention; untested in combat. The commanding officer assigned to attack Fort Pulaski was laughed at for wanting to use the weapon. General Sherman himself showed no faith in the weapon. By the end of the first day, the new rifled cannon reduced the fort to shambles. The spiraled grooves, rifling, on the inside of the cannon’s barrel spun the projectile making it go much further than its predecessor. Rifling made the projectile a great deal more accurate than the now obsolete round cannon ball. In less than two days, Fort Pulaski surrendered. With the coastal forts becoming useless at defending the cities and ports from attack, they became prisoner of war camps. Jed and Colby ended up at some fort in the marsh on the coast of Delaware. The best she could recollect, she would say, it was about 14 months before they were freed through a prisoner exchange with the North. No one really knew what happed to them there. Since the war, the two were inseparable.

Jake’s mom and Sally secretly feared the bond the two formed facing death day in and day out was probably stronger than their marriage vows, and neither was ever willing to test it. So, when the war ended, and they were able to muster out of the army, Jed, the natural leader he was, gathered a group of seven families and headed to Texas.

Jake owned few memories of the long trip to Texas. He did remember being in the back on the wagon train and how dusty it was. How his mother was in high spirits when they led the train and how her spirits sank a little bit each time the wagon train rotated and they moved a spot closer to the rear. How he tried to be on his best behavior when they were the last wagon, ’Cause momma had that look about her. When asked about the trip to Texas and what he remembered, Jed loved to tell a story about a particular river crossing where the water was moving more rapidly than first expected. He would slowly build the tension in the story. He was fighting the reigns, urging the horses, praying, moving on through the rushing torrent. The violent water started to tip his family’s wagon over. The wagon was rocking and rolling in the river until the wagon appeared to have lost the battle. Jake was screaming he didn’t know how to swim and he was going to drown the entire time they were in the river. Hearing this and annoyed with his youngest son, he yelled back to Peter to grab hold of the family bible so they wouldn’t loose it. As he gained control of the wagon and moved to shallow calm waters, he turned to check on his hysterical son. When he looked back, Jake was wet, crying, but sitting in between his two sisters and madder than a hornet at his father for caring about the family bible more than him. When Jed halted the wagon train and declared they were home, Jake, the youngest, was ten, his brother Peter twelve, and his sisters Hanna and Kathleen were fifteen and seventeen.

Growing up in Cottenwood, Jake loved to play pranks and practical jokes. Unfortunately for Sally, she seemed to be the brunt of more than her fair share. Having what Sally called a proper upbringing, she was not very tolerant which just fueled the fire in Jake’s belly. He loved being the catalyst for her wrath which she brought with great abandon.

Standing in her store now, for the first time in years made him nervous, an emotion he buried deep inside a long time ago. It was then he realized he actually felt remorse for all the trouble he caused her.

Just a customer Sally; don’t fret none. I can handle it on my own. Colby knew how Sally felt too. Deciding to forget the revolver for now, Colby lowered his voice. Brant still has your account open at the bank.

The smile left Colby’s face, That worthless slacker has come in here two dozen times trying to convince me to close your account over there so he could pocket your money.

I’ll go see him in the morning and straighten him out.

That would probably be best Jake, but for now, let’s get what you need to get yourself going.

They walked up and down the isles of the narrow store and gathered the rest of the necessary supplies Jake needed. When they finished, Colby