Outbound from Virginia: A Novel

By Joseph W. Michels

Twenty-year old Will Porter, along with his brother, is thrown out of the house
and disinherited after confronting his father over the fathers mistreatment of
Wills mother. Th eir college education cut short, they strike out on their own,
traveling through the South during the 1890s. Th e sudden and unexpected
death of his brother leaves Will to manage by himself as he ponders the future
a future that has him heading west to seek his fortune. His western odyssey
takes him from Seattle to Chicagoalways in search of the next big opportunity.
A member of one of the more prominent families of historic Virginia,
Will trades on his gentlemanly Southern manners and his sense of entitlement
to carve out a living and start a family of his own. But despite his pedigree, he
turns egalitarian and populist as the Great Depression takes its toll. Off ended
by what he sees around him, he uses satirical, muckraking poetry to target
those with economic and political infl uence. Regardless of the hardships he
faces, however, Will maintains a deep sense of optimism, symbolic of a generation
that confronted a rapidly changing America.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Mar 15, 2011
• ISBN: 9781450294324

Joseph W. Michels

JOSEPH W. MICHELS came to fiction writing after a long career as an archaeologist and cultural anthropologist. KAGNEW STATION: DATELINE 1956 is a sequel to the ALAN HARPER TRILOGY. The author became acquainted with Kagnew Station in 1974 while directing a large archaeological project in the region. The project’s headquarters was two blocks from the entrance to Kagnew Station and the project’s staff made extensive use of the base’s facilities.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

missing image file

INBOUND

1935

This was not the way he expected to make his return: without his family, almost broke and on a train rather than in a new Packard. He fingered the fine fabric of his wool suit, grateful that in appearance at least he was every bit the southern gentleman he thought himself to be.

Will’s thoughts turned to that Christmas holiday of 1894 when he and his father had their violent argument during his first evening home from college. Although more than forty years had elapsed, the details of that evening were solidly fixed in Will’s memory. He could visualize the apoplectic countenance of his father, the frightened look on his sister’s face and the earnest glance of support from his brother, Ben. Had he done the right thing? Perhaps he should have concealed his true feelings knowing his father was ill, and that his defiance could materially damage both his prospects and that of his brother. The worst part of it, thought Will, was the futility of it all. It wasn’t as if he’d had a close relationship with his mother over the ensuing years. She had married a second time, to a man with whom she had had a long relationship and then she had disappeared from his life, taking his baby brother with her. Perhaps his father’s instincts weren’t so far from the mark.

The train began to slow as it approached the outskirts of Richmond. Will broke free from his thoughts and turned his attention to the passing scenery. The gently undulating pastures of nearby farms still offered green grass for livestock but the full spectrum of autumn colors had already taken over the leafy mantle of woods and hedges. Manor houses, both old and new, sat boldly on the summits of low hills and were surrounded by long wooden fences that carved the land into a quilted landscape. Not much livestock was visible from the window of the train—just a scattering of cows and an occasional horse. And few autos could be seen on the roads. The strange stillness of the scene allowed Will to imagine nothing much had changed in the years gone by.

But once the train came within sight of the town it became apparent just how much had changed. Neighborhoods full of tidy homes extended out from the center of town in all directions, with automobile traffic as dense as that encountered daily in the far western precinct of Chicago. Commercial and industrial buildings were no longer confined to the banks of the James River but rose up in the passing landscape well before one caught sight of the trestle bridge that used to mark the official entry into town—signifying to the train’s occupants their imminent arrival at the Richmond train station.

Stanley Gibbs was on the station platform to greet Will as he stepped off the train. Both men appraised the other’s countenance and figure, examining the cumulative effect of four decades of living. Gibbs, Will’s brother-in-law, was not a tall man and aging had given him a decidedly stooped profile, making him seem even shorter. But it was the haggard expression on his face that struck Will as most revealing.

It’s good to see you, said Will as he dropped his valise and shook Gibb’s hand. How is Carrie? Has she improved, or has her condition become ever more precarious?

The latter I’m afraid, Will. But she’ll be ever so pleased to see you. How was your stay in New York City?

I didn’t win any prizes at the poetry contest but many liked my work. A New York publisher even talked vaguely about the possibility of having a few of my poems published in a New York magazine. It’s not likely anything will come of it but it did give me a few moments of special satisfaction, said Will as he gripped his valise and followed Gibbs out to the street.

Gibbs opened the car door for Will, who slid into the passenger’s seat after depositing his luggage in the trunk.

We still live in the house we bought when we first came to Richmond, said Gibbs as he pulled away from the curb and into the flow of traffic. It’s not far from the center of town, he added, but at the time we moved there it seemed rather distant. It won’t take but a few minutes to get there.

* * *

Will’s sister, Carrie, was dressed and sitting in the parlor when her husband and Will arrived. She looked far older than her sixty-two years, having been diminished by months of illness, but she managed a smile as Will approached her. Ah Will, it’s good to see you. I must say you’re looking remarkably robust for a man just a year shy of my age. I suppose all that traveling you’ve done has served as a kind of healthful tonic, she added with a mischievous grin."

I can’t say as I feel as good as you say I look, Carrie, he said as he bent over to give her a light kiss on the cheek. And I suppose my doctor would strongly protest any claim of good health—what with my heart ailments and all. But I do give thanks for still being able to move about, make a little income and rally to the challenge of a houseful of rambunctious kids.

Please sit next to me, Will, she said, pointing to an armchair just to her left that was turned to face her. Now tell me all about your family.

Will proceeded to relate the highlights of the lives of his six surviving children, offering complimentary asides as to the character and deportment of each. But his most lavish praise was bestowed upon Luella, his wife. I must say, Carrie, there’s no way this family of mine would have survived the worst years of the Depression without the fortitude and old fashion horse sense that woman displays in abundance.

I’m happy for you, Will, she said, patting him on the hand, but I keep thinking just how many years it’s been since we last had a chance to visit.

You mean the time I passed through Chicago on the way to Seattle?"

Yes. And over the years I’ve always wondered how your life turned out…whether you were thankful you left Virginia.

I suppose leaving Virginia was for the best, Carrie, but in some ways it seems I never left; old ways of thinking and acting just don’t disappear despite time and distance. They affect everything—even how I talk. And my daughters— bless their hearts—marvel even to this day about my habit of rising from my chair when one of them enters the room, or any lady for that matter. I have to believe such conduct is so deeply ingrained in me there’s no escaping it.

I understand, Will. Still, You may have remained a Virginian at heart but unlike most of us you’ve had the gumption to explore well beyond the confines of our little state.

Whether it was gumption or necessity is arguable, said Will, but I must tell you, Carrie, I’ve had some misgivings about how I decided things back in those early days. I keep wondering what if I’d handled our father differently…gave him the benefit of the doubt, offered him support rather than condemnation. Perhaps the irreconcilable split between us could have been avoided, allowing Ben and me to finish college and take up a career here in Virginia where we could’ve enjoyed the advantages of our family’s name and reputation.

That would have been nice, I’m sure, said Carrie, but I suspect it would have meant you becoming a rather different kind of person—someone whose interests and concerns resembled father’s. I’m not criticizing such a prospect but the poems you’ve sent me this past year, Will, reveal a much more sympathetic man than the one I could imagine you becoming had you remained in Virginia. The man who wrote those poems is a man sensibly committed to the welfare of ordinary people, critical of the privileges of birth, wealth and political power. Surely, that’s the man who sits next to me right now.

Perhaps you’re right, Carrie, said Will, taking her hand in his. But you know perfectly well I’m a man who early on sought wealth and privilege but having achieved neither reconciled himself to his failure by affirming an identity with others in the same boat. There’s nothing very noble about such a posture.

Call it what you will, replied Carrie, but the poetry you’ve written is the mark of a man who holds his beliefs passionately. They’re not simply the rantings of a self-pitying loser.

I see I won’t win this argument and I suppose I’ll continue to compose such poems for what time’s left to me. But enough about that, tell me about the last years of mother’s life—about her funeral.

I do wish you’d been able to come for it, Will. I know it was a bad time for you—what with the birth of your sixth child just weeks earlier—but it would have been nice to have had you here. She’s buried in the burial plot of her paternal grandparents over at the old cemetery near the river. As it turns out, the plot is not far from the final resting place of our father—perhaps a distance of no more than thirty or forty feet. You’ll recall he always favored a close connection to the Farrand family and purchased a plot with that in mind. I hope you’ll have an opportunity to visit the grave during your stay. As for her life, I don’t know many of the particulars. We didn’t see one another often, what with her living in Washington D.C. during her final years. And we exchanged correspondence only occasionally. But I believe her marriage to Edward Meade was a good one. They never had any children, if one counts little Henry as father’s last.

Carrie and Will spent the remainder of the afternoon in such conversation, interrupted only by Stanley’s insistence they have a light lunch, and later when he arranged to have tea served. But finally, exhausted by the effort, Carrie excused herself and retired to her bedroom. Gibb’s assured Will her sustained performance that afternoon was truly exceptional and entirely a compliment to Will himself, whom Carrie had so longed to see. He also cautioned Will that his continued presence would have a deleterious effect on her health for she would refuse to honor her doctor’s orders regarding rest as long as he was visiting. Accordingly, Will made up some excuse as to why he was obliged to cut short his visit.

* * *

But before leaving Richmond for his home in Chicago Will had two places he wished to visit: the family’s old house on Addison Street and the cemetery down by the river where his parents and grandparents were buried. He had Gibbs drop him off at the train station where he arranged for a porter to watch his luggage. Freed of that burden, he made his way by foot through the downtown district.

The house on Addison Street was in easy walking distance of the train station and Will reached it less than a half-hour after leaving the station. It was still morning, but the bright sunlight that clear autumn day had already melted the light frost so evident at sunrise. Will was in a contemplative mood as he turned onto Addison Street. Nearing the house, he could see the wrought iron gates at the front of the driveway were closed. He walked up to the gates but chose not to unlatch them, preferring instead to examine the house from his vantage point on the street. He found if he peered over the top of the gates he could get a clear view. Some other family now lived here and from all appearances seemed to keep it in good repair. He gripped the gates with both hands and studied the windows—one by one. Each was associated with a room filled with childhood and adolescent memories: the library, where his father would retire to read the classics; the parlor, where his mother would serve tea and tend to her sewing; the dining room, where the family would gather each evening for the principal meal of the day; the upstairs bedrooms, where Will and his sister and brother would seek refuge from the formality of the downstairs and where they could share with one another their innermost thoughts.

The house was empty now—at least that’s how it seemed to him; little more than an old picture frame that once held family photos long since yellowed and discarded. His family lived elsewhere now; they lived as limestone memorials clustered together in adjacent family plots in the town’s old cemetery down near the river. And it was there he’d seek them out.

* * *

It was a little over a mile to walk but Will was in no hurry. Each street he passed through helped to refresh his memories.

He reached the cemetery a little before eleven o’clock and headed for a knoll where his family and the family of his mother had their plots. It was on the western side of the cemetery grounds and could be reached by several different winding paths. He chose one bordered by trees in full autumn foliage, hoping their brilliant colors would lighten his mood. A passing breeze shook the trees as he walked along the path, sending cascades of rust colored leaves onto the pavement. Off to his left he could glimpse the James River and all the gravestones and memorials scattered across the landscaped grounds in that direction.

The burial plot of his mother’s family—the Farrands—was set off by the two imposing limestone obelisks dedicated to Henry Farrand and Elizabeth Farrand respectively, his mother’s grandparents. It was they who brought the Farrand name into so much local prominence. The graves of his mother’s parents were further down the knoll and marked by headstones carved in the usual fashion but altogether larger than what was nowadays customary. The grave of his mother, Emily Farrand Porter, was positioned close to the obelisk of her grandfather and marked by a small but tasteful wedge of granite on which was inscribed Emily Farrand Meade in recognition of her second marriage.

His father’s gravestone, located just a short distance away, was an awkwardly sculptured limestone monument consisting of an oversized Christian Cross mounted on a diminutive base containing the inscription. Nearby, was a recently installed granite headstone with his sister’s name inscribed, together with her date of birth—clearly in anticipation of her imminent death. It stood close to another headstone inscribed with the name of his brother, Ben, who lay buried down in Florida but memorialized nevertheless here in Richmond.

Standing between the large obelisks at the summit of the knoll and the distinctive memorial to his father, Will was surrounded by several generations of his family and by turning slowly could direct his attention to the memory of one or another of them in turn.

As he reflected on the lives of the members of his family his own life came into clearer focus, particularly the years following the summer he spent at his uncle’s in Charleston.

CHAPTER 2

missing image file

RICHMOND

1890

Will Porter shifted in his seat to get a better look at the Roanoke River as the train moved sluggishly across the bridge. They had left the station at Rockymount a couple of hours ago and would shortly be out of North Carolina and back into Virginia. The sky was thick with clouds, and despite the open window Will could not escape the hot humid air that seemed trapped in the passenger compartment. Fortunately, the train was not overly crowded and Will could secure some comfort by stretching his long legs out into the aisle.

He couldn’t help feeling the summer of 1890 had passed quickly. His father had insisted he spend it with his cousins in Charleston but Will knew it was to ensure he come under the influence of his uncle—father’s only brother and the minister of a large congregation in town. Will’s father was determined that Will become a minister and hoped the time spent in the household of his brother would advance that cause. Will didn’t much care about his father’s motives; the summer had proven to be a great experience. He was sixteen and a half years old and from his vantage point it was hard to imagine a more memorable trip.

As the train picked up speed Will thought about his cousin, Robb. He and Robb were the same age and had become close friends over the summer—perhaps not as close as he was to his brother, Ben, but almost. They talked often of the time—two years from now—when they would attend the University of Virginia together. Their fathers had attended the school and family tradition meant they would attend as well.

Will’s thoughts were interrupted by the commotion in the car as passengers readied themselves for arrival at the station in Emporia. It would be the last stop before Richmond. His mother had written to him fairly regularly while he was away and his father occasionally. His sister and brother, however, had been just as bad as he about letter writing. He wondered how the summer had gone back home. His youngest brother, Henry, was still only a toddler. His sister, Carrie, loved to read and the summer would have given her ample leisure for that pursuit, but with a young child in the house and father often out of sorts she probably couldn’t wait for school to start. It would be her final year. His brother, Ben, only a year younger than himself, was his closest friend. Until this summer they had been inseparable. He was anxious to hear how Ben’s summer had gone and to tell him about Charleston and the plans he and Robb had made for the future.

As the train left Emporia behind and pushed ever closer to Chesterfield County Will admired the lush fields awaiting harvest. It began to rain—a steady downpour that whipped through the window. Will didn’t care; the rain had a cooling effect. As he idled away the time his thoughts turned to his father—a person who always seemed larger than life to Will. When his father had been his age he was already fighting for the Confederacy. True enough, grandma—not wanting her teenage son to come to any harm—had used family connections to secure for him the post of courier under the watchful eye of General Randolph, commander of the Fifth Virginia Cavalry. Still, his father had been present at some of the most exciting battles, had several opportunities to be in the presence of General Lee and had been assigned his own horse! In comparison my summer exploits seemed pretty tame, thought Will.

Will knew his father, born and raised in Culpeper County and now a highly respected lawyer, had come to Richmond in December of 1870 as a young man fresh from his studies at the University of Virginia. He had sought out a law firm that would take him on in a junior position and allow him to prepare for admission to the bar. In those days the town’s law firms were in the hands of locally prominent families and one’s family pedigree was an important consideration in such appointments. His father had often told him it was the Porter name that had helped him out in those early days; for it was well known, even in Richmond, that the Porter family was among those that had come early to the Colony of Virginia. The family had accumulated sizeable land holdings and had established profitable plantations. Will had learned early in life how the descendants of those early colonists had gone on to play prominent roles in the legislative assemblies of the colony, in the colonial militia during the Revolutionary War and in state and national politics after the birth of the new nation. Will tried not to be overly impressed by such a distinguished legacy but it was terribly important to his father, he knew, and surprisingly—to his way of thinking—just as important to his uncle.

The train slowed as it approached the Richmond station. Will got up and pulled down the large suitcase stored on the overhead rack. He stretched his six-foot frame—now coming into full muscular development as he entered the latter half of his sixteenth year. He had let his blond hair grow long over the summer and knew his father would insist he have it properly cut the very next day. Fortunately, it would not be his father but rather his mother, Carrie and Ben who would be at the station to greet him.

* * *

Ben grabbed Will’s suitcase as he swung down from the railroad car. Damn! It’s been a long summer without you around, he said. Father’s been on my back almost from the beginning.

Why? What’s the problem?

Your father’s been feeling a lot of pain these past months, his mother replied as she hugged Will tightly. His health problems seem to have worsened since you left, she added. And now, it’s best if we kind of tiptoe around him—something Ben has yet to learn.

Hi Will, his sister, Carrie, said as she kissed him on the cheek. It’s not as bad as all that, she added, father’s seldom home much anyway and when he is he just needs to be made comfortable.

So tell us about your summer, said Ben as they left the station and headed for the carriage.

Uncle George was great! Will exclaimed. He and Aunt Harriet made me feel quite welcome…and he didn’t push me to talk about the ministry or about anything in particular. I just sort of became one of the family. But he’s not in the best of health; he seems to be in pain, though unlike our father I’ve never seen him get irritated. He’s always quiet and gentle. The kids, on the other hand, were as noisy as our gang although it didn’t seem to set him off like it does our father.

And Robb? Was he much of a companion to you during the summer? asked his mother as they climbed into the carriage, with Ben taking the reins.

That was the funny part of it, Will replied. I fully expected not to have much in common with him. He always impressed me as kind of timid when we were younger but he’s changed. He’s almost as big as I am and was just as eager to explore the town and its surroundings. We spent most of our time doing just that—exploring. After breakfast Robb and I would saddle up his and Uncle George’s horses and head out of town. We’d hit some great fishing spots Robb knows on the Cooper and Ashley Rivers. Otherwise, we’d head downtown to the docks to watch the ships enter port and unload. Miss Lily, their maid, would always prepare us a bag lunch so we didn’t need any money.

But what did you and Robb talk about during those daily outings? asked Ben as their carriage passed through the gates of the family house on Addison Street.

Everything! Will replied. Sea voyages, slavery, the Civil War, the church, and lots of talk about family. We discovered our fathers had made identical plans for both of us: off to college in Charlottesville and then to Seminary. We laughed at such arrangements, particularly those having to do with the ministry. But by the end of the summer both Robb and I were really looking forward to rooming together at the university, and it turned out we shared similar interests in books.

Ben grabbed Will’s suitcase and carried it up to the porch as Will paused to help his mother and sister climb down from the carriage. He remained standing in the courtyard as the others entered the house. The house itself caught his attention. It was set back from the street just enough to allow a horse-drawn carriage to enter the grounds and turn around. The roofed porch that extended across the front of the house had an elaborate wooden banister punctuated by roof-supporting columns, and the whole affair was painted white—setting it off from the red brick façade of the house itself. The house was a two-story structure, with double-hung windows placed in a symmetrical pattern that defined the location of the various rooms. Architectural embellishments of the roofline signaled the Victorian style of the day. Will was struck by the remarkable similarity of the house to that of the rectory occupied by Uncle George in Charleston where he had just spent the summer.

* * *

The parlor was on the first floor, off to the right. Will joined his mother who was already sitting in her favorite chair near the table that held her current sewing project. Two large oil paintings in gilded frames bracketed the fireplace. One was of his great-grandfather, William Porter. The other was of his wife, Susan Porter. They were the last of the family to preside over the ancestral plantation in Culpeper County. Will’s mother had also come from a prominent family—from one of the southern counties. Over the past two generations the descendants of both lines had sold off the land in parcels and had moved into town.

Will knew—despite the high regard in which the Porter family was held in Culpeper County—in Richmond it was the Farrand family—the family of his mother—that counted for more. Her parents, both recently deceased, had not only been among the wealthiest of Richmond couples but had also distinguished themselves socially. Before the liquidation of their estate at the time of probate they owned a large home in the finest residential district of town.

Will also knew the Farrands had acquired their wealth early on through land speculation, mining and livestock. He’d been told later generations sought out professional careers—like Grandfather Farrand who became a prominent lawyer in Richmond. In fact, it was through his appointment to grandfather’s law firm back in 1871 that his father first came to know the daughter Emily Farrand, to whom he eventually proposed. Mother’s mother was the daughter of a Richmond physician—one of a long line of physicians and surgeons reaching back to the Revolutionary War era. Mother’s parents and grandparents were now dead and her only living relative still residing in Richmond was a distant spinster aunt with whom his mother had very little dealings.

Will’s mother looked up from her sewing and saw him standing in the parlor doorway meditating on these family connections. Oh there you are. she said. Sit over here on the sofa…next to me. Unlike Will, she was dressed in the same clothing she had worn to the station—a long dark skirt and white blouse. Her hair was pulled up and back to expose her neck to whatever faint breeze might freshen the room. The windows were open but little air could penetrate the room owing to the heavy drapes that took up so much of the window space. Will’s mother was a handsome woman—only thirty-six years old—still slim despite having borne four children, and highly cultivated owing to the kind of home schooling her parents had arranged for her.

Will, we must be very clear about what you’ll say to your father regarding your summer stay in Charleston. He’ll be home soon. What you related to Carrie, Ben and myself on the way home from the station will simply not do. Your enthusiasm for college will certainly please him, as will your close friendship with Robb. But your cavalier attitude towards the ministry will needlessly irritate him. We can’t ignore the issue since he’ll doubtless write to his brother about these matters. Perhaps you might at least say you’ll give serious thought to the prospect of such a calling.

I can do even better than that, Will replied. Robb is still intent on following his father’s wishes of becoming ordained. He laughs about it but I know he’s serious about the plan. He’s concerned about his father’s health and wants to give him something special to look forward to. I can say I respect Robb’s sense of commitment and this gives me pause before rejecting such a career.

I’d appreciate it, Will. It’ll please your father to think there’s still a possibility you’ll meet with his expectations. And, who knows, perhaps in a few years you’ll actually discover in yourself a strong calling to the ministry. In any case the important thing right now is to keep him calm and contented. He’s in a lot of pain almost all the time, and easily irritated.

But it must have been an awful summer for you—with father in such a state, said Will sympathetically.

It’s not been easy, she replied, but fortunately everyone in the household did their best to be helpful.

Will’s mother went back to her sewing as he left the room and headed upstairs. Carrie approached Will in the upstairs hall and motioned for him to join her in her room. She closed the door after he entered. I overheard your conversation with mother. I only wish they’d have such a conversation with me. Heaven only knows why, but they seem to expect me to remain at home until I’m married. Offering me an opportunity to travel like you doesn’t seem to even enter their minds. And I don’t necessarily mean spending time at Uncle George’s home in Charleston, although that would be fun. What I really want to do, Will, is to be allowed to go away to college once I complete my studies here.

Where would you go? Will asked. As far as I know there aren’t many places that accept women students in either Virginia or South Carolina.

I’ve been reading about a woman’s college in Staunton—the Mary Baldwin College, she replied. I know it’s far away but there’s a direct train connection between here and there and lodging right on school grounds. I don’t know whether they would go along with the idea. It seems their main concern is to ensure you turn out the way our father wants you to. I’m afraid the prospect of my going off to college before you or Ben would really cause him to have one of his attacks.

I don’t know Carrie, I don’t think you’ll have as big a problem with him as you imagine, Will replied. You know he thinks the world of you, and given his strong belief in education it would be difficult for him to oppose the idea. Anyway, you’ve a whole year to work on him and I’ll do what I can to support the cause. But probably your best strategy is to let them know that Uncle George has agreed to have Ellen educated at a woman’s college. You know how competitive our father is with his brother. Now if only there was a women’s college in Charleston then there’d be no way he could say no, particularly with the prospect of your living in his brother’s home and attending school under his direct supervision.

Well, there’s a family connection in Staunton as well, Carrie volunteered. Mother’s uncle, Dr. Farrand, has a medical practice in town. I’m sure he would be willing to look after me.

Would you have to live with him? Will asked.

No, I think the college requires the girls to take lodging on the premises, Carol answered.

That’s a great plan! Will replied. But let mother in on your scheme. She’ll be a good ally and will almost certainly sympathize, particularly since her family—The Farrands—will have a role to play.

Father’s come home! yelled Ben from downstairs. Will gave Carrie a hug and quickly left the room. James Allen Porter, Esquire, entered the front door just as Will was coming down the staircase.

Well, the return of the prodigal youth! he exclaimed.

Hello father, Will replied.

You look nice and fit after a summer in the deep South, Porter added as he wiped the perspiration from his forehead. He was not a tall man but he was powerfully built and had a large head that was almost bald. His complexion had a reddish hue—a combination of hypertension and too much sun Will always thought. But it was the deep resonant voice and the formality of Porter’s language that commanded most people’s attention.

He sat down in the large, upholstered chair near the fireplace, taking care to avoid putting too much pressure on his midsection so as not to irritate his condition any more than necessary. Will returned to the sofa he had sat on previously, knowing his father would want to talk with him before dinner was served. Attorney Porter examined Will carefully. Will was glad his mother had insisted he wash up and change into some fresh clothing; his father, a stickler for appearance, was rarely to be seen in anything but a suit and vest.

Well, son, he began, from what I’ve heard from your uncle your visit was a success.

Yes, I believe it was, Will replied, adding details about how nice the family was to him and how close he and Robb had become by the end of the summer.

How did you like your uncle’s sermons? he inquired. I understand he incorporates quite a bit of philosophy in his weekly presentations—leavening the biblical scriptures with the thoughts of Kant, Aristotle, Descartes and the like.

Well, it’s hard for me to say, Will replied, I don’t know their work very well…only what you’ve taught me…and Uncle George doesn’t always say where he gets his ideas.

Nevertheless, in general how did you find his sermons? he pressed.

I generally liked them, Will replied, especially when he focused on the need for people to assume personal responsibility for their lives. I didn’t much care for sermons where he stressed the role of the congregation in fostering happiness; I don’t like to think of myself as needing to be part of a group to achieve my goals in life.

But don’t you recognize the role of the clergy as shepherd in ensuring the welfare of parishioners? Porter inquired. Certainly, you must appreciate the fact that for most members of a congregation the pastor plays a key role in securing their peace of mind—not only at Sunday services but during periods of bereavement, during medical crises and when any of the many other calamities that can befall us come to pass.

I’m sure you’re right, father, Will replied, but at least at this point in my life I’d like to think I can secure my own sense of fulfillment and happiness. I’ve also liked to believe most people are more like me.

What you’re suggesting is you really don’t see much of a need for a ministerial leader within our modern communities, his father concluded. Does that mean you can’t see yourself taking on such a role?

Not necessarily, Will said, I’m mostly talking about how I feel right now. Perhaps when I am a little older I’ll be more appreciative of the kind of ministry you describe…maybe I’ll even be willing to consider it for myself. Will was trying to backpedal, not wanting to leave his father with the impression his plans were not to be realized.

But you’ve told me your cousin—the same age as yourself—already feels quite comfortable in the thought that he will follow in his father’s footsteps, Will’s father replied. How is it he can see his destiny beyond the fog of youth while you apparently cannot?

I don’t know, Will confessed, "perhaps it’s because he sees the career more fully—not just the sermons but all the other things that go to make up the life of a clergyman. It would probably be the same if I were thinking of practicing law. Since I