Lock Forty: Volume 1

By Raimo Perttu

Lock 40 is an intimate portrayal of a young man’s struggle to develop his canalling business and raise his young family, set upon the historical backdrop of the Ohio and Erie Canal. The story is told through the eyes of John’s wife, Mary, as she tells their grandchildren the family saga. It is a tale of their struggle to survive in competition with the advent of the railroad, but even more, it is a personal trial of John’s torn loyalties to both his immediate family and his recent past.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9781646546206

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Lock Forty

Volume 1

Raimo Perttu

Copyright © 2020 Raimo Perttu

All rights reserved

First Edition

Fulton Books, Inc.

Meadville, PA

Published by Fulton Books 2020

ISBN 978-1-64654-619-0 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64654-620-6 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Iam dedicating this book and the following volumes to my beloved wife, Charmian, who is also the poet of the family. Her inspiration and the love of English language has also been my challenge to find my way into the world of literature in creating my own skills for generating fiction, which can hopefully be also shared with the public at large. Of our two children, Maarika Mann, currently living in Nashville Tennessee as a Creative Director at Banded (fashion accessories company), is the artist of the family, who has designed the cover of the book, and to whom I am forever grateful for the evocative cover, which captures the atmosphere of the times, during those years when the Ohio and Erie Canal was operating. Our son, Daniel Perttu, is a composer and a professor at Westminster College in New Wilmington, Pennsylvania where he is the department chair in the music department, and he also lives with his family in that same town. He has always been my avid technical support, and his demanding style has always been encouraging to my writing.

Besides all my immediate family members, to whom I owe my deepest appreciation, I would also dedicate these works to my parents in Finland, who, both, sadly by now are extending their memories on the other side of the final line of no return, but who were the true advocates of hard work and fair play. Their diligent work on the small farm, taking care of their family under quite primitive conditions, after the war, was an example to all of us six children, that giving up in life for any reason was not an option.

In addition, my heartfelt thanks should go to all of our close and dear friends, whose exciting company was always a welcome boost to our daily life.

Prologue

As the immigration into the northeastern territories grew in great numbers, due to improved connections as well as trade, the extended canal systems were the reason for the expanding commerce and growth of civilization. Naturally at this time, many young men’s obsessive thoughts, in Europe, were to strike it rich; their curiosity and knowledge of the great opportunities for landownership during the expansion of the American West, specifically in the Western Reserve, grew like the canal itself.

Extensive news reports of land development and great potential for growth in a young city founded on the Great Lake of Erie had inundated the mind of young William Bedford. He decided to dust the dirt off his boots in a sleepy English town that offered neither money for his lofty dreams of vast landownership nor satisfaction for a young man’s yearning for adventure.

During those times, the obsessive thoughts of many young men were to become rich in a new land that had so courageously fought against the feared armies of Britain. The freedom that became America was like a neurotic beast with fearful tentacles, which grabbed their charmed victims in a hold, from which the only liberation was to cash in everything and buy a one-way ticket over the great waters to the West.

They set out on the high seas with their families, on a risky voyage to a new land in search for better livelihood and adventure. This was the case for many men who did not have a realistic future of surviving in a country that was ruled by the aristocracy and gentlemen farmers, whose families were becoming too large for the land they owned. One of these young men was William Bedford, whose grandson John inherited his sense of adventure, which ultimately led him to the Ohio and Erie Canal.

A great undertaking was the extension of the Erie Canal system of New York into the Ohio Territories. The canal connected to Lake Erie would improve the viability of the region. Since the city of Cleveland was at the mouth of a small river, the Cuyahoga, the need for growth and the creation of a new transportation system in these territories was inevitable. Furthermore, the region began to entice immigration, and the initial investments in land acquisition became profitable.

After the canal from Cleveland into the hinterlands of the Cuyahoga Valley was open, the developing towns along the canal began growing like mushrooms in the rain. Many people who had been involved in creating the enormous ditch saw their vast opportunities as future canallers in the shipping business, promoting trade and creating opportunities for the ever-growing flow of immigrants.

Chapter 1

It was an early Sunday morning, in the latter part of March, as the torrential rains swept across the Akron and Cleveland area, lasting for several days. It was as if the water gates of the heavens had been pried open and the apocalyptic masses of water let loose, destroying the recent beginning of a new civilization from the city of Akron, Ohio, due north, through the Valley View region, and onward to Cleveland, on the south shore of one of the Great Lakes called Erie.

The destructive force of this great deluge was capable of rearranging parts of the landscape and even rerouting several sections of the Cuyahoga River within its floodplains; drastic damage occurred in places where the Ohio canal was running too close to the main groove of the river, and the waters of the two great parallel ditches began to merge, creating a number of small lakes and undefined bodies of flooded, swampy ranges of water. Combined with cultivated fields and covered with remnants of the previous year’s harvest, the river valley north of Peninsula, down through the Valley View region, appeared like a giant bowl of salad saturated with dressing in a constant flow, due north.

The effects of the torrent and the flooding on the canal were devastating. The loss of human lives rose into several hundreds, many locks were ruined, and the area was totally flooded. The old towpath, stumped down by many teams of mule hoofs, seen as an indestructible wall of tragic history from the times of the hand-dug great ditch, a steadfast symbol of human endurance, under the massive force of raging water rushing through the Cuyahoga Valley did not withstand the overwhelming forces of nature.

Vast areas of corn and wheat fields were under silted water, littered with tree trunks and other debris, allowing no visual distinction between the wild brush range and the cultivated lands. Property was lost along the banks of the canal, as well as those vessels that had been integral to the prosperity of this region, the canalboats and barges that bore the families’ surnames of those who had operated them through many stormy years. Nature’s havoc had irrevocable consequences, a great historical significance in forcing the canal, a powerful source of economic evolution, wealth, and profound memories, to close its traditional operations forever, and inundate the last canallers’ livelihood and their way of life.

*****

The following Tuesday morning, the northeast Ohio region was still under heavy rains. It was slightly past breakfast time when Mary, now two years shy of seventy, was sitting at the small square breakfast table in the well-suited alcove next to her kitchen, gazing out the foggy window, still pelted by heavy drops of rain. The low dragging clouds, due east, spewing water in torrents, were still an ominous presence of severe continental weather patterns; they added more mass and strength to the flooding streams in the Valley View and Independence region, which the window built by her husband to catch the brilliant sunrises in the early morning skies overlooked.

The opening of the window was to capture the magnificently blazing sunrises which displayed Mother Nature’s awesome watercolors with the luster that was breathtaking by every stroke of the painter’s imagination. Those bright morning veils attached to the newborn sun consisted of bold streaks of descending rainbow colors. The table was located directly under the arched window with lace curtains gently pulled back and bowed to the sides. Mary always kept her table clean and covered with white linen cloth directly from New York State’s looms. John, her husband, had bought them in downtown Cleveland, at a special boutique, in which the residents of Millionaires’ Row on Euclid Avenue shopped for attire they needed for those beautiful homes to display their wealth and power.

John had found this boutique and a few other places where he could display his secret but boldly wishful feelings toward his unselfish wife. He was a self-made man, the personification of the American dream, always seeking something for his beloved Mary; jewelry with precious stones, expensive exotic perfumes, glorious silk scarves were those items with which John preferred to surprise his sweetheart. Mary always thought John had been too extravagant and wasteful in finding gifts to please her unpretentious womanhood—yet, deep in her heart and her modest vanity, she was pleased and flattered to be the object of his undivided devotion.

John had an occasion to be extravagant during the Christmas seasons that was also close to Mary’s birthday, since the time spent on the canal was mostly used for ice harvesting as well as young people’s free time fun: ice-skating. Thus, the winter seasons also permitted John to allot his time for minor details of their life, as well as to help the professionals at McMillan’s dry dock restore most of his fleet used between Akron and Cleveland in preparation for the upcoming shipping season.

*****

Back inside the house, over the years, the table in the cozy dining alcove had become an emotional shrine for Mary; her shared life with John and their two children, Erik and Sarah, had been a time that in Mary’s mind was heaven on earth, despite a few disappointments that had been diluted by the passage of time. It was the place where Mary and John had spent their sweetest, most memorable moments of their married life, sipping an aromatic cup of coffee in the warm Saturday afternoons, gazing across the Cuyahoga Valley as the long summer days gave way to hazy summer nights with bugs whirring in the subtropical atmosphere. However, those pinnacle moments of their intimate partnership in marriage, they lingered most intimately in their spacious bedroom with large arched windows and beautiful drapery. Adding to the mood of royalty and its sensual splendor there was a faint odor of the latest scent from Paris, as if John was still there to surprise Mary with his unexpected gifts from Europe, or other parts of the world.

However, now, the years without John had made Mary acutely aware of the finality of her own existence and her sense of life without a firm belief in some compensation for the great loss she had experienced in John’s sudden leap into that final abyss. She had learned over the years that it was, for him, the line of unknown destiny in eternity, but perhaps, for Mary, there was a place where she would one day meet her beloved. From that bitter, emotionally draining loss, Mary had never totally recovered. She had not remarried; her love and sweet memories of her husband were irreplaceable, for John had, by now, gained the special status of sainthood in her heart.

Additionally, on the right side of that picture window, above the table, there still was John’s photo; it was in an oval picture frame, depicting him as a young cavalry sergeant in a hat partially covering his curly nut-brown hair, a dense mustache obscuring his upper lip. The picture had been taken shortly after the Battle of Gettysburg, where John had fought the Confederates with great honor and distinction, in his uncle Jeb Bedford’s regiment. In that unit, he had spent a year and a half in the blue uniform that he was always so proud of, as his uncle bragged about John’s exploits.

*****

Although it might have been a fortunate chain of events when he was honorably discharged, due to an injury on his left thigh by a bullet from a Confederate carbine, John always felt he left the war too early, without the satisfaction of being a witness to the enemy’s defeat. He had contracted a severe infection and could possibly have faced an amputation of his leg had it not been for a dedicated field nurse working with the injured soldiers.

Alma Friedman, thirty-five, attractive, and trained in action for battlefield nursing, was instrumental in John’s recovery, due to her tender personal care and a close relationship that developed between them. Later in the years, however, that special relationship proved problematic for John, Alma, and her husband Jeb, creating many awkward moments for the family. This mature, alluring woman had also, earlier in the war, befriended Lieutenant Colonel Jeb Bedford, John’s uncle, and she eventually married him.

Alma had taken a special interest in John by nurturing him back to health; the young handsome soldier with a mature manner in dealing with older, higher-ranking military personnel had caught her eye. John had also noticed Alma’s voluptuous womanhood, her feminine laughter, full lips, and beautiful white teeth. She had attracted his inexperienced manhood, creating special challenges for him to appear mature in the presence of such a statuesque woman. These sensuous yet harmless feelings had caught him off guard so completely that he made a pass at Alma, yet, as he was holding her face tightly between his hands and kissing her, he felt an excruciating, stinging pain in his thigh, almost as if a bayonet had pierced the muscle and chipped a fraction of the bone around his injury. Emitting a sharp yelp, he was barely able to control himself in overcoming the pain. But at the same time, while trying to hold on to his soldier’s tough image and his newly demonstrated manhood, the moment struck him as embarrassing and humiliating.

John owed Alma much of his gratitude, not only for having been instrumental in paving his way out of the misery and the service in the war, but also, literally, granting him his health by taking special interest in his welfare, as well as awakening his sensibilities toward women and their invaluable sacrifice and valor in the way they cared for the injured. The women in this conflict created the moral backbone for the fighting men, who often became frustrated and disillusioned in their existence and their reason to carry on with their duties as soldiers. Dying or becoming a cripple for the rest of their lives was a constant fear in the minds of the battle-weary soldiers. Those brave ladies, especially in Gettysburg, had a very valuable role to play, and a heavy responsibility to fulfill their special task as first aid caregivers for the wounded, for the gore and suffering in this conflict never seen before on this continent were overwhelmingly gruesome.

Soon, the day came when John was discharged and put on a train for Cleveland. Alma helped him walk with a crutch and situated him comfortably on the overnight train to Cleveland. Lieutenant Colonel Bedford appeared unexpectedly at the station, saluted John in sharp cavalry fashion, and, while staring at his nephew with his piercing blue eyes, he hissed, Soldier, take care of yourself, and say hello to your mom and dad. I’ll see you soon back in Cleveland after this goddamned fight is over! His loud soldier voice rasped as he spat snuff out of the left side of his tight thin lips, covered with a rough mustache.

I can’t wait much longer anymore, for the mayor has a job for me on the Cleveland police force and fighting these rabbles does not make too much sense anymore. It all gives me such a pain in my ass that I feel like deserting my units and taking a long lonely hike back to Cleveland. Besides, they don’t know what the hell they’re all fighting for anymore, since we just beat the crap out of them a few days back, and they can’t possibly recover from that calamity to be any kind of fighting force, he hissed and again spat snuff between his yellowed front teeth.

John sensed his uncle’s genuine regret and distress, as well as his hopeless yearning for the civilian life, for wartime experiences, according to Jeb, had robbed him of his humanity. His sense of true human contact was gone from his demeanor, the closeness and trust in fellow humans was also foreign to him, and his posture, instead, was a composed vigilance with his hand on the butt of his Colt, ready to defend or attack at a moment’s notice. Therefore, the memory John had of his father’s closest brother did not match the humorous, fun-loving jokester, who always had a small surprise or an encouraging word to enhance a growing teenager’s sense of importance.

For a moment, John slipped from the present into the abyss of the past, and the image of his youth back at home, in Valley View, Ohio, caused him to pause and gather those sweet childhood memories, as his uncle Jeb visited the family and, at times, stayed overnight after having spent a long night playing cards, telling stories, and remembering his father’s exciting stories from the old country and the journey to the New World. With that tenderness in his heart and the natural draw of family blood connection, John took a couple of hesitant steps toward his uncle, spread his arms, and embraced the colonel tightly, almost to the point where he was having some trouble in taking free breaths into the processing system of his oxygen.

For that gesture, John received a full and tight bear hug from his uncle, a few firm taps on his back and shoulders, and in a much softer tone of voice, his uncle commanded him to compose himself and not to become emotional, for the war, for John, was over. With a firm but kind whisper of his soldier’s voice, Jeb Bedford coaxed his favorite nephew, Hurry up and get onto the train. You don’t wanna miss this, for the next one will leave—hell knows when. Besides, you don’t want to hang around here any longer—Who knows, they’ll find an excuse to retain you and put you back in your uniform! As the train was already poised to take off and leave the station, John readied himself for departure.

Soldier, don’t forget about your lady. Pointing with his glove at Alma, Jeb demanded John’s attention for his nurse. However, John felt quite embarrassed to pay attention to the well-dressed lady any more than it was necessary, for she lately had indicated that she and John’s uncle had been much closer friends than they originally had let on. Despite other events in the past, holding a lacy hankie under her sniffling nose, and every so often gently wiping the rolling tears off her rosy cheeks, Alma genuinely displayed her emotions for having to depart from the young gentleman with qualities that were hard to find in most men she had met. Emotionally torn, hesitantly and gingerly Alma embraced John; she kissed him and felt distracted, fully engulfed in her emotions while imagining what it could have been had they been closer in age and met under different circumstances. Alma began to sense Jeb’s awareness, as the piercing blue eyes were jealously drilling through her demeanor. With a demanding fake cough, Jeb stole the attention of the couple, so deeply embraced, and coaxed them gently to take note of the fact that the train was about to depart.

The yellow evening sun shone brightly over the departing train, soon to be obscured by the mist of the heavy engine smoke, spewing up into the air. From within the bluish blackened smoke and steam mixture, a firm command sounded, All aboard, all aboard. It echoed out of the surrounding mist, as the low bass voice of the conductor coaxed people to step into the train and finalize their goodbyes. With a loud jerk and thick puff of steam, the huge wheels slipped idly a few times around, before grasping traction and setting the train in a steady motion for an overnight journey to Cleveland.

Before the train had reached too much speed, John still reached his arm for the last time to touch Alma’s velvet cheek, wiping off the remaining tear, and he whispered, We’ll meet in Cleveland. Please let me know when you’ll be back in town.

Definitely, I’ll meet you there, and please stay in touch with your uncle Jeb, Alma replied, sobbing. While watching John slowly slipping away from her reach, Alma suddenly thought of her parents and her own sister back in Cleveland. A family tragedy overwhelmed her heart; the loss of her younger sister to malaria, once again, made her feel bitter and helpless in the face of life’s unfair dealings with its innocent victims.

*****

After his honorable discharge, John had brought his horse back from the battlefields of Gettysburg, and he only kept her for emotional reasons, until she died of old age and a rheumatic back. The poor animal had grown to be a one man’s horse and did not allow anybody else to climb onto her back, much less saddle her up and ride. She startled at any loud noise; thus, the people surrounding her had better keep a safe distance, in order not to become an object of her dull teeth, or a target of her swinging hoofs descending from above. If startled, she behaved as if she were a giant Kodiak bear in pursuit of its opponent; she rammed her hoofs down with the intent to smash the object in pursuit and methodically eliminate those disturbing elements in her path. Yet, this battle-scarred mare had given him a feisty colt that was also to be the family’s carriage horse, as well as a swift quarter horse. He became John’s chief method of transportation, and he was given special quarters on John’s main canalboat, in the middle section, where if needed, he could be pulled out, saddled quickly, and used as an efficient form of transport, away from the canal.

*****

Next to his picture Mary had hung an old oval shaving mirror, cracked in half, that contained a long, intimate history involving John’s youth and their first encounter. In Mary’s heart, it had also become an eternal symbol of their life framed together, where a long time ago they first met and felt great passion for each other. In that heated embracement on John’s bunk at the back wall of his canalboat’s cabin, John had accidentally kicked the mirror off its nightstand, and it had fallen onto the floor and cracked. This was where John and Mary had discovered an attraction and sensual tension that convinced them they had a cosmic connection and were meant to be together forever.

Directly below John’s picture and that mirror, rich with memories, Mary kept a crystal vase, always filled with a fresh bouquet of flowers from the Schaaf Road greenhouses. To the right of the vase lay Mary’s Bible, a golden string dividing pages on the chosen words for the day, which sustained her soul, while supplying her with daily strength and reasons to live on in her lonely existence without her husband. Those dear memories she held in her mind of John, with whom she had spent many Saturday afternoons, precious moments with freshly baked breadsticks dunked into steaming coffee while gazing out into the soft, warm summer evening splendor and planning their life together in their harmonious surroundings. John had built this house on the spot he had chosen long ago, on the side of the Schaaf ridge, at the eastern end, near Valley View and the mesa at Cuyahoga Heights, where his childhood home was located.

Besides the house with its personal memories, Mary also found strength for her daily existence in her golden-edged Bible and John’s picture on the wall, which reminded her of the precious memories of the past; those times had been seemingly eternal, the restless years of youth working on the canal, earning their modest livelihood, always in the shadows of the dynamic railroads that depleted the business of the canallers almost daily. However, despite the many obstacles, they also had their golden moments in planning a good future for their family and their two children, Sarah and Erik.

*****

As the large Swiss clock on the opposite wall chimed 9:00 a.m., the rain was still beating on the window, almost completely obscuring the sights, replacing that lofty summer scenery with gray and murky clouds sagging from the skies, as if attempting to smother the whole region. Mary reached for another cup of freshly brewed coffee, took a slow sip out of a precious bone china cup, and inhaled the invigorating aroma of the elixir of her most precious moments with John by this same window. She also extended her shaky arm toward the chair, onto which she had placed the freshly folded Cleveland Press and slightly damp Akron Beacon Journal that she still received on the early morning train from Akron, in memory of John, who always picked a fresh morning paper near Akron and carried it folded in his left rear pocket.

John had a habit of reading the news whenever a moment or a fitting occasion rendered time for his keen interests in the affairs of the surrounding communities and the world. Thereafter, for his precious memory, Mary had the paper delivered right to her front porch. Therefore, as if sanctifying all those past factors, gingerly, she moved her bone china cup of coffee to the right, and she straightened the Bible squarely to its rightful place, directly below John’s picture, on the right side of that crystal vase, laden with fresh flowers. She spread out the Akron Beacon Journal in front of her, onto the table. With the front page up, smoothing it with her left hand to flatten the folds of the dampened press, Mary tried to find a good position to read the headlines with her already weakened bifocals that she had long meant to upgrade.

Mesmerized and almost shocked into a moment’s coronary stillness, her sight caught the huge headlines and the dramatic pictures of the flooded canal and the damaged gates of locks around the Akron area and south of Peninsula. Five Lives Lost; 500 Homeless; Millions of Dollars’ Worth of Damage as Flood Sweeps Over Cuyahoga Valley, one of the main headlines expressed the aftermath of the deluge. Pictures showed the flooded Ohio and Erie Canal in downtown Akron by the Cherry Street Bridge, northwest toward West Market indicating the height of the flood, and its annihilating strength, capable of sweeping off a large part of the canal culture while erasing the past with its sweeping force.

Sweeping quickly across the front page, Mary’s eyes caught one smaller article after another reporting news that was heartbreakingly sad. Her disbelief was uncontainable, and her deeply saddened state of mind sent her into despair. Momentarily, she recovered from that initial shock of internalizing most of what had been Mother Nature’s cruel conclusion to an era that had once been so happy and prosperous. With a few sweeps of nature’s awesome power, it seemed like the past and the memories Mary had experienced with her husband and her family, on the canal, did not matter as a factor in the indifferent universe. John’s predictions about the future of the canal, a long time ago, had so overwhelmingly and cruelly come to pass, and the end of it seemed so unreal and incomprehensible. For Mary, it seemed to be another assault upon her sense of fairness in life’s fortunes dealt to an individual to withstand. Still, in her mind, John’s sudden death was incomprehensible, and now this catastrophe in its finality was another emotional blow to her faith in the higher powers.

Suddenly, Mary’s past life on the canal, her early childhood with her family, as well as those happy, love-filled years married to John rushed through her still lucid mind. Her eyes swelled with tears that slid across her still smooth skin. Those of her dripping, warm, and salty personal liquid spotted the front page of the newspaper, becoming ever larger, as the shocks themselves flooding throughout her body. Thus, in Mary’s perception, this moment could have been the beginning of the Armageddon. Her world was mostly of her memories, and as she grew older, the past became clearer, and the moment, at hand, seemed only to matter when she cracked open her Bible, read her newspaper, or shared sweet moments with her grandchildren. Lately, Mary had seen them more often, since their mother’s career became more demanding.

In this moment of despair, Mary looked for something to preserve John’s memory untarnished from the agony that he had felt for the loss of his career, slowly being eaten away by progress, mainly the railroads. She hoisted her gaze up over the bouquet of red flowers toward John’s picture, and shortly thereafter, she stood up and carefully took it off the nail. Holding it in her trembling hands, she blew off the dust from its frame and polished the glass gently, allowing the picture to appear in its original luster.

Shortly, Mary sat down again, slowly looking for support with her right hand from the back of the chair; she gained her balance, putting carefully John’s picture onto the table. Then, looking into his expressive eyes, she whispered quietly, I am sorry, honey, you were always right. I wish you were here, now, to see it all! Someday, I’ll be able to tell you and, perhaps, let you know how I feel! Her eyes welled with tears, and her sight dimming with their heavy flow, she crouched over, slowly laying her forehead on those pictures of the calamity on the canal, and she sobbed profusely. The years that had brought her so much joy in the marriage with John and their family seemed as though they were suddenly taken away, and she would never be able to show the canal to her grandchildren, allowing them to connect them with their past.

In a while her forehead was firmly resting on the table, her position starting to relax, her reading glasses pressing against her nose, crookedly hanging off her left ear, as she fell into a light sleep, allowing herself a moment’s escape from the burning fire in her heart. Betrayed and helpless, her last words rolled quietly from her lips, Why…why…me? What have I done to deserve this? Mary fell fast asleep, as the rain drummed onto the window and a strong blast of wind attempted to crash the final message of the destruction of the canal into her consciousness through the beloved window of the view, which was also the past and the future into her soul.

Chapter 2

Since Sarah’s sudden promotion in Cleveland politics, her three girls—Elizabeth, twelve; Marlene, ten; and Caroline, eight—visited their grandmother quite often, either by staying a day or a night, because Sarah still had some activities to clarify with her old job, at a traveler’s bureau, or parties to join with her husband’s high-powered work colleagues. Despite the frequent visits to Mary’s house, the girls had a special attraction to their grandmother’s dwelling, due to numerous rooms, nooks, and crannies, containing exciting secureness and a great number of dolls and homemade toys to play with. The secret games created by the girls with extremely vivid imagination, involving elaborate plots, sequences of events, and those places around grandma’s house to hide, besides her great cooking and her special giant cookies, were the reasons the girls never protested the suddenly, unannounced, and partially forced visits to their grandma’s wonderland.

The house was laden with small items and things from around the country and the world, due to John’s obsession of needing to please Mary with objects that, later in the years, would function as their mutual reference point to return to the events and moments that collectively had fulfilled their life together. During those moments, they had time and a need to connect more deeply, away from the busy daily schedules on the canal and the necessity to concentrate ever more acutely on the shrinking business that was a nagging concern in ever-increasing momentum. Yet those small exciting and rare figurines, and other decorative ornaments, had become a keen interest for the three little girls, who were not allowed to handle them without Mary’s presence. Therefore, her small and eye-pleasing decorations around the house and her shrine were an indication of her strict Irish Catholic upbringing, which became relevant in her maiden family, the Zimmermanns; the mother, Maureen, descended from an Irish immigrant family who also had found its livelihood in Ohio, digging the canal, and after the completion of it had earned its living as canallers. The family had amassed quite a fortune during the first heydays of the canal operation, and that factor enabled Oscar Zimmerman to invest in the railroads that connected Ohio to the east.

Maureen, Mary’s mother, had met Oscar Zimmerman who had been a major investor in canal shipping. He had operated canalboats, but later on, before the war that involved most everyone, directly and otherwise, he had realized the efficiency, power, and profitability of the railroads; he also understood that eventually, the iron horse would put a serious dent in canal shipping, its vitality, profitability, and potential survival. Therefore, already, early on, when the canal operation was still in upswing, many young entrepreneurs, in great numbers, were joining the ranks of canallers, in hopes of creating an independent, free lifestyle and an opportunity to make money. However, Ralph and his brother Oscar, both, had begun to investigate possibilities for investing in the railroads, the future method in efficient shipping, which early on, easily, accrued wealth to its most aggressive, initial investors. Thus was also the case with the Zimmermann brothers, Ralph and Oscar, of whom Oscar was the only one with the luck and the protective angels of life on his side to be able to enjoy the wealth and riches produced by the iron highways.

Thus, during those early years of operations of the eastern railroads, especially the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad Company, had made the family additional fortunes, which, by those days’ standards, made them relatively well-to-do. Oscar Zimmermann had also been lured into the railroads as an engineer, which allowed him, along with his hefty investments in the company, to multiply his fortunes. To him and his family’s fortune, he also had realized the limitations of the canal system, and, already, early on, he had speculated that the canal system would never survive the efficiency competition with the railroads. Besides, he had always been very outspoken about the money spent and focus, as well as the attention committed, to such a slow and antiquated way of shipping goods, since from early on, the railroads in its capacity and speed would outmaneuver any other form of shipping of the times.

Curiously enough, also the Rockefellers with their money and later success in oil business would realize Oscar Zimmermann’s assertions and prediction of the eventual demise of the Ohio canal system with an eerie accuracy. Influenced by these predictions and personal notions, Oscar Zimmermann had made a fundamental lifestyle change for his family and himself by selling his canalboats and barges to other canals. Yet, he had left his brother, Ralph, in charge of a few of his vessels he was unable either to sell or otherwise dispose of. Ralph, though, was a rowdy boozer, down on his luck, due to many grievous events in his life, and consequently unable to organize his personal existence. Therefore, this act of charity could have been possibly a stroke of fortune for this life-inflicted and rough hell-raiser to put his personal business into better order had it not been for an unfortunate passing of another canaller and his crew of the same caliber between the locks 35 and 34, also called Whiskey Lock and Red Lock, that was located by an access road to the surrounding farms in the region. This road also created an access to the charming Brandywine Falls that was about to be harnessed for the power to run a local mill.

The calamity happened by a severe crook of the Cuyahoga River, in a vacant and quiet stretch, near a creek, running across the canal with its well-functioning mud catcher without any inhabitation around. In this isolated spot, he had lost his young son, still a toddler, but a vivacious baby, one day to be a big strong man. He was ripped off by the towrope, away from his unsuspecting mother’s cuddle hold, while she was stepping up onto the main deck from the cabin below to check on the ongoing ruckus. In this violent incident, those ropes flipped by the oncoming roughneck, a raccoon hunter, coiled the young child tightly into a squeeze like a stringent clutch of a boa constrictor, flinging him as an unconventional catapult charge directly into the canal, between the closely grinding passing boats with the unfortunate consequences.

Instigated by this forlorn incident, Ralph’s typical approach toward the fellow canallers was not to botch anybody, in passing, but to intimidate every living soul to yield his deeply grieving manhood; he almost expected those with a hat on to remove their head cover in his honor while proceeding in his boasting, self-assured manner on the narrow towpath. However, this grievous event on the towpath had dramatically changed the soul of this previously genuine lover of a fellow man into a self-destructive walking, human torso, while creating havoc and misery out of intense sense of revenge for others on the canal.

Ironically and sadly, perhaps, connected with the unexplained parallels of missed and related human spirits yearning to connect and finally meet in eternal comfort and peace, that same place had become Ralph’s final place to take his last breath of misty heavy air of the Cuyahoga Valley. Besides, this place allowed him to let go of the past ghosts of that same cursed spot, only marked with a large pile of mud. Yet, that same heap became surrounded with springtime floodwaters, as well as laced with brilliant swamp iris, attempting to create some luster and a glimpse of life as juxtaposition to a shabby, stooping, and weather-beaten cross that marked the spot and a reminder of Ralph’s general attitude for life.

*****

While Mary’s head was resting heavily, with all of its weight onto the table, her glasses were dislodged crookedly on her nose, which emitted different tones of wheezing sounds, as it became ever more smashed against the hard oak top of the table. As a result, also over the open page of the Akron Beacon Journal, the large drops of her tears had formed yellowing spots throughout the spread paper, obscuring some of the delicate news pictures of the floods around the Akron area.

Suddenly, the front door of Mary’s home was quickly flung open, and three squealing children ran into the living room with a happy and startling look on each one of the faces, shedding their bonnets, while dripping water all over the floor. Grammy Mary, Grammy Mary, where are you? Still repeating the same question, each one of the three girls kept shedding off their coats, pulling off their wet boots, leaving them behind as a trail of direction to wherever each one of them kept going.

Also, those three trails of clothes, after Elizabeth, Marlene, and Caroline, were an indication of their eagerness, as well as great, anxious expectation as to what would be the surprise, at this time, their grandma Mary would have in her sleeve, for a visit to her house, to the three girls, seemed always like one better than the previous.

Mom—where are you? Why don’t you answer? Sarah’s anxious voice echoed in a demanding tone.

As Sarah entered through the outdoor of the entranceway into the house, it slammed shut with a strong clap, as the northwesterly gust of wind blew swiftly over the Schaaf ridge, and some of the leftover dried leaves from the side of the property rustled across the front steps, emphasizing the swift gust of wind that could have possibly produced much damage to anything that would not have been able to withstand the force of the brisk gust. Meanwhile, the three young ladies had shed all their extra clothing off, and they all rushed into the corner cupboard, located in Mary’s living room, where she kept a stash of sweet cookies and some homemade taffy. It was a favorite of those three curious girls, whose world was always inundated with all kinds of exciting things, while they visited their grandma’s great house.

Sarah’s anxious and fragile tone of voice grew ever more acute. As she rushed into the kitchen, where she supposed she would definitely find her mother, Sarah met for her a previously inexperienced sight; she discovered her mother, Mary, still stooped over the dining room table, with her face uncomfortably pressed against the hard surface of the table, crouching uncharacteristically silent and motionless. The whole circumstance was totally unfamiliar to Sarah, for her mother was always the sole living receptionist at her cozy house; she never closed the door to any of her relatives, nor neighbors, who often dropped in for a visit and a cup of coffee, which was a welcome offering to anyone who liked a fresh cup of Mary’s brew and her jolly company. She also had a chance to recreate those valuable moments with John in her married life, while she and her husband used to have countless sweet moments at the same table, by the window, facing the valley, and the rising sun, due northeast.

Mom…what’s the matter? Why don’t you answer? Sarah demanded in a stronger voice, while reaching for her mother’s head and somewhat messy hair, as she attempted to prop it up from such an uncomfortably appearing position; it was mashed against her reading glasses, hugging the newspaper with yellow spots, filled with those many horrific articles and pictures in flooded Cuyahoga Valley, around the canal, and throughout the floodplains of the Cuyahoga River.

Mom…wake up! This is Sarah! What is the matter with you—are you okay? Sarah kept demanding answers, and by now was being in an acute panic and ready to run back out to her horse. The faithful means of transportation was waiting with the carriage, chewing a small bundle of hay, ready to fetch a nearest doctor, who had an office in Brooklyn.

Sarah laid down her pocketbook and reached gently for her mother’s head with both of her cool and wet hands in an attempt to meet her eyes to be able to gauge her condition, for Mary seemed so limp and motionless, causing Sarah’s mind to rush with a great fear and anxiety that something was drastically wrong. Meanwhile Mary’s deep and comatose-like sleep, after a two-hour nap, allowed her consciousness to find her normal self. Consequently, her brain function also caused her to return to reality, to her own cozy home, the kitchen, and her favorite table, as Sarah’s cool and gentle hands caressed her mixed purple and slightly blackened face and still quite swollen eyes.

Mom…what’s going on? Have you been crying? Your eyes are all puffed up, and your face looks like after a hot day on the canal! Sarah exclaimed jokingly, half crying and half laughing, as she finally saw her mother’s extremities and her face beginning to transform into the sweet gentle mother and grandmother, which always was her normal demeanor.

Finally, Mary began to gain her own usual disposition, by which she had been known by all those who knew her in all her years, through thick and thin, on the canal, and also in her married life, working for Cleveland’s politicians and businessmen, while experiencing life, at first hand, in a developing and dynamic city; Cleveland, at the time, was full of opportunities with the country’s most famous millionaires spreading their wealth and allowing others associated with them to share in their fortunes and fame.

As Sarah and Mary finally began to become acquainted with each other on the normal level of their close and harmonious relationship, the three girls were reinventing the whole house and its secret corners and dungeons; only their shrill voices were present echoing in the hallways, different rooms, upstairs, and even in the attic. Furthermore, those young, vigorous, and lively voices, for Mary, were a lifeline to her past; they were a way to relax and enjoy those sweet things life had given her through the marriage with John and from that her daughter, without whom her connections into the past and the memories she cherished could not have been authentic.

Mary’s son, Erik, also had provided her with those same memories with his family of four: his wife, Margaret, and two sons, Niel and Edward, nineteen and seventeen, who were not able to visit their grandmother as often, due to the fact that their life, in the suburban Washington, constituted of their daily existence, almost seven hundred miles away from Cleveland, close to twenty hours by train.

However, during the holidays, Erik also brought his family to Schaaf Road to meet the rest of the family with Gramma Mary. That occasion, usually, was the most joyous celebration in reminiscing the past with many adventures on the canal with their grandparents and others who were still trying to hold on to their lifestyle of freedom and self-determination. It was also a unique experience, during the summer holidays, to visit the relatives on the canal and enjoy the musty summer heat in the valley and on the canal, while taking exciting trips from Cleveland to New Philadelphia and back.

Sarah, look…Isn’t it awful how a large part of our past, particularly yours, too, have been washed away like the world in the biblical story of Noah? said Mary with a voice of resignation and gloom, while pointing and pushing her finger onto the Beacon Journal’s front page and its many articles about the disastrous flood.

Yes, Mom…I’ve heard something about that from my next-door neighbor, as I was getting the girls ready to come over. Yes, it’s been raining awfully hard, and she told me about the Akron area floods, but I did not quite understand the gravity of it, since I had to get onto the wagon, while the girls were anxiously begging of me to hurry up…and you know, why! Sarah said with a puzzled voice, almost sitting off aside from the chair, as she clumped down next to her mother, while beginning to engulf herself into the pictures of the Akron area canal and the articles that were portraying the doom and gloom.

Oh, my word and my internal peace! said Sarah in great horror and continued. I can’t believe this! No wonder…I thought that there was a big lake along by the canal, toward Valley View, but I did not pay enough attention to it, for it was still raining and blowing hard as we were riding to your house. Sarah’s acute demeanor reflected her quickly crumbling control, as she was losing her normally firm grip of her emotions, almost collapsing into the same trance, as her mother had a couple of hours prior.

To Sarah, her experiences and the emotions were almost the same, as for her mother, yet, somewhat diluted; the dependency and the economics of the canal did not strike her inner self in the same fashion it took Mary’s soul into the abyss of her mixed emotions, unfairness, calamity, and the lost identity. Her innermost, naturally, was colored and touched by her husband’s constant struggles with their livelihood on the canal and lost opportunities somewhere else, as well as their vehement loss of business to more modern ways of transportation, mainly the railroads.

Furthermore, the final end to her happy marriage was an unfair payment for mostly the happy times on the big ditch. For Mary, however, it also became a godforsaken place that had taken the important part of her heart and her complete soul hostage. That, in her quick thoughts, was her beloved husband, who, in a perverted way, had come to take his revenge on the canal culture by flooding and destroying the groove, which had influenced Mary’s total existence. Yet, in her clear thoughts, she only accepted the reality as the predicted truths, so often mentioned by John, but not quite in those dramatic, apocalyptic, and completely destructive terms.

Without further words discussed, yet, additional tears shed, Sarah embedded herself more tightly into her mother’s arms and pulled them around herself, while trying to make sense out of Mary’s sudden emotional eruption, as well as the destruction she just now became acquainted with through that same beloved newspaper her father always carried in his rear pocket. As she lingered in her mother’s arm, her memories hovered back into the happy years on the canal, being the older child of the two and the attraction of everybody’s attention for her disposition and her unmistakable physical charm and beauty.

For Sarah herself, it had become a slight conflict in her sense of understanding larger concepts in life, while having her sweet and beautiful mother as her physical and mental source for her life, as well as her handsome father, who spoiled her with all kinds of extravagant earthly objects. Still, within his financial limitations, he afforded the first child with those items that were necessary to be looked upon, neither poor nor an orphan. This resulted in somewhat extravagant measures to care for a child’s basic needs on his part. John did not ever stop and think what was appropriate, or wasteful, for in his heart, the firstborn, a child, as sweet as an angel, deserved everything she got and much more. Thus, as a child of such an extravagance, Sarah attempted to shift through her own emotions; she found deep empathy in those thoughts of memories that her mother must have gone through after having discovered what had transpired by such a disastrous deluge, with a force seldom experienced in these parts of the country.

As Mary and Sarah were gently hugging each other, sniffling, and wiping pearls of tears off each other’s cheeks, the three little hurricanes rushed into the dining alcove with their little arms spread wide open. Mom, Mom, and Grammy Mary, what’s wrong? asked Elizabeth, the oldest of the three, and she sandwiched sweetly with a forceful poke in between the two hugging mothers, almost upsetting them both off their chairs.

Quickly the other two, Marlene and Caroline, joined in, and they all formed a great mound of human flesh in morning; even the younger generation was beginning to latch on to the emotional vibes of the older generation’s experiences and feelings that they themselves began to feel the vibrations of this dramatic moment. The atmosphere of loss and sorrow, without quite comprehending what they were giving into, or the reasons that should have altered their natural joy of experiencing, Grandma Mary’s house was beginning to feel something different they never had experienced before.

After a couple of minutes and a nurturing silence, Mary gathered all her emotions. She also collected her physical strength, as she always had, since life had dealt her with quite a few experiences that were almost too much for one person to endure. With all that strength she now had in her veins, she jumped up, clapped her hands together, and with an overly shrill, but still saddened voice, she exclaimed, Oh, and now, let’s cook up some tea…and I also have some fresh coffee bread I made yesterday…and guess what, girls…I have made some chocolate chip cookies just for you…Your favorite…aren’t they, girls?

As Mary bounced out of her chair, a rush of adrenaline streaked through her veins and old Grandma Mary was back on her feet and her real self, asking everybody as to what they would want to eat or drink, as if a new morning of the springtime had just arrived in all in its natural beauty and the uplifting smells, odors, and freshly sprouting new forms of life.

Momentarily, when Mary began toiling in her kitchen, putting a pot of water on her stove, there was still a hefty load of embers in her stove, left from the load of wood she had just burned for her morning meal and an extra casserole, for she was expecting her children for the midday meal. Therefore, relighting the fire was unnecessary, only a couple more pieces of firewood, and the fire in the stove was hot enough to cook a large meal, even for an extended family. Meanwhile, Sarah embraced her girls and hugged them, all, individually and tightly, as she called them each to go and find her favorite seat at the dining alcove table.

Wait, wait…wait awhile! Mary’s hearty request rang in the girls’ ears, and they paused immediately, for they knew their grandmother had to clean off those items left from the breakfast. Also, Mary wanted to remove the lacy table cover protected with another cover, for she did not want the girls’ accidental food or drink deposits on her valuable and delicate present from John to be ruined.

Here is another cloth…Sarah…would you please help me clear off the dishes left over from my meager breakfast, so I can bring some food to the table, for the girls must be starved by now after all that running around in the house, Mary said, as she was loading the table with food enough to feed the double-size family.

Yes, Mom, Sarah said. It is already half past twelve…so, is there any way I can help? Sarah inquired briskly, while also whisking off the final drops of tears out the corners of her eyes, as she was recovering in the same resilient manner as her mother from her sadness and despair that those articles in the newspaper had brought to this house, totally destroying the usually homey and harmonious atmosphere.

Quickly, as a well-trained troop of Girl Scouts and an experienced leader giving them orders, Sarah as well as the girls helped Mary set the table; it was all as if out of nowhere, the two women of different generations created food of many variety much more than a needed snack for lunch; the table looked as if set for a springtime thanksgiving meal, yet, prepared with the understanding that all extra cooked food would be taken home for the children’s parents as a quick fix for supper, for their full day’s work, in such a manner, was well awarded.

The full cover on the table and the desserts after any meal at Mary’s house created much festivity and a special sense of formality that she had always promoted at her house. Such a manner of dining, according to Mary, was also only an indication of gratitude to the Lord that was deeply embedded in her soul, from being a product of a good Irish Catholic mother. Thus, it was further that background and her strong faith in something beyond the earthly life that kept Mary in check from those experiences that, for her, felt too hard to bear, living alone, while her family’s life, though, was in perfect order. In this regard, then, the strong prerequisite of religious beliefs for life, in Mary’s mind, had always been the cornerstone of her existence. Therefore, she continually tried her best to build the same foundation for her children. Her grandchildren also received their moderate dose of her ethical and moral teachings, which, for the most part, was instilling good common sense and civility that was Mary’s utmost expectation of any descendant who had a chance to enjoy her company.

As the lunchtime with a great satisfaction on everybody’s part drew to a close, and many types of foods were consumed, the clearing of the table was a swift process—the same as was the setting of it; it all went fully in certain order, and all items that were on the table were returned precisely back to their original places. In that same orderly manner, the girls were also excused, and they all acted more subdued after a good and hefty meal of Grandma Mary’s special dishes and sweets. After their nurturing activities, they went back on their own to their games they had so eagerly started.

Momentarily, Sarah sat down at the table, peering out the window that had also become one of the dearest corners of her childhood home, because she knew and remembered her parents’ coffee moments, at that same table, with the same view, which nobody ever grew tired of. She also remembered how she had developed an intimate taste for coffee by secretly emptying her parents remaining sips out of their still warm and delicate china cups. This reckless and secretive act had become one of those small things in life, without which her living with others would have lacked many valuable and sweet moments, and that, in Sarah’s mind, would have been irreplaceable.

There were always some additional details of interest one could find in that sweeping panorama; with an aromatic cup of coffee and a sweet slice of Mary’s freshly baked coffee bread, the time could fly without any formidable hurdles, creating productive moments for one’s transcending mind and soul. The place, at the right moment, could help any person reach a peak of serenity and peace, requiring no further expectations of improving one’s sense of self-worth. That place, at that window with the view, could also produce the power needed for a complete positive self-transformation, allowing one’s body to feel a complete sensation of rest and rejuvenation.

Can I join you, Sarah? Mary asked sweetly while bringing, this time, two full cups of tea in her slightly shaky hands, causing the cups to rattle on their saucers, as she laid them onto a specific spot, in the middle of the place covers. Those she had made out of tough linen to cover and protect the special laced table cover, also a present from her dear husband.

Oh…thanks, Mom! Sarah was startled, as if popping out of a deep daydream, while watching the heavy cloud cover slowly dodging the intense sunshine that created an acute atmosphere of early spring; this activity in the eastern skies contained deep colors of green and blue reflected from its clear base that otherwise would have been inundated with much smoke from the steel mills of Cleveland. Besides the cups of tea Mary was carrying to the table, she also had a small packet of special cookies rolled up in her apron. Those freshly baked pastries were laced with melted cocoa she had found in one of the small German bakeries in Public Square in Cleveland that specialized in pastries and delicious heavy loaves of breads, which as such would kill the biggest hunger of any starving lumberjack.

Sarah, look…what I have here, just for you and me! Mary said in a secretive tone of voice. These are just for us…not too many…and they are very expensive, Mary added and opened the end of the box very delicately. She unwrapped the package of chocolate pastries, which were quite thin, almost like wafers that would melt in the mouth. Mary offered them to Sarah for a special treat between the