The Long Way Around

By Jim Morse

The Long Way Around begins in a fictional small, rural Oklahoma town, based upon the author's hometown of Calvin, Oklahoma in the fall of 1941. Similar to the author's own life, the protagonist, fourteen-year-old Jimmy Mueller's life is changed forever on Halloween of 1941 when his father and stepmother are among t

• Language: English
• Publisher: James O. Morse
• Release date: Jun 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9780985620981

Jim Morse

Jim Morse grew up in a very small town in southeastern Oklahoma, majored in physics at the A&M College of Texas, received a medical degree from the University of Oklahoma School of Medicine, and was board certified in internal medicine and the subspecialty of pulmonary medicine. He served six years in the US Army (Japan, Korea, and Germany), eight years in a mission hospital in Colombia, and twenty-one years in teaching hospitals of the Department of Veterans Affairs and their affiliated medical schools. He has previously published writing of scientific articles in professional journals. In retirement, he pursued fiction and non-fiction writing. In his fifth novel, Long Way Home, he returns to his roots in a fictional town in Oklahoma, loosely basing the first part of his story on the town and people he grew up with the second part a composite of the experience of such people going off to fight in World War II.

Book preview

1

The school bell at Riverview High School rang. Fourteen-year-old Jim Mueller tied the book about Oklahoma history he had checked out of the school’s reference book closet on the back of his bike and peddled from the high school, alongside the junior high school, and across the street to Grandma Mueller’s house, where she kept a few boarders. If he was lucky, she would have a jar of freshly made homemade cookies, and he could grab one before biking home. Jim frequently stopped at Grandma Sarah Mueller’s on his way home. He and his dad, Matt Mueller, had lived with Grandma from the time he was two years old—when his mother had died of tuberculosis—until he was eight, when his father married Laura Barkley.

The night before, Jim had enjoyed the Halloween party at school even if Emmy Lou Carter had not paid one bit of attention to him. That was the biggest problem in his life right now, and one of Grandma’s homemade oatmeal cookies was just what he needed to help soothe that pain.

Indeed, Grandma offered Jim two cookies and a hug before he set out for home. Home was five blocks away, and he was looking forward to a quiet evening alone with his book after he finished milking their one cow. Not that he didn’t love his parents and little sister, Janey. But his parents had plans to go to a dance in Harrisville, and his four-year-old sister was to stay with her Grandmother Barkley. Just before his parents left, he was reminded by his stepmother, now Jimmy, be good and don’t get in any trouble. Harrumph, he thought. He wasn’t like his dad’s younger brothers, those Mueller boys, who as teenagers in Riverview had been known to tip outhouses over on Halloween.

* * *

It was autumn, and in Eastern Oklahoma the South Canadian River was running swift and full. Although The River began along the Colorado-New Mexico border with clear water from mountain streams, rains across the plains of the Texas Panhandle and Western Oklahoma could easily wash in enough soil to change its color to a reddish-brown all the way down to where it met up with the Arkansas River. The first French trappers to see it named it for the territory in which it then lay—Canada. How could they have known that Napoleon would later sell those lands at a bargain price to the very young United States?

When American farmers acquired land from the Indians and began to settle beside the river, their first big blunder was to cut down most of the trees that grew along its banks and plant crops almost to the water’s edge, making maximum use of the rich bottom soil. Unfortunately, the river quickly took advantage of its newfound freedom and widened its course, often gobbling up more farmland than had ever been gained by the overeager clearing away of forests. Naturally, the river was most voracious at points where the current changed direction in its winding course, and in recent years the State had taken care to protect those points from being totally consumed by driving in pilings of creosoted poles and forming ripraps of boulders and broken concrete against them.

It was at one such weak point that Arthur Barkley and his crew from the State Highway Department had been laboring for several days and nights to try to prevent a section of State Highway 48 from being washed out. A row of low hills formed the north bank of the river at that point, and courses for a highway and a railroad had been cut into the hillside. The river was already chewing away at the embankment not far below. If it should win the struggle, the highway, and perhaps even the railroad, could be closed for months while crews made new cuts farther back in the hills and laid new pavement and tracks.

Shortly after midnight on October 31, 1941, one of the workmen guiding a truck as it backed off the highway to dump its load of rocks over the edge called out, Arthur, there’s a lady over here who wants to see you.

Arthur was already tired from the long hours, half wet from the intermittent drizzle, and discouraged by the prospect of another seven hours before he could leave for his home in Roff and get some sleep. He was definitely not in the mood for any social visits; nevertheless, he walked briskly over to the parked car to see what woman could possibly be looking for him at that hour. His mood brightened a little when he recognized his red-haired youngest sister. Hi, Sis, what are you all doing out at this hour? He could barely see the face of her husband, Matt Mueller, beside her in the back seat and couldn’t make out at all who the other three people in the car were.

Oh, we’ve been to the Halloween dance at the Civic Center in Harrisville. How are you?

Tired, he said.

Well, we won’t take your time. Be careful, you hear?

Sure, Arthur said as he waved and turned to go back to directing the placement of the riprap materials. As he turned, he caught a glimpse of another set of headlights approaching from the west and noticed that they followed the car his sister was riding in. He last saw both vehicles as they turned right onto the river bridge about a half-mile downstream. Of course, the Kenwood bridge had been built at that spot because that was where the river was narrowest. A shorter bridge cost less, no matter how inconvenient it might be to drivers who would use it for years to come.

It was no more than fifteen minutes later when Arthur looked up again and saw a vehicle approaching from the direction of the bridge. The driver repeatedly honked its horn until he drew close enough to call out, The bridge is out! The bridge is out!

When Arthur noted there were no other headlights following that car, his heart sank into his boots. Gulping, he asked the driver, What happened?

I was almost across when the taillights of the car ahead of me just dropped out of sight. I barely stopped in time, or my car would have gone off the bridge too. When someone shined a flashlight on the man’s face, his distress was clearly evident.

Couldn’t you see anything? another workman asked.

I got out and walked up to the edge, holding onto the bridge railing, of course, but it was just black out there. I think the approach span must’ve washed out.

But couldn’t you see anything in the water? the same man asked.

I didn’t have a flashlight with me, and even if I did, I don’t think it’d shine that far down.

Arthur was beginning to get his senses back to where he could think rationally and bark out a few orders. Get the two trucks that have the best spotlights. Throw in the longest pieces of rope, and let’s go. He jumped into the passenger seat of the lead truck, and several other workers climbed onto the truck beds.

Now, we can’t be too careful, he said to the driver. Stay on the left side so you can better use your spotlight. You ought to stop a good yard before the end of the span. No, better, when we get there, I’ll get out and guide you and the other driver. Once the trucks were in place with the second in the right lane, Arthur called for them to get out and shine their spotlights below. Maybe we can see enough to tell what happened to the approach span.

From what they could see, not much remained of that span other than a few broken timbers embedded in the bank on the far side of the gap. The surprising thing was that the main channel of the river now appeared to be running right through the place where the approach span had stood. During earlier flooding, water had sometimes backed up under that span, but it was doubtful that it ever got over two feet deep back then. The wooden supports that held it up had always seemed quite adequate before. Another workman with a portable spotlight leaned over the edge to look directly below, but there was no sign of any vehicle.

Arthur then had the second truck back up and pull in behind the first. Both turned their spotlights downstream, but nothing was visible other than turbulent, swiftly flowing, muddy waters.

I don’t think we can do anything else here, said Arthur. Let’s back off the bridge and get back down to the work site. We need to put up a barrier here at the bridge and a sign further back saying it’s out. I’ll load up some signs and take the long way around to the other side.

When they arrived back at the work site, Arthur called everyone together and asked, How many of you came to work last evening over that bridge? Several hands went up, including Arthur’s.

Did any of you notice anything unusual about the approach span? I mean, did it wobble or sway? A few answered, No, and almost everyone shook his head.

Well, I guess we were lucky. Sometime between then and now, it washed out. I’m afraid my sister and her husband as well as some other people in that car went down with it. I don’t see much chance they could’ve made it out of that river alive. I’m afraid it’s Nature that’s pulled the biggest trick on us this Halloween.

I’m going into Harrisville now and inform the Highway Patrol. I’ll see if the sheriff can get some people out to look for the car and the bodies once daylight comes. Johnson, you’ll be in charge here. I may not be back until late tomorrow. With that, Arthur opened the trunk of his car and began to load signs, barrier materials, and fire pots into it. Several of the other workmen came by to tell him how sorry they were about his sister.

Damn, I hate this river! Arthur mumbled to himself as he slammed the trunk lid down and for the first time in a long time let the tears flow.

2

Before Arthur could leave, however, a highway patrolman drove up and asked if the Highway Department was giving up on the job and pulling out. Oh, no, Arthur said as he blew his nose and hurriedly brushed away the tears, We think our repairs are going to hold up just fine. The real trouble is that the approach span on the far end of the bridge has just washed out. We need you to get on that radio and spread the news. I’m leaving now to put up a barrier at the far end, although I don’t think there’s much danger that anybody coming from that direction wouldn’t see the washout in time to stop. He left it to the others to explain about the car that went down with the bridge.

When he reached the sheriff’s office, the lights were on and the sheriff had just arrived along with one of his deputies. Sheriff Broward, that car that went off the bridge had my sister in it. Although I don’t think there’s much of a chance that anybody could have come out of it alive, I think we ought to get out search parties to see if they can find something along the banks. If you’ll take the north side of the river, I’ll see if I can’t round up some men in Riverview to walk the south side as soon as it’s daylight.

All right, Arthur, we’ll do what we can, the sheriff assured him. Sorry about your sister.

* * *

Arthur wished he had brought along someone to talk with. As it was, all he could do alone was think over what might have been. During the eight-mile drive from the river, he had asked himself repeatedly, Why didn’t I have somebody watching that bridge? How foolish of us to worry about the road washing out when, even if it did, there would’ve been plenty of time to stop the traffic before anybody got hurt.

Then it occurred to him that maybe the riprap they had been constructing had something to do with shifting the channel to the south where it would hit the approach span. What would his superiors say when they learned about the incident? Would they fire the whole crew for dereliction of duty?

As he drove east on the next nine-mile leg of his trip, his thoughts shifted to his baby sister, Laura. What a delight it had been to watch her grow up, and what a responsibility she had become for her three brothers at home after her father died. She was only five back then. He had to admit that most of the responsibility for her care had fallen on him since Raymond and Otis always seemed to find something else they had to do.

In effect, he had been her father figure from then until she married. He had been quite relieved to see her married off to a stable fellow with a good, steady job even if he was older and did complicate her life with an eight-year-old stepson. But now, what good had it done her? Worse than none.

He could hardly blame her husband Matt, however. If it had been up to him, Arthur bet, they would have spent that evening at home reading or perhaps playing cards with friends. It was Laura who was fond of dancing and Matt who would go along to please her.

At Clay’s Corner, Arthur turned south for the remaining nine miles to Will Mueller’s house. He let his thoughts turn to his mother. He had put her off until last because he saw no easy solution to the problem of informing her that her youngest child was almost certainly dead. It wouldn’t be like it was when his father died. The old man had taken his time, and everyone in the family had more or less adjusted to the fact that he was dying before he did. Of course, his mother had wept loudly. She was probably concerned that people would think she hadn’t been a loving wife if she hadn’t demonstrated at least some grief.

But now, who would’ve thought a young woman who seemed perfectly well yesterday could be dead today? And when she’s your daughter or your sister, the news can be quite a shock. If his mother collapsed, it wouldn’t surprise him. He just hoped her reaction to the news wouldn’t be fatal.

Arthur presumed that Laura had left her soon to be four-year-old daughter with her mother for the night. Should he offer to take Janey home with him until the old lady recovered from the shock? Probably not. The knowledge that she was still responsible for the granddaughter’s care might help her stay on track. If there was anything that might soften the blow of her daughter’s death, it would be the knowledge that she would now get to keep Janey with her full time.

If she wasn’t up to it, of course, he or one of his sisters would be glad to take her. He wondered whether that course might not be better for Janey in the long run, but he doubted that anyone would be able to convince his mother to give her up.

He wished his younger brother Otis wasn’t off in the Army and could be around to help his mother raise Janey, but with the War in Europe growing worse by the day and the Japanese making threats, he doubted the Army would consider releasing him. Somebody has to protect the Panama Canal, don’t they?

As Arthur approached the Riverview bridge, he was reminded of how much it resembled the Kenwood bridge five miles up the river. Here, too, the highway ran along the side of the hills on the north side of the river before making an abrupt turn to the south over the steel-framed spans that formed the bridge, also at a narrow place in the course of the river.

The bridge at Riverview was opened in 1922 to replace the flat-bottomed raft that had served as a ferry. The Kenwood bridge, which was completed some years later, had always seemed to Arthur to be a cheap copy of the one at Riverview. But then, there was federal money in that Riverview bridge while the Kenwood one had been built by the State with some help from the merchants in Harrisville who hoped to entice customers from the area to the south of it. If Riverview could have a bridge for its customers from the north, shouldn’t Harrisville also have one for its customers from the south?

Some said the reason the Kenwood bridge had that rickety approach span to begin with was that the builders were running short of money. Still, thought Arthur, that shouldn’t excuse the State Highway Department for not replacing it as soon as the river began to shift in that direction. Oh well, they are certainly going to have to replace it now and with a good, solid span or those merchants in Harrisville may be looking at a bad year.

3

Will Mueller, the third of the four Mueller boys, was living in what the family commonly referred to as the old home place. The Muellers had moved into it only a few years after they came to Riverview from Davenport in 1911. It couldn’t have been more convenient for Will’s father once he had given up being a traveling boiler mechanic and settled down to pump and soften water for the railroad. The two tall black tanks that stood between the house and the tracks testified to his occupation.

Almost every day, Old Hans would fire up the big diesel engine that powered the pump that brought water up from a deep well. With that he would fill one of the tanks. Most days he would also mix a few vats of that water with powdered lime to precipitate out the calcium. A small, one-cylinder gasoline engine was enough to fill the second tank with the low-mineral water that remained behind. Most of the Rock Island steam trains that came through Riverview would stop and fill their tanks with that soft water. It didn’t take hard water very long to choke a boiler to death.

A few years after the old man died (in 1934), his widow, Sarah Mueller had moved into town, taken in boarders, and rented out the old place to Will. The other children already had homes of their own in other cities. Whether it was nostalgia or the desire to keep a horse, Will seemed to settle into the old place naturally, at least as long as he could hire someone to make a garden and keep the weeds cut off those five acres.

At the moment, Will was trying to get awake enough to see who was pounding on his front door. When he saw it was Arthur, he turned on the lights and opened the door. Come in, Arthur, he said, still trying to clear the cobwebs out of his mind. What can I do for you? Actually, he was wondering what possible emergency could have brought his brother’s brother-in-law out to disturb a groceryman at three o’clock in the morning. Was he that desperate to buy food to feed his work crew? Then, his thoughts turned serious as he considered the possibility that something was wrong with his mother and her boarders had sent Arthur to fetch him. Maybe someone else had gone to inform Matt.

Arthur stepped inside and bluntly stated, Matt and Laura were in somebody’s car that went off the Kenwood bridge tonight. I’m on my way now to put up a barrier at the south end.

Bridge? Bridge? Will was thinking. How could they run off that bridge? he asked.

It looks like the approach span washed out, Arthur answered. Do you have any idea who they might have gone to the dance in Harrisville with?

Yeah, I believe Matt said something yesterday about going with the Clarence Haskell’s and that they were going to take Ruby Carson along to try to cheer her up. Stacy’s only been dead a couple of months, I think. You suppose they could all have been in that car?

I’m afraid so, Arthur said as he shook his head sadly. Well, I’m going to run on now. Then I’ll come back and tell Mama. Do you have any ideas about how we ought to break the news to those old women—your mother and mine?

No, I sure don’t. Just tell them as gently as possible, I suppose, and hope for the best.

You think you could get some men together to walk the south bank from the bridge back this way? After daylight, of course. Maybe they’ll find the car washed up some place.

Will was still trying to figure out all the implications of what he’d just heard, but he looked Arthur in the eye and promised, Oh, sure. I don’t think there’ll be any problem getting volunteers in this town. I can’t think of anything this awful ever happening around here, can you?

No, I guess I can’t, at least not anything that’s affected my family so.

Arthur walked back to his car, and Will returned to the bedroom to inform his wife and get dressed. Who might be awake this early? Just the guy at the Conoco station and the cook and waitresses at the all-night café, he supposed. And, oh yes, the nightwatchman. He decided to go first to his store where he could make phone calls. That wouldn’t take long. There couldn’t be more than thirty phones in that town of six hundred people.

Soon after Will turned on the lights in the store, Ike the nightwatchman came in to see who was robbing the place. Will waved for him to wait until he finished a call then explained the situation to him. I’m trying to round up some men who can walk the river this morning and look for the car and any bodies. I don’t think it’s possible anybody could still be alive. Would you mind seeing if Montgomery’s would care to release any clerks to join the search? It’d seem sort of awkward for me to suggest that to a competitor.

Sure, Ike said, I’ll do it as soon as they come to work. Then I’ll eat breakfast and go myself.

Oh, you don’t need to go, Ike. You’ve already been up all night. You ought to get some rest.

No, I want to go. Matt was my friend, Ike insisted.

It wasn’t long before people started gathering at the store. Will had made a fire in the pot-bellied coal stove and had a camp-sized coffee pot