Timber and Dreams

By Daniel Afflerbach

It is the "Roaring Twenties" and Seattle is growing from a timber town into a city. Thomas Kelly is a young Irishman and ex-logger determined to stop the timber industry from destroying rivers and waterways. J.C. Robertson is a brutal timber executive who has built his company on the backs of former loggers and small timber companies. He is not above using hired muscle to keep the likes of Thomas Kelly from raising public outcry over his logging practices. While Thomas battles by circulating petitions for a referendum to curb logging, he meets a young girl whose widowed mother was brutally raped by Robertson—kindling the fiery wrath of Thomas and his father onto the powerful timber chief. As the Kelly family helps rebuild the lives of the two women, Thomas and his father deliver justice to the front door of Robertson and his timber empire.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Mar 24, 2000
• ISBN: 9781469763743

Daniel Afflerbach

Daniel Hugh is a Seattle native who enjoys and respects the country in which he lives. From the Puget Sound to the mountains you can find him writing about and enjoying the rich history and beauty of the Pacific Northwest.

Book preview

1

In a small town northeast of Seattle, 1923.

Outside the rain-spattered window black motor cars sloshed through the muddy streets powered by clattering gasoline engines. A young redheaded man sat watching the traffic, his hands wrapped around a glass of whiskey and his mind not paying attention to what he was seeing. Behind him wooden tables and chairs were spread out across the large hall to a bar that spanned the rear wall. The bartender leaned casually on the bar engaging a couple of regular patrons in one of his tales from the Alaska gold rush. Pale light from the gray skies filtered in through the windows and cast the room in a pall that even the overhead lights couldn’t pierce and a cool draft slithered along the floor and curled itself around whatever it could find. All the while the rain pounding the roof echoed throughout the hall.

The hall once held boisterous rallies when the logger’s union, or Wobblies, struck against the timber companies before the war. Now it served as a private saloon for loggers during these times of prohibition. And this afternoon the hall was barren except for the recipients of the bartender’s stories, four others who played pool at one of the tables toward the far side of the room, and the young man, Thomas Kelly, who had come here for the last time. Thomas ran a hand through his red hair then took a drink of his whiskey. The four men playing pool was why he was here and when their joking and laughter cut through the sound of the rain his back stiffened and a new wave of anger surged through him. It was those voices that were quiet the night they committed a cowardly act; an act that caused the deaths of Thomas’ friends whom he came here to avenge.

He glanced back at the bartender who noticed him look and he reached for a bottle of whiskey behind the bar. Thomas shook his head and the bartender nodded and resumed his tale. The bartender recognized Thomas, which is why he was served, but did not know Thomas had quit his logging job. If he had known, he would not have served the young Irishman.

Thomas Kelly took a big gulp of whiskey then stared down at the tabletop. He took a couple of deep breaths, ran a hand through his hair then turned his head to peek at the men behind him. Outfitted in heavy canvas pants with suspenders and wool or thick cotton shirts, they joked with each other while chasing the jokes with pitchers of beer.

Thomas finished off his drink, wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his corduroy jacket and rubbed his hands together, hands that carried bloodshed from the fields of war. The war they said would end all wars. He stood from his chair and looked at the men with narrowed eyes while loosening his tie. His contempt for these men was strong and the mere sight of them caused hatred to surge through his body. In turn adrenaline began to flow and drown what remaining fear was left in him. He started cautiously toward them but caution quickly gave way to determination.

The loggers did not notice Thomas walk over and pull a pool stick down from the rack on the wall. And did not notice him while he walked toward them sliding the smooth stick in his hands. One of the men was seated and had dark hair with a thick curly beard. When he did notice Thomas he felt no sense of threat from the slim Irish boy. You lookin’ to play son? He asked.

Not really. Thomas replied as he quickly turned his gaze to a thick-bellied man who was leaning on his stick. Thomas was sizing the man up; slow of foot and soft of stomach he guessed. I came to ask if you boys enjoyed your bonus money?

Bonus? The seated man asked loudly. And when he said it the other two stopped playing. All four men quietly looked at Thomas and the noise of the rain suddenly was the loudest sound in the room.

Your bonus for— Thomas’s voice escalated in anger and his face took on a frightening shade of red as he suddenly stepped forward and screamed the final word. Murder! With the wild eyes of a raging bull Thomas swung the stick into the jaw of the sitting, bearded man sending him back and out of the chair. He quickly turned and drove the fat end of the stick into the thick-bellied man’s stomach then swung the pool stick up swiftly and crashed it into the man’s face.

Thomas rolled up onto the pool table as the other two reacted after shocked hesitation and ran at Thomas from each side of the table. He sprang to his feet atop the table and swung the stick again, this time smashing it into the face of one. The fourth man knocked Thomas’ feet out from under him from behind sending Thomas onto the table with a thud. Thomas rolled and drove his stick into the man’s eye like a spear then rolled off the table as the man unleashed a blood-curdling scream. With clenched teeth and a seething determination that froze the thick-bellied man in his place Thomas beat the man about the head a couple times sending him onto the ground before turning to take care of another. Within a few more minutes he battered each of the men as they tried to respond, but they could not match Thomas’ anger, nor fury.

When all four lay moaning or unconscious on the floor Thomas stood taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm his racing heart. Again the noise of the rain on the roof became loud and shadows danced about the room as the overhead lights swung slowly. Thomas raised the pool stick that he had used as a weapon in front of him. He gripped it tightly and glanced down to his feet where a logger moaned in pain. Thomas poised the stick over the man wanting to drive it into the man’s soul in an attempt to eradicate the pain and anger that still raged in Thomas since the day he saw the flames consuming the building and the bodies of his trapped friends. But Thomas hesitated. Then he heard a screaming voice in the back of his mind fighting through the mountain of rage, a voice of civility calling to him. He took a deep breath and tossed the stick away. Then in a final burst of anger he kicked the pathetic human at his feet and stepped away.

He slowly walked over to pick up his overcoat and trilby, which he placed onto his head. The bartender and his two friends sat in stunned silence as they watched Thomas pull on his gray overcoat. After one last glance at the men slowly getting off the floor Thomas walked out into the gloom of the afternoon rain.

2

A brilliant red-orange sky laced with a ribbon of purple introduced the morning sun as it peeked over the snow-capped Cascade Mountains. Thomas gazed out at it through a wood-paned window over the city of Seattle as he knotted his tie then put on his tweed jacket and pulled on his overcoat. After a final glimpse of the sun and a deep, longing sigh he turned, picked up the folded newspaper with the circled advertisement and stuffed it into his coat pocket. He then left the hotel with two bags of luggage, all he needed, all he had.

Seagulls circled above against the white clouds and windswept sky wanting scraps of bread that were sometimes thrown from the passengers aboard the steamship below. Thomas looked up at the soaring birds, squinting into the sun that peeked from behind a fast moving cloud. He smiled, admiring the easy way the gulls glided, dove and gracefully climbed upward again. The birds followed the ship on its course north through the Puget Sound.

The gangway he stood next to began to lower and the noise caused him to look down at the Island on which he was about to embark. It was a large Island called Lopez. (Large only when compared to the other islands that make up the San Juan Island chain.) It was thick with evergreen forests and surrounded by a rocky shore. It appeared serene from the water and Thomas could envision a peaceful small town with the people strolling, rather than scurrying, about. And as the ship had approached the island Thomas felt the pent-up tensions drain out of him. He felt more confident of his decision and looked forward to starting over.

Thomas was happy to be out of the city but at the same time he would miss it. Seattle was where he grew up, it is where his close friends remained. During the daylong trip memories flooded his mind; baseball games, nightclubs, picture shows, anxious moonlit nights on the top of a building with Jenny. He remembered racing through alleys with Billy and Rick after lobbing snowballs in the winter or teasing other neighborhood kids in the late summer nights. And he remembered Charlotte, a vivacious, wealthy girl who showed him what it was like to live on the wealthy side of the street and also led him from boyhood to manhood in her father’s mansion on First Hill. But her side of the street was filled with people who languished in their own egos and greed; placing themselves on a pedestal above everyone else. They truly believed they were wealthy because they were smarter and Thomas tired of their pompous attitudes and greed. He refused to leave his friends behind to live in her world and she couldn’t give up the money to live in his. Thomas laughed to himself as he thought about it. It’s not that he didn’t like money because it sure would make his life easier but he had no desire to surround himself in luxuries and travel in the social circles of the rich. It wasn’t the chase for money that Thomas lived for, which he knew despite the fact he had not found his place in life.

Then came the war. Rick was able to stay home but Billy and he went. Fortunately the war came to an end soon thereafter and neither was involved in the brunt of it. But Thomas saw enough of war to never want it again. He could still envision the nameless faces that fell from his gun and sword and he saw those same nameless faces joined with his own dead comrades on a frozen field strewn with bodies when the battle was over. It was a scene that was forever etched in his memory.

Back in the city the three renewed their friendship and roamed the streets for one more year, daydreaming in storefront windows and chasing girls in dance halls. But it wasn’t the same and each of them sought out their own niche and happiness for they were no longer teenagers, they were young men. Rick got married, Billy caught onto a good city job and Thomas left to work for a timber company in the mountains that watched over Seattle. But Thomas’ efforts to find a career collapsed and he was still searching.

These were his memories from the city and he yearned for somehow those memories to become reality again. For they represented carefree times. And he wanted desperately to be carefree again. But he sighed knowing it was just wishful thinking. He had to find his own happiness and a new life, an adult life; a life with a job, a future, and with hope. The gangway gate was opened and he walked briskly down it ahead of the other passengers.

3

Tall Douglas firs grew thick and the dirt road Thomas walked was cut through them and lined with tall grass and wildflowers. The road led to a three story, white cedar-planked building that stood at the top of the hill that rose up from the dock. He stamped his feet on the porch and removed his hat before stepping inside.

Sarah smiled while she accepted his rent money and watched him sign in. Her gray-blue eyes twinkled with a youthful vibrancy although her skin sagged with age. She wore a flowery cotton dress and an apron that Thomas would rarely see her without. After showing him to his room and reminding him of the meal times she closed the door and Thomas began unpacking.

It was a small but neat room with a four-poster bed outfitted with a patchwork quilt and a cedar chest at the foot. A pine dresser spanned one wall and supported a mirror. There was a white ceramic bowl with a water-filled pitcher, and cotton towels hung neatly on the wall. After his clothes were put away in drawers and hung in the corner, he collapsed onto the bed.

Jerry Sha Jr. surveyed the mussels as they were unloaded into salt-water troughs. He picked up an occasional black-shelled creature and inspected it. They would soon be bagged in canvas sacks and shipped off to his customers. His reputation for quality was impeccable and was a source of great pride for him and his employees whom he rewarded regularly for their efforts. He later strolled back up to his office smiling acknowledgment at his employees as he went. When he arrived at his office he was informed of the waiting applicant and he asked for a few minutes before the man was sent in.

Thomas politely closed the door behind him. Jerry left his desk and crossed the small room to meet him. They shook hands then sat in two upholstered chairs under tall oak bookcases. Jerry had coal-black hair and dark eyes. His skin was a golden brown thanks to his Indian father.

It is nice to meet you Mr. Kelly. To finally place your face with your voice.

I’m thrilled to be here. It is a magnificent island, Thomas said smiling.

Is the boarding house adequate for you?

Oh, more than adequate. Sarah reminds me of my Irish grandmother. So accommodating and cheery.

She’s done so well there since her husband died.

Oh, how long ago was that?

Fifteen years now, I guess, Jerry said. "They moved here from California and built that place claiming it was their dream to escape from the cities and run their own business. He died a mere five years later after spending two in a hospital in Port Townsend, a terrible tragedy. But with the help of our little community she was able to hold things together. So, back to you. You’re settled in and, I assume, ready to start work needed.

Sure am.

Well you appear healthy and strong, but there are other things I look for in an employee.

And what is that? Thomas asked, surprised by the comment. He had spent an hour on the phone with Jerry three days earlier talking about the job. He thought they had gone over just about everything involved with the job.

Jerry pointed to his chest. A soul. He leaned forward, looked intently into Thomas’ eyes, and continued. Not everyone is blessed with intelligence or strength but all men possess the ability to tell right from wrong and be able to give an honest effort in return for their pay. I don’t expect perfection and I don’t overreact when someone makes a mistake, for we are all human after all. But I do expect everyone to treat each other with the utmost of respect. For we are not Indians, Chinese, or White; we are humans. Our heritage gives us character not rights nor intelligence. He sat back in his chair again. I would have told you this on the phone before but it is something I need to say while looking into your eyes.

I came here to start a new life, a new career. I intend to work hard and help you succeed, so I can succeed. Thomas replied with a solemn face. And I’m not in the habit of pre-judging people.

Jerry smiled. Did Cynthia have you fill out the necessary paperwork?

She did.

Good. I’ll give you your two weeks as I promised you on the phone, then we’ll talk again. Be here tomorrow morning at six and we’ll show you the seafood business. Jerry stood with an outstretched hand. Thomas shook it firmly then left the room wearing a wide smile on his freckled face.

A cold fog shrouded the harbor and the wooden pier at six-thirty in the morning and the sounds of the gulls came from all around them although Thomas could not see any of the birds. He was being shown how to clean and bag mussels by a small Englishman named David who had come down from Canada to work. They stood over a trough filled with water that was ten feet long and every ten minutes another bucket of mussels was dumped into it by workers who hustled between the trough and the boats that lined the pier. Several others were lined on either side of the trough and Thomas recognized Indian heritage in a few of them. The bagged mussels were then loaded onto a steamship for delivery to ports around the sound.

Lunch break came at eleven after all the mussels were bagged and the steamship set off to deliver the cargo that would be served at restaurants that same evening. Thomas spent his lunch on the pier eating a sandwich prepared for him by Sarah. The sun had beat on the fog cover all morning and it had finally cleared. The seas rolled in around the pier and crashed onto the shore while seagulls cawed, circled, and begged for food.

After lunch fishing boats arrived and began to unload their catches of silvery salmon that glistened in the sun as the nets dropped them onto the dock. The fish were brought into a long building where Thomas learned how to fillet them. The fillets were then taken to a smokehouse. These smoked salmon fillets were the company’s trademark product and were shipped down the entire Pacific Coast.

4

The weekend came and Thomas was downstairs early. Sarah had just finished brewing coffee and served him a cup on a saucer. Oatmeal will be ready soon. You’re a little early.

Yea, Thomas replied, taking a seat at the dining table. I’m heading out on a hike around the Island and guess I’m a little eager.

Sarah sat across from him. Shall I pack you a lunch?

Oh, no, don’t bother yourself.

Thomas, it’s no bother. She smiled. You enjoy the outdoors don’t you?

Sure do. I spent a couple years cutting forests down, thinking that working out in the forests would be fun and interesting; a chance to learn more about the forests. But it was far from that. And I couldn’t do it anymore.

And why is that?

It’s become so industrialized is the best way I can put it. More emphasis on machines then men. And that results in more destruction. Have you ever seen the remains of a clear-cut forest?

No.

It’s ugly. The entire forest is leveled. Modern techniques using powerful diesel-electric motors can uproot trees and the ones that are diseased or undersized are left to rot. When the crews leave an ugly barren area remains.

But it grows back.

It’ll take decades, maybe a hundred years to grow trees that are the size being cut. But what ultimately forced me to leave was when they stripped a hillside clean above rivers and streams. I returned to an area like that a few weeks after we cleared it and rains had washed the barren hillside into the river. The waters were muddy and salmon spawning beds were ruined. He sipped his coffee then continued. After that I paid more attention to what the company was doing. We were cutting a lot of hillsides because they used the rivers as a cheap way to transport the logs and I began to complain. When they didn’t listen to me I complained louder…

Excuse me Thomas. You’re oatmeal is ready. She got