cannot,” I said. “You know how dry that county is. How the farmers struggle to eke out a crop. If you take that water, how will they irrigate their fields?”
“Nonsense. It’s already done,” he blustered. “We’ve secured the water rights! None of those farmers have any sense if they remain. We’re doing them a favor, really, pressing their hand.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “It isn’t right. We either need to find an alternate source of power and water, or we need to buy their land at a decent price. It will be worthless after we divert the water and build this dam.”
I heard Andrew chuckling behind me. Mr. Morgan and my father stared at me, while Mr. Grunthall scribbled notes on a pad. For what? His own article on me? He’d hinted that he would be writing such things. It was all so silly, so overwhelming…but this, this mission in my mind, was not. I was certain I must stick to my ideas. I could see my old neighbors in the small church with the white paint peeling from the sunbaked and snow-blasted boards. All fanning themselves as my old pastor rambled through a sermon. There was no way I could betray any of them.
“Every person in Dunnigan must gain from this strike, as we will most certainly gain,” I said, crossing my arms. “It shall cost us more up front, but we shall gain long-term, just as you did in Butte. Don’t you see?” I shook my head, boggled that they couldn’t seem to grasp it, that they were hesitating over my apparently outlandish ideas. “I don’t want to destroy my hometown. I want to build it to something even better than it was.”
My father looked at me intently, and at last a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “So there is a bit of empire builder within you after all,” he mused. His smile faded. “But what you propose is most expensive. And not necessary at all. Darwin’s theories on the survival of the fittest and all that.”
“And we are clearly the most fit,” Andrew said.
“We are most fit to lead ,” I returned, shooting him a dark glance. “Just because we can doesn’t mean we should. Honestly, would you need a press secretary,” I said, waving toward Simon, “if you were doing great, good things? Wouldn’t the stories write themselves in a way that benefited you—if the people honestly loved you rather than feared you? If they wanted to help build up you and the company rather than somehow tear you down?”
My father was silent a moment, steepling his fingers before him. “What exactly do you propose?”
“Can we not find more water from another source?”
He shook his head, and his silver beard wagged under his chin. “Not enough.”
“Then let us tackle it in a forthright manner. I wager you have squelched the news that we’ve brokered a deal for the water rights?”
He was still for a breath, then two. “I might have paid a few men the right amount to keep it quiet.”
I sighed and pushed away from the table, pacing to the doorway and turning. How I wished Dunnigan wasn’t so far away! That I could go and speak to my old neighbors and friends and tell them what I knew. Promise them that I’d make certain they were treated fairly. My eyes went to Mr. Grunthall, and I thought of his typing machine and sheaf of paper. He could help me! Get the word out to each and every one of them. I hurried back to the stack of blueprints and paged through them until I arrived at a broad-scale version that plotted out small homesteads and vast ranches, rectangles of land, alongside the miles of cliffs now owned by the Kensington-Diehl Mine.
My fingers traced one—the Ramstads’—then another—the Millers’. With each progressive plot of land, I could see weathered homes and derelict barns, failing fences. Very few of the ranches were successful enterprises.
“We will buy them out for a fair price. Allow them to start anew. Or stay right where they are and go to work for the mine. But they will no longer have to
“Nonsense. It’s already done,” he blustered. “We’ve secured the water rights! None of those farmers have any sense if they remain. We’re doing them a favor, really, pressing their hand.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “It isn’t right. We either need to find an alternate source of power and water, or we need to buy their land at a decent price. It will be worthless after we divert the water and build this dam.”
I heard Andrew chuckling behind me. Mr. Morgan and my father stared at me, while Mr. Grunthall scribbled notes on a pad. For what? His own article on me? He’d hinted that he would be writing such things. It was all so silly, so overwhelming…but this, this mission in my mind, was not. I was certain I must stick to my ideas. I could see my old neighbors in the small church with the white paint peeling from the sunbaked and snow-blasted boards. All fanning themselves as my old pastor rambled through a sermon. There was no way I could betray any of them.
“Every person in Dunnigan must gain from this strike, as we will most certainly gain,” I said, crossing my arms. “It shall cost us more up front, but we shall gain long-term, just as you did in Butte. Don’t you see?” I shook my head, boggled that they couldn’t seem to grasp it, that they were hesitating over my apparently outlandish ideas. “I don’t want to destroy my hometown. I want to build it to something even better than it was.”
My father looked at me intently, and at last a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “So there is a bit of empire builder within you after all,” he mused. His smile faded. “But what you propose is most expensive. And not necessary at all. Darwin’s theories on the survival of the fittest and all that.”
“And we are clearly the most fit,” Andrew said.
“We are most fit to lead ,” I returned, shooting him a dark glance. “Just because we can doesn’t mean we should. Honestly, would you need a press secretary,” I said, waving toward Simon, “if you were doing great, good things? Wouldn’t the stories write themselves in a way that benefited you—if the people honestly loved you rather than feared you? If they wanted to help build up you and the company rather than somehow tear you down?”
My father was silent a moment, steepling his fingers before him. “What exactly do you propose?”
“Can we not find more water from another source?”
He shook his head, and his silver beard wagged under his chin. “Not enough.”
“Then let us tackle it in a forthright manner. I wager you have squelched the news that we’ve brokered a deal for the water rights?”
He was still for a breath, then two. “I might have paid a few men the right amount to keep it quiet.”
I sighed and pushed away from the table, pacing to the doorway and turning. How I wished Dunnigan wasn’t so far away! That I could go and speak to my old neighbors and friends and tell them what I knew. Promise them that I’d make certain they were treated fairly. My eyes went to Mr. Grunthall, and I thought of his typing machine and sheaf of paper. He could help me! Get the word out to each and every one of them. I hurried back to the stack of blueprints and paged through them until I arrived at a broad-scale version that plotted out small homesteads and vast ranches, rectangles of land, alongside the miles of cliffs now owned by the Kensington-Diehl Mine.
My fingers traced one—the Ramstads’—then another—the Millers’. With each progressive plot of land, I could see weathered homes and derelict barns, failing fences. Very few of the ranches were successful enterprises.
“We will buy them out for a fair price. Allow them to start anew. Or stay right where they are and go to work for the mine. But they will no longer have to
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