“All right,” Pa said. “I’ll make it brief. ‘Awaiting word on warehouse completion. Please advise soon.’ So that’s two dollars?”
The man wrote the message on a slip of paper. “Yes, sir.”
Pa handed over the coins. “May we watch you send it?” Pa asked. “The boys would like to see.”
Cal pushed closer, and Will nudged his brother aside.
“Certainly.” The man smiled, took the slip of paper, and began tapping. Within seconds, he’d finished.
“When will Pa get a response?” Cal asked.
Will sighed—his brother knew so little. The message would have to be transmitted from station to station, then delivered to Pa’s business agent. And then the man would have to send a reply. That could take an hour, or it could take days.
“That depends on my agent,” Pa said, ruffling Cal’s hair. Will could have told his brother that.
They watched the telegraph operator for a few more minutes, then left. Pa had an appointment with a man in Portland, and he gave Will money to spend on candy for the children back home. Will and Cal browsed through several stores before choosing what they wanted, then returned to the hotel to meet Pa for supper.
Mac sat in the hotel dining room listening to Will and Cal spar. Will was physically larger than his brother, though Cal would catch up someday and probably would be heavier than Will’s lean frame. But verbally, they were already a good match. Will had more years of schooling, knew more, and had a broader vocabulary. But Cal was quicker with repartee. Mac knew Will detested having his younger brother snap at his heels like an errant puppy, and so Will frequently ragged Cal, causing the younger boy to insult him in return.
Mac was the youngest of three brothers, so he sympathized with Cal’s desire to keep up with his older brother. Plus, with his sullen attitude these days, Will deserved the indignities Cal heaped on him.
Nursing the whiskey he’d ordered, Mac let the boys’ sniping fade into the background. He focused instead on his business problems in California—the reason for his telegram earlier in the day.
Torrential floods in Sacramento in early 1862 had knocked several warehouses he owned off their foundations. The structures and their contents were a total loss. Mac had rebuilt the warehouses, but the economic downturn after the floods reduced demand for goods, and orders were only now picking up. Mac wanted to increase his purchases of goods from the East, but he needed an update from his agent before filling the new warehouses.
Flooding had occurred in Oregon as well. The Willamette’s tributaries sent water cascading downstream, and the river valley had suffered the same fate as Sacramento. Many farms along the rivers and streams flooded, and Mac lost money he’d lent to local farmers. Only now was prosperity returning to the West. Meanwhile, the War back East prevented the regular flow of merchandise to Oregon and California.
The completed telegraph line would make an enormous difference. Between what the local papers published and what Mac could learn directly via telegrams to his agent, he would know within hours or days what took him weeks to learn in the past.
After leaving the telegraph office, he’d visited William Ladd, a prominent businessman in Portland. Ladd was a major investor in most commercial projects in Oregon—a bank, steamships, roads, and rail development. For that matter, Ladd was president of the Oregon Telegraph Company that developed the communication line Mac had just viewed.
Now that Portland had overtaken Oregon City as the center of Oregon commerce, Mac needed to build relationships with men like Ladd. He’d asked Jenny whether the family should move to Portland, but she enjoyed the company of long-time friends in Oregon City. For now, then, the McDougalls would stay put.
Will said something, causing Cal to shout in dismay.
“Pipe down, boys,” Mac said, returning his attention to the dinner table. “We’re in public, so act like young gentlemen.”
Saturday morning, Will and his father and brother boarded the steamboat to return to Oregon City. Other than Cal’s presence, it had been a stirring visit. Will enjoyed the telegraph, the sights and sounds of Portland, and the fine supper at the hotel. Mama and Mrs. O’Malley made good meals, but they didn’t offer rich sauces for meats and vegetables like the hotel chef provided. Hollandaise sauce—that was new to Will. He’d have to ask Mrs. O’Malley whether she knew how to make it.
The boat chugged upriver slowly. The spring current was strong, and men constantly fed wood into the firebox. Steam from the boiler turned the paddlewheel, and occasionally excess steam spouted from the pipe high above the boat.
Will watched the boilermen. What would it be like to spend one’s days throwing wood into the boiler and cleaning out the coals? Will liked physical labor well enough, but these men were sweating in their shirtsleeves despite the cold spring day. Pa told Will repeatedly he should go to college so he could later hold a professional job, but Will wasn’t sure that’s what he wanted to do with his life.
He was supposed to finish this school term, but he didn’t want to. He hoped he wouldn’t have to return to the academy in the autumn. Pa wanted him to go East to Harvard. But only because that’s what Pa had done. Will wasn’t sure he wanted to follow in Pa’s footsteps, but he didn’t know what else to do.
Will moved to the boat’s railing and leaned over the side to stare at the water. Where would he be in the fall? In Oregon or far away in Boston? Or somewhere unexpected?
Mac sat on the boat deck reading the newspaper. Every few minutes he looked over the pages to be sure neither son had fallen overboard. Cal flitted from place to place, and Mac envisioned him tripping over a coil of line or a misplaced gaff. Will leaned out over the railing and could lose his balance if the boat hit a log or snag.
It had been a good trip. Both boys had been enthusiastic observers at the telegraph office. Mac was glad he’d given them the experience.
Soon, he and Jenny would have to make some decisions about Will’s future. The boy had grown beyond the Oregon City academy where they sent him. Mac had read the essay Will wrote about slavery. He’d started with his memories of the Tanners and made a compelling case against holding people like his Negro friends—indeed, any people—as slaves. Mac agreed, though he wondered if he could have made as convincing a case as Will had. The boy had talent.
Jenny didn’t want her oldest son leaving home yet. But Will needed more education. He could be a fine lawyer or judge someday. Or a writer. With his intelligence and flair with words, Will could be anything. It was Mac’s responsibility to be sure he was prepared.
It was time for Will to leave, Mac thought. Nearly time.
Chapter 3: Sunday Services
Sunday morning, the day after Mac and the boys returned from Portland, Jenny sat at the breakfast table with Will. The family had eaten, but she lingered to talk with him.
It was a struggle to get the entire family ready for Sunday services on time. She should braid Eliza’s and Lottie’s hair, but Maria could probably manage the younger girls without her. Jenny needed to be sure Nate washed his face, or it would remain sticky with pancake syrup. And little Maggie would need help with everything—at almost two, she threw tantrums if anyone other than Jenny tried to dress her.
But Will was eager to converse with her, and she needed to listen. He rambled on and on about the telegraph office. “Pa sent a telegram while we watched, Mama. All the way to California. Right while we watched.”
“Did your father’s agent respond?” she asked.
“Not while we waited. But his response came to the hotel before supper. You should have seen the meal we had.” Will raved on for another minute. “Do you know how to make Hollandaise sauce?”
She nodded, holding back a smile. “Did you like it?”
