“Why not tie up the dogs?” a man in the back row asked.
“That sounds fair to me,” Will said. “Is that all right with the rest of you?”
Several nodded agreement.
“All right then, from now on the dogs are to be tied up at night,” Will said. “If not, they'll be confined and … if we have to … destroyed.”
A man Will had never seen before stood. “I think it's high time we gave this town a new name. Some of us have been talking and we like the sound of—”
“No!” Ray Townsend hollered. Like a rumbling storm cloud, he strode to the front. He stopped only inches from Will, his gray eyes narrowed, and said, “The name stays.” He turned and glared at the crowd. “We've made room for you interlopers, we've tried to be patient, but this is where it ends.” Spittle dropped onto his heavy beard. “Palmer it is, and Palmer it will stay.”
Will forced himself to remain composed and said calmly, “I see no reason to change the name.” He looked at the room of colonists. “As newcomers we've no right.” Some people nodded, while others folded their arms over their chests and glared at Ray Townsend.
Drew Prosser stood. “I have to agree with Will. There are people who've been living here for years. This is their town. We've no right to come in and start changin' things.” He removed his broad-brimmed hat and looked over the crowd. “We need a man to speak for us. Someone we can trust. Someone who's level-headed.” He turned to Will. “Would you be our spokesman—a go-between who'll speak to the government officials for us?”
“He's right,” Robert Lundeen said. “We need someone. Will you do it?”
“Say yes,” someone else shouted.
Will looked out over the crowd. He glanced at Ray, and if it were possible, the man looked angrier. Will hadn't wanted to get involved in the conflicts. All he'd wanted when he left Wisconsin was a new beginning. Still, he had to admit that a go-between was a good idea. “Is everyone all right with that?”
Heads nodded, and several said, “Yes.”
“All right then,” Will said, running his hand over a day's stubble. “I'll do what I can.”
“Shouldn't we have a town mayor?” Miram Dexter asked.
“And what about a police department?” Alex Pettersson added.
“I think both of those are good ideas.” Will looked at the camp supervisor.
“Good ideas, yes, but not good timing,” Mr. Sweet said. “Until you're in your homes and your farms are up and running, the U.S. government will remain the overseer of this community.”
“That's not a democracy,” Tim Johnson said.
“The government has a big investment in this colony, and it isn't ready to let go just yet. When the time is right, you'll have local government.”
“The government doesn't know what it's doing,” Felix pressed. “We've all seen the piles of sinks for houses that don't exist, desks for a school we don't have, and timber that needs to be sawed. And there are not enough hammers or nails. Why should we trust you?”
Mr. Sweet grabbed his handkerchief again and wiped perspiration from his face. “I'll admit, there've been mix-ups. We're working on them. This is the first time anything like this has been tried.”
Alex shoved his hands down into his pockets and glared at the administrator.
“What about a school?” Miram asked in her usual whiny voice. “We were promised a school.”
“And you'll have one. But it will take time. I promise we'll have something for the children before winter sets in.”
The meeting went on and on. Frustrations were vented, fears voiced. By ten o'clock, Will was ready to adjourn the meeting when Alex Pettersson stood. Oh, no, he thought. What now?
“We've been lied to from the beginning,” Alex said. “The agents back home told us we'd be able to hunt. Now we find out we can't unless we pay for a special license.”
“You're still hunting,” someone snickered.
Alex ignored the comment. “They started working on my house, and again I find out I've been lied to. I was promised a concrete foundation, but they laid the timbers right on top of the mud.”
“No one was promised concrete foundations,” Mr. Sweet said. He looked pale and cross. “And if you were, it's the agent's fault—not ours.”
Ray Townsend grabbed an empty chair and threw it. It nearly hit several people, then bounced across the floor, stopping against the wall. “I've heard enough. You're nothing but a bunch of government moochers. You've been handed everything you could possibly need, and all you can do is bellyache. Go home! All you! And if you don't, we'll force you out.”
Will understood Ray's disgust. People were expecting too much and complaining too much. He was ashamed of their behavior.
He walked up to the big man. “I can see what you're saying, Mr. Townsend, but I was hoping our two groups could work together— overlook each other's weaknesses. We've got to live in the same community, and things would work out a whole lot better if we could get along. Maybe we can help each other.” He held out his hand.
Ray looked at Will's hand. Without a word he turned and walked out.
Chapter Eighteen
RAIN DRUMMED AGAINST THE CANVAS CEILING. IT HADN'T LET UP FOR TWO days. There was talk of flooding. Only a few months before, Laurel and everyone she knew had been praying for rain, and now they were praying for it to stop.
Brian and Justin were sprawled on the floor, a checkerboard between them. Justin jumped two of Brian's checkers. “Gotcha now.” He laughed.
Brian pouted. “You always win.”
“No, I don't.”
“Yes, you do, except when you let me win.”
