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The work was tiring but curative, like diving into a pool whose waters conferred forgetfulness.
Philadelphia was lost in the day-today minutiae of teaching and administration.
Daniel was a handful, as any boy would be, growing through his teens. His initial disappointment with
Dodge, though, gave way to a kind of worldly status, a big-city bravado. Few of his classmates knew
anything of life except on the plains, and Philadelphia was much more exotic to them than Dodge City
had been to Daniel.
A couple of months into the school year, and after I started teaching Sunday school, I suddenly realized
that I was happier than I had been since college. And more at peace with myself than I had ever been.
Dodge had a history, but it was basically a Midwestern town, and I was finding that I liked the people
and the life in that part of the country. I won't pretend that I didn't miss the cultural advantages and
sometimes-gay social whirl of Philadelphia, but we did have plays and concerts in Dodge, and truly
exuberant parties.
People didn't lock their doors when they went out. If you were short of money, the grocer would let you
keep track and pay when you could. If anyone were in trouble-even if he was not particularly liked-his
neighbors would join forces to help out.
Part of it must have been shared tribulation. After the hooligans like Bat Masterson and the Earp brothers
moved on, Dodge settled into agriculture, chiefly cattle. Then the disastrous blizzard of January '86 buried
most of the cows in great shoals of snow, pushing them up against fences, to suffocate and freeze. The
next year's drought took care of most of what was left.
So there was a quiet sense of people tempered by trouble, self-reliant but interdependent.
Daniel didn't share my comfort. The restlessness that had made him want Dodge was redirected, in his
junior year, to the Yukon, when gold was discovered and thousands of men went north to make easy
fortunes, or so they thought.
I wouldn't let him leave school, hoping that he would wake up and see the value of a college education
(there was even a college of sorts in Dodge at the time). He was a sullen and dreamy student that last
year, but he did stay in school, I think more for my sake than for his own ambition. A different kind of
boy would have run away.
Then in his senior year, '97/'98, the newspapers started calling for Spanish blood, beating the drum for
Cuban independence. In frozen February, the battleshipMaine blew up and sank in Havana Bay. The
saber-rattling grew more and more intense. Like most of his boy classmates, Daniel wanted to put on a
uniform and go teach those Spaniards a thing or two.
Those of us old enough to have had lives shattered by the Civil War-by "Bloody Kansas," in
Dodge-were not so enthusiastic about the adventure. War was declared in April, and I forbade him to
join the army battalion forming up in Topeka.
We had hot arguments about it, his manly blood aboil against my maternal protectiveness. I had been a
mother far longer than he had been a man, though, and I won temporarily.
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In July, he would turn eighteen, and be in charge of his own destiny. "What about the Yukon?" I said,
desperate, preferring that he face blizzards rather than bullets. He said that it could wait. The gold wasn't
going anywhere.
The Fourth of July celebration was frenetic with patriotism and righteous bellicosity, beginning with the
description of Theodore Roosevelt's Rough Riders' charge up San Juan Hill on July first. Then came
word that the Spanish fleet had been totally destroyed at the Battle of Santiago.
My boy was in agony over the thought that the war might be over before he could get to Cuba. That was
my most fervent wish, of course, and for that reason I cheered as loudly as the rest.
The fireworks were to give me nightmares, though. I dreamed I could see Daniel charging bravely
through the enemy fusillade. Daniel lying torn and dying, dead, in the Cuban mud.
The next day, at dawn, I gave him one of the golden eagles, but not my blessing, for his birthday. He
went down to the station to wait for the first train to Topeka.
Having gone to the safe-deposit box, I suppose the eagles were on my mind. But I had almost forgotten
about the raven.
I was watering the newly planted vegetable patch, trudging back and forth from the outdoor pump, when
I heard wings beating and was startled to turn and see an oversized raven in my path. I instantly recalled
the one who had stopped my flight in Philadelphia.
It hopped twice and said, "No gold."
I think my heart actually stopped. "What?" It couldn't possibly be the same bird.
"No gold," it repeated, and didn't budge as I approached it.
"But I have gold," I said, feeling both moronic and terrified. "In the bank."
"No!" it screeched, and flapped up to eye level. "Gold!"
"What are you? Are you a sign?"
"No gold," it said again, almost quietly. Then it flew a block down the street and perched on the flagpole
in front of the bank. "No gold!" loud, twice, and it flew away.
I stood there dumb under the baking sun, watching the bird disappear in the distance. Then I took off my
sun hat and doused myself with well water.
I went inside and combed my hair and changed into a church blouse. I had a cup of cool tea and then
went down to the bank and put all of the golden eagles into my purse, doubling its weight. At home I put
them in a paper bag and hid them in the rice canister. I didn't know what else to do.
When Daniel returned the next afternoon, I was ecstatic to see him not in uniform, but that was only a
temporary state. The regiment had accepted him, but told him to go home for a week to "put his affairs in
order." I knew better than to suggest that he spend the week reconsidering his decision.
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I wasn't thinking clearly myself. Of course he would have to use proper identification to prove he was of
age; of course the army would send his name to various authorities, to make sure he wasn't a criminal on
the run. Including the Pinkerton Agency.
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