The sun peeked early over the mountains as Mr. Rooster crows. "Cock a Doodle Do," what a wondrous sound he makes to some but to others as they sprawl out of bed onto the floor. Frank still hits the ceiling and the neighbors next door. "What was that?" The people said next door sprawled on the floor. Mark laughs at his Pa on the floor as Mr. Rooster goes. "Cock a Doodle Do."
The boys quickly dressed and went into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. It was Frank's turn this morning as they planned the menu: French toast, bacon, scrambled eggs, orange juice with milk, served with crannapple muffins. It was something easy that didn't take a lot of time, as they all agreed due to school. Frank put on the hat and the apron, taking charge of the kitchen while Mr. Downing and Mr. Whitmore supervised.
The boys did one steady, loud clap in the air; then, things started to happen all at once as their Pa's watched them with amazement. EJ and Will gathered the ingredients and the recipes needed while Mark and Robert began to set the table. Peter started a fire in the pot belly stove to take the chill off the cottage by adding a little coal. Frank mixes the eggs, adding milk, cinnamon, and nutmeg with a hint of vanilla, handing it to Robert to dip the bread and placing it into the skillet.
EJ squeezes the orange juice like he has done many times before while Peter comes over and washed his hands. Mark and Will finish setting up the table and help Frank with the bacon and the muffins while he cooks the eggs and finishes the French toast. EJ helps with the syrup and the butter and sets them on the table. Frank quickly puts the muffins in the oven at 400 degrees, as the recipe says.
The boys put the rest of the food onto the table, putting the muffins on a plate to cool on the table. They all hurry and do up the dishes, wipe down the kitchen counter, add a little more coal to the fire, and wash their hands. Frank hangs up the hat and the apron, gathering around the table and giving the toast. "I welcome you all to the table; let's eat, for we all have a lot to do," he smiled and sat down next to his brother Mark and his friend Peter, patting him on the back for a job well done.
They hurriedly ate their breakfast, cleared the table, finished doing the dishes, and got ready for school. The boys gathered their schoolbooks and class schedules, noting they had most of their classes together this year and just a couple they did not have together, English and PE, as they waited for the school bus to take them to school.
EJ always hated this part about going to school because he was always on the last stop when there was no place left to sit. Coming home wasn't much better if you could call it a home, I guess some people might, the yelling, the screaming, and the other things. Of course, EJ would walk home to stretch the time. Give an excuse: he missed the bus or had to stay after school. It wasn't far just from Payson Jr., too, Santaquin along the old back road. He did it all the time. It used to take him forty-five minutes if he was in a hurry to an hour or an hour and a half. Suppose he stopped at Spring Lake to nap, two hours or longer during warm summer days, for a quick dip in the pond. He hated going home.
Yet today, things have changed, and he has a new home now, a family that loves him, and new stops as he gets on the bus and heads for school, sitting next to his brothers Will and Robert and his friends Mark, Frank, and Peter. The first class was music according to their schedule, which was two hours with Mr. Jaydan Faith. "Hello, boys," he said with a smile, having them stand around the piano, handing each a folder with music in it. "Now, then, we just need to find a place for you," Mr. Faith said, looking at the group of kids in the room.
Taking turns by the piano, they sang their pitches on the keys up and down the keyboard. Robert, Frank was a tenor, and EJ was still a soprano with Peter and Will. Mark was a baritone. They were known as barbershop quartettes. He smiled and put their names down on a piece of paper for something later with a twinkle in his eyes.
Then it happened, the part EJ always hated: roll call, standing up, and answering whether he was here. "EJ Stuart," knowing there must have been a mistake when we signed up for school. EJ looked at his brothers and sat there as they looked at the teacher, calling his name again. Then, they stood with him before he could utter a word. Robert corrects him. "Mr. Faith, that's EJ Downing, not Stuart, and he's my brother," he said.
"And mine, too," said Will.
"I see," he replied, looking at EJ. EJ nodded yes and sat down with everyone, whispered in the room around him, with Robert and Will giving them each a hard, cold stare.
Mr. Faith, making a note, scratched Stuart off the list, writing down Downing beside his name with a smile. Then, tapping the music stand with his wand to bring the class back to order, he begins warm-ups and resumes class. The day continued on that day from class to class with friends and brothers. EJ Just had a couple of problems with bullies, but that didn't last long. Not with his friends and brothers by their side, they soon got the message that he would be left alone.
* * * *
"Well, girls, after breakfast, I think we need to go into Phoenix and do a little shopping, and I need to send off a telegram. Reggie, do you mind if we tag along with you when you take the children to school today?" Aunty M. asked.
"No, not at all," he said as the ladies quickly changed their clothes, met the kids and Reggie downstairs, and were off to Salina Middle School, then Phoenix. They could see the neighboring cotton farms as the wind blew the cotton into the wind like a little snowstorm. When they reached Phoenix, Aunty M. stopped at the telegram office to send off her telegram.
Wayne. We are staying for two weeks, possibly three instead of one. Stop.
Send some boys quickly this way. Stop.
Fifteen boys would be nice, and their wives, if they have any. Stop.
Send them to Salt Lake City airport. Stop.
Send a reply about how many and when. Stop.
Watch out for Morgan. Stop.
Aunty M. and girls. Stop ―End of telegram.
"I need this sent immediately," she told the telegram officer. In fact, I'll wait here for a reply," she said as she wrung her hands.
"Yes, ma'am." The telegram officer went into the next room; the next thing you hear is a tap of the telegram wire. After a few minutes and a couple of cups of joe, he was back with a reply. "It has been sent and is on its way," he said. She pays the man a tip and thanks him for his time and hospitality. "Alright, girls, let's go shopping. Reggie can show us the sights of this town."
* * * *
Mr. Rivers receives the telegram; the boys are still in school as he glances at the clock. It's up to him to deliver it like in the old days unless he can find Ned, but they're all up at the farm. He hangs his sign out to lunch with a note to see his friend, Mr. Grams, as he goes over, handing him the keys to the post office, and heads for the stables for a horse.
Mr. Rivers raced to the farm with the telegram in hand as fast as he could, bouncing up and down in his saddle down the road. "Ouch, uh, ouch," groaned up and down the road. He's not as young as he used to be, "Ouch, UH, ouch, UH," up and over the gully through the field, seeing the farm and the men working on the house as well. Mr. Rivers, looking for Mr. Downing, said. "There he is over there by the plans with Mr. Stringham. Man, that is a huge house."
He climbs down from the horse, rubbing his backside and working the kinks out of his back. He then walks over to Mr. Downing, hands him the telegram, and watches the men work on the house while catching his breath.
Wayne. We are staying for two weeks, possibly three instead of one. Stop.
Send some boys quickly this way. Stop.
Fifteen boys would be nice, and their wives, if they have any. Stop.
Send them to Salt Lake City airport. Stop.
Send a reply about how many and when. Stop.
Watch out for Morgan. Stop.
Aunty M. and girls. Stop ―End of telegram.
Wayne looks at the plans and house. "You are right, Mr. Stringham. There is no way around it. You say it will take at least a week for them to wire the house before the Sheetrock arrives, and we have to have it inspected," and sighs. "Just have them build me this while we wait," Wayne said, pulling out the planned chicken, "and this add-on for the cottage. Since according to this, looking at this here telegram, they won't be back for two weeks or possibly three. That means I could build this," he again replied, pulling out this design for the table for Martha. "And do a little shopping of my own, if you know what I mean?" said rubbing his chin, looking over at Mr. Rivers.
They both head for the stables with his horse and add him to the wagon in the barn, taking him back to town with a small, gentle flick of the wrist. Why hurry as he puts his thoughts together, thinking of his wife and daughters down in Phoenix, Arizona? They're probably having a good time, and he takes his time. It's going to take time to find men for this SOS.
Wayne turned towards Mr. Rivers. "Do you have any ideas, my friend, on how I'm going to find fifteen bodies that can move clear down to Arizona in a few days? I barely filled out the roster for the lumber and the sheep ranch they're leaving today. There is plenty of work around here for them to do, but moving clear out there, that's tough," Wayne replied, pulling into town, and dropping him off at the post office.
Mr. Grams, waiting for him with a basket of letters and packages, hands him back his keys. "You can always try the paper," Mr. Rivers said and shrugged his shoulders. "Put in the want ads, who knows, post signs some down in Cracken and around here in the window, and I'll spread the word."
"That's a great idea; thanks, Mr. Rivers," Wayne said, nodding. Mr. Rivers, taking the basket with letters and packages, reopens his shop. Wayne went into the paper office and did exactly as Mr. Rivers said. "Mr. Grams, I need to place an ad in the want ads for some help. I need men and their wives, whether they have them or not, who are willing to move to Arizona to work on a cotton field. I also need posters to place them all over town," he said.
Wayne handed him a ten-dollar bill for his help, but he just passed it back with a smile and laughs. Wayne looks at him in shock, like he has fallen out of a tree. "You know your money is no good around here," he replied as he rolled his eyes. "Your order will be ready," looking at the clock. "In one hour for the poster, and I'll have the other in the paper this afternoon," and shoos him out the door.
Wayne puts the wagon away at the stables, trades it for his horse, heads for the train station to sign for his lumber, and sees the men off to the lumber mill and the sheep ranch to thank them, sees them off until the snow hits and they come down for the winter. Mr. Grams was true to his word when Mr. Downing came by for his order; in fact, he was already printing the addition to the paper on the front page and the want ads of the paper.
The headline reads. "SOS, Arizona cotton field needs help." When Wayne Downing walked in the door to pick up his order. "Here you go, Mr. Downing, one hundred copies," as Mr. Grams placed one in his window.
"Thanks," he nodded and picked them up, walking out the door with them under his arm. Wayne walked down the street of New Downing, asking the shopkeepers if they would place them in their window fronts.
"Yes, sir, be glad too," they smiled, then nodded with a grin. "And will pass the word, too. Just remember to keep your porch light on," as they smiled one after another.
After making the full rounds around the square, he jumps on his horse and heads down to Cracken to post some down there.
Then, an idea popped into his head. Why not open a newsstand down here and a small post office at the same time? Why not open a newsstand in New Downing, too, with magazines for recipes for the womenfolk and farm work, carpenters for the men, and comic books for the kids? Ideas like these sometimes pop into his head a lot, stopping him dead in his tracks as he writes them on the back of a poster, a design for a new stand for Cracken, and a small post office right next door, placed into his pocket as new plans for a newsstand and letter office.
Mr. Downing posted his remaining posters up, then headed back to the farm, seeing nobody there except for the men for the electrician, sewer, and water. He heads back to New Downing to discuss his idea with Mr. Grams and Rivers. After all, why build something they're not going to use? "Hello, Mr. Grams, Mr. Rivers," as he sat outside on the stools, waiting for the boys to return from school. "Mind if I sit with you for a spell?" As he smiles like a cat pulling out his plans.
"No, not at all. we are just waiting for the boys, that's all. Business is kind of slow today. We have a few minutes, so what's on your mind?"
Wayne shows his plans for the newsstand and small post office for Cracken, watching their faces gleam and mind-turning. "I was thinking of building two newsstands or three. There are two right here in New Downing: one in Cracken, and a small post office right next door. The newsstands would sell newspapers, magazines of all types, and comic books for the kids. Maybe candy, that's up to you, of course. I'll set up a roster, and you pick who you want to run them.
"Just think of all the extra money you could make if we had these open, plus kids selling papers after school," Wayne replies. "The town's people could benefit from it as well, having the news all day long, and you would have the help you need every day. Because we're growing bigger and bigger," he said, showing them a copy of the new deeds he just received. "Someone was talking about donating a brickyard for a spot of land down here; he wants to move from Goshen to out here if I can accommodate him and believe I can looking at this here deed."
"By golly, Mr. Grams," slapping his knees. "let's do it. You find me the help, and we will print a morning and evening paper and go on from there," he said.
Mr. Rivers said. "Cracken, you say? Well, me, too. I still can't work those kinks out of my back," Mr. Rivers laughed, "from delivering that telegram."
They all shook hands on the deal and waved goodbye as Wayne headed back to the stables; putting his horse away for the day, he headed back to the cottage. When he arrives, the men have been busy and are still making the house changes. Making it bigger and adding to the boys' and girls' rooms, the chicken pen and rooster pen are nearly done. "Man, you boys work fast," Wayne said, looking around the back.
Mr. Stringham laughed. "I' 'm glad you like it. The chickens will be pleased, and the rooster and the chickens will be here this afternoon in about," looking at his watch, "hour and a half."
"The question is the bunk beds and mattress for the boys. Mr. Stringham, I need one more bunkbed and an order of two more mattresses since I have two weeks and possibly three before the girls return."
Mr. Stringham laughs, shaking his head. "That's all. One bunk bed is coming right up." I'm putting it on the list to have it done and installed in a couple of hours. "Right, boys?"
"Yes, sir." Then he takes out the notepad and writes an order of three mattresses, not two, just in case.
Wayne went back inside the house, making a list of things they would need from the store, realizing that they were going to have to go clear to Salt Lake City to the major appliances and furniture stores to get what they needed. It wouldn't hurt to sell a few cattle and sheepskin and things to trade, making some extra money for the stuff for the house. Thumbing through his notepad, he finds the plan table and chairs he saw at the sheep ranch. Pulling out the plans, thinking he has just enough lumber stored to build the table and chairs with the boys' help. Mr. Whitmore pulled up in the car in front of the cottage, wearing his doctor's clothes.
He was opening the door, seeing Wayne at the table, nearly startling him. "Sorry, Wayne, are the boys home yet?" He asked with a gloomy face and agitated voice.
"No, they should be any moment now. What's wrong?" Wayne asked.
Kollie, pacing up and down the floor, looked at his watch. "It's Peter's grandmother, she's dying. I just got out of surgery a half hour ago; she just had a major heart attack and ruptured her heart, most likely won't last the night," he said.
The boys come home from school and see their Pa sitting at the table, waiting for them impatiently. Mr. Whitmore is trying to find a way to break the news to Peter as gently as he can. Finding there was no easy way but to tell him the truth, holding him close to him like he was his own son. He was, in a way; at least, that's how they felt about him ever since his parents died when he was three. He has been living with his grandmother and them ever since.
Mr. Whitmore, Peter, Mark, and Frank head back to the hospital. Wayne returned and asked for a few volunteers today to take the boys' place, so they don't leave Mr. Grams or Mr. Rivers shorthanded. Mr. Stringham plans to build the newsstands and the post office and ask Mr. Rivers and Mr. Grams where they want them. Pa takes the boys, stopping at the newspaper and post office, telling them that help is on the way and to excuse the boys, that they have an emergency, and will be back tomorrow, he hopes. Pa and the boys all head for the hospital to be with their friends, where they feel they are needed most.