Several of the other mill owners agreed. With loud voices. And with more abrasive language than Jerod.
Judge Milton Ashbury stood and motioned for everyone to quiet down. The Judge—as most called him—was a fair man who had no problem letting each man speak his piece, but he did require it be done in an orderly fashion.
“I believe we all understand how important the railroad is to Kalispell.” Judge Ashbury’s words brought instant silence. “Jerod, it might help our cause with the railroad’s owner, Mr. Hill, if you were to put together all the facts and figures related to the timber business.”
“We’ve already done it, Judge.” McVey held up some papers. “It clearly shows our usage and need for continued service. And how much money the railroad makes off us. Lumber and grain, not to mention cattle, are shipped out of here on a regular basis. Lumber is by far and away the most productive since the other two are more relegated to certain times of the year. But lumber is shipped daily. It’s the heart of our town. Weneedto be able to freight our goodsout of here in an easy manner and the railroad is the only means to provide that.”
The man made a good point.
Carter’s family came to Kalispell in 1885, along with his dad’s best friend, Fred Owens. The two men immediately went to work buying up as much farm ground as they could afford, and little by little the acreage grew from several hundred acres to over twenty thousand. A lot of work had gone in to clearing that land and preparing it for growing wheat. As a result, his father now co-owned the largest wheat farm in the area.
Carter remembered those days with a mix of fondness and disdain. It had been the hardest work he’d ever done. His father always reminded him that one day he’d inherit the lion’s share, so in many ways he was working his own land. But he hadn’t had pride in it like Dad. How he would smile at the fields full of ripened grain. The land was everything to Jacob Brunswick. Well, that and the crops it produced.
Even now, as Carter approached his thirtieth birthday, his father planned to gift him with two hundred acres, reminding him of the importance of land management. Carter had just built a small house in town near the mill with the hopes of building a larger home for a family on his own land one day. He wanted to expand the mill ... but now those ideas needed to be rethought. Having two hundred acres seemed unnecessary when the town could possibly die.
The more he allowed the thought to tumble around his mind, the more troubled he became.
No. Doubt and fear were not from the Lord. He shook his head and watched the crowd.
Drooping shoulders, sullen faces, and disgruntled murmuring filled the room.
Losing the railroad would hurt him. He had a great many customers to whom he shipped flour, and like the sawmills, he would have to raise his prices if he lost the ability to move his wares by train. But would the town die? If it did, he’d have to move the whole mill. But where?
A ruckus started down near the front, drawing Carter’s attention back to the meeting. Several men protested to the judge that there had to be some way to stop the Great Northern from making Kalispell nothing more than a stop near the end of a spur line.
“You’re the great legal mind, Judge,” one of the men yelled out. “Why can’t you think of a way to stop them?”
“We’re gonna lose over three hundred jobs when the railroad goes!”
“We’ll end up a ghost town!”
Even more men joined the fray. They’d seen what had happened to Demersville, a once lively town about three miles to the southeast of Kalispell. Once there had been more than a thousand people with a post office, town hall, saloons, and a weekly newspaper. Not to mention soldiers temporarily assigned from Fort Missoula. It was the place to go if you wanted supplies or a good time, and now it was all but dead. And why? Because the railroad didn’t build into it. They skirted it altogether and Demersville died as Kalispell thrived. Would the same hold true for Kalispell when the railroad moved the main line to Whitefish?
Judge Ashbury motioned for the crowd to calm down as the mayor took the stage.
“Now folks, I know you’re worked up and worried. Believe me when I say we are doing our best to get the correct information to you in a timely manner.” The older man pulled out a large white handkerchief and mopped his brow. His voice was barely audible over the angry crowd.
Someone in the back of the room let out a shrill whistle, and a hush fell over the crowd.
“Thank you.” The mayor cleared his throat. “Now, we haven’t settled on an exact date, but Mr. Louis Hill will be coming to Kalispell in the next few weeks. That gives us plenty of time to put your questions and concerns together. Submit them to my office and I will make sure they get to Mr. Hill. Let him know what this railroad means to you, to Kalispell.”
“He says it like that railroad man actually cares about what happens to this town.”
At the muttered comment behind them, Carter exchanged a glance with his dad. It was true. The trail of railroad ghost towns through the Midwest showed what happened when railroads up and left. He appreciated what the mayor was trying to do, but there was little comfort—or import—in writing a letter. The railroad people were unlikely to change their minds.
Irritation rippled through the mass of people again, voices getting louder and louder. The cacophony was giving Carter a headache.
Someone shouted and shoved another man close to where Carter and his dad were standing. The shoved man started poking the other man in the shoulder.
“Watch where yer goin’,” he growled, pushing his hat back on his forehead.
The taller man glared at his opponent. “Get outta my way, and maybe I wouldn’t have to watch anything.”
Growing anger and fear were palpable. Livelihoods were on the line and the men in the room knew it. It was a perfect recipe for violence. Carter had no desire to be in the middle of a fight, nor to have to help stop one. He had his own problems to pray over with the news from this evening. He moved toward the door.
Dad stopped him. “Moving out before the rabble can riot?”
Carter gave him a grim nod. “Something like that.”
