A sneak peek of a first draft from Markus McDowell’s current novel in progress.
“Sarah! Sarah!” His voice boomed across the dusty farmhouse lands. The little girl came running our from behind the barn, the family beagle chasing after.
“Yes, daddy?!” Her calico sundress was dingy and a bit ragged. Albert grimaced at what the dirt might be.
“I need you to come get your brother and babysit him—I’m going into town to get Doctor Johannsen.”
She screeched to a halt in front of the tall, bearded man. “Is it mommy? Is the new baby here?”
He smiled, his rough features softening. “Yes, Sarah, she has started her contractions.” He didn’t tell her that the contractions were quite painful, along with other discomfort reported by his wife. He worried about a breach. “Now run and get him. I’ll be right back. Leave your mom alone.”
He watched her disappeared into the house, the screen door slamming behind her, trapping the puppy outside who began to squeal and dance about the door. He knew she would do exactly as he said—for seven years old, she was remarkably mature and responsible.
James strode to his horse, already saddled and bridled, tied up at the post. He’d had a premonition it might be today, even though this was early. Something about this pregnancy was different than the other two.
The doctor’s office was on Main Street in the little town—really still an Indian trading post, in many ways, only founded 20 years ago by Colonel James Coffey. It had grown a lot in those twenty years, for sure, but had not lost the frontier feel. There was talk of the railroad coming through—that would really change the town. James wasn’t sure he’d welcome the changes. He liked individual people, but as a group, humans tended to be selfish, irresponsible, and not too bright.
It wasn’t far down the road—the Ragsdale farm was only a mile outside the town. He didn’t really need the doctor—he had delivered Sarah’s brother Charlie himself because the birth came in the middle of the night. But always better to have the expert on hand if possible. Especially this time. James had a feeling this baby was going to be a rough one.
*
The doctor called James back into the room. Phebe was resting, baby in arms, nursing. She gave him a tired smile. He nodded.
The doctor was packing up his bag. “Well, that was a rip-snorter, James. You got one obstinate boy there.”
“Normal?”
“Yup. All copacetic. Healthy cry, which they probably heard back in town. Phebe and the baby will be fine. Now…” He rummaged in the bag and pulled out some papers. “Need to fill out the birth certificate.” He sat down at the desk and prepared his pen and ink.
“What’s the name of the boy?”
James told him, and he carefully inscribed the full name on the form. “Good, good. Nice strong name. Parents full names?”
“James Albert Ragsdale and Phebe Ann Ragsdale.”
“Ages?”
“We’re both 28.”
The doctor filled out a few more lines, muttering to himself dates and places. He finished writing, then pulled another form out of his bag and painstakingly copied the information from the first card. Once it was completed, he laid the copy aside and put the paper, pens, and inkwell away in his bag.
“Thank you, doctor, I’ll render payment tomorrow.”
“No hurry, James, I’ll just repossess if you don’t pay.” He cackled. James smiled politely—the Doc repeated that joke at almost every call. “No need to walk me out.”
James went to his wife. The baby was sleeping soundly now, having had quite an ordeal to enter the world. The expression on baby Steve’s face looked like he was both thrilled to be in the world, but also a bit unsure about it. As if he knew it would not be an easy life.
And it’s not, James thought to himself. But it is a good one, blessed by the Lord with land, three children, a good work to do with one’s hands.
“James, call the children.”
At his bellow, Sarah and Charlie came in. Sarah had already seen one newborn—Charlie—when she was five, and made her way right over to the bed, touching little Steve’s cheek. But Charlie stood waiting in the doorway, twisting his hands together and fidgeting.
“Go on over, Charlie. Say hello to your new brother.
“What’s his name, daddy?”
“Steve Albert Ragsdale.”
*
“Oh, you are so stubborn!”
“Who are you talking to?” James thought it was a song from the other room.
“Your new son!” She laughed as James entered the room. He looked down at the infant, struggling in her lap as she tried to get him to latch on to her breast. “He just has to have things just so. He wants to be on his left, not his right. Has to have this blanket around him—he knows when it isn’t this one!”
James smiled. “Smart boy. Like his brother and sister.”
“Maybe smarter. He knows how he wants things, that’s for sure.”
James laughed. “That’s a Ragsdale trait, for sure. He’ll do just fine.” He approached the chair where she and Steve were sitting. “I’m headed into town. They’ve started new services on the LL&G line from Chicago and Philadelphia. Gonna be lots of new businesses coming in!” Nine years ago, when the Leavenworth, Lawrence & Galveston Railroad had made the town a stop along the way, the outpost had boomed into a full-blow midwestern town. Until then, it was called just the Outpost, or James Coffey’s Outpost. When the railroad was completed, it needed a real city name. Colonel Coffey and Captain Blanton flipped a coin. Coffey won, and the town became “Coffeyville.” There was a bit of a flub when it came to incorporating, but it finally was official in 1872.
“You thinking of taking a new job?” She smiled. It didn’t bother her in the least. They’d been married for eight years, but she’d known him since they were kids.
“Ha. No. But where there is growth, there is opportunity. I’m going to see if I can offer some of my services to the crews when they get closer to town.”
“Good idea.”
“Who knows? With the railroad, this town is going to change a lot. Joe Parsons was complaining—said he voted against the rail coming here and now things were out of control.”
“I haven’t seen much bad. The general market and the stores are so mucin better.”
“Who knows? Growth brings both good and bad. That’s the way. But it does no good to kick against the goads. Man’s gotta accept what he can’t change, and turn it to his advantage. Maybe someday…” he reached down and placed his large, rough hand on Steve’s head. The boy stopped his struggling and crying. “…maybe someday we’ll have a big business here—more than one, if all my plans come to fruition. Steve here can run one of them someday!”
“Well, let’s let him grown up a little bit first, my love?”
Steve, now silent and still, stretch up and latched on to his mother’s breast. His mother smiled. “You always did have the magic touch, my dear.”
“Eh. God’s blessings is all.” He leaned down to give her a peck on the cheek. “Be back in a couple of hours.”
Little Steve pulled way and turned to watch his dad leave, then resumed his meal.
Desert. Sun. Sand. No roads or human settlements within fifty miles in any direction. The perfect place to found a town?
That’s what Steve Ragsdale believed. So he and his wife bundled up their four kids in their 1915 Ford Model T, bought a local prospector’s shack and well, and built a fuel station (50-gallon drum), a repair garage, and café. He advertised “Free food on days the sun doesn’t shine” and “No drunks, no dogs—we prefer dogs.” He was the owner, sheriff, rockhound, author, naturalist, desert guide, and Santa Claus at Christmas.
He became one of the local “desert rats” and earned the moniker “Desert Steve.” Along the way, he became part of history: the Colorado Aqueduct, the construction of the first State and National highways, the invention of prepaid healthcare, General Patton and World War II, the largest iron mine in the United States, flying saucer sightings, murder, and much more.
Based on a true story, this is the tale of a quirky, clever, and bold man who pursued a dream, wrote bad poetry, and found ways to survive when many would have perished or packed it in.
Discover more from Markus McDowell, author
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