The Mill By Preston Estes

Author’s Note:

This story came from some knowledge I gained in my History of the Industrial South class.  Instead of being in the 1920’s I wanted to take place directly after the war, so we can see how it directly affected the people in my story.  I tried to add tension in my story, I would like to know hot that worked.  I do feel that there may be too much exposition, but I would like to hear what you think.  I do have another scene or two I want to add, but I would like to hear what people think of the story so far before I add that those in because I may change them based on the reviews.  The main scene concludes with something Godwin said at the end of my story.  Thanks for reading and give me honest answers on what you thought about the story.

https://www.pinterest.com/prestonestes/story-idea-southern-mill-life/

The Mill

            Three more pieces of wood fell from the ceiling as the workers sawed them off.  Each one was molded and brittle, shattering as they hit the floor of the shop. 

            “Hey, give people warning when those things are going to fall.  I don’t need any more injured workers,” I called up to the two men sitting on the rafters.

            “Sorry Boss.  Won’t happen ‘gain,” the older of the two called down. 

            “Bilt, if it does, you’ll be out of here,” I said.

            “Naw he won’t.  Not like you can get anyone else to do the repair work on this place as good as we can,” said the younger man, Jean if I remember correctly.

            “And not many people are willing to hire negroes at the wage I give ya. Just give a warning before the wood falls, and then I don’t have to worry about replacing people.”

            Knowing I won that argument, I continued my walk through the rest of the building, taking note of all the holes already the roof that would need to be replaced before the next rain could come.  I purposely stepped down hard enough on the damp floor boards that the sound of my boots echoed around me, letting everyone know where I was.  That I was watching them.  Looking for the slightest mistake to swoop down upon.

            Mistakes could not be made.  Not now, not when I’m so close to my goal.

            I walk back to the rear of the building, where a wooden door is, bearing my name on a wooden plaque,

“Robert H. Sykes.”

            Stepping through the door, I enter my office.  The room used to be a built on storage shed for boards and part for the mill’s water wheels.  After I took over, I made a few changes, one of them was taking this space as an office, “All decent businesses men have an office,” I had told my workers as the moved the supplies to the outside storage shed that they now rest in.

            I take a seat at my desk, and pull out a letter from my jacket pocket.  This was the letter that I had been waiting for, since I put those ads out in the newspapers back in New York.

            Dear Sykes,

                        Upon reviewing the ad for one lumber mill in your procession, I have gave some thought to the purchasing of said mill.  I have discussed with my family and have reached a conclusion of obtaining it from you.  Before I will purchase it, I need to know that the building is in good condition, as I know, many such mills were lost during the recent war.  I will plan for a visit within a month’s time.  Upon, said visit, if I find that everything is satisfactory I will purchase Sykes Lumber Mill from you.

            Humbly yours,

            Milton J. Beans.

After reading the letter for a second time, to make sure I understood everything correctly, I quickly wrote a reply to Mr. Beans.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………….

            The resturaunt connected to the Hailers hotel, was mostly empty.  At a table near one of the glass windows facing the street sat the only customer, and the man I was here to meet.

            “Good morning, Godwin,” I said to him as I took a seat across from him.

            “Is it Robert?  I heard a rumor that the Patterson are going to shut down their foundry and head to Atlanta, he said.”

            “After Sherman’s little show, it is prime real-estate now, and home to many opportunities for a good foundry.”

            “Vultures, the lot of them are.  Feeding off the misfortunes of others.”

            “Can’t really blame them though, not much to feed off of here anymore.”

            “Back in the army we would have called them deserters, abandoning the town when they are needed the most.  If they stay, they could help repair the damages the Union Army done, and put this Audin, Alabama back on the map,” he said while beating his fingers on the table in a slow to fast rhythm. 

            “Not all---,”

            “Excuse me sirs,” interrupted a young man holding a tin tray in his hands.  “Here is your usual orders.  Coffee and spice cake for Godwin Sykes,” the man said placing a steaming silver cup of dark liquid in front of the man next to a moist brown cake.  “And tea and carrot cake for Robert Sykes.”

            “Thank you Erwin,” Godwin said to the man as he placed my cake and drink in front of me.

            “My pleasure sirs.  Just call me if you need anything, and pay your bill to Gertrude when you’re ready to leave,” Erwin said as he turned around and walked back into the kitchen.

            “Good lad that boy, would have a bright future in this town if it wasn’t about to go under,” I said.

            “Maybe it won’t,” said Godwin, taking a sip of his coffee.  “Owe, hot.”

            “It always is, and if you let it cool down some before you drink it you wouldn’t burn yourself.  And the town is already going under.  The Pattersons are just the latest in the long line of many leaving this place.  Before them were the Cassens, and the Martins, and the Cyruses---“

            “—And the Wiltons.  I know Robert, but maybe this town could be saved if people were willing to do some repairs instead of getting skipping town.”

            “As I was saying before, not all damages the war caused can be fixed with metal and wood.  The people are broken Godwin.  The Yankees did more than destroy the train station and a few farms; they broke the spirit the town had.  When they were here people were afraid that this place was going to end up like Atlanta.  The houses, buildings, and even the sidewalks are wooden; it is an accident waiting to happen,” I said as I gazed at the empty streets through the window.  I refused to meet the gaze of my younger brother.

“I never said it would be easy, but it’s a possibility to fix this town.”

“I’m not so sure.  You weren’t here as it happened.  You didn’t see the looks on the faces of the people, as the soldiers fought in the streets.  As the men fell to the ground in the yards and as people lively hoods burned, you were not here.”

“No, I wasn’t.  I chose to fight in those battles, and protect the people throughout the South that were like the people here.  I saw the faces of people who suffered worse, and I saw the soldiers falling to the streets next to me.  But I also saw how people rebuilt their lives.  If we can get the mill going again, we could be the first step in giving this town hope again.  Your son, Brat, could play in the fields like we once did,” said Godwin.

I took a bite of my cake, and gently washed it down as I thought about how to bring up my plans for the mill.

“Godwin the mill is already repaired.  The last of the boards were fixed last week, and the waterwill is turning again.”

“This is great.  Now all we need to do is—“

“And I have a prospective buyer lined up.  He will be here in two days from tomorrow.”

“Wh-what,” said Godwin as he stared at me as if I was the one who put the bullet through Dad’s heart all those months ago.

“I’m selling the mill.  I’m splitting some of the profits with the workers, and then I’m leaving.  I plan to take my family up to Virginia and start over there.  Maybe put Brat into a real school,” I said to my brother, once again not looking directly into his eyes. Instead looking into their reflection in the window, betrayal still rang out.

“Why?”

“I’m one of those people.  I can’t go outside without seeing those fires.  I can still hear the screaming, and the whizzing of the stray bullet that hit father as he ran to me.  I’m haunted and just want to leave the ghost behind.”

“You can’t sell the mill.”

“I can.  Dad left it to me when he ritired, remember.  I can do with it as I need.  I am selling to pay not ony for my families escape from this hell, but so myh workers can find new lives as well.”

“Then I’ll buy it from you,” said Godwin as he reached into his gray jacket in order to get his checkbook. 

I grabbed his wrist to stop him.  “You know that you don’t have that much money.  Just let it go.  Yes, I’ll miss this place, but everyone needs to move on, including you.

I sat up from my seat, leaving my half eaten cake and tea behind.  I walked up to the Erwin’s mother and paid for mine and my brother’s tab. 

Just as I was about to leave my brother grabbed my shoulder and said, “If you try to sell that mill, the town will be really without any hope.  The town would rather burn than lose hope,” Godwin said with a pleading look in his eyes.

“Let go.”