Chapter Nine: How Mack Made It Work

Mack and Rozinante were among the crowd jostling to board the Anderson in Ironton, Ohio. The sun, bright and brassy as a new trumpet, was climbing over the horizon, and the sounds of whinnying horses and cursing men and squabbling children created a pleasant hubbub. Somewhere a man was whistling "Oh, Susannah." The morning air was clean with the chill of late autumn, and the men wiped their noses with their sleeves. Mack observed, as he had many times before, the way travel imbues the most mundane moments with something akin to transcendent meaning. The air smells different—it practically tingles—and voices, even grumbles and squabbles, have a kind of music in them. Somewhere on the upper deck of the ferry, biscuits were baking, bacon was frying, and coffee was being served; Mack could smell them, but he would wait to eat until he disembarked in Ashland. Leading Rozinante by her bridle, he followed the crowd over the ramp and onto the wide deck where men held horses by the throat latch and talked about the weather while their women and children sat in the wagons eating cold johnny cakes and dried apples. The wooden deck, scarred and splintered by a thousand hoofs, had been strewn with hay to absorb the piss and plops of horses and mules. The wealthy entrusted their steeds to liverymen and ascended the spiral stairs to the upper deck for breakfast.

On this Monday morning, Mack was outfitted in a canvas coat, dungarees, and flannel. His purple costumes were folded and packed in the saddle bags; the sword was in a leather sheath that hung beside the skirt, and its amethyst hilt was wrapped in a gunny sack. For a little while, the Purple Knight of the Ozarks was content to be Mack the Anonymous, the Normal, the Naught. He comforted Rozinante with strokes and gentle words, and he fed her a turnip he had pulled from a roadside garden. As the Anderson churned up the Ohio, the men and animals swayed on the quivering deck, while above them, twin plumes of smoke streamed away from the rising sun. The crossing took nearly two hours, so by the time the ferry docked in Ashland, the sun stood well above the trees, and the day had become as pleasant as a cotton sweater. Still holding Roz by the reins, Mack led her down the ramp and onto the wharf. He said, "Here we go again, old girl. Another town, another opportunity. Let's go." He slung his right leg over Roz's back and settled himself in the saddle as the other horses and buggies, wagons and folks fanned from the ferry. Mack and Roz rode eastward along the river until they reached a busy street–12th Street, as a matter of fact–whereupon he reined her to the right to enter the town proper.

With his head held high, Mack appraised the folks who passed him on the sidewalks. By and large, they were the same non-entities he had seen in Springfield, St. Louis, Cambridge City, and Cincinnati: Self-important men in bowler hats, demure ladies in long dresses and bonnets, boys in tan shirts and black pants, and girls in checkered skirts that fell to their ankles. Some of the boys' britches had holes in the knees, and one little fellow was barefoot. The children were laughing and teasing one another as they frolicked to school, and Mack thought,, If they only knew who I was, they would cease their merriment and gape in wonder.

A fellow in a top hat and frock coat and sitting atop a fine chestnut gelding was riding toward him, so Mack pulled up and asked, "If you please, sir, could you inform me of the location of the Western Union office?"

"Just keep going straight, take a left on Main, and a right on 17th all the way to Lexington, and you'll see it on the corner. You can't miss it."

"Thank you, sir. Good day."

"And good day to you." The man said to himself, Nice young fella. Well spoken.

True to the gentleman's word, the telegraph office was at the corner of 17th and Lexington. A few grizzled fellows were sitting on barrels and benches outside the door, whittling sticks and spitting tobacco juice between their feet. Mack tied Rozinante to the hitching post, bade the men a cheery, "Good day," and went inside. The clerk had on a black cap, black jacket, black pants held up with black suspenders, and a crisp white shirt with a black string tie. The clerk smiled and said, "Good morning, friend; how may I help you."

The goodwill of honest folk is the essential lubricant for the happy functioning of civic life.

Mack put his hands on the counter and said, "I need to telegraph some money to a Reverend Michael Glenn–that's with two "n's"–of Mountain Grove, Missouri. He's my grandpa on my mother's side–poor old man. He served the Lord as a missionary in foreign lands for forty years, and now he's dying from gout and cancer and rheumatism, and, well, I'm just doing what I can to help him." Mack loved to lie.

"I'm sorry to hear that. My condolences. Your name, sir?"

"Jack MacQuackenhack."

"How d'ya spell that?"

"Just put Mack at the bottom.

"Sure. How much money are you sending today?"

"Eighty dollars on the nose."

A bell on the door jingled, and two men entered.

"Be with you in a minute," said the clerk.

Mack took a cotton sack of coins and bills from his coat pocket and set it on the counter. The clerk counted the money. "Yep. That's eighty alright. It'll cost you two bits to send the money, more if you want to send a message."

"I do. So, when I was at the ferry slip in Ironton, I saw that Catlettsburg is at the mouth of the Big Sandy. How long will it take me to ride there?"

"About three hours. The road is good, so it's a easy enough ride."

"Good. It looked to me as if the road along the Big Sandy is the best route down to Pikeville?"

"Definitely. But keep in mind the Sandy splits at Louisa, and you're gonna want to follow the Levis Fork to get to Pikeville."

"Good to know. How long will it take me to ride from Catlettsburg to Pikeville?"

"That's a pretty good ride. I'd say three days, maybe four, depending on the horse."

"Can you recommend a good lodging house in Catlettsburg?"

"Once I stayed at the Riverside on the way into town. It's not too pricey and the victuals are good enough." The man behind Mack cleared his throat. The clerk said, "Be with you in a minute, sir."

Mack asked, "What's the best town to overnight in between Catlettsburg and Pikeville?"

"I'd venture Louisa, though she's not halfway to Pikeville by a longshot. You can get there in a day from Catlettsburg, and you'll want to go on to Williamson from there."

"Good to know. What can you tell me about Pikeville?"

The man standing behind Mack cleared his throat again, and the clerk said, "Be with you in a minute, sir." Then to Mack, "Pikeville's a nice little city, lotta businesses and some of 'em makin' money. It's at the crossroads between Tennessee and Virginny."

"Do you know the name of the newspaper there?"

"Unless it's changed names again, it's the Pike County Times. Comes out on Tuesday."

"Do you know the name of the editor?"

"No, but there oughta be a copy amongst those papers." The clerk pointed to a table stacked with papers. "You want to take a look?"

"That would be very kind indeed. Just give me a minute." Mack hurried to the table and dug among the newspapers until he found a copy of the Pike County Post. He flipped to the masthead and read, "Bill Jeffries, Ed." Mack tucked the paper under his arm and returned to the counter. The impatient man was scowling and sucking his teeth, and Mack said, "I beg your forbearance, sir, but this information is of the utmost importance."

The clerk asked, "Did you find it?"

"I did, thank you. His name is Bill Jeffries. One more thing: Do you have any idea what the largest church in Pikeville is?"

The impatient man said, "Oh, for God's sake, you're not the only person in the world, you know."

Mack said, "My apologies,sir. I'm doing this for my dying missionary grandfather who served the Lord for forty years. I promise I'm nearly finished."

The clerk said, "Prob'ly the Baptist Church? Maybe the Methodist?" Then he leaned forward and whispered, "I'm a Roman Catholic, though I don't advertise it. People get nasty about religion in these parts."

"People get nasty about religion wherever you are. You don't happen to know the Baptist preacher's name, do you?"

"No, sir, I don't."

"Well, thank you, friend, you've been helpful. So, please add this message: $80 trans. Portsmouth Mason. Catlettsburg tonight. Pikeville Saturday. Pike County Post, ed. Bill Jeffries. Tuesday. Bapt, ? Thursday 7 p.m.

The clerk wrote down the message and said, "It's none of my business, but will your grandpa be able to understand that?"

"He will. He likes to follow my travels."

"Got it. So, with the transfer, that'll come to a dollar and six bits."

Mack handed the clerk two silver dollars. "That extra quarter is for you. You have been very helpful."

The clerk said, "Well, thank you, sir! Safe travels, and I hope your grandpa gets better soon."

"Thank you." Then to the impatient man, "My apologies again."

Mack walked back to the table and was putting the Pike County Times on the stack when he noticed a headline that read, "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus." Below the title was a short explanation that the original article had been published in The Sun, a New York daily, as a response to an eight-year-old girl whose "little friends" told her that there is no Santa Claus, and she wanted to know the truth. Mack read the first few lines,

"Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little."

Well, at least that much is true.

The letter continued, "Not believe in Santa Claus! You may as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see."

Mack pondered these words and decided, And that's why we love Christmas, the happy season of deception and commerce!

I wonder who wrote this?

Mack skipped to the end and read, "Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding. No Santa Claus! Thank God! He lives and lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood. With warmest wishes, Francis Church."

I think I'll write my own letter to Virginia and call it, "Yes, Virginia, there is a Purple Knight." And in eight or so years, I'll come down your chimney, Virginia, and, hocus pocus, abracadabra, you'll be a virgin no more. Then I'll go on to make glad the hearts of your small minded friends, and when I'm done, not a one of you will give a fig about Santa Claus ever again. Signed, Jack MacQuackenhack, aka Mack, aka T. Allen McQuary, aka the Purple Knight of the Ozarks.

Mack tossed the paper on top of the others, called out "Thank you!" and the door jingled merrily when he went back into the street. Roz perked up her ears when she saw him, and Mack rubbed her soft nose while he repeated what he had learned. "So, old gal: tonight Catlettsburg, tomorrow Louisa, and Pikeville on Saturday. That'll give Glenn enough time to grease the skids before Thursday." Mack stroked Roz's cheek, and she nibbled at his shoulder. "Give me one more minute. Think I'll talk to those fellers over there and see what's on their minds."

Mack walked over to the circle of spitters and whittlers. "Mind if I sit in with you men?" he asked.

A whiskered fellow in bib overalls said, "Not if you mind us a-settin' here with you. Er you new in town or passin' through?"

Mack said, "Passing through. I'm from Missouri."

"Missoura?" asked a man wearing a straw hat. "Lordamighty, boy, that's a far piece! Where you headed?"

"Everywhere and nowhere, I guess you could say. I aim to go around the world."

Overalls said, "You ain't gonna go around the world on that horse"–he paused to spit between his feet–"unless she can swim mighty goddamn good." The other men laughed, and Mack grinned.

"Nossir," he said, "I'll have to sell my mare when I ship out. And I do regret that."

Straw Hat asked, "Where you leavin' out of?"

"I was headed to New York but now Charleston, I think. That's my plan anyhow."

A fellow carving a block of pine said, "My daddy hailed from Charleston, but he got killed at Chickamauga when I was a lad. Ain't never been to Charleston myself."

"The War is never too far away, is it?" said Mack. The men nodded and spat in unison. "By any chance, do you men know the preacher's name at the Baptist Church in Pikeville?"

"Yep," said Overalls. "Pastor Lionel Smith. He preached a revival here not two months ago. Did a good job, too. Half the town got saved. He knows the Good Book back'ards and forwards and knows what it means, and he said we better pay some goddamn attention. Well, he didn't say 'goddamn'; I put that in there, but that's what he meant."

Straw Hat said, "Dilbert, you're gonna be God damned if you keep usin' the Lord's name in vain."

Dilbert replied, "Aw, I don't think the good Lord takes swearing to heart. Too many goddamn cuss words said every minute for him to keep track of. 'Twould get tedious." Then to Mack, "What do you think?"

Mack said, "I hope he doesn't, or we'll all be goddamned for something."

But Wood Carver said, "Only ones goin' to hell are them who fought for the Yankees."

"Now, John, let the old wounds heal. Everybody killed somebody in the war." That was Dilbert, and he asked Mack, "Er you a preacher?"

"Nope. Not exactly. But I do speak on occasion."

Dilbert asked, "What do you speak about?"

Mack said, "Mainly I tell stories. Here, I'll tell you one. Back in my hometown there was this dim-witted fella name of Jasper who fell head over heels for a red-headed gal. She was a wild one, fun in the hay loft after a dance but no good for marrying. Fact is, she had laid up with every feller in town, and Jasper's pa told him so, but Jasper replied, "Ain't no matter, pa, it's a small town.'" The men laughed at this, and Mack went on. "Her laying around didn't trouble Jasper until after they got hitched, and then he got to thinkin' about it, especially when other fellas tipped their hats to her and smiled in a particular way. Jasper got to feeling mighty jealous. One night after they had a big roll on the corn shucks, he was feelin' particular peevish, and he says to her, 'Where'd you learn to wiggle yore ass like that?'

"And she says, Wigglin' comes natural is all. Anyhow, what difference does it make? You'n'me are married now, and I ain't foolin' around with nobody else.'"

"'Well, how do I know them fellers you laid up with before we got married wasn't bigger than me? And don't pretend you don't know what I'm talkin' about.'" Mack smirked at the men in the circle, and they laughed. They knew.

But the red-headed gal was quick on the trigger, and she says, 'Oh, you got a much bigger heart than any of them other boys. You got the biggest heart of any feller I ever knew. And the Bible says that's what's most important about a feller, a big ol' kind heart.' She was smilin' kinda cutelike, and Jasper was thinking hard about her answer, and then he knew that she got him good, so he just had to live being jealous. He never asked again, and she never said nothing, so they lived together happy enough, and that's all there is to the story."

The men laughed again, and John said, "We got us a Jasper here in Kentucky, but we call him Toby."

And Mack said, "Well, y'all tell me a Toby story."

John said, "Dilbert, you tell it better."

So, Dilbert spit and said, "One day, ol' Toby was a-settin' on the front porch of the General Store when Fred Jenkins runs up sayin' how he saw two wildcats fightin' one another on Van's Knob. Toby asks Fred, 'Which one of them cats licked the other?" Fred didn't say anything because he was flummoxed by the question, so Toby says, 'Well, how come you don't answer? It's funny you could watch a fightin' match and not know which one got licked!' And Fred, he says, 'I seen one whup the other but how could I tell 'em apart? Do you think one of 'em wore a red ribbon around his neck and the other one blue?'

"Toby says, 'That's just foolish! Everybody knows wildcats don't wear ribbons around their neck, and what's ribbons got to do with it anyhow? I asked you a simple question which one of 'em of them cats got licked, and if you don't care to give a civil answer, then you can just go to hell!'"

The spitters and whittlers laughed again, and Mack laughed, too. "That's a good story. Think I'll steal it, if you don't mind. Well, gentlemen, I haven't had breakfast, and I'm feeling peckish for some eggs. Is that cafe across the street worth eatin' at?"

"Yessir. It is," said Straw Hat. "How about you let us treat you? That way you'll bear a good report about Ashland when you speak to folks elsewhere."

"Well, that's kind of you, and I'll surely take you up on it! Thank you, kind sirs."

The men chipped in pennies and nickels and dimes, and Mack accepted the change with humble gratitude. He said, "Don't let anybody steal my horse while I'm gone."

The men laughed and Dilbert said he need not worry. "There ain't no horse thieves in Ashland."

As Mack sauntered to the cafe, the man in the straw hat said, "That young fella knows how to tell a pretty good story."

"Yep," said John. "But he was mighty quick to take up a collection. I bet a fellow he can sure enough preach when he gets a mind to."