Chapter 2

"Charles, banking is in the Decker blood. You have your Dutch ancestors to thank for that." His father had pointed this out on more than one occasion for the youngest of his three sons.

If banking truly ran in the Decker blood, then Charlie was certain he'd been adopted. Even now, as he reviewed the small Cheyenne Savings and Loan his brother Jacob had started the year before, Charlie couldn't find a single thing that held his interest.

"I didn't expect you to come until summer." This came from the bank's assistant manager and teller, Jefferson Lane. At twenty-eight, the man was eight years Charlie's junior. He was the epitome of what Charlie's father would have expected in a banker. Jefferson was neatly groomed and wore a stylish suit. His black hair was cut close and parted on the right side, and his face was clean-shaven. He carried himself like a man who'd been raised in high society. Shoulders back, chest out, and he wasn't afraid to look you in the eye.

"Yes, well, there was a change of plans. Father felt it was important to have me here now. I got into town two days ago but wanted to settle in before coming here." Charles smiled. "I can see he had nothing to fear, however. The place seems to be in order. Have you been in banking long, Mr. Lane?"

"Call me Jefferson or Jeff." Jefferson smiled.

"And you should call me Charlie." He immediately regretted it and spoke again. "Actually, Mr. Decker is probably best. That way when my brother returns you won't have to change names again." He hoped that would sound reasonable to Lane. He didn't want to come across as snobbish. Truth was, he could use a friend, but Father always maintained you didn't befriend your employees.

Jefferson nodded. "When does your brother plan to return?"

"I'm not sure, but I do know this arrangement is only temporary."

"I see." Jefferson gave a slight shrug. "As for your question, I've been working in banks since I graduated from college. Working my way up, you might say. I hope one day to own my own bank, but for now I'd settle for just managing one."

"I wonder why my father didn't just put everything in your hands once Jacob felt the need to leave."

"How is Mr. Decker doing? I knew he was having a terrible time of it here. He was always having headaches and nosebleeds. I do hope the doctor has found a cure for what ails him."

"The doctor felt my brother just needed a rest, though he suggested it could be the altitude." Charlie shrugged. "I don't seem to notice it."

"I hailed from St. Louis and later from Denver. I've spent a good deal of time in the mountains over the last few years. The altitude doesn't seem to bother me either."

"I'm glad to know that. We'll no doubt have plenty of work to do to continue building the business, and I wouldn't want you going the same way as Jacob."

"No worries about that," Jefferson replied. "I'm in perfect health."

Charlie noted that the man did seem strong and capable. He could only pray that Jacob would heal and return soon. He looked back at his brother's small office. "I take it that you usually work out here in the teller's cage?"

Jefferson nodded and moved to stand behind the teller counter. "I manage the day-to-day transactions. You will handle all of the requests for loans, of course. I will make sure you get introduced to everyone as they come in. Most are just private citizens with nominal savings. We hold quite a few home and several dozen business loans. The newest business being a freight company who intends to expand as soon as the first loan is paid in full. That should happen later this summer. They've been quite devoted to getting the loan paid off."

"I can't blame them. I'm against carrying debt myself." Charlie chuckled. "I suppose that seems strange for a banker whose bank name includes loan, but I've always been careful to save and pay for things in cash."

"I agree with that philosophy," Jefferson replied. "A man should never be burdened with debt. It's a frightening thing."

Charlie picked up one of the ledgers. "There are quite a few healthy savings accounts. Nothing too grand."

"We have a few customers who are better off than others. There are men in this town who wield the power, and they are men of means. Some of them were good friends with your brother and trusted their savings to us. They intend to do more business with this bank in the future as well. I'm sure they'll come by soon to introduce themselves."

"That's good to hear." Charlie looked down a list of figures. "Jacob said that our species ... that is, our gold and silver reserves are held in my father's bank in Chicago."

"Yes. This is the Wild West, and marauders are known to cause problems, although I cannot imagine anyone coming into our bank to rob it. But it is possible. Look at the havoc wreaked by Jesse James and his gang. They could come this far west."

"They'd have a lot of empty territory to cover to get here," Charlie said, thinking it very unlikely.

"True enough, and there is our vigilante committee to deal with when the law is broken, as well as our marshal and deputies. And don't forget the army. For miles around us, there is nothing to escape to, and it would be sheer madness to attempt theft. Still, your brother said it was wiser to leave that much gold and silver in Chicago."

"I'm sure my father knows best." Charles began to relax a bit. "So we have some wealthier clients who have put their money here. What about the loans? I know my father has never been one to lend on living collateral, such as crops and livestock. I'm not at all sure why he agreed to start this savings and loan, given his attitude, since most of the men who will need loans will be ranchers and farmers."

"We can loan on the value of the land, your brother maintained. That is something tangible and credible. Values here have risen dramatically just since last year. At one time a lot was valued at one hundred fifty dollars. Now that same piece of land can sell for fifteen hundred. Land is a solid investment."

"That is an impressive jump in value." Charlie shut the book. "Well, I suppose it's time to close things up. I need to make my way to the boardinghouse where I'm staying."

"With the Coopers at Nineteenth and Hill, correct?" Jefferson asked.

"Good memory. Yes, that's where I'll be. A short walk and a very comfortable household. Mrs. Cooper is quite the cook."

"I'll be sure and remember that should any of my family need a place to stay when visiting. She does do short term, doesn't she?"

Charlie shrugged. "I have no idea. I'll have to ask." He went to his office. "Is there anything more you want to put away in the large safe? I'm going to lock it now."

"No, I've returned all that goes there."

Charlie secured the safe and grabbed his hat. "Then make sure you secure the small safe and teller's cage before you go. I'll see you in the morning at nine."

Jefferson held the door open for him. "Safe is secured, and teller's drawer is emptied of cash and locked. The back door is locked, and I will lock the front as soon as we leave."

Charlie stepped onto the boardwalk and waited while Jefferson locked the door.

"Good evening." Charlie snugged down his hat against the stiff breeze and headed for his new home. Jefferson took off in the opposite direction. He seemed an amiable enough young man, but there was an air about him that reminded Charlie too much of friends he'd known growing up. Men who had been taught from boyhood that they were better than everyone else.

The Coopers were a nice Christian couple who lived just a short distance away. They had a large two-story house where they boarded six gentlemen of varying ages. Mrs. Cooper was in her fifties and talked with loving affection of the six children she'd left behind in Kansas. All were grown and married, but she spoke of them as though they were still tugging on her apron and in need of her guidance. Mr. Cooper had brought her to Cheyenne when he'd heard the Union Pacific was making the end-of-the-tracks town a regional headquarters. He had great aspirations of making a name for himself in real estate. He had taken an inheritance and purchased ten separate lots when they were inexpensive and sold off half of them in just the past month. He intended to keep the others and build houses on them to either sell or rent. Already, he told Charlie, he had made more money than he'd anticipated.

The gentle couple had a list of five rules that were posted by the front door. Charlie adhered to all of them with more than a nod.

Breaking these rules will be grounds for immediate removal from this house.

For Charlie, the rules weren't difficult. He didn't drink. He didn't smoke. He didn't swear, nor would he ever dishonor God by taking His name in vain. Church was a pleasure to him, not a chore, and he would never dishonor a woman by compromising her reputation. They were easy rules to abide by, and it appeared that the other men felt the same way.

In return, Charlie had a pleasantly appointed room with a large single bed, a dresser, and a desk and chair. There was a small open closet where he could hang his clothes, and down the hall was a shared bathroom. Mr. Cooper saw to it that there was water for washing up, and for fifty cents more, he would heat enough water for a bath and dispose of the dirty water afterward.

Mrs. Cooper provided most of the benefits Charlie enjoyed. She cooked amazing meals for breakfast and dinner. The noon meal was something the men were expected to see to themselves, although for an extra fee Mrs. Cooper would provide a lunch there at the house or pack a few things the men could take with them to work. Mrs. Cooper would also wash clothes and provide ironing services for a small charge and cleaned the rooms once a week as part of the boarding fee.

Charlie felt he couldn't have found a better place. The porch was lined with chairs for evening enjoyment during the warmer weather, and there was a large parlor for reading and discussions in the evening. In the winter, a smaller closed-off parlor was billed as "the smoking room," and the gentlemen were allowed to smoke there in the evenings between the hours of six and nine. Since it was spring and the long sunlit hours of summer stretched out before them, it would be some time before the smoking room was needed. Even in downpours, Mr. Cooper assured the men they would stay quite dry on the porch, unless, of course, the wind was blowing hard.

The Coopers were good to their guests, offering sage advice, directions to a variety of locations, and evening snacks. Mrs. Cooper said the men were to be treated as family so long as they behaved themselves. And if they didn't behave, even then they'd be treated like family and forced to make amends or go. Charlie found their honesty and fairness to be just, and their sense of humor and charm a delight.

"Well, Charlie Decker, you look plumb worn out," Mrs. Cooper said in greeting as he came to the supper table at exactly five thirty.

"I have to admit that I am rather done in." He smiled and reached out to take the large platter of fried chicken she carried.

"Thank you, Charlie." She glanced down the table as the other men gathered. Seeing that everyone had arrived on time, as was required, she took her place at the foot of the table. Only after she was seated with help from Mr. Cooper did the other men take their seats.

Charlie was still learning the names of his fellow roomers. There was Stuart Johnson, who worked for the railroad as a comptroller. Bryce Clemmons, who also worked for the Union Pacific. A newly arrived pastor, Wilson Porter, who appeared to be around Charlie's age. Gary Newman—no, it was Nyman—was employed with a freighting company that hauled goods back and forth to Denver, and the rather stocky man seated beside Charlie had come west to Cheyenne to start a newspaper only to realize there were already five other publishers. Charlie couldn't remember his name but knew it would come out in the course of conversation.

"Let us say grace," Mr. Cooper said and bowed his head. "Father, for this food we are about to receive, we thank You and ask Your blessing. Thank You for yet another good day and for the guidance You offered each of us. In Jesus's name, amen."

"Amen," the men murmured along with Mrs. Cooper.

"Charlie, how was your day?" Mrs. Cooper asked as the food began to be passed around the table.

"It was a good day, Mrs. Cooper. I'm slowly getting used to finding my way around. I think I'm going to like it here."

She smiled and handed him a basket of homemade rolls. "I'm glad to hear you say that. And your room? Is it to your liking?"

"It is. I slept quite well and have absolutely no complaints."

"Don't forget to have your laundry outside the door by nine tonight. Mr. Cooper will be by to pick it up directly after that."

"Yes, ma'am." He had already told her he would need her skills for his upkeep. He'd much rather pay her to see to his things than take them elsewhere. There were quite a few Chinese immigrants running laundries on the west side of town, but Charlie had heard that most of them were heading west with the railroad workers.

Charlie passed the rolls to his right and received the platter of chicken from the man across the table. He held it while Mrs. Cooper chose a thigh for herself, then he grabbed a breast for himself and moved the dish down the line. This went on with all of the food until everyone had been served. Then, as if on cue, everyone picked up their forks and began to eat.

The food was some of the best Charlie had had since leaving home. His mother's cook did a wonderful job, but his dishes were often quite rich and sometimes exotic. Charlie preferred the simpler fare he enjoyed at the Coopers' house. And if there was a need to add to the richness, Mrs. Cooper generally had cream gravy and freshly churned butter that could be incorporated into just about anything a man wanted to add it to. Charlie was just as happy to eat his meal the way Mrs. Cooper served it.

"Boys, you needn't use a knife with your chicken," Mr. Cooper announced from the far end of the table. "Never was able to master it that way. Use your hands if you're inclined. You'll get no reprimand from me. Just don't wipe your hands on Mrs. Cooper's tablecloth. You have napkins for that."

Charlie nearly laughed out loud at the look on the newspaperman's reddened face. He had only been in the house a couple of days longer than Charlie and looked as if there had been some other incident that brought about this warning. The man hurriedly tucked his head and focused on buttering his roll.

There was all manner of chatter at the table. The railroad men shared information about the line moving west. Some of the workers had been clearing land and laying tracks, and others were loading up train cars with supplies from the stores of goods laid up all winter in the warehouse.

Mr. Nyman told about the argument of whether to use mules or oxen to haul the heaviest loads bound for Denver. He was a mule man himself and despised oxen. Thought them sluggish creatures who suffered far too many hoof problems.

"Mr. Jackson, how goes plans for your newspaper?" Mr. Cooper asked.

Jackson. Otis Jackson. Charlie smiled as the man's name came to mind.

"I had a discussion with the young man who runs the Daily Leader."

"Oh, Nathan Baker. Yes, he is a dear," Mrs. Cooper commented. "He has a wife and little boy."

"He's but a child himself," Mr. Jackson countered.

"Folks start young around here. Our butcher isn't yet eighteen, but he knows his business," the woman replied.

"Yes, well, it seems there are numerous newspapers in the city, but most are weekly or even monthly. The Leader is the only daily paper."

"With the exception of Sunday. Baker chose to follow God's example and rest on the Sabbath," Mr. Cooper chimed in.

"Yes, well, the news should be told on Sunday as well as weekdays. Oftentimes, a great many important things happen on the weekend, and the public has a right to know."

The other men began discussing the virtues and foibles of having businesses operate on Sunday, while Charlie focused on his meal. Banking business wasn't done on Sunday and probably never would be.

"Charlie, you said that you have family back in Illinois, I believe."

He smiled at Mrs. Cooper. "I do. They live in Chicago. My father and mother and my two older brothers. Both of whom are married."

"But not you? Why is it that you're still single?"

Charlie shrugged and picked up his dinner roll. "I guess the Lord just hasn't sent me the right young woman."

"And He won't send her here in Cheyenne neither." This came from Bryce, who sat across the table to Charlie's right. The two exchanged a nod. "I've been looking for the last six months," Bryce continued. "Women—good women—are hard to find in these parts."

"But in time they will come. Once this town settles down, families will feel safe to settle here, and those families will have daughters. Single daughters. I'm hoping my own brother will move his wife and daughters out here." Mrs. Cooper picked up the bowl of mashed potatoes. "Charlie, looks like you could use some more of these."

Charlie didn't want to say no and took the bowl. He spooned out a little bit more of the potatoes onto his plate, then extended the bowl toward Bryce. "What about you?"

To his surprise, it was Mr. Jackson who grabbed hold. "I'd like some more myself."

"Oh, I read in the Leader that the fire ladder was returned. Seemed some rowdy boys stole it as a prank. The sheriff threatened to lock them up but showed leniency," Mrs. Cooper declared. "The children here have run positively wild, but with the public school operating and more private schools opening, they will hopefully receive a little more structure and discipline."

The conversation turned to other things, and the food was passed once again until most every dish was emptied of its contents. Charlie couldn't help but reflect on the topic of schools and education. Teaching was his passion. A passion his father seemed to have little respect for, but nevertheless Charlie found most fulfilling. More than once his professor had asked him to help with tutoring other college students. He had also taught Sunday school for younger boys.

Charlie had hoped to talk to his father about his leaving banking for the world of education. In fact, with the inheritance Charlie had received from his grandfather, he had contemplated creating his own small school. From the comments around the table, and elsewhere in town, it seemed private schools were most welcome. Perhaps Jefferson Lane could run the bank, as he longed to do, and Charlie could just check in with him from time to time, while teaching school elsewhere. The idea intrigued him.