Editor’s Note: This is an ongoing series which runs each Thursday morning titled the Richland Chronicles, by author Paul Lintern. It is set in the 1860s and tells the story of Richland County through the eyes of young people. The books are available from Lintern for $25 a set, tax and shipping included. Each book is about 120 pages written for intermediate readers (4th grade) with local illustrations. Volume I is Amelia Changes Her Tune. Volume II is Isaac and Wolf Paw Find Their Home. Volume III is Autumn Keeps Her Secret. Volume IV is Mr. Gamble Starts a School. Volume V is Jacob Blows his Horn. Volume VI is Cassie Fights the War.
“Who is he anyway?”
Emilene, Autumn and Cassie were in the carriage, the three of them squeezed on the front bench, Emilene in the middle. They were on they way north out of town on the state road.
“Who, honey?”
“The man I heard playing the violin. He was so good, and so….”
“Hideous-looking,” Cassie added.
“Cassie, you know better,” Mrs. Zimmerman said.
“That is Orrin Pharris, Emmy. He is one of the best violinists you will ever hear, at least in the area.”
“But he is so..”
“Years ago, let’s see, it must have been about 1840 or so. I was a teacher and not yet married. I remember Mr. Pharris was a popular musician. He played at the Inn once or twice, as a favor to Grandpappy, but his band was too popular for the little Oakland Inn.
“People would come from all over to dance to his music. I am pretty sure he inspired Mr. Emmett.”
“Mr. Look Away, Dixieland?” Emilene asked.
“The very same. Old Dan Tucker himself. You know, Cassie has met him.”
Cassie beamed at Emilene; Emilene rolled her eyes.
“His band was the best, and his fiddle playing alone was worth the trip.
“It was at one of his dances that I first met your father, Cassie.”
“I didn’t know that,” Cassie said.
“Did he always look like that?” Emilene asked.
“No, it was at a dance, about the time we got married. In Granville, I think. He was playing and some young man requested a song that Mr. Pharris refused to play. I don’t know if it was an offensive song or just not on the playlist, or maybe the man asked rudely, but whatever the reason, the man became angry and poured a bucket of alcohol over Mr. Pharris’ head, then set him on fire.”
The girls gasped.
“It is a wonder he didn’t die. The damage was, well, you can see what happened. Some have said that when he saw himself in the looking glass the first time after the attack, something happened in his head and he just became, well, tetched. He just started wandering the streets of Mansfield or other towns, playing his violin for food.
“But never dance music anymore. Just mournful, slow hymns.”
“But he still plays beautifully,” Emilene said.
“You are right,” Mrs. Zimmerman said.
The three were quiet for awhile, as Maggie continued north.Emilene finally broke the silence.
“Do you think…”
“That Mr. Pharris would teach you to play the violin?” Autumn said.
“Well, yes.”
“I wish I could say yes. He was such a nice man. But I just don’t think he would be capable. I just don’t.”
Sure do want to try, though, Emilene thought.
“But I suppose we could give it a try,” Autumn said, with a sly smile coming to her face.
Emilene smiled.
Thanks, Mother.
A pause.
“Thanks, Mother,” Emilene said.
Autumn looked at her, the smile broadening.
“You’re welcome.”
Maggie came to a crossroad and waited for instructions. She was familiar with both turns. To the right was the old Oakland Inn, and ahead to the left was the church cemetery. Autumn guided her ahead.
“Let’s clean-up the family graves, first. It’s been awhile since winter clean-up. No doubt there is a lot of growth. We should get here more often.”
The trio set about the task of removing weeds, pulling out invasive grass, cleaning up around some of the spring flowers that emerge each year, and wiping off the stones of any debris that wind or animals had brought in. There was Grandma and Grandpa Zeiters’ grave,
Grandpappy being laid to rest only a little more than a year before, just after Emilene had come to live with them. Nearby was the plot for Aunt Elizabeth, next to her husband who died almost 50 years before her.
Opposite them was her sister, Katherine, with her first husband on one side and her second husband on the other.
“It is a blessing when the older generation is buried before the next. I am grateful that we have never buried a child. Many, many have,” Autumn said.
“Will you be buried here?” Cassie asked.
“Right over there,” she said, pointing next to her parents’ graves. “Not for awhile I hope, but one never knows.”
I know that, only too well.
As they started back, Autumn said they would check on the old Oakland Inn next.
“Emilene has never seen it. Of course, it doesn’t look like much now.”
Maggie also seemed tickled with the idea and picked up her gait as soon as she was directed onto the old lane instead of back into town. The road to the Inn was a bit overgrown, too, as traffic had dwindled since the Inn had closed.
“Why did it close?” Cassie asked.
“Grandpappy got old, and I was not about to keep it going,” Autumn said.
The building came into view, a two-story log structure with a barn and a few small buildings nearby. Nobody was using it now, and the buildings looked like they couldn’t decide whether to stay up to wait for someone to fix them, or just give up and fall down.
“Do we own this land?” Cassie asked.
“Yes, we do, as a family — Lucas, Samuel, myself, Josh. I hope someone will want to do something with it, but I don’t know who, or when.”
Autumn sighed.
“It has served us well, but will it serve us again?
“I guess time will tell.”
