Chapter 49: New Friendships, Let the Games Begin, and a Derringer

Early April 1896 – New Orleans

As with most Saturdays during this time of year, hundreds of people would congregate on the thirteen hundred acres of City Park.

It was no different for Fiona or her children: Roselyn, Owen, Diana, James, and young Artemis. They all relished the idea of being at the park since each time they came here Fiona always had a huge basket filled with food and Roselyn and Owen carried blankets so they could sit on the grass and have an afternoon picnic.

The one disappointment was Arthur. His business. It consumed him and that was the one major flaw in Fiona’s marriage: there always seemed to be work that got in the way of his spending time with their family. But today, she would brush that aside and enjoy her time with her children.

The weather was good, not a cloud in the sky. Somewhere nearby, one could hear banjos being strummed, harmonicas playing, and someone singing with their Southern twang. Today as with most Saturdays here, this would be a day of enjoyment.

As Fiona and Roselyn were preparing things, Owen ran off with Diana, with Artemis trailing behind, to the playground area. Artemis was the first lucky one of the three as she sat on a swing and Owen started pushing her back and forth, hearing her giggling gleefully as she flew higher and higher.

Diana was laughing at the look of joy on her little sister’s face when a voice behind her said, “Cute little girl, and, my goodness, what a laugh.”

Turning, Diana came face to face with a young girl who didn’t look much older than Artemis.

“That’s my little sister, Artemis, but we call her Artie.”

“That’s nice. I don’t have a sister; well, not yet. Mother is expecting, and I hope it’s a sister for me.”

Diana couldn’t place the little girl’s accent, so she asked her where she was from.

“Boston. My father is the mayor there. He does important stuff. That’s what mother tells me. Are you from here or like us, just here for a vacation?”

“I live here. Boston is a long ways away from here. What made your parents decide to come to New Orleans?”

“Mother was born here but her father got a job up north, so they moved. Mother always wanted to come back to see the city she never had a chance to live in.”

“That is interesting. My father has several businesses here in New Orleans and has branched out to I think, five different states and…”

Artemis, now off the swings, tugged at Diana’s hand.

“Who’s this, Diana?”

Diana laughed. “I don’t know.”

“Why are you talking to a stranger, then?”

“Well, Artie, we aren’t exactly strangers.” Looking away from Artemis, she looked again at the girl, and thrust out her hand.

“My name is Diana Brimford, and the dork who was pushing Artie is my brother, Owen.”

“Hey! I heard that! Who you calling a dork?”

Clasping her hand with Diana’s, the girl said, “Nice to meet you. I am Rose Fitzgerald, and I shall be six years old this July.”

“July! I was born in July, too!” cried Artemis. “July fifth.”

Rose gave a haughty laugh for her age. “Then you will be two weeks older than me. Mine is the twenty-second.”

Looking at Diana, Artemis said, “I like her.” Then looking back to Rose, she said, “Maybe we can be friends forever!”

April 1896 – Athens, Greece

It took a lot of hard work as well as financial effort, but both Frank and Jeremy, with the help and support of their families, had made their way to one of the most storied cities in history.

Before their events were scheduled, both young men took a tour of the city and the food. One thing that fascinated them was that Athens had been around long before the United States was ever thought about, or even places like Rome and Egypt. In some areas they viewed, they both felt a sense of being part of the rich history that came from Greece itself.

“To imagine, Frank, that we might be standing in the same spot where the Crusades took place, or, perhaps, the rise and fall of the Ottoman Empire.”

“True. But what always grabbed me were the legends that came out of Greece. You know, like Athena and Poseidon, and the Minotaur. But what especially pulled at me in school were the Spartan soldiers: well formed, aligned, and, when given an order, they followed it to the letter and often into death, but with no fear. I don’t think I have told anyone this before, but it was the Spartans, not so much my grandfather’s history, which made me decide to join the Navy.”

As the two continued to walk along the streets and explore the unique views to be had from every corner they turned, dusk began to approach, and their respective coaches required everyone to go back to their rooms by six.

April 21, 1896 – Panathenaic Stadium

The crowd in the stadium was packed with people from halfway around the world to cheer on their favorite sons. The roaring cheers echoed, it seemed, all across Athens.

People would shout out the names of their favorites or boast how much better their player was than someone else’s. But that was to be expected. These were games to show who was the best of the best.

Today were the final rounds in both marksmanship and weightlifting. To get to the finals, each had to go through three preliminary rounds before the quarter and semi-finals.

Currently, as it stood, Frank was in second place, eleven points away from the leader. His last round had been perfect: 10 for 10. He would have to do the same thing today to have any chance of winning either medal, though the silver was the goal.

Jeremy looked to be the shoo-in for the silver medal. His nearest competitor trailed by a good thirty points. Unless Jeremy had a terrible dead lift or suffered an injury, hands down, he would be the winner. He was set to go last in his event, the one-handed lift.

He had to dead lift from a squat position, then stand tall with a weight of 57 kilograms, or 125 pounds, over his head. Up until his turn, his best ever during practice was 115, but—ten more pounds, if something were to go wrong, could prove devastating to his body.

On his side of the arena, Frank stood, arm stretched out, and fired his weapon, a Colt single-action revolver, at a target fifty paces away. When the cylinder emptied, he had to reload, take aim, and fire the remaining amount of times. This may sound easy—but he, like the other competitors were only allotted sixty seconds from the first shot fired to last shot heard. As it stood, Frank had three seconds left when he finished.

His turn, over, he now had to wait thirty minutes to know the final outcome.

Jeremy watched two athletes, one from Greece, and another, England, take on this final stage of the game. The one from Greece lifted and started to stand, and as he did, he lost his footing and had to release the weighted bar. The one from England—Paul was his name, he believed—gave a quick jerk of the bar, and lifted smoothly, though you could see his grimace of agony in having to hold the bar for seven seconds.

Then came Jeremy’s turn. He started to sweat. He had never sweated before. Was it nerves? Excitement? Wiping away the beads from the sides of his face, he took his place before the bar with two-hundred-pound weights on both ends. In truth, the lift would be 130.66 pounds, counting the bar, but the record would stand at 125.

Wiping his hands dry with a towel, he bent low, flexed his right hand back and forth then set it on the bar, gripping with everything he had, took in a rush of air, then lifted and stood, letting the air expel through his nose, from which he breathed in and out. When the judge hit a bell, Jeremy dropped the weights and went back to his area.

In thirty minutes, he would know the outcome.

Two people stood on two small, wooden platforms in two different areas of the stadium.

One held Ehrlich Johansson and Frank Birchard Farragut.

The other had Jeremy Riordan Kincade and Paul Allen Whitcomb.

Respectively, Ehrlich and Jeremy took first place and received a Silver Medal and an olive branch. Frank and Paul Allen each received a Bronze Medal and a laurel branch. In their fields, they had become the best of the best.

Unbeknownst to either Frank or Jeremy, Chadlynn’s dream had once more come true.

July 4th – Galena, Virginia

This day had become more than simply a celebration of a holiday of freedom and independence, it had also become a victory celebration for Jeremy and Frank.

The food was plentiful, the music seemed to never end, and both men were asked over and over to recount how they had won. But one person asked Jeremy and Frank a question no one else had thought to ask.

“I’m confused, Uncle Frank. How come they gave you branches off a tree?”

“Viv,” explained Frank with a chuckle, “they aren’t just branches off a tree. They are symbols that mean things like peace, wisdom, prosperity, immortality, and success. The olive branch Jeremy received stands for peace and friendship.”

Before anyone knew what happened, about thirty reporters stormed the family gathering, all wanting interviews with Jeremy and Frank. They wanted factual first-hand accounts of how they won.

Jeremy became instantly angered over this and was hell-bent to knock out a few teeth when Azalea grabbed at his arm, shook her head, and walked out before the crowd of people.

“Gentlemen, if you please, this is somewhat of a private family gathering. And unless one of you is either a Kincade, Brimford, Farragut, or Martin, then I strongly suggest you vacate my property immediately before something none of you would expect happens.”

One reported shouted out, “And what would that be, missy?”

Reaching into her purse, Azalea extracted a four-shot derringer.

“My aim isn’t what it used to be and my eyes are old but I’m sure one of you is bound to feel the sting from this.”

In less time than it took for the reporters to be en masse, they had fled as if the devil were chasing them.

“Ma, I never knew you to carry a gun around with you,” Jeremy shook his head and smiled.

“Jeremy, we women have to have some secrets.”

“Was it Father’s, originally?”

“I don’t remember.”

December 1896

Hello Artie,

I have finally found some time where I can print this letter to you and I am sorry I did not write sooner, but my studies at a private school I started have taken up a lot of my free time.

It was so nice to get a letter from you, and I am impreesed (?) by how your uncles did at the first Olympic games. That is incredible. You have an amazing family, to say the least. I do hope to learn more about you and them. I find them quite fascinating. What are your winter’s there like? We have almost a foot of snow for Christmas. Mother helped me make a snowman yesterday. It was fun.

Sorry, this is so short, but Mother’s calling as we have family here for Christmas dinner. Write back first chance you get and I promise next time, I will write more.

Your Friend,

Rose Fitzgerald

May 1897 – Galena, Virginia

“My mind is made up, Jeremy. I’m going to Alaska.”

“My god, man! You can’t be serious! Have you any idea what you face going there? Cold, freezing weather. I have heard they have so much darkness there a year that when you sleep throughout the night there is still no daylight. And the terrain? They haven’t the best transportation system, either.”

“I have made plans to compensate for a good part of that. I will take a train from Richmond to Chicago and then on to San Francisco. From there, I can ferry my way to Seattle and then board the next freighter going to Anchorage.”

“Going because of a speculation of gold there? But what if you are wrong—then what?”

“Then I’ll be wrong, and I’ll come back home, but there has been much talk of prospectors finding gold, and if more than one says they’ve found gold, then there must be more to strike a path to a fortune and a future.”

“I hope you know what you are doing because I find it the other side of insane to live in such an isolated part of the world.”

“And that’s another reason I’m leaving. I really need time to myself, away from family who constantly worry about my mental health and the crowds who still come around wanting my autograph and my retelling of the Olympic story. I’m tired of it all, Jeremy. I need out from under the shadow of the hero people have made me out to be.”

August 12, 1897 – Poland

Dearest Aunt Azalea,

My apologies for not writing sooner, but if you remember my mentioning Ignacy Jan Paderewski, well, this gentleman had asked me if I would tour with his entourage, and I agreed. It has been a whirlwind of a ride: Germany, Italy, Spain, Portugal, and even a one-night performance before Pope Leo the XIII. It was a solemn moment in my life to meet such a great man of God. I was truly humbled as I stood before him. When Ignacy finished his concerto and I finished mine, Pope Leo came before us and blessed us both. I’m smiling over that because we know I’m not Catholic.

There is another reason for this letter. I have met someone. She has struck me like a lightning bolt from the sky. Her name is Helena Leszetycki. She has the voice of a songbird and the laughter of a child. We first met after a rehearsal, and we seemed to be enamored with one another. When we finish here in Warsaw, we go to Copenhagen, Denmark, and then on to Brussels in Belgium and then back to London.

Since Frank won at the games in Greece, he hasn’t returned back to me, but I did get a letter from him, vague though it was. Maybe you could explain what going “north to Alaska” means? I thought only igloos, or whatever you call those Indians, are the only ones who live there.

I will tell you a secret, Aunt Azalea. I have purchased an engagement ring and when we return to London, I will ask Helena to be my wife. And if she says yes, then after our honeymoon, I will bring her home so you and the rest of the family can meet her.

I hope all is well with you and your family.

Much Love Your Way,

Randolph

Late October 1897 – Turnagain Heights, Alaska

The past four months had been hit and miss for Frank. He did find some small deposits of gold, but nothing that would make him cry out in ecstatic joy over. It had gotten to the point when he was about ready to pack it in and go back home. It seemed to him that Jeremy had been right. This was a fool’s journey.

Then he came across an older black man, friendly enough, and they got into a lengthy conversation where it ended up coming out that the man had known James Kincade, and even worked for him when James and Etta lived in Colorado.

Abraham Smith.

According to him, after James died and Etta sold the place, Abraham’s heart wasn’t into working for the new owners, so he hit the trail and traveled about, working odd jobs and such. There hadn’t been many offers because of his skin color but he managed to get by well enough that he never went hungry. When he couldn’t find a bed to sleep in, the outdoors sufficed, with a soft patch of grass as his bed and the night sky as his ceiling.

Now, after all these years he’d happened upon a relative of his former employers, all because Abraham said to him in a small tavern in Turnagain Heights, “Ya know, you remind of a man I worked for a long time back. A good man. Gave me a fresh start in life. You look a little like him.”

Meeting Abraham changed everything for Frank and they agreed to go in as partners finding their gold claim. It took another six weeks of scouring the countryside, digging here and there, until in mid-October they fell into a rich vein that extended over seventy feet long and nearly fifteen feet high. He and Abraham had discovered their motherlode.

Staking and making their claim with the records office in Anchorage, neither man would be poor again.

“For almost seventy years of my life, Frank, I had to scratch and claw for one inch of respect from people, and here I am now, with you, rich as all get out and people in town are starting to call me Mr. Smith instead of nigger. It’s a good feeling. Mighty good.”

November 5th – Turnagain Heights, Alaska

…and that’s the story how I came onto the gold strike, Jeremy. In so many ways, as big as the world is, it is still so small. I never knew James like many of the family did, but to hear Abraham tell it, James was truly a man’s man and, my goodness, some of the things he told me made me laugh so hard that once, I peed my britches!

But my heart is heavy now. Abraham passed three nights ago in his sleep. But I’d like to believe he died a man who had finally found his happiness in life. He died free and unencumbered by society’s rules. I have wired you and the rest of the family a portion of the wealth Abraham and I discovered. I cannot leave here as yet and cannot say how long before I come back for a visit, but this is now home for me. No one worships me as a hero here; I’m just a man among the many. Granted, I’m rich, but I’m not the only one who made out well.

I’ve adjusted well to the climate here and you should come out and visit some time. You may like it enough to not want to leave, but knowing you as I do, and I laugh as I write this, I know you would say it would be a cold day in hell before you left your roots.

Give my love to everyone,

Frank

Written By: Danceinsilence