Immigrant's Dream

The wooden wagon jostled as the wheels fell into and out of the ruts in the winding country road. Elek knew there was a field ahead where his horse Rosie could rest and graze for the night. His rounds to his normal towns were almost completed and he, too, was ready to rest.

He pulled into the field, unhitched Rosie and tethered her extremely loose to a tree. He knew she wouldn’t go anywhere without him. After feeding her, he walked to the back of his wagon to ready himself for bed for the night.

As he looked at the wooden caravan, with the bright paint peeling and needing attention, his thoughts slipped back in time to when the paint was bright and the caravan was new, and he was a young man.

It was easier then. There was a community of young travelers, all new to this promised land of America. They were optimistic, full of dreams and the energy to bring those dreams to reality. Some had joined the labor force, times were booming and the demand for laborers and workers to build the new “skyscrapers” in the cities was very enticing. Good money but long hours and sometimes dangerous work. Elek had never regretted his choice to go it alone and become a respected, honest peddler on the plains in less populated America. He didn’t have to share the road with all of the new gas automobiles either.

His foot hit the step into the caravan as the door swung open wide, revealing the cozy, familiar dark interior of his home for these last 30 years. He lit the lantern and it revealed a time capsule of his life.

Oh, what these walls could tell if they could speak! But they do speak to him. The heavy velvet curtains, red with gold pull-back tassel, hung by his young wife with love. Her picture, in an old now weathered wooden frame hanging to the right of the window. He was instantly reminded of the warm, loving feeling he felt the first day he met her every time he gazed at the picture. He tried not to dwell on the short time they had together, and the complications in bearing his child that had taken both her and the baby. He had made his peace with God for taking them long ago.

On the other wall were the pictures of his original immigration “family” who had accompanied him on the trip to America. The faces were familiar, and he recalled many happy evenings around campfires as they were all trying to find their way. He smiled a little as he recalled the few young women who had come with them, and how several of them had sought out his company. After he had finished his caravan, they were even more anxious to spend time with him. His memories of these romantic encounters also brought a smile to his wrinkled, tired face. It was so long ago, yet he could recall almost every little detail of their intimate nights. It has been a long time since he had enjoyed female company in that way.

He slowly undressed and climbed between the cold sheets. Luckily it was Spring, not the dead of Winter. But he had learned even how to survive those long, cold nights. Today had been a good day.

His wares, aluminum pots and pans, aluminum coffee pots, local honey bartered from a farmer near by and his staple, Dr. J F True’s Elixir, sold quickly to the small townspeople and he had money for supplies for him and Rosie and a little left over. That was all he could hope for.

He takes down a clipboard thick with paper and meticulously enters his day’s receipts. After the next town, he plans to take his cash and buy some more gold. He has a bit saved up and is feeling very good about his financial situation at the moment.

He still had dreams though. As he lay there in the other world of almost sleep, he was dreaming about saving enough money to buy a plot of land and not have to travel so far, so much and deal with so many customers. Perhaps he would buy some beehives and sell HIS honey to the neighbors and sellers like him. He drops off to sleep dreaming of tending to the bees and collecting many honeycombs that yield him many jars of honey.

He wakes to Rosie making noise outside his caravan. His eyes open to the same thing he sees every morning, his Peddler’s License hanging on the front wall of the caravan. It is a source of comfort and assurance to him that he has a purpose each day. He quickly dresses to tend to Rosie. He knows her hunger call when he hears it.

It is still early and he feels his own hunger calling. He starts a fire for coffee and breakfast. This field is one that he has camped at before and he knows that there is a stream not too far away where he can bathe, and give Rosie a romp in the water. Breakfast tastes especially good to him for some unknown reason so he lingers and enjoys it.

As he is gathering his needs to bathe – towel, soap, straight razor, and mirror – he hears someone approaching in a carriage. His first thought is that he is going to have to skip the bath and move on.

But the carriage stops right next to his caravan. A well-groomed and well-dressed businessman gets out of the carriage and approaches him.

“Mr Elek Runyon?”, he asks. Elek hesitantly but honestly responds that indeed that is his name.

“Mr. Runyon, I have been tracking you for almost a month!”

Elek really is frightened now. He can’t imagine what he has done for this man to be hunting him down like a fugitive.

He continues, “You are a hard man to keep up with! I have good news for you. Your Father in the old country unfortunately has passed. Unlike most of your clan, he had moved to the city in Europe and became quite the businessman. He was so successful that he had accumulated many assets, including a fine home and vineyards. Although it was doubtful that we would find an heir, we managed to track you through your passage records to America and I am here to deliver this message to you.”

Elek couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Surely it was a joke. But the gentleman lawyer presented him with his card and assured him it was not. What next?

“Mr. Runyon, I have been told to assist you in any way necessary to fulfill your wishes regarding this matter. It is not necessary for you to return to the home, and if you wish I can arrange to sell it for you and deliver the funds so that they can be used at your discretion. Or, if you prefer, I can arrange for passage back for you to take up residence there. It is up to you!”

At exactly that moment, Elek is startled by a loud BOOM! The sound of a shotgun going off very close to his wagon makes him bolt upright. Rosie is going crazy. Still in his nightshirt, he slowly opens the door to the caravan to be confronted by the farmer who owns the field. He is angry and running him off.

As he is assuring the farmer that he will dress and leave immediately, he realizes that his inheritance was only a dream. He makes peace as much as possible with the farmer, gives him a jar of honey as payment for the night and hastily goes about hitching up Rosie and preparing the caravan for travel.

The farmer leaves smiling after he is assured Elek is leaving. Elek has calmed down and is feeling almost philosophical about the situation. It has happened many times before that he has been told to move on, but in this field he almost found his fortune! Believing as his clan does, this may be an omen that he will someday have his honeybee farm.