The Ghost of Two Forks
Elmer Kelton
A railroad was often a blessing to early Texas towns, but it could as easily be a curse. Many new towns sprang up and thrived along the rights-of-way as track layers moved into new territory eager for improved transportation. But other towns, once prosperous, withered and died because the Eastern money counters and the surveyors favored a route that bypassed them.
Such a town was Two Forks, for years a county seat. Its voters had approved a bond issue that built a fine new stone courthouse with a tall cupola that sported a clock face on each of its four sides. From the day its doors first opened for business, it had been Sandy Fuller’s job to sweep its floors and keep its brass doorknobs bright and shiny. In winter he kept wood boxes full for the several pot-bellied heaters. All these were tasks he enjoyed, for he had hand-carried many of the stones that went into its building, and he felt he owned a share of it.
Most people would say Sandy was not among the brightest members of the community, that his limited skills restricted him to the most menial of tasks. At fifty his back was beginning to bend. Toting all those heavy stones had not been good for his arthritis, either. But whatever his own shortcomings might have been, his two Jersey cows gave more milk than any in town, and his three dozen laying hens kept much of the community well fixed for eggs. He also kept a dandy little garden, selling much of its produce to his neighbors, giving it to those who could not pay.
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