Capital Mall
Sacramento, California
August, 2012
In June, in St. Louis, the Democratic National Convention had been held, and Colorado Governor Jonathan Timmerman had been selected as the presidential nominee with Senator Alice Caulfield, Iowa, as vice president. Both professed opposition to the secession.
In early August, in Salt Lake City, the Republican National Convention had been held, with Clay Cumberland selected as the presidential nominee and William Snow, the former governor of Arizona, becoming the compromise candidate for vice president.
And in late August, the 2012 summer Olympics ended in London with America once again taking the lion’s share of medals.
But on this crisp, already warm, August morning in Sacramento, California, none of that mattered to the young attorney, who, at 5:30 a.m., turned off the freeway on his way to work. Approaching the Wells Fargo Bank building and his newly established law office, he was confronted by barricades, a phalanx of military vehicles, and hundreds of men wearing camouflaged uniforms-all of whom were massed at the intersection of 4th and Capitol. Unable to cross toward his normal parking entrance, he looked west and saw several low-boy trucks loaded with large military tanks just exiting the Tower Bridge, which spans the Sacramento River at that point.
To the left, toward the Capitol Building several blocks east, the mass of troops lining the street precluded his exit via that route. Unwilling to confront this sea of officialdom, he made a U-turn and retreated the wrong way down a one-way street, intent on finding a route to his office to prepare for his first significant trial, set to begin at eight-thirty that morning. He thought as he departed the area that he hadn’t even taken the time to notice if they were federal troops. This secession mania is getting out of hand, and someone should put a stop to it, he thought. It’s beginning to interfere with peoples’ lives.
From a better vantage point in the State Capitol Building, Major General Robert Del Valle watched the buildup of federal troops, anticipated since the previous evening when his sources at Travis AFB, forty miles west of Sacramento, advised of the arrival of a battalion of 82nd airborne troops from Fort Bragg, supplemented by troops from Fort Irwin.
Through a small, second-story office window, Governor Dewhirst stood with his operational team aligned in their newly assigned roles. General Del Valle, commander of the newly constituted State Military Reserve (SMR); Colonel Harman, the newly appointed SMR executive officer; and Bruce Henry, commander of the recently alerted Highway Patrol, now an adjunct unit to the SMR.
Together, they had watched the first contingent of federal troops arrive at about three-thirty, and the buildup continue through the predawn hours. State Military Reserve troops and Highway Patrol officers were not visible, but Del Valle was not unprepared. Over three thousand duly sworn and newly designated SMR personnel were available for immediate deployment. Twelve hundred SMR forces and eight hundred Highway Patrol officers were assembled in this one location, deployed in defense of the California Capitol. In addition, one hundred or so legislators and staff were inside the Capitol building, with the SMR and patrol units ready to assume exterior cordon responsibilities at Del Valle’s command. Essentially, General Del Valle had the personnel for a light division, but they barely had the necessary armor or artillery to equip a full brigade. It was only for show, in any case, he counseled the governor.
“Well, shall we greet our guests?”
“I guess it’s show time, Bob?”
“I believe it is, Governor.”
The governor spoke briefly. “Gentlemen, we have one primary objective today, which supersedes all other objectives. We must, at all costs, prevent this from getting out of hand, and we must avoid the loss of even one life. Is that understood?”
General Del Valle and his two subordinate commanders nodded, each lost in his own thoughts about the actions they were taking. Colonel Jack Harman, following that fateful day in the governor’s office, had made his choice and had submitted a resignation of his regular Army commission. Governor Dewhirst immediately commissioned him a full colonel in the State Military Reserve with assignment as executive officer of that unit, subordinate directly to General Del Valle.
“Jack, let’s get transport behind the building on the east side and go greet our guests. Commander Henry,” Del Valle said to the commander of the Highway Patrol, “I think you should accompany us.”
“Yes, sir.”
The three men descended a floor and walked the length of the building to the east exit, where a Humvee waited in the darkness. The corridors were filled with SMR troops and patrol officers, standing or sitting along the walls, waiting for the events of the day to unfold.
When forming the new State Military Reserve, Governor Dewhirst had offered all commissioned and enlisted personnel the option to terminate their National Guard responsibilities if they felt unable to take up arms against federal forces. To Governor Dewhirst and Del Valle’s surprise, less than ten percent of the newly designated State Military Reserve had opted to stand down from their assignment, and less than three percent of the Highway Patrol had failed to report when reassigned to Sacramento. Large segments of the Highway Patrol and company-sized SMR units called to active duty had been assigned to other population centers in anticipation of civil disturbances as events unfolded.
Flying the California bear flag and a two-star flag, the Humvee traversed the Capitol grounds, skirting the north side of the building toward Capital Mall on the west end. As they entered Capitol Avenue, they immediately came face to face with several barricades manned by military police personnel who waved them to a stop. A young lieutenant in BDUs, boots bloused, jump wings conspicuous on his breast pocket, and outfitted with full battle gear, stepped forward to challenge their approach, snapping a crisp salute.
“Good morning, sir,” he said crisply. “This is a restricted area. May I inquire as to the general’s business?”
“That you may, Lieutenant,” Del Valle replied in a slow, controlled drawl. “My compliments to your commanding officer. Please advise him that Major General Robert Del Valle, commander of the California State Military Reserve, requests a moment of his time.”
The lieutenant stood straight and offered another crisp salute. “Yes, sir.”
They sat in the Humvee for the next three minutes while Governor Dewhirst watched from their earlier command post, now joined by several of his aides, including newly reassigned Captain Daniel Rawlings. At the governor’s direction, Dan was not in uniform.
“The press can’t be far behind,” the governor remarked.
“They’re here, Governor, just cordoned off by the troops,” an aide replied.
“There’s another Humvee,” Dan said as a second vehicle came through the barricades and into the floodlights.
Del Valle stepped out of his vehicle when the approaching vehicle came to a stop. The officer who stepped out approached Del Valle, and in the glare of the Humvee’s headlights, Del Valle could see he wore two darkened stars on his combat uniform and a Kevlar battle helmet.
Del Valle stood to attention and rendered a salute to the approaching officer.
“Good morning, General. My name is Robert Del Valle. I currently serve as commanding officer of the California State Military Reserve. Governor Walter Dewhirst has requested that we ascertain the nature of your business.”
The officer returned Del Valle’s salute and came to a stop two feet short of Del Valle, but close enough so they could see each other’s face in the early morning light.
“Major General David Chidester, commanding officer of the 82nd Airborne Division.”
Even though Del Valle had been advised the evening before of the specific unit assigned to support the federal marshals, he affected a mild surprise, seeking in his reaction to elicit from Chidester some explanation of the Pentagon’s thinking.
Chidester understood and responded. “General Del Valle, the JCS felt that troops from outside California might be less offensive, given current conditions. And it’s a good redeployment exercise for us,” he added.
“I see. I’m sure we both hope that’s all it will be, General,” Del Valle said.
“General Del Valle,” Chidester continued, “I have been instructed to inform you that at eight o’clock this morning, six federal marshals from the justice department will present the governor and the Speaker of the House with documentation from the federal government. To wit: that inasmuch as the State of California is currently in a state of rebellion, all executive, legislative, appointed, and military officials have been, until further notice, relieved of their responsibilities, and that a state of military emergency exists. Authority and responsibility for control of civil affairs has been transferred to the United States Attorney’s office, with support from federal military forces. All police and uniformed law enforcement officers at the county and local level are to remain in place. General Del Valle, is it the governor’s intention to comply with these orders?”
Del Valle reached into the pocket of his field jacket and pulled out a cigar case. Removing one, he offered one to Chidester, who declined. Biting the end off of the cigar and spitting the tip on the ground, Del Valle glanced at his watch, lit his cigar, and looked up at Chidester.
“Sir, I make it 0612.”
Chidester lifted the Velcro cover over the top of his field watch. “Agreed.”
“Perhaps, General,” Del Valle continued, cigar clenched between his teeth, “we ought to get a bite to eat. It just might turn out to be a long day.”
Chidester’s eyes widened slightly, and a small grin crossed his face. “Is it your intention then, sir, to dispute these orders?”
Del Valle removed his cigar and looked squarely into Chidester’s eyes. “General, Governor Dewhirst didn’t want it to come to this. I can assure you I didn’t want it, and as far down my chain of command as I can fathom, they didn’t want it either. Yet, here we are. Now I’m quite certain the governor will be in touch with the president to protest your. . intrusion. How this will play out over the next several weeks and months, we don’t know. But I intend to deal with today, and in that regard I have but one objective: I want your young men and my young men to go home this evening, safe and sound, to their wives and children. I’m sure you share my sentiments, General. But each of us has a duty and an obligation today. And hopefully, with restraint, we will carry out those duties and let the politicians behind the scenes wrestle with the political decisions.”
“Agreed,” Chidester nodded. “I’ll instruct my comm officer to keep an open channel with your counterpart for our communication needs. If there’s nothing else, then, good day to you, sir.” He turned to leave.
“General, a moment please. May I inquire as to your weapons status?” Del Valle asked.
Chidester turned back and hesitated momentarily, obviously assessing the need to advise a potential enemy regarding his weapons status. “The 82nd will assume positions locked and loaded, General Del Valle,” Chidester replied.
“Thank you, sir. My father went into Normandy with the 82nd. Despite the difficult situation, it’s an honor to meet them and their commander.”
“Yes, I know,” Chidester replied, smiling gently and confusing Del Valle somewhat. “Major Del Valle dropped twenty miles behind the beaches at Normandy with the second wave just after midnight on D-Day. A lot of good men now lie beside him in France. His name adorns the roll of honor at Fort Bragg, along with his citations.”
Del Valle’s eyebrows went up, but he remained silent.
“The JCS sent me your package, General Del Valle. Class of ‘74, battalion commander at thirty-three. I was ’79 myself, the first in the family,” Chidester continued, looking over General Del Valle’s shoulder as the first rays of morning began to break over the Capitol. “I’ll have one of those cigars now, if I may, General.”
“Certainly, sir,” Del Valle said, offering the case to Chidester.
“I pray God,” Chidester said, biting his cigar and leaning forward to accept Del Valle’s light, “that our respective leaders can find an amicable solution to this pending catastrophe, so that you and I can discuss old times over another cigar and a good glass of brandy at the ‘O’ Club.”
Both generals eyed one another for a few moments. Del Valle took one pace backward and saluted, which Chidester returned-two soldiers, once again responding to political directives, however distasteful.
“Jack,” Del Valle said to Colonel Harman as he climbed back into his vehicle and watched the 82nd commander drive up Capitol Mall, “it’s time to deploy. Locked and loaded, Colonel. Once more, warn your company commanders. No individual incidents at all costs. The ratchet’s just been cranked up a notch.”
“Right, General.”
Three news helicopters flew overhead, unmolested by the Army Cobra attack helicopters also hovering over the area. Sound trucks from the three major networks, Fox News, and CNN adorned the grounds around the Sacramento Capitol Building, cables looping throughout the various vehicles-although finding space among the hundreds of troops positioned within the forested area of the grounds had been difficult.
Both commanding officers had agreed to allow the press close access, in the hopes that a highly visible public presence would serve to deter unwanted confrontation. The sight of nearly three thousand troops facing off on American soil did not, however, dispel the televised sense of impending conflict. Across America and throughout California, people watched the standoff from their living rooms, as for years they had watched evening clips of various military confrontations played out around the world. Most found it hard to believe that it was happening in America.
John Henry Franklin sat high above the fray in his palatial San Francisco office suite, watching the developing drama on live, big-screen TV. The altercation developing before him was a means to an end, and only the evening before, he had been briefed by Jean Wolff. If Wolff’s plan came off-and Franklin had no reason to doubt that it would, given the success of the past several months-today would drive the nail into the coffin, further limiting the options of those few politicians who had the power to bring this to an end. Franklin had heard the governor’s press conference the previous day and his analogy of driving the train. Dewhirst was lucky even to be on the train, Franklin thought, much less driving it. Let him think he’s the engineer, if it pleases him, Franklin thought. It’s the master of the switchyard who determines where the train ends up.
Jean Wolff watched the show from a much closer perspective, having positioned himself on the corner of “L” Street and 8th Avenue so as to have a clear view of the Capitol steps. The six operatives in his action squad were closer still. He had determined that the best method of infiltration was the ability to blend in with the locals. The recent incorporation of the Guard and SMR units, plus the gathering of Highway Patrol officers from all parts of the state, had provided the optimum environment for such an infiltration. Few component members knew each other. Acquisition of appropriate uniforms had been the simple part, at least so far, Wolff thought. There actually had been no hard part at all. Four of his team members were dressed in SMR uniforms and two were in Highway Patrol gear.
General Del Valle had deployed his troops on a broad perimeter, covering the grassy area and preventing the 82nd from occupying Capitol grounds, thereby restricting them to surrounding streets and keeping them fully two hundred yards from any entrance to the building. None of the officers present felt that combat action would ensue, but the dance had been choreographed, and the participants ringed the ballroom floor, separated by their respective sides, much as boys and girls do at dances during their formative junior-high-school years, each too tentative to approach the other.
At three minutes to eight, the ballet began in earnest as two civilian vehicles were allowed through the 82nd Airborne barricades and approached the steps of the west end of the Capitol. Dewhirst had chosen to make his presence available outside on the steps, in full view of the press, rather than waiting for a formal deputation in his office. His brief chat with President Eastman only moments earlier had failed to convince the president to reconsider his intended course of action.
Escorted by six federal marshals, several FBI agents, and four armed 82nd airborne military police officers, Janice Shipley, U.S. attorney for the northern district of California, approached the steps. Governor Dewhirst, Lieutenant Governor Henricks, Speaker James Huntington, and General Del Valle stood partway down the steps leading into the west entrance to the Capitol.
Daniel Rawlings, along with several of the governor’s aides, stood on the top steps near the doors into the building. To Dan, the scene was reminiscent of news film he had seen of Governor George Wallace of Alabama resisting the integration of state schools in the fifties and early sixties.
“Good morning, Ms. Shipley,” Governor Dewhirst said.
“And a good morning to you, Governor Dewhirst. I am here at the direction of the president of the United States to present to you an order to suspend all further rebellion and to cooperate with federal authorities in the performance of their duties.”
Dewhirst remained silent.
“Governor?” Shipley pressed.
“Go on, Ms. Shipley.”
“Is it your intention, sir, to comply with these lawfully presented orders?”
Vocalizing the thoughts that had kept him awake the entire night, Walter Dewhirst assumed the role that destiny had placed in his path.
“Ms. Shipley, the state of California is currently in the process of reorganization. There is no historical precedent for the position in which we find ourselves-notwithstanding the actions of the Confederacy. Therefore, until such time as further declaration is rendered by this government, I must claim sovereignty of the soil on which we now stand. It is the intention of this government to respect the will of its citizens as expressed in the recent public election process. Therefore, it is my duty as chief executive of this government to refuse your order and to inform you that we intend, as soon as is practicable, to establish the Republic of California, with three independent states-North California, Central California, and South California. Once a majority of those three independent states has ratified the proposed constitution of this republic, we intend to establish diplomatic relations with the United States of America, with whom we sincerely hope to remain in solidarity. I call upon the international community to immediately recognize the validity of this newly established nation and to establish diplomatic relations with us forthwith.”
Unprepared for such a broad declaration, Ms. Shipley was momentarily taken aback and mumbled something unintelligible, which neither Governor Dewhirst nor the television microphones could pick up.
“Excuse me, Ms. Shipley?”
“I’m sorry, Governor, I. . I believe I would like the marshals to present you with the president’s instructions and to give you some time to confer, as I obviously need to do,” she added, “and then perhaps we can determine our respective positions.”
The lead marshal came forward and presented Governor Dewhirst with a large, manila envelope, stepping back as Ms. Shipley turned to leave.
The two-hundred-thirty-year-old controversy regarding who fired the first revolutionary “shots heard round the world” at Concord and Lexington has never been fully determined to both sides’ satisfaction. Both British and American participants have blamed the other. The Battle of Capital Mall provided the same confusion. Precisely where the first shot came from was later debated ad nauseum, with both sides claiming the other had fired first.
Both sides were wrong.
The first bullet struck the mass of microphones that had been placed on a riser in front of where the governor stood. General Del Valle immediately recognized the sound and grabbed Governor Dewhirst from behind, shoving him toward the rear. The second shot, seemingly from a similar quarter, struck Del Valle in the back of the neck, instantly dropping him. Governor Dewhirst stumbled to his knees, an action that saved his life. The third shot passed over his head, striking a State Military Reserve corporal standing on the steps of the Capitol, killing him instantly.
Equally confusing were the return shots from a distant location. Their fusillade was fired into the massed 82nd airborne troops who were unlucky enough to have been assigned to the western sector of the blockade. Almost as a body, they dropped prone into the street, behind cars or trees, and assumed a position to return fire. Not having received an order to engage the enemy, their fire discipline held.
In the ensuing investigation, Colonel Harman, who had given specific orders not to fire unless directed, was able to determine that it was the ragged and undisciplined outburst from the SMR that caused the most damage on this fateful morning. Despite their restraint in returning fire, multiple casualties were inflicted upon the 82nd. SMR forces suffered one dead trooper, plus General Del Valle’s neck wound. The disparity of injuries gave the appearance that the battle was a lopsided firefight, with the SMR the clear victor. The only bright side to the disastrous event was that no civilian casualties occurred.
Confusion among reporters, civilian bystanders, and legislative staffers was rampant. The only group for whom confusion was not a problem was the six-man action squad from the Shasta Brigade, assembled by Jean Wolff and Commander Jackson Shaw. Escape was a simple matter of once again blending in with the troops they impersonated. Five of the brigade squad had fired in the initial volley, quickly merging with nearby troops and feigning confusion at the source of fire. The dozen or so SMR troops who, without orders, had returned fire, did so of their own volition. The lives lost within the 82nd Airborne, plus the injured, were a direct result of SMR ineptitude and lack of fire discipline. More directly, however, the Shasta Brigade had succeeded in escalating the tenuous situation into a brief, but violent firefight from which emerged no winner.
President William Eastman, Vice President Clarene Prescott, and Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, Air Force General Hezekiah Johnson, sat in the Oval Office, stunned as the drama unfolded before their eyes on large-screen TV.
Eastman was livid. “General Johnson, this is exactly what I did not want to happen! Get those troops out of there now! And I mean now!”
“Mr. President-”
“I said now, General. Better yet, get the commander of that unit on the phone immediately. I’ll speak to him personally.”
“Yes, sir, but I recommend that-”
Eastman stood, his voice assuming a lower tone, but his face strained, and the veins in his neck distended. “General, if you can’t or won’t carry out my orders, I’ll find someone who will. Am I making myself clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Within three minutes, Major General David Chidester was on the line.
“General, this is William Eastman, president of the United States. Do you recognize my voice, and are you willing to recognize my authority?”
“Yes, sir. I recognize your voice and am under your authority, Mr. President.”
“Good. I want you to approach the commander of the California troops, whatever they’re calling themselves, and personally advise him that you are immediately commencing withdrawal of your troops. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“General,” Eastman said, his voice softening, “how many casualties do you have?”
“Mr. President, all reports are not in yet, but I am advised of six dead and eight wounded.” He paused and added, “But I only have reports from the 82nd, Mr. President.”
“I understand, General. Get those wounded troops immediate care.” Eastman paused. “General Chidester, I do understand. I know you’ll take care of your troops, and I don’t mean to interfere with that aspect of your duties, but I will not preside over the opening shots of the Second Civil War. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly clear, Mr. President. I’ll act immediately.”
“Thank you. . and General,” Eastman again paused, “my sincere condolences on the loss of those in your command.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
Four hours later, the only remaining semblances of military activity were the deep gouges in the lawn of the Capitol, left by M1A1 Abrams main battle tanks, unused in the melee other than to protect certain members of the regular forces who had remained inside during the firefight and reporters who had taken cover behind their bulk.
General Chidester had personally explained the president’s orders to Colonel Harman, who had assumed command in General Del Valle’s absence. As quickly as it had been lost, order was restored.
General Robert Del Valle had undergone surgery and was expected to recover. General Chidester’s evening visit to Del Valle’s hospital room went unnoticed until days later, when hospital staff remembered to advise Del Valle of the courtesy shown by his counterpart, with whom he had earned the honor of commanding what the press had dubbed the Battle of Capital Mall.
Casualties among the 82nd Airborne included seven dead and eleven wounded, two requiring medical retirement. California’s casualties totaled one dead, Corporal Anthony Gambino, and one wounded-Major General Robert Del Valle.
The only positive event of the day was the eventual result-that of returning control of the situation to political leadership intent on diplomacy as opposed to the option of military action.
Having watched the developments throughout most of the morning, John Henry Franklin focused primarily on Governor Dewhirst’s statement to Ms. Shipley. He picked up his telephone, pressed a speed dial number, and waited.
“Si,” a male voice answered.
“General Valdez. John Henry here. Have you been watching the events of the day?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good. Now it’s time for your visit to President Jalisco. I think he’ll need to appoint a new ambassador, don’t you think?”
“I do. An ambassador from the Republic of Mexico to the new Republic of California, I think.”
“It’s time for phase two, Emil.”
“Good, John Henry. Very good.”
Jack’s funeral was a small family affair. But the memorial earlier in the day had been anything but small. The moment Governor Dewhirst had learned of Jack’s death, and knowing that Daniel Rawlings would be involved in the gubernatorial strategy session prior to the press conference and unable to assist his mother, Dewhirst had assigned two of his staff to assist Mrs. Rawlings in the preparations. Even so, immediately following the press conference, the governor had told Dan to go home and attend to family business. Dan learned of the governor’s thoughtful action from his mother over the weekend.
Despite his grief, Dan could not shake his thoughts about the disastrous military confrontation on Friday, which perhaps was a blessing in disguise, since it allowed Dan to defer his mourning to a more private time. The funeral had been planned for Tuesday, but no one had fully anticipated the military turn of events that had taken place in Sacramento.
Notwithstanding the speed with which the opposing military forces had disengaged, the growing civil unrest and violence in major urban centers brought the governor to the necessity of declaring martial law. In Los Angeles, San Francisco, Fresno, and several other communities throughout the state, federal installations and buildings had become the target of siege by citizens who were inflamed by the Battle of Capital Mall. Emboldened by the erroneous information that the casualties in the 82nd Airborne Division came as a result of SMR strength-these feelings having been stimulated by a few well-placed militia instigators-public fervor had brought these communities to riot conditions. The race war flared again, and the basic criminal element surfaced to take advantage of chaos in the light of the inability of local law enforcement to maintain order. Curfew had been placed in effect from dusk to dawn.
Colonel Harman, acting in General Del Valle’s stead, directed the SMR and Highway Patrol to concentrate in troubled areas, trying his best to bring order out of chaos. But riots continued through the weekend, and it quickly became apparent that order intended to resist birth, and chaos had no intention of accepting Last Rites.
Tuesday morning at ten o’ clock, a public viewing of Jack Rumsey’s remains was held in the lobby of the Yolo County courthouse by request of the governor and with the approval of the Yolo County Board of Supervisors, where Jack had once served two terms before being elected to the state legislature.
Dan had once read that the older one was when death came, the fewer associates remained alive to attend the funeral. Jack Rumsey, however, had apparently made an impact on the next generation as well, as hundreds of Woodland residents came to offer their condolences. Matilda Westegaard stood with Dan and Mrs. Rawlings for a few moments, and Dan had occasion, once again, to see a tear in her eye. Notwithstanding the immediacy of state affairs, even Governor Dewhirst came to pay his respects to Dan and his mother, appearing without protocol and saying nothing publicly. He stayed only for a few minutes before immediately returning the twenty-five miles to the Capital.
Perhaps the most surprising visitor at the viewing was Colonel Pug Connor. Dan had met Connor only twice, and the discovery that Nicole was somehow involved in his work was, to Dan’s mind, one of several continuing revelations about this remarkable woman who had come to play such a large role in his life. In departing the courthouse, Connor asked if it would be possible to meet with Dan the following day, privately, in Dan’s Davis apartment. With advance warning from Nicole, Dan had given thought to the practicality of such a meeting, dreading a repeat of how Senator Turner had taken advantage of his naivete. But with Nicole’s assurance that Connor could be trusted, Dan agreed.
By one o’clock, the small entourage had driven the twelve miles to the tiny country cemetery in Esparto, west of Woodland at the head of Rumsey Valley. By request of Mrs. Rawlings, only immediate family members were present, including Dan’s sister and their father, both of whom, after a phone call from Dan, had flown back to the States from New Zealand. A few of Jack’s Shriner colleagues attended as well, along with the officiator who performed a portion of the ceremony. Standing at the graveside, breathing in the pungent aroma of almond orchards, dusty fields, and fragrant blossoms-Rumsey Valley ambiance-Dan experienced a flood of memories.
As he listened to the local minister recount Jack’s life and his contributions to the valley, he envisioned those early days when the Rumsey family, along with dozens of other families, had fought to tame the land-first to provide a living for their families, and then to develop a thriving enterprise.
Nicole stood close to Dan, her arm linked with his as they watched Jack’s flag-covered casket lower into the ground beside his beloved Ellen. The small military honor guard from the Woodland Veterans of Foreign Wars detachment folded and presented the flag to Dan’s mother as Jack’s next of kin. Moments earlier, the honor guard had shattered the peace of the valley by firing three volleys from their seven rifles, in honor of Jack’s naval service to his country during World War II. Protectively aware of his mother standing next to him, Dan breathed deeply and raised his face slowly, scanning the foothills encasing the valley-hills he had roamed as a boy, hills where Jack had taught him to identify the flora and fauna of the valley and tutored him in so many other ways.
His eyes rising higher to the light cloud cover that Jack had always watched in earnest, searching for rain, Dan struggled to retain his composure as this phase of his life concluded. So much of his life was changing in such a short time. Echoes of the violent events of the previous day were reverberating in every city and town in California. Repercussions would haunt them all for weeks and months to come. But for the moment, Dan, along with his mother and father, his sister Kate and her husband, and Nicole, stood silently as the patriarch of the Rumsey family was laid to rest. Tomorrow would be soon enough to re-enter the conflict-to continue the fight that Jack had so adamantly insisted Dan pursue. Dan gave silent thanks that Jack had been spared the necessity of watching his country move toward dissolution after his eighty-four years of working and fighting to establish Rumsey Valley-Jack’s small contribution to the whole.
Leaving his mother’s side for a moment, Dan stepped toward the grave and tossed a small assortment of flowers onto the casket, now in its final resting place beside Ellen.
“I love you, Jack,” Dan whispered. “God rest your soul.”