Page 34 of Heart of Mystic Valley
“Gray,” Joshua interrupted, his tone more serious as he nodded at someone in the crowd.
He followed the direction of Joshua’s gaze, spotting a familiar face. An older woman, petite with graying brown hair pulled into a loose bun, stood at the periphery, observing the activity. Naomi Beckett, their indomitable mother.
“So, this is where she took off to before lunch,” Joshua said.
“She never misses a meeting,” Grayson said. “I hope she backs my proposal. Her word carries a lot of weight.”
Joshua gave a noncommittal grunt. “Well, I’m going to say hello. You coming?”
“In a bit. I need to check something first.”
Joshua started toward their mother, then hesitated. “Gray. Whatever happens, you know I’m with you, right?”
He looked at his brother, at the man he’d grown into. Joshua wasn’t a boy anymore, nor was he merely a younger version of Grayson. He was his own person, with his own ideas and loyalties.
“I know.” He grinned. “Thank you.”
Joshua held his gaze for a moment longer, then turned and weaved through the crowd toward his mother. Grayson watched him go before walking in the opposite direction.
He pulled the leather folder from inside his coat and opened it, glancing at the proposal. The words stared back at him, uncompromising. He closed the folder and looked around the crowd again, this time taking in individual faces. These were the people he was fighting for, the people who made Mystic a wonderful place to live.
He spotted Joshua standing with their mother and talking quietly. Their expressions were unreadable from this distance. Still, the sight gave him a small measure of hope. If his mother backed her son’s proposal, it was as good as done.
Moving through the crowd, he entered the building along with the mayor and other members of the council. Taking their seats, Mayor Carl Jurgen nodded to a man who stood at the closed front door. Opening it, the people flowed inside, talking as they sat down.
The interior of the town hall was a stark contrast to the bustling street outside. Plain wooden benches lined the walls, with several other benches placed in the center of the room. At the table set up at the far side of the room sat the members of the Mystic town council, their faces set in various degrees of seriousness.
Grayson set the folio in front of him. He exchanged curt nods with the other council members. Doyle Shaw, owner of the general store, Pastor Owen Ward, Tripp Lassiter, a fellow rancher and friend of the Becketts, and Artemis Graham,president of the local bank. Casper Jennings, owner of Jennings Mercantile, leaned back in his chair with an air of studied indifference. At the center of the table sat Mayor Carl Jurgen, the owner of the lumberyard.
“Let’s come to order,” Jurgen said, tapping the table with his gavel. The room quieted, though a tense undercurrent remained. “First on the agenda is the proposal for new taxes on businesses to support the expansion of the schoolhouse. We’ll open the floor to comments after the council has had a chance to speak.”
Grayson noted the subtle shift in Jurgen’s wording. Jurgen wasn’t interested in an alternative to the proposed tax. He unclasped the folio and pulled out the proposal, holding it but making no move to pass it around.
“We all know times are tough,” Jurgen continued. “The schoolhouse is too small for the number of children. The proposed tax is a modest one, but it could make a big difference. Councilman Beckett, you had some concerns?”
All eyes turned to Grayson. He cleared his throat, feeling the gaze of the crowd, as well as the scrutiny of his fellow council members.
“I do. No one disputes the need to support the school. But adding new taxes in an already difficult time will overly burden our businesses. We need to find a solution without imposing another tax on our hardworking citizens.”
Casper Jennings leaned forward, no longer feigning his boredom. “And what solution do you suggest, Grayson? Cutting the school budget?”
“I suggest we look to the community for voluntary contributions. Donations would be used for materials, and volunteers would provide the labor. We can achieve the same goals without putting an additional burden on our shopkeepers and ranchers.”
Artemis Graham let out a derisive snort. “You mean relying on charity. That’s a fine idea in a church sermon, but we need something more reliable.”
“Charity builds community, Artemis,” Grayson shot back. “And it’s every bit as reliable as the people of Mystic. Do you not have faith in your neighbors?”
Pastor Ward raised a hand, palm outward. “Let’s not turn this into a theological debate. Grayson has a point. The question is whether enough people would step up.”
“They will,” Grayson said, with more conviction than he felt. “They always have. Remember when the mill shut down? We got through that because folks pitched in and helped each other. This is no different.”
Tripp Lassiter tapped a pencil on the table, a gesture reminding Grayson of him and Tripp when they were in school. “It’s a nice thought, Gray, and I support what you’re saying. I’d be willing to volunteer my time and a few of my ranch hands for a day or two. But we’re in different times as far as donations. People don’t have much extra money these days.”
“Which is exactly why a new tax would hurt more than help,” Grayson said. “I’m not saying it’s an easy fix. Guess we won’t know about donations until we give it a try.”
The crowd agreed with him, clapping and cheering at his words.
Mayor Jurgen tapped his gavel on the table again. “All right, now. Quiet down. We’ll hear from the public now. Remember, we have two proposals.”
