Into the most mundane of lives can come unexpected adventures, offering no clue as to how they will play out. Consider the case of young Adam Wylie. On that warm May afternoon in 1887, he rested, at peace with the world, on the front porch of his Aunt Sophie's farmhouse where he had lived most of his life.
A cabriolet, with a plume of dust trailing behind, appeared in the distance and approached the house. Adam could see that it was drawn by a bay horse and was carrying two men. Must be drummers, he thought idly. But they were coming not to offer goods; rather, the most remarkable experience of his life.
The carriage pulled into a space beside Aunt Sophie's white picket fence. The two men got out, opened the gate, and came up the flagstone walkway. His aunt's black terrier barked furiously at the intruders from the safety of the porch.
The man in the lead, who sported a white handlebar moustache, removed a derby hat. In a no-nonsense voice he said, "Do I have the pleasure of addressing Mr. Adam Wylie?"
"That's me. Come up and have a seat."
The two men mounted the porch, the older one saying, "My card, sir." As he handed the young man his card, he went on, "I am William Davis, Attorney at Law over in Bardstown. This is Mr. George Kenton, a photographer and my assistant for today."
Adam rose and shook hands with each, saying, "Pleased t' meet you fellows." Aunt Sophie appeared at the front door, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Both men gave her a polite bow as she came onto the porch. Adam then introduced them to the woman.
Aunt Sophie was in her mid forties, her rich mane of russet hair tinged with gray. She gave each man a nod, saying, "Well now, what in the world brings you gents out this a' way?"
Davis took a seat in a cane chair, saying, "Our business is with Mr. Wylie here. I have been retained by a client who is looking for a young man, unmarried, with red hair. To use the specific terms in the request, bright red hair, preferably curly, with a light spray of freckles as well."
"My secretary Gleason saw Mr. Wylie, who of course fits that description, in Bardstown several days ago. He made inquiries, learned where you live, and suggested we contact you."
"Red hair?" said Aunt Sophie. "Why is your client lookin' for a red-headed fellow?"
"I have no earthly idea. I am only instructed to obtain personal data on a young man who matches that description, and to provide photographs. If you are agreeable, Mr. Wylie, I will pay you a half-eagle for a short interview and a few photographs. Fair enough?"
"Well, sure," said the young man. Five dollars was two days wages for a laborer; it seemed the best of luck to earn that amount in far less time. He could not have known to what it would lead.
Mr. Davis withdrew a notepad from his briefcase, took out a pen, and then put on a pair of bifocals, saying, "Let us begin." He looked at the young man. "Well, sir, you do have a fine head of red hair. Hmm, hazel eyes, I would say, about six feet tall." He scribbled in the notepad, then continued. "Are you sound of health? No debilitating diseases?"
"Reckon not. Able to put out two acres of good Kentucky burley tobacco down yonder." The visitors glanced down to a field near a creek. Emerald green tobacco, knee-high at this time of year, gleamed in the sunlight.
Turning to Aunt Sophie, the older man went on, "He doesn't appear slow-witted. Does he have a quick mind? And what of his education?"
"Oh, he's smart in what counts. He quit school as soon as he could do farm work. Let's see, how far did you get, Adam?"
"Sixth grade."
"But he can read and write, and studies the Bible. Law, you should hear him recite the Psalms! Knows several by heart, don't you dear?"
"Yes Ma'm."
"So, you would say he has moral character? Doesn't engage in idle talk and gossip? Also, is he good-natured? Given to fits or violent displays of temper?"
"No, no, just a regular fellow. I tried to raise him good after his folks died in that awful cholera epidemic when he was a little tot. Say again, what's this all about? Who is your client?"
"My client desires to remain anonymous, madam. Now that I have information on the young man, perhaps we may take those photographs that were requested. Mr. Kenton has even purchased a new-fangled camera .. what did you call it, George?"
"A Lancaster Instantograph, sir," replied the younger man, pleased that he owned the latest in photographic technology.
A few moments later, Adam stood before the clapboard house, his straw hat beside him, as Mr. Kenton set up the bulky wooden camera on a tripod and took half a dozen exposures. The men shortly after returned to their cabriolet and departed. The young man and his aunt stood on the porch, watching as the carriage disappeared in the distance.
"Well now," declared Aunt Sophie, "if that don't beat the Dutch. What on earth do you reckon they were up to?"
Tossing his half-eagle into the air, Adam replied casually, "Can't imagine. All I know is I got some spendin' money out of it. I doubt we'll ever see 'em again."
Unaware that a chain of events had now been set into motion, the young man went on with his farm life routine. Three weeks later, Mr. Davis once again pulled up to the farmhouse just before noon, this time alone. After the perfunctory greetings and small talk, he settled into the cane chair and got down to business.
"Well, young Wylie," he began, "it seems you have piqued the interest of my client. That person desires you to travel to New York City. I am told that you may be there for up to a month or longer. Again, are you agreeable?"
"Heck no," Adam replied. "Not until I find out what this is all about. B'sides, I got a tobacco crop to tend, a Jersey cow to milk twice a day, and all my other chores. I can't leave Aunt Sophie a'tall."
"Your loyalty is commendable. However, I have already engaged one of your neighbors, a Levi Rayfield, to assist your aunt full time while you are gone. I have also purchased for you a one way ticket to New York on the New York Central Railroad. You will receive ten dollars for each day you are away from home. I am authorized to advance you the sum of $100 now. The remainder will be paid when you return."
Adam gazed in astonishment at the lawyer, who returned his look impassively. Finally the young man spoke in a low voice. "Look here, just what are you up to? I don't want no part of nothin' shady, hear? Now spill it, sir."
In an even tone the man replied, "I am giving you all the information that has been offered me. But I have corresponded with a colleague in New York who assures me that the lawyer handling the request on that end has an impeccable reputation." He gazed off into the distance, then went on, "I will tell you, Mr. Wylie, my impression. Namely, that your presence in New York is a matter of great interest to some very important people."
"I have the feeling that they are people who travel in the highest circles; whose lives are as different from yours and mine as that of royalty. I cannot imagine why they would be interested in a country bumpkin like you. Yet they are, and seem quite insistent that you heed their call. I strongly advise you to do so."
"Nope. I reckon I'll stay here where I belong."
"As you wish. May I leave the train ticket and this check with you for two days? Perhaps on further reflection you will change your mind. I will come back one last time on Thursday to retrieve what I have proffered. However, if you feel up to what just might be a most singular experience, I myself will carry you up to Louisville to begin your journey."
"Don't count on it. But mebbe I will think it over."
Adam did so. The ordinary train ticket soon took on a fascination. Up to now, the young man's universe had been a tobacco farm in a quiet corner of the world. New York City seemed a mythical place to him, scarcely more real than the fabled cities of Cibola. The little cardboard ticket proved that it truly existed. Someone there knew of him; awaited his arrival.
In every young man lies a restiveness; a desire to know what is over the horizon. Why do they want me to come to New York, he asked himself. Who are they? It was a refrain that would not leave his head.
With each passing hour the ticket beckoned to him. It promised a faraway adventure, one that would unfold if Adam had the audacity to take one step and then another. There was only one way to solve the mystery: to go to New York.
When Mr. Davis returned in his cabriolet two days later, Adam was waiting in his Sunday suit, a straw boater hat atop his head. He held a small traveling valise in his hand.
The lawyer gazed at him, a half smile on his lips. "I assume you will be using that rail ticket after all, Mr. Wylie. Say goodbye to your aunt and let us be off. It will take a while to reach the train station."
Adam affectionately kissed his aunt goodbye, who shed a few tears for good measure. He mounted the cabriolet beside the lawyer and was then rolling down the lane away from home. He glanced back at Aunt Sophie, who stood waving to them from the porch. What awaits me in New York? he wondered. What am I getting into?
*******
On a rainy morning two days later, Adam Wylie's Pullman car arrived at Grand Central Depot in Manhattan. Thoroughly bewildered by the mob of people and the cacophony of noise, he got off the train, valise in hand.
He remained on the platform, at a loss as to what to do. After a moment a man in a top hat approached and stood looking at him without saying anything. Then he shook his head, saying, "Remarkable. Quite amazing. You are surely Mr. Adam Wylie, of Bardstown, Kentucky."
"I am, sir. And you?" The man was well dressed in a dark overcoat, waterfall tie, and satin vest. He seemed late middle aged, with a trim moustache and dark hair just now turning white.
"Call me Norris. Please step this way."
Adam followed the man into the station. He drew Adam to an out-of-the way corner and began to speak. "We cannot have you looking the hayseed you are, Mr. Wylie. In this envelope is one hundred dollars cash. You will leave the station and go by hansom cab to the Algonquin Hotel, where you will take a room. Then go to Wilby's clothier nearby and request that he outfit you in proper gentleman's attire. Do you understand?"
