THE STONES THAT BURNED

October 1942

The cliff’s shadow blackens the lake.  Crimson and vermillion clouds pour out of the darkness, creeping across the deep blue.  Reflected orbs of white are choked out by a puffy gray beast.  It disperses across the cold, clear sky, changing the lake’s tranquil reflection of the night into a scene of violent turmoil.

A minority of strong, brave voices break through a wave of terrified ones as they all tumble and crash into the canyon below, rippling across the lake.  A persistent bell rings through the chaos.

Orange and yellow flames devour every droplet of water.  People scurry away from the blazing building, like ants from a nest in peril.  Even the stones were burning.  There is no mansion anymore.

A savage, “Run!” gallops through the dry air, landing on deaf ears.  Firemen careen from behind the fiery structure, racing to the steam engine.  Close at their heels, a tiny army of flames marches swiftly forward.  The troops turn in every direction.  A contingent torches the trees to the inn’s right and the flames rush toward the stable.

Most of the buggies, horses, and a few Fords have been driven out to provide escape.  An unfortunate few are quickly cut off.  Horses scream and pound the walls of the blazing stable.  A man tumbles out with flames on his back.

.  Shouting and zooming here and there, a small force of police and firemen load distracted people into the salvaged vehicles.  Strangers are shoulder to shoulder, a father and some children in one carriage, a mother and child in the next.  Everyone is whisked away.

Josephine Ellis, the last to leave, turns to watch the fiery inferno.  Her livelihood for the last twelve years billows into the night sky and swirls away with the smoke.  How will she tell Mrs. Snyder?

        March 1905

        A tall man with a sharp face, stands within his massive dream’s foundation.  He imagines a mini castle towering around him.  Below is the kitchen, complete with a spacey cellar and quarters for his chef and servants .  Around him is the first floor.  A cozy hearth and dining area occupy the eastern end.  On the western side is the ballroom, for social dances and parties.  An atrium with exotic vegetation occupies the center.  Looking up the western wall,  are stairs leading to the second level.  Room upon room fills the entire floor.  Hunting trophies decorate lofty walls while imported rugs line stony halls.  Mr. Snyder’s hunting, fishing, and hobby equipment live there.

        Drifting back to reality, he remembers where he is.  Axes echo nearby and birds whistle back and forth.  Mr Snyder watches a line of horses and wagons emerging from the trees, laden with large stones.

“You! Park at the north end of the foundation, over there.” He shouts at the first cart, then points a few meters in front where he stands.

He commands the next driver, “Proceed to the west and back up to the marker.”

After directing the last two wagons to the eastern and southern ends of the foundation, he yells again, “Unload the stones! That's the last batch for today, men.”

The next morning, Mr. Snyder’s head pounds as he opens bleary, heavy eyes. Dust streams across a streak of sun, poking its way around dingy, weathered curtains.  Muttering to himself about “this dirty old inn” and “harmful habits of my youth,” he slowly stretches and gets dressed.  Mr. Snyder douses his face with water and readjusts his diamond cufflinks, before striding into the inn’s cafe by day, bar by night.

As the inn’s only waitress pours him a rough cup of coffee, he spouts, “Work and play together make a day much better,”  He then toasts the air as three men join him for breakfast.  Two are blond and tall.  One blond man has a small, bird-like face and the other a square jaw.  The third gentleman was quiet with dark hair and brown eyes.  Sitting down, he places an official sketch portfolio on the scratched table.

The droopy eyed, beak nosed man replies, “And my father always said ‘early to bed early to rise, makes a man young and spry. Late to bed, late to rise makes a man saggy, baggy, and laggy in life.’  Mr. Snyder, you have a blimey ability to play an ace game of poker while incorporating business.”

“It was a pleasure.  Before I catch the train to Kansas, I'd like you to meet someone important.  He arrived at midnight, not long after you two retired from poker.  We’ve been discussing my plans for a while.  We’ll all go over them briefly, and then I’ll leave you two under his care.”

Nodding towards the silent man, Mr. Snyder introduces him and the men shake hands amiably. “Adrian Van Blunt, these are your masons.  Masons, meet your architect.”

Adrian opens his portfolio and the men proceed to pore over blueprints and discuss plans.

March 1906

Mrs. Snyder takes her husband’s hand and steps lightly down from their automobile. She glances delightedly around her, observing the green woods.

“Oh! It's a lovely spot, Robert!”

He softly replies, “Yes, dear.  In winter we'll return to Kansas, of course.  Family would miss us.  And I’ll need to check on my businesses. Well, my sons’ businesses.  It's easy to forget they are men now, and not boys.”

Mrs. Snyder smiles sadly as Her husband leads her to their castle.  In one year, the skeleton of a mighty, stone structure had risen three and a half stories high.  It's bold face peered over the cliff at an island below, surrounded by a natural moat. Mrs. Snyder gasps as she beholds the wild sight.

“A castle! In America! Darling, you did it!”

Beaming, Mr. Snyder can’t contain his joy. “Here I will spend my leisure, secure from the worries of business and the excitements of city life. I will fish and loaf and explore the caves of these hills, with no fear of intrusion.”

Several Months Later In 1906

Tragedy kicked its spiky ball and sent it rolling into the lives of the Snyder family.  While driving the streets of Kansas, Mr. Snyder was killed in a violent car crash.  The castle’s construction was halted for years until his two eldest sons, Robert Snyder Junior, and Leroy Snyder, finished the project in the 1920’s.  

After the man of dreams was gone, his wife and sons were harrowed by the Fate of Finances.  Business after business of Mr. Snyder’s was taken out across America.  His ranches suffered, his oil wells were sold off, and the family struggled to keep the mansion.   Eventually,  the property was leased to Josephine Ellis in 1930, who turned the regal estate into a small bed and breakfast.  She ran the hotel for a fulfilling twelve years until October, 1942.

Epilogue:

I wrote this story about Ha Ha Tonka, a beautiful, thought provoking national park in Missouri.  Each of the characters in this story were real people, and so were major events such as Mr. Snyder’s death and the burning of the mansion.  I learned important facts about Ha Ha Tonka on Lake of the Ozarks TV, YouTube and Legends of America, a website written by two lovers of adventure.