The true, profound significance of a school transcends mere bricks and mortar. In the sprawling, developed cities of the East, an additional school might barely register, a drop in the vast ocean of opportunity. But in the impoverished, forgotten towns and desolate villages of the untamed West, a school holds a truly formidable, almost sacred importance.
These downtrodden souls, these impoverished masses, were already clinging precariously to the very bottom rung of society; anything lower meant utter, inescapable death. Now, with the miraculous emergence of a free school, it promised an impossible dream: as long as their children attended, as long as they absorbed even a modicum of knowledge, they could fundamentally, irrevocably alter their social status. At the very least, they could escape the brutal fate of the lowest-class laborers, akin to chattel slaves, and become ordinary, self-sufficient individuals capable of finding dignified work in the bustling, distant big cities.
This place was starkly different from the impoverished, yet relatively secure, families in Zhongshan District. Those families, at least, didn't have to worry about immediate safety, nor had they witnessed the bewildering influx of so many outsiders. They were content as long as their bellies were full and their backs clothed. Therefore, some short-sighted families, trapped in their generational poverty, often disliked sending their children to school, preferring them to serve as immediate labor for the family.
Of course, the main issue was the era itself; the impact of schools varied wildly. For the destitute, there was always the nagging fear that after several years of schooling, their children might not pass any exams, wasting precious time that could have been spent toiling in the fields. However, in this transformative era, going to school was unequivocally useful; it led directly to finding a job, a path to independence. This wasn't a waste; it was, quite simply, an investment in further education, a lifeline to a brighter future.
Moreover, if they didn't strive upwards, if they didn't claw their way out of the mire, they truly didn't know when they might suddenly, brutally, be shot dead in the street, their dreams extinguished. If they didn't strive now, were they waiting patiently for the damn bullets to find them?
This stark, existential difference also underpinned the extraordinary, almost miraculous significance of this school's establishment. With this free school, a beacon of hope shining in the wilderness, even if Dutch Van der Linde, in his infinite wisdom, chose to impose various, perhaps even burdensome, taxes, the people of Valentine would only grit their teeth and endure it, and they would, without fail, praise Van der Linde to every single soul they encountered, singing his praises from the rooftops.
However, Mr. Van der Linde today was truly, genuinely, good.
"Mr. Van der Linde is here!" As groups of people, their faces alight with wonder, gathered to gaze upon the majestic school, a loud, triumphant shout suddenly pierced the air from the back of the swelling crowd. This exclamation instantly sent the already noisy scene into an even more feverish, boisterous frenzy.
"Ahhh!!! Mr. Van der Linde! Sir, you are truly like God redeeming the world!" a woman shrieked, clutching her heart.
" Van der Linde!" a burly man roared, tears streaming down his face.
"It's Mr. Van der Linde, Mr. Van der Linde is really here!" a child piped up, pointing with an excited finger.
The crowd, accompanied by a growing crescendo of joyous shouts, all turned as one. Not far behind them, Mr. Malloy, the stern-faced sheriff of Valentine, was riding a tall, imposing horse, leading over thirty meticulously uniformed police officers. They formed a disciplined wedge, maintaining order and meticulously clearing a path forward through the delirious throng.
And behind him, majestic and bathed in the golden, ethereal glow of the sunlight, the very figure the crowd had just so fervently envisioned, slowly, gracefully approached on a handsome, gleaming white horse. His elegant black and white attire, meticulously tailored, accentuated his refined, high-class, and undeniably grand demeanor. His gentle, knowing smile seemed capable of warming even the most desolate, snow-capped mountains and coaxing forth the premature blooming of spring grass and the joyous singing of orioles in the bleak month of February.
Not only Mr. Van der Linde himself, but the members of the Van der Linde Gang, a formidable yet oddly comforting sight, followed him closely, riding slowly on their horses, like an angelic host descending from heaven, scattering countless good tidings and blessings throughout the eager town of Valentine.
Under the crowd's tense yet excited, fervent yet deeply grateful gazes, this man, this benevolent enigma, who had continuously brought them tangible, life-altering benefits, finally, with the timing of a master orator, opened his golden mouth.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Long time no see." His voice, though simple, resonated with a profound, almost mystical power.
"Ahhhhh!!! Van der Linde!" As soon as Dutch uttered those simple words, the surrounding citizens of Valentine erupted, their voices tearing themselves hoarse, frantically, desperately calling out Dutch's name. Their shouts, once chaotic, miraculously unified, growing louder, more synchronized, a rhythmic, pounding chant that vibrated through the very air.
"Van der Linde!"
"Van der Linde!"
"VAN DER LINDE!!!"
Cheers, thunderous and heartfelt, echoed throughout the entirety of Valentine, shaking the very foundations of the burgeoning town.
In reality, such a massive, almost fanatical reaction wasn't solely due to the completion of the school. Although the school accounted for the vast, overwhelming majority of their jubilation, it was also due to a potent combination of recent events: the brutal, efficient bandit suppression, the subsequent opening of countless new stalls for commerce, and, perhaps most subtly insidious of all, the omnipresent Hope Factory Newspaper.
Especially the Hope Factory Newspaper; this cunningly crafted publication had, over time, become the very spiritual sustenance, the daily bread, for the residents of Valentine and the tirelessly toiling factory employees. People outside the factory gates would buy a copy daily, devouring its contents, glancing longingly at the glowing reports of the excellent conditions within the factory and Mr. Van der Linde's seemingly boundless generosity. Their hearts would ache with a desperate longing to enter the factory's hallowed halls, and they could immerse themselves in this beautiful, comforting fantasy all day, bringing immense, profound relief to their daily fatigue and crushing despair.
Meanwhile, workers inside the factory would buy a copy daily and read it diligently during their breaks, seeing the miserable, brutal lives of those outside and the unreasonable, tyrannical policies enforced in other, less enlightened places. This constant, chilling comparison would make them even more profoundly grateful for having entered the Van der Linde Factory, generating a deep, almost religious sense of pride and unshakeable satisfaction.
Dutch, with his almost supernatural intuition, played this typical psychological manipulation method with incredible, chilling skill. This subtle, insidious, yet devastatingly effective technique subtly caused the people of Valentine to develop not just admiration, but a genuine, almost unquestioning submission towards Mr. Dutch Van der Linde. In terms of sheer fanaticism, they were now no less fervent than the factory workers themselves; their daily dreams, their waking fantasies, were consumed with the singular ambition of entering the coveted Hope Happiness Factory. Under these carefully cultivated conditions, their current, dizzying fanaticism was completely, chillingly understandable.
Amidst the deafening cheers of the ecstatic crowd, the members of the Van der Linde Gang stood tall in their saddles, full of spirit, their chests puffed out with collective pride. But upon closer inspection, it was clear: they, too, were trembling, their hands shaking slightly with suppressed excitement and awe.
Hosea's arm, resting on his saddle, trembled almost imperceptibly. Feeling the fervent, adoring gazes fixed upon him and hearing the deafening shouts that echoed like a thousand organs, he felt as if he were suspended in a beautiful, impossible dream! He's made it big, Hosea thought, a lump forming in his throat, Dutch has truly, utterly made it big! Now, the entire populace of Valentine, this once-sleepy town, was carrying out Dutch's will, his vision, as if it were divine decree. Damn it, Hosea couldn't have even imagined a scene like this in the entire first half of his cynical, weary life! This so-called school ribbon-cutting ceremony, he mused, might as well be changed directly into the New Hanover Governor election; the outcome would be no different!
Arthur, riding closely behind Dutch, felt a familiar surge of discomfort, a prickle of unease at this overwhelming, adoring spectacle. Yet, at the very same time, his heart swelled with an undeniable surge of pride and, perhaps even more surprisingly, a newfound, unshakeable conviction. Dutch, he thought, his eyes fixed on the back of Dutch's head, Dutch really, truly did it!
And the rest of the girls in the Van der Linde Gang, nestled excitedly in their carriages, leaned out, soaking in the cheers and the fervent expressions of the surrounding people, their faces glowing with shared triumph.
"Karen," Mary-Beth excitedly exclaimed, her eyes wide as she looked at the ecstatic crowd and the gleaming, brand new school, "it's really hard to imagine that we were just… thieves before!"
"Hahaha," Karen chuckled, hugging a small, sleeping Jenny closer. A wistful smile played on her lips. "I wonder how utterly shocked Davey and the others will be when they finally return and see the current state of New Hanover! Oh, I miss them, Mary-Beth. I truly do." Those young men had been gone for a long, long time, traveling to distant Ohio to find the elusive Wright Brothers. Most of the people in the camp, Dutch's most loyal operatives, had been sent out on various, clandestine missions, and now, with just a few women left, camp life was, frankly, quite boring.
Finally, with the Valentine police meticulously clearing the last vestiges of the delirious crowd, Lord Van der Linde arrived at the main entrance of the school, where he would deliver his personal, his exclusive, his magnificent speech.