The Daughter''s Walk

  “John was quite the charmer,” Louise said. “He loved his light Winton motorcar. Your coat would look lovely riding in that. He relished leisure, fine fashion. He was very successful.” She sighed. “It’s so hard to talk about.” She got up and began unpacking my trunk.

  “That can wait, Louise. Where’s Lucky?” I braced myself for the worst. He was an old dog.

  “Lucky’s with Olea. I so hope you can talk Olea into coming back. I don’t really want to be alone here in the winter when you’re out at the farm or on your Spokane River land. And you’ll want Lucky for that, won’t you?”

  “I don’t go out there anymore, Louise, remember? Where’s Lucy?”

  Louise dabbed at her eyes. “She passed on,” she said. “I came in here one morning, and she was dead. I dealt with it all alone.”

  I patted her back. Surely Olea would have helped if she’d known. Louise’s hand shook as I refilled her cup.

  Olea’s move scattered my thinking. Was I still employed by them? If not, I’d need another job. My innovative fur ranching ideas would require more money, for years, before I’d see any real gain. And there’d been secrets kept from me. Olea’s marital status, her faith history. How many more secrets might there be among the three of us?

  Louise’s lip trembled. “Bring her back, Clara. We’re a … family.”

  Olea hadn’t been all that pleased with Coulee City. Maybe she’d moved hoping to get Louise back to Spokane, or even New York. But why wouldn’t she have bought a house somewhere besides down the street if that was her intent? The trouble between her and me before I left must have festered. Did she buy the house with my power of attorney? Do I own her house? What’s left in my bank account?

  I avoided conflict by refusing to acknowledge it until I absolutely had to; Olea avoided it by going away.

  “Tomorrow,” I said. “I’ll talk to Olea tomorrow and get Lucky back.”

  “Welcome home,” Louise said. She patted the back of my hand.

  Within seconds, I watched Louise nod off. I stood to take the cocoa cup from her hand before it spilled. Welcome home indeed.

  In the morning, cowboys moved cattle through the dusty streets to fading summer pastures, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before there’d be the fall rodeo bringing buckaroos from outlying ranches to apply their skills to bronc busting and bull riding.

  I tried to decide what I wanted to come out of my meeting with Olea—besides getting Lucky back. Here was a true alien door. I didn’t want things to escalate the way the confrontation with my stepfather and mother had. I wanted clarity. My mother would have prayed before a time like this. Maybe if my parents and I had prayed that day, the break would not have happened.

  Now I was guilty of fanciful thinking, but I prayed anyway as I tromped down the block to the two-story house Olea had bought. A touring car sat parked in the drive. The porch wasn’t nearly as wide as the one at our house on First Street, but it had newer paint that glistened white in the morning sun. The air smelled of bacon as my neighbors prepared their breakfasts.

  Olea opened the door before I could lift the knocker. Lucky scampered out past her and wagged his bushy tail, tongue lolling as I bent to hug him. “I knew it must be you. Otherwise Lucky would have barked,” Olea said.

  She looked the same. She wore her long Victorian skirt that swept the tips of her toes. She’d apparently been looking at a hawk soaring with the lifts and downdrafts along the coulee walls because small binoculars hung at her neck.

  “I wondered if you’d come back,” she said as she turned her back on me. Lucky and I followed her as I closed the door. My heart started to pound and I took a deep breath. She was a formidable woman.

  “Of course I’d be back. Why wouldn’t I?” I said. Lucky plopped down on a big pillow beside Olea’s reading chair. Then he stood back up and trotted over, nuzzling me with his head beneath my hand. I took a seat at the divan. I scratched his neck as I waited for Olea to respond.

  “Oh, I thought you might fall in love with … Europe,” she said, “and not want to return to this little part of the world.”

  “Paris was lively but noisy. And a little smelly too.”

  “And Greece and Finland?”

  “I loved them both.”

  “What about Norway?”

  “I did like Norway. We went to Grue, where my mother was born. Overall, it was a very informative trip.”

  She put the binoculars to her eyes and looked out the window. “So you made it a pleasure trip anyway, even without us along. Franklin is easy to travel with, isn’t he?” she said.

  “Yes, he is.”

  I let the dog groan happy noises as I scratched his belly now. Lucky looked content and well-fed.

  “I thought I should look after the dog,” she said, turning from the window. “He can be a handful for Louise. His tail could break her hip, I believe.”

  “You could have done that while you were at the house,” I said. “Neither of you would have been disrupted that way.”

  “I could have.”

  Would she not say anything about why she’d moved out, bought another house to live in? She took the binoculars from around her neck and set them on a round table. All these furnishings were things I’d never seen before, probably imports she and her sister had acquired. She obviously intended to remain.

  “So what did you think of the silver fox operation?” she asked. “The one in Norway.”

  “How did you know about that?” I asked.

  “Franklin wired me. After I’d wired him.”

  I hadn’t been aware they’d corresponded while we traveled, but that wasn’t anything strange. Except that Franklin hadn’t mentioned it.

  “Both ranching operations were … good.” If she doesn’t want to talk about what happened to make her move, maybe I won’t either. “It requires a great deal of work, paying attention to the animals’ environment and food in order to have a good reproductive rate. They feed the foxes mountains of fish as they’re so close to the sea. The owner in Finland offered me a good price on a pair of silver foxes if I decide to start breeding them.”

  “It would be better to import Arctic foxes from Alaska if you intend to do that,” she said.

  “I agree. I didn’t take him up on it, but I’ll either livetrap foxes here or risk my interest in mink. I think the markets will change. There’ll be a greater demand for shorter-hair pelts.”

  “You’ve come to such a projection after so short a time in the trade?”

  “I’ve had good teachers.”

  “And Franklin’s thoughts?”

  “He didn’t express an opinion one way or the other. He said I could do what I wanted, that I’m strong-willed enough to make things happen. The Norwegian in me I guess.”

  “Did he tell you that I sent him a telegram releasing him from working for us?”

  Franklin, let go? What was Olea thinking? “No! I mean why? He’s worked so well for us for years.”

  “He worked well for us,” she said. “Louise and me.”

  I wasn’t one of them; I wasn’t. We were not partners and certainly not a family. I found I was short of breath.

  My thoughts turned to Franklin. He’d be devastated. I certainly couldn’t afford to keep him on at the contracted level he’d had with Olea and Louise. Maybe that was why he’d suggested that the two of us … partner more closely. Maybe he was thinking only of a business operation and nothing personal at all.

  Except that we’d spoken of love.

  “But why did you do that? You knew this was a temporary trip, so I could learn. You wanted me to go.”

  “That was before. I’ve had time to think about a few things these past months. I decided it was time I fully retired. Louise too. We’d almost done so, and then we got caught up again with your youthful interest.”

  My fault. I’ve caused the change. I took a deep breath. I can do this all on my own.

  “Louise isn’t well, you know, Clara. Or maybe you haven’t noti
ced.”

  “She seemed tired,” I said, “from taking care of the boarders.”

  “You have no boarders. Didn’t you notice?”

  “No. I mean it was quiet last night. I thought they might be on the travel schedule, with both of them working for the railroad.”

  “The boarders moved out. She doesn’t remember things. She’s—”

  “But then how could you leave her there and move here? Why leave her unprotected, at the mercy of someone like … me?”

  “I had no intention of leaving you high and dry with unhappy boarders. I waited until they found other places. But then she wouldn’t believe that they weren’t coming back, and she wouldn’t move. I spent every day with her. Perhaps now that you’re here, she’ll join me. You’ll encourage her, won’t you? It would be best.”

  A distant ache began in my heart, a piercing starting like a pinprick, then spreading out as wide as the coulee. She invites Louise to live with her but isn’t asking me? I hadn’t thought I’d care.

  “What have I done?” I whispered to her. “How have I offended you?”

  “I needed time alone, and now I see that Louise is in need of more care. I can do that for her, and that’s best done without the distraction of business … or someone less familiar.”

  “Less familiar? We’ve been together now for over six years, looking after each other.”

  “We’ll still be neighbors.” She looked at the dog. “Lucky can visit between us. He’ll get good exercise that way.”

  “There’s nothing going on between Franklin and me,” I said, thinking that’s what this was all about. “He’s loyal to you, as he’s always been. More, really. He adores you both.”

  “Hmm. Irrelevant,” she said. “You’re free to do what you wish. Work out an arrangement with him, or let him go. But Louise and I are making a change. And sadly, that requires that you make a change too.”

  She said no more, returned to looking out the window at some unseen bird of flight. I stood; Lucky waited, expectant, his eyes on me. I’d allowed myself to become entangled with them, learned from them, had my dreams wrapped up with them. I’d invested in this friendship, this family. God gives the desolate a family, the Scripture promised. Maybe I wasn’t desolate enough to deserve one. It would be all business between us from now on. Nothing more.

  “We should finish up details,” I said. “Did you need to sign any papers while I was gone?”

  “Just the one that completed the Alta Vista sale. That’s all settled.”

  “Thank you. It was good I signed the power of attorney.”

  She smiled then, a twinkle of the old Olea in her eye. “There was one more item. It was such a good investment I knew you’d want me to make the purchase on your behalf.”

  “Real estate?”

  “No. Transportation. That Ford F Touring Car in the driveway is yours.”

  I heard the dog’s toenails click-click along the boardwalk as I fast-walked back. I’d have to learn how to drive the thing. I shouldn’t even keep it. It was a luxury purchased without any urging from me that I’d want one. Well, maybe I’d mentioned an auto a time or two, but still. She had no right.

  Olea’s decisions were based on Franklin, not about Louise’s health. There was a jealousy present. I’d invaded a relationship they’d had for years, and though she acted as if it was fine, clearly it wasn’t. I’d assumed Olea and Louise would be there to offer moral support for my new venture, that their enthusiasm was genuine. But Olea was independent, had her own resources, and she’d changed her mind because she could. I had let myself forget that, and now I’d pay the price.

  “Well, I’m not leaving,” Louise said when I returned and encouraged her to do what Olea had suggested. “I like this house and my room in it. It’s perfect. It’s more than two hundred fifty steps to her outhouse. Why should I leave just because Olea wants me to? We have a ranch to take care of. I help by caring for the boarders. Don’t you remember?” She crossed her arms over her chest, tapped her foot.

  “It is a lot of work to keep up,” I said. Lucky sat now and licked at his hinterland, then yawned and flopped down on the linoleum with a long sigh of contentment. Share the dog. How can we?

  “I haven’t been as good about that as before,” Louise said. “I’ll do better, Clara.” She reminded me of Ida as a child when she’d pulled up a carrot instead of a weed. “We can do this together. Olea will see that we’re doing fine, and she’ll come back home.” She patted my hand, then an adult again, said, “I’d better get breakfast going for the boarders. They surely are quiet this morning. Must be sleeping in.”

  FORTY

  In Service

  Like the coloring of the leaves, slowly but inevitably, life began to change. I contacted Franklin and told him how things were here. I couldn’t see a way to keep him in my employ as the women no longer required my service as a bookkeeper either. He wrote back, said he’d fill his schedule and now was the time to reach for something more. Would I reconsider his proposal? He included a book of poems by Tagore with his request. In it I found this: “I slept and dreamt that life was joy. I awoke and saw that life was service. I served and understood that service was joy.” I quoted it back to him and said I’d be taking care of Louise now; she needed me.

  I didn’t know how to bridge the gulf between Olea and me, though Louise waited in the middle, ready to help. Olea was civil, even offered to teach me how to drive the car, because she’d read the manual. I could use her help but resisted it. How dare she? began my thoughts, though I knew that harboring self-righteousness made me more like Ida than I cared to admit.

  Families accommodated, did things for each other that might not be explainable to those outside—or even those inside. What had Franklin told me? Family came from that Latin word famulus, meaning “servant.”

  So I became a servant, putting aside what I’d hoped would be a fur ranch one day.

  The ad I ran got us new boarders, and I cooked for them myself on days when Louise rested or forgot. Louise couldn’t be left alone for very long. I was especially concerned around the stove, as she’d forget the pans were hot and pick them up with her bare palms. Once she even grabbed up my curling iron, forgetting she’d fixed my hair with it. We used as much butter on her burns as in what we ate. It amazed me that nothing bad had happened while I’d been gone with Louise home alone, but maybe Olea had dropped by more than she’d let on.

  When I saw the cost of the touring car, I had words with Olea. We stood in her kitchen where I’d been invited to sit for tea, but I preferred to stand instead. “Two thousand dollars? I can’t afford that! Especially now that I no longer have employment,” I said.

  “Well, perhaps I did go overboard,” Olea admitted. “But you often mentioned owning an auto. It would make it easier to visit your properties.”

  “Yes, it would, but at that price? I’m going to take it back,” I said, “see how much money I can get for it. And then … I’ll buy a Model N. They’re only six hundred dollars. I think I can manage that.”

  “Let me teach you how to drive in the touring car first,” Olea said. I thought it might be a way to engage with her without the discontent of her living away from us. So Olea taught me how to drive. It was a despicable affair, really. She didn’t know enough herself, but together we figured out how to check the petroleum level, how to move the stick to go faster or slow down. I held tight to the side as we sped down a hill, and Olea shouted, “It says forty-five on that thing!” I’d never gone so fast outside of a train. Louise squealed in the backseat.

  I especially loved the gas headlamps that allowed for evening spins in the cool, dry air of the coulee. The Model N didn’t have such details, but then it was far less expensive. It was a good investment that brought a little passion and pleasure with it.

  The Warren men and I continued our arrangement; I bought their pelts and took the hides to Spokane myself in my Model N. With that sale and the wheat harvest, if rains continued, we’d be al
l right. The boarders’ payments gave us a little more income. I’d spent a great deal of money on the trip, more than I should have, and I had that car now. I’d “hunker down,” as I’d heard men say, and do what I must. That’s what families did for each other.

  Perhaps they overlooked the quirkiness too and the times when one might overstep the bounds.

  Snow came, and daily living consumed our time. I shoveled the walkway, ordered books on stamp collecting from the library to occupy me through the winter. Louise now read with a magnifying glass in the mornings, and at night she wrote.

  “What are you working on so hard?” I asked one evening.

  “Oh, I take little phrases from Scripture in the morning and think about them all day, then at night I write down how God spoke to me through them.”

  “That’s nice,” I said as I stuck another stamp into my book.

  “Like this one,” she continued. “ ‘Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul.’ Now, I’ve always thought of that as a command, but it’s also a promise that one day I shall love God that way. Isn’t that lovely? That came out of my day yesterday. And the rest of it is a promise too, that I shall love my neighbor as myself, that I can count on that, and not only because it’s commanded.”

  Honour thy father and thy mother came to mind. Maybe that held a promise too. I decided to send a birthday card to my mother. I’d never done that. It was May, and she’d be forty-seven. Love might be more about giving even when nothing was given in return. She could decide on her own if I was worth replying to.

  The Fourth of July celebrations saw Louise and me cheering at the races for our favorite horse, though we never bet a dime. Indians camped for the event in the coulee chanted into moonlight while hot breezes flirted with curtains. I checked on Louise before settling in myself for the night. Sometimes as she slept I’d hear the sounds of her snores and be comforted by them.

  At the Presbyterian church on Sundays, Olea nodded recognition, then turned away to go back to her home. But she didn’t join the Lutheran Danes, so I read hope when I saw her each Sunday.