[Desert Roses 02] - Across the Years (2 page)

“I know. I know. ‘. . . together for good to them that love God.’ But this is serious.”

“So is that. God didn’t give us His Word just to have us
ignore it or take it lightly. I know you don’t hold much stock in such matters. God knows I’ve tried to help you see the truth of it for yourself, but maybe this is one way you’ll finally come to know the truth.”

Ashley pulled away. Her grandfather had been after her for over ten years to join him and Natalie at church on Sundays and Wednesdays. But Ashley couldn’t understand a god who would let a woman fall in love with the man of her dreams, only to kill him off and leave her alone to raise a child her husband never even knew existed. That wasn’t the kind of god she wanted to serve. So she always made sure she had to work whenever church was in session. She also made sure her heart was closed off to any of Grandpa’s suggestions regarding God’s love.

“Please, let’s not make this about me. I want to know how I can best help you. The doctor said you’d need round-the-clock care before long. I’ve put in for a leave of absence from the Harvey House. I intend to take care of you.”

Russell Whitman looked at her with an expression that suggested he just might put forth an argument about her actions, then nodded slowly. “I’d like for you to be with me. It won’t seem nearly so tiresome or lonely with you by my side. You’ve been like a daughter to me.”

Ashley hugged him, careful not to hurt his fragile body. “When my world fell apart, you were the one who was there to pick it back up for me. When Mother and Father turned me away . . . when Ethan died . . . when I found out I was expecting Natalie, you were the one who stood by me. Now there will be no one.” She pulled away and swiped at her tears with the back of her hand.

“I’m sorry. Here I am a thirty-two-year-old woman, and I’m acting like a ten-year-old. Not even that. I know Natalie will handle this better than I am.”

“You mustn’t fret. I’ve got a plan,” Russell Whitman said, going to the door. He took up his hat from the peg there and grabbed his cane. “I’m going for a walk just now.”

“I’ll start supper,” Ashley offered.

“Nothing for me,” he said as he often did of late. Ashley wondered how he’d managed to stay alive this long with the little he ate.

“I’ll just fix something light. You might be hungry when you get back.”

He nodded but said nothing more.

Russell Whitman took himself off toward the depot. He liked to sit and think while watching the trains come and go. The rhythmic rumblings as the wheels rolled over the tracks seemed to block out the rest of the world.

Lord,
he prayed,
this is a hard one to face.
He continued ambling toward the tracks, mindful of the pain in his right side.
I always knew the day would come when you’d call me home, but there’s so much I’ve left undone—so much I thought I’d have time to see to.

He lifted his snowy head to the heavens. White wisps of cloud hung like gossamer veils to the west. The land needed rain, but it probably wouldn’t come.

“Hey, Russ!” a brakeman called. The man’s face bore the same grease and grit that marred his overalls.

Russell waved his cane briefly. His steps slowed to accommodate the lack of support. “How are you doing, Bob?”

The man pulled his billed cap from his head and wiped his forehead. “Doing good. Doing good. The missus told me to invite you over for dinner next time I saw you. Said she’d make your favorite.”

Russell smiled and leaned heavily on the cane as he paused beside the boxcar the man had just jumped from. “She makes the best Swedish meatballs I’ve ever had.”

“That’s ’cause she
is
Swedish,” the man said with a laugh. “God bless Fred Harvey for bringing those girls west. My Inga was the best waitress he ever had and now she’s mine.”

“She’s a keeper, that’s for sure,” Russell replied.

“You’ll come, then?”

Russell thought of his situation and all the work that was yet to be done. Still, it might be one of the last times he’d have the opportunity to share a meal with his friends. “I’ll come. Just tell me when.”

“How about tomorrow about seven?”

Russell shifted his weight and began walking toward the depot bench. “Tomorrow it is.”

He left the man behind and nodded to other workers as he crossed over the tracks. He liked the life here. It was so much more peaceful than Los Angeles, where he’d spent a good deal of his adult life.

He approached the depot and spotted yet another friend of his. Sam Spurgeon got to his feet and waved to the bench he’d just vacated. “I was keepin’ it warm for ya.”

Russell chuckled and shuffled toward the respite. “Good of you, Sam. Are you heading home?”

“Yup. Been here too long as it is. My daughter’s gonna be wonderin’ where I got off to.” He laughed. “Like she wouldn’t know where to find me. I tell her, ‘Sissy, I go to watch the trains or to the cemetery to talk with your mother.’ Never go anywhere else—no need.” He shrugged. “Be seein’ ya, Russ.”

Russell smiled and took a seat, then sighed in relief. The pain dulled a bit. How long had he ignored it? Two, maybe three months? And now the doctor could only say that it was too late—that there wasn’t much time. Maybe he’d known it all along—down deep inside. Maybe that was the reason he’d put off going to the doctor. It wasn’t until Ashley had insisted that Russell had finally gone for an examination. Now the truth was known. Cancer.

Russ leaned forward on his cane and sighed again. This time it wasn’t from relief. There was a dull ache deep in his heart for Ashley and what she would bear in the days to come. No doubt his care would be extensive.

It’s not fair for her to have to care for me. She’s had enough to see to.
The thought bothered him more than he could say.

She’s walled herself up, Lord. She thinks she’s safe that
way. Safe from the hurt and the people who would rob her of her joy. But we know that’s not true. Lord, I worry about her, and the facts are, I don’t hardly see how I can come home to you when she’s so lost.

A Baldwin 4–6-2 pulling a long line of freight cars signaled down the track. Russell felt the ground quiver under the massive monster’s approach. Such power and energy—and all from a man-made machine.

I’ve seen a lot in my time, Lord. I’ve seen powerful machines like this. I’ve watched contraptions take to the skies. I’ve lived through the War Between the States, the Spanish-American conflict, and the Great War. I’ve been blessed to not have to take up arms against any man, and for that I am grateful.

The train stopped—not at the depot, but down the line nearer the shops. The ground stilled, but not so Russell’s heart.

I’ve seen a lot, Lord, but I’ve made a mess of a lot as well. You know the troubles I’ve caused and been a part of. You know I’ve not spoken to my own dear daughters in eleven-some years. Not of my choosing, but still it’s something I’ve endured because of my actions.

And there’s poor Ashley. Her sorrow has made her heart hard. She’s lonely, yet she won’t even turn to you for strength. What do I do, Lord? How can I leave now—just when it appears she needs me most?

****

Ashley climbed the stairs to her bedroom. She longed for a cool bath but knew there wasn’t really time. She still needed to work on sewing Natalie’s new dress; then there were the new curtains for Mrs. Simpson. Ashley thought of all the bits and pieces of sewing she’d taken on. It gave them a little extra money and that was always nice. They weren’t paupers by any means, but they lived cautiously and conservatively. It suited them both after years of wealth and extravagance.

Sponging the heat from her body, Ashley finished by
completely dampening her hair. With the short, bobbed cut, she wouldn’t have much to worry with. She’d comb it out and maybe later put in a few well-placed bobby pins to add curl. This accomplished, she put her apron to soak and added her uniform to the growing pile of laundry.

“Well, there’s going to be more time for the house chores at least,” she murmured as she pulled a lightweight cotton dress over her head. “More time to spend with Natalie too.” This bonus did nothing to mend her frayed spirit. A weariness and hopelessness—like she’d known the day the news came of Ethan’s death—washed over her. Ashley sunk to the floor beside her cedar chest. “What are we going to do?” she whispered. She leaned against the chest for support and buried her face in her hands. Tears came again, but this time they seemed to stretch across the years to that day when hope had died.

She could remember exactly what she’d been doing—what she’d been wearing when word came of Ethan’s sacrifice and bravery. That morning she had donned her two-piece salmon-colored dress—the one she’d worn when they’d married. The skirt fell just about eight inches off the floor, allowing her to show off the sweet little button-up boots Ethan had bought her just before he’d gone off to war. She liked to wear this outfit because it made her feel close to Ethan, and she always dreamed of wearing it when he arrived back home.

But, of course, he hadn’t come home.

That August in Baltimore had been very warm, but a cold chill had permeated the house after word of Ethan’s death. Only the news that she carried Ethan’s unborn child had kept Ashley from throwing herself into the harbor. For days she had refused to see anyone, barely dragging herself from bed each morning.

Her mother, a socialite who valued her position and status more than her daughter, had cut off all communication with Ashley when news had arrived of her marriage to Ethan Reynolds. The man was of no account as far as her mother
was concerned. As a student of architectural studies, he could hardly hope to go far; besides, his parents were common factory workers.

After Ethan had joined the army, Leticia Murphy had fought to get her daughter to annul the marriage but without any luck. When this failed, she made one final threat. The words still rang in Ashley’s ears.

“Annul this farce of a marriage or you’ll never again have anything to do with our family. The choice is yours. It’s either him or us.”

Ashley hadn’t concerned herself overmuch with her mother’s threat. After all, her mother was always creating tirades, storming around for days in order to get her own way. Ashley had thought of simply going to stay with Ethan’s parents. They lived just outside of Baltimore, and she knew they’d be delighted to take her in until their son returned.

Then the influenza epidemics began sweeping the larger East Coast cities. People were advised to stay inside, to wear a mask if they went outside—though the very smell of death necessitated one anyway. This made Ashley all the more determined to leave town and stay in the country with her in-laws, but then word came that both of Ethan’s parents had succumbed to the flu themselves. Ashley was devastated. She would have to write Ethan with the news, and she knew his heart would break.

But before she could send him word, she was notified of Ethan’s death. Shocked beyond words, Ashley had sat around in a stupor for days afterward. Her entire world had changed.

Somewhere, someone had told Leticia of Ethan’s death. No doubt she knew full well Ashley couldn’t afford the expenses that would come. Despite her grief, Ashley had already taken a mental tally of her assets and knew they were sorely lacking. No doubt her mother knew this too.

Leticia Murphy came to the little house Ethan and Ashley had rented and demanded entry. Ashley had no strength to deal with her mother, but rather than order her to leave,
Ashley waited to hear what her mother had to say. A thin ribbon of hope still existed that her mother, seeing Ashley’s grief, would find it in her heart to comfort her daughter. But that wasn’t the case at all.

“You look positively ill—you don’t have the influenza, do you?” Ashley’s mother demanded to know.

“No, Mother. I do not have the influenza.” Ashley wasn’t sure how to break the news that her look of ill health came from morning sickness rather than the epidemic.

“Good. Look, I’ve heard of his death.” Ashley burned at the thought her mother wouldn’t even call Ethan by name. “We can still annul the marriage. You surely can’t protest it now. The man is dead and hardly cares what you do. You’ll forget about him, and in the meantime, you’ll marry that nice Manchester boy your father and I have picked out for you. He’s willing to overlook your indiscretion in marrying that Reynolds man.”

“Will he also overlook the fact I will never love him?” Ashley threw back, feeling a bit of her determination return.

“Love has very little to do with a lucrative marriage. This is what your father and I want.”

“I can’t marry Mr. Manchester. Neither can I annul my marriage.” Ashley had been about to tell her mother of her pregnancy when the woman began a tirade that didn’t end until half an hour later. Ashley had been unable to even offer a word of protest or explanation. When her mother had finished insulting and demeaning Ashley and her choice of husband, Leticia Murphy had picked up her things and headed for the door.

“You are dead to me—just like my father,” she decreed like a queen calling down a traitor. She had stormed from the room, but the mention of her father, Ashley’s dear Grandpa Whitman, had given birth to an idea. Her mother had turned away from him, just as she had turned away from Ashley. And all because the man had become religious. He’d sold off a successful business to his partner and settled huge sums
of money on his two daughters. But that had only proven to Ashley’s mother that her father had lost all sense of reason. She refused to have anything more to do with the man because she believed he was a fool. Never mind that he was trying to put his life in order with his new spiritual beliefs. Never mind that the real estate ventures he’d made a fortune from were underhanded and oftentimes illegal. They’d made money for the family. Money which Grandpa Whitman quite generously lavished upon them all. Now that would stop, and Ashley’s mother had been beside herself with the thought of what this would mean.

There had been a trip to Los Angeles for her mother and father. Ashley remembered it well because she’d not yet met Ethan and was still living at home. Her mother had said very little except that she and her sister Lavelle would straighten their father out or have him committed. When her parents had returned from Los Angeles, Ashley had been stunned to hear her mother say that they would no longer have any association with the crazed old man.