Julia's Last Hope (2 page)
And then the unexpected. The old trapper, miner, lumberman, prospector, somehow, somewhere, had hit pay dirt. Stashed away in a local bank was a large sum of money from a gold strike. No one knew about it until after his death, when John and Julia learned that he had left it all to them “as thanks for all you have done in caring for and loving a grouchy old man.”
Julia cried again. John was less emotional about the windfall. He set to work immediately to build Julia the kind of home he felt she wanted and deserved.
He spared no expense. By the time the home was ready for occupancy the money was exhausted, but Julia was the mistress of a fine manor, the only one in town that had indoor plumbing and a generator to supply electricity.
By the time they moved into the house their family had increased. The child they had looked forward to turned out to be a girl with a twin sister. Julia was ecstatic. Having been an only child, she could think of no greater gift to give a child than a sibling playmate.
“They will be kindred spirits,” she bubbled. “It will be great fun to watch them grow. Do you think they will be alike?”
John looked at his sleeping daughters. One baby stirred—the one they had named Felicity. In her sleep she moved a small fist and managed to get it to her mouth. She slurped and smacked awkwardly, frowning in frustration when her hand slipped from her lips.
The other baby, Jennifer, slept peacefully.
“I’m guessing they will be different,” John answered, smiling down on their precious newborns. “Look at them. They are already showing their different personalities.”
“I think I will like it that way better, don’t you? It would seem rather eerie raising two of the same person—so to speak. Oh, John, do you think we will be good parents to them?”
“With God’s help, we will figure out how to raise them,” John assured his lovely wife.
The years passed quickly in the big white house. The small lumber town changed very little. A few people came and went, depending on the prosperity of the mill; but most of the people in Calder Springs had lived there for many years.
The Harrigans’ morning routine seldom varied. John left the house to go to work at six-fifteen and returned after the mill whistle blew at five-thirty in the afternoon.
Julia never considered living anywhere else. She grew accustomed to the sights and sounds of the small town. The sharp, stinging wind off the icy mountain slopes in winter, the heavy mist curtain of autumn, the fine tints of green as spring slowly spread over the hillsides, the hum and bustle of the summer morning, the lingering acrid smell of the smoke stacks all year long.
John had picked a suitable site for their manor. It was close enough to town so Julia could easily walk on a nice day, yet far enough from the dust and clamor to give her the peace and tranquillity she loved.
There wasn’t much entertainment in town, but Julia had never needed outside excitement or activity to make her happy. Julia and John were heavily involved in their church, and that, plus a few community and social events, was enough for both of them.
Julia held a simple but deep faith. Never had John met anyone with the strong personal commitment to God that Julia possessed. She was like a child in her trust of the Savior. John’s pride in her was evident in his eyes and in the way he smiled at her.
The community developed a proprietary attitude toward the Harrigans, as though the family in the fine house belonged to the town. Their gentility added refinement to the whole settlement. “The Harrigans live just over yonder,” folks would boast to any newcomer who would listen. “Hardly a stone’s throw from our door. Such a fine family, the Harrigans. Such a proper lady she is—but totally without airs. Greets you on the street like any ordinary soul. Even has ladies in for tea. Fine folk.”
Some may have envied Julia Harrigan her fine lace curtains and thick rich carpets, but there was no malice toward her. Julia did not flaunt her finery, and no one could have accused her of snobbery.
Julia rethreaded her needle and snipped off the fine cord with a click of her teeth. “Oh my,” she whispered. “I forgot again.”
John had warned her about snipping the thread with her teeth, afraid that she might damage them. Julia always intended to use her scissors, but she usually forgot until too late.
She wriggled in her seat, impatient at herself, and let her eyes move to the window. It was a lovely day. She should take the girls shopping.
Before Julia had time to lay aside the piece of linen, she heard a step in the hall. Her eyes filled with curiosity, then alarm, for she recognized the footsteps as John’s—and John should be at the mill.
Julia’s eyes traveled to the wall clock. Twenty minutes to eight. What could have happened to bring John home at such an hour? Letting the tablecloth fall to the chaise lounge beside her, Julia started to stand. But before she could get to her feet, John was in the room.
Julia took one look at him and fear pierced her.
“John! Are you ill?”
He stared at her blankly, making her wonder if he had heard her question. Then he shook his head slowly as he groped for the back of the chair.
Julia looked at his ashen face. She wished to go to him but her body wouldn’t move.
He was still shaking his head.
“No. No, I’m fine,” John said, but his voice did nothing to put Julia at ease.
“Then why are you home—at this time of the morning?” Julia probed.
“They sent us home. All of us. They called a special meeting this morning. For everyone. They made an announcement. Then they sent us all home.”
Nothing he said made any sense to Julia. She fumbled to touch the linen. Perhaps the feel of it would make the world real again.
John raised a hand to smooth his dark brown hair.
He looks tired,
Julia suddenly noticed, and wondered why she hadn’t seen it before.
He needs a break. He’s been working too hard.
Just as she was about to suggest it, John raised his head and looked directly at her. Julia saw a plea for understanding in his eyes when he finally broke the news.
“They announced this morning that the mill is closing.”
“Oh, Fel! Don’t talk silly,” Jennifer said softly, her deep blue eyes imploring her sister.
“Only
you
think it’s silly to talk about boys,” Felicity answered with an impish giggle. “All the girls at school—”
“Well, the girls at school are silly, too,” Jennifer interrupted. Her face flushed slightly. “You know Mama wouldn’t like us—”
Felicity tossed her blond curls. “Oh, pooh! Mama’s not so stuffy as all that. I’ll bet she talked about boys when—”
“Stop!” Jennifer exclaimed, her face growing more red. “Mama was always a lady—”
“But ladies talk about boys, or men. It’s just your notion that they are a forbidden subject,” insisted Felicity, a new impatience edging her voice.
“I never said they are a forbidden subject,” argued Jennifer.
“Well, you act like they are. Every time someone mentions one of them, you scold or change the topic. All the girls think—”
“All the girls think what?” Jennifer prompted Felicity, determined to know the end of her twin’s unfinished sentence. Jennifer’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t like the direction of the conversation.
Felicity lowered her eyes and toyed with a frill on her full skirt, wishing she hadn’t made the comment.
“Well?” said Jennifer. “What do the girls think? That I’m stuffy? Conceited? Arrogant?”
Felicity’s head came up. If the girls at school even hinted at any of those things, she would have defended her twin sister with all her strength.
“No! Nothing like that. They just think you’re—well—sort of sober.”
“Sober?”
“Yes, sober.”
“Sober?” Jennifer repeated, as though unable to believe the accusation.
Felicity nodded again, still fidgeting with the frill.
“What’s wrong with being sober?” Jennifer asked.
“Nothing. Nothing at all,” Felicity quickly responded.
“Then why—?”
“It’s just odd for a girl your age—our age—to be sober all the time.”
Jennifer considered the charge. Perhaps she was a bit sober for her age, but most of the things the girls discussed did not interest her, and statements that sent other girls into spasms of laughter weren’t even funny to her. After thinking for a few minutes, Jennifer shrugged her slim shoulders.
“Maybe I am odd,” she said softly.
Felicity gave her a comforting nudge. “Oh, you are not. You just don’t like boys.” Then, as an afterthought, added, “Yet.”
Jennifer’s head came up and defiance tilted her chin. “I like boys,” she declared. “I just don’t see the point of making silly statements and giggling over them, that’s all.”
Felicity shrugged. This conversation was going nowhere, and she didn’t like to be boxed in. Responding to the restlessness within her, she reached one foot to the porch floor and gave the swing another push. It had been moving much too slowly to suit her.
“Do you think Mama will let us get that green organdy for new Sunday dresses?” she asked.
Jennifer was used to Felicity’s quickly changing moods and her jumps from one topic to another. She picked up on both immediately.
“Oh, I hope so,” she said with shining eyes, lowering her foot to add her push to the swing. “I have never seen such a pretty color.”
“Blue looks better on us,” stated Felicity, pulling at a strand of her long hair.
Jennifer nodded. It was true. But the green was so beautiful—so rich looking—and they had so many blue dresses.
“Do you think Mama would take us today?” asked Felicity, her face brightening with the thought. “It’s such a beautiful morning.”
Jennifer widened her eyes in support of the idea; then she placed a hand on Felicity’s arm as though to restrain her from a sudden dash to the parlor.
“Mama’s hemming the new tablecloth,” she reminded her sister. “She wants it finished by next Sunday when the preacher’s family comes for dinner.”
Felicity sighed. It would not be right to ask Mama to stop her work and walk to the shops just to buy their green material.
“What should we do then?” asked Felicity, boredom touching her voice.
“I suppose we could clean our room,” Jennifer suggested, giving her twin a brief sideways glance.
“We’ve cleaned our room,” Felicity groaned.
“We’ve picked up our things and made our beds,” Jennifer corrected. “But you know what your closet looks like—and Mama said—”
“Oh, bother!” exclaimed Felicity. “Why bring that up again?”
“Because it’s still not done,” Jennifer scolded.
“Just because
your
closet looks like it’s never been used—”
“That’s because I keep it tidy as I go,” lectured Jennifer. “You could do that too if you just took a bit of time.”
“Time!” Felicity exploded. “Who has time to stop and—?”
“I do. And so do you. It’s much easier to hang it up or put it away when it’s still in your hand than to pick it up later.”
Felicity glared. She put out a foot, stopped the swing with a jerk, and stood up. “You sure know how to spoil a nice day,” she fumed.
Jennifer did not look offended. She knew all about Felicity’s moods, and this one was harmless. Soon Felicity would be asking her to join in some exciting caper. Jennifer stayed seated, her hand resting lightly on the wooden arm of the swing.
“I will help you if you wish,” she offered.
Felicity expected that. Jennifer was always helping someone after she had already done her own work. Felicity didn’t stop to analyze the situation or even to consider herself privileged. She shrugged. “Let’s get it over with then.”
Jennifer stepped from the swing and followed her sister to the offending closet in their bedroom.
Jennifer took charge. She moved everything from the closet floor and placed it in a heaping pile before her sister. “Here,” she said. “Sort it out. Make a pile of the things that aren’t worth saving. I’ll hang your clothes properly.”
Felicity didn’t argue. She dropped to the floor and began to rummage through her possessions. Felicity was a collector. She treasured things. How could she throw away all these items that represented a part of her life? She looked dismally at the dried wild flowers, still stuffed in a little glass vase, long since void of water. Harley George had given her the field flowers at the school spring picnic. Felicity blushed as she thought about her stammered response. And now Harley was gone. His parents had moved away. How could she throw out his flowers?
Felicity’s eyes moved to the news clippings carelessly tossed in a hat box. They told about a young man from Europe who had visited their area to challenge the local mountain peaks. Jennifer and Felicity had stood on the station platform along with a number of other local youngsters and watched him and his party as they unloaded their gear. He had been so dashing! So adventuresome! For a moment Felicity had longed to be a boy—or to make him realize she was a girl. She fingered the clippings and wondered where adventure had taken Erik Eriksen after his visit to Canada.
Felicity reached for a hair bow. She wouldn’t think of wearing it now. It was much too childish, but it had been a favorite. She looked at the stain on one end. Claude Singer had dipped it in the inkwell—just to get her attention. All the girls had liked Claude—but hers was the only ribbon he had dipped.
With a big sigh, Felicity scooped her treasures to her, knowing she would be unable to discard any of them. “What we need is separate rooms,” she announced.
Jennifer stopped her sorting and shifting of dresses and poked her head out the closet door.
“What do you mean?” she asked. They had always shared a room even though the big house had three additional bedrooms. They had never wanted their own rooms—had never wanted to be apart. The thought frightened Jennifer now.
“There isn’t enough room in this dinky closet,” insisted Felicity.
“It’s the same size as mine.”
“Yes, but you—” Felicity stopped. How could she express the fact that Jennifer didn’t have treasures without sounding harsh?