Julia's Last Hope (5 page)
Blank looks clouded faces.
“We can’t farm,” said one woman frankly. “These mountains hardly leave room for a small garden.”
“But we do have gardens—all of us,” replied Julia, and she wrote “Gardens” to get things started.
“We have some wild berry patches scattered here and there,” one woman ventured, and Julia added that to her list.
“We have more’n our share of mountains,” offered a timid young woman.
“Mountains,” said Julia, writing the word in big letters. “Lots of people love mountains. Now—what do people go to mountains for—besides lumber?”
“Restin’,” answered an elderly woman almost hidden in a corner.
Julia stopped with her chalk suspended. An idea was beginning to form. She wasn’t sure if it was crazy—or feasible. But she had to share it with her neighbors.
“Do you—do you suppose we could make our little town into a—a resort town?” she asked breathlessly.
“Don’t have much for a hotel,” commented the banker’s wife.
Julia shook her head. It was true. The only hotel in town was in sorry shape. It was used mostly as a boarding place for unmarried, often transient mill workers. The owner had never bothered to “fancy up” the place.
“Well, maybe we could—could use our own homes,” Julia ventured.
Eyes moved about the room. They traveled over Julia’s thick carpets, rich velvet draperies, expensive paintings, china cups, and silver service. No one spoke but each of the women knew what the others were thinking. Julia Harrigan had the only house in town that visitors might pay to stay in.
“Well, we might not be able to handle many at a time,” Julia went on, “but the train will continue to pass through. If we could just advertise—then we could—could set up attractions and tours and cottage industries.”
“Such as?” probed one woman.
Julia lifted her chalk again. “How many of you can knit?” she asked. Eleven hands went up. “Crochet?” asked Julia. Nine responded. “Sew?” All hands were raised, though some hesitantly.
“See—it’s not impossible. And we can cook—and bake—and grow our gardens and make jam from those wild berries. We could make this a real tourist town if we tried.”
By now Julia’s face was shining with the possibility. Others seemed to catch the spirit.
“Do you really think—?”
“Would there be enough—?”
“How could we advertise—?”
Questions began to flow. Julia had no ready answers, but she did have interest. Would it really work? Could it?
“We need to think about this some more,” she said. “I know the children will be returning from school soon and you need to be home—but let’s think about this and meet here again next Tuesday.
“And spread the word to your neighbors,” Julia suggested. “If—if it seems workable, we will form committees. There will be much work to do. It will take all of us—working together.”
It was a different group of ladies who left Julia’s house than had gathered a short time earlier. Dull eyes now had a sparkle. Worried brows were smooth again. Dark shadows had disappeared from faces.
Where only despair had been, there was now hope. Frail, fragile hope—but hope nonetheless.
“Hettie, do you think Mama’s plan could work?” Jennifer asked a few days later.
“Why not?” responded the older woman. “Your mama is a capable woman. When she puts her mind to something, it is likely to happen.”
“But people around town are saying it’s a crazy idea—just a silly dream,” Felicity dared to state.
“An’ who’s sayin’ that?” asked Hettie, her eyes flashing.
Felicity shrugged. “I don’t know. I just heard—”
“Well, you don’t listen none to such talk. You hear? Folks should at least give your mama a chance to prove herself.”
“I sure hope it works,” said Jennifer slowly. “I like it here.”
Hettie sighed as she lifted a pan of corn bread from the oven. She liked it too, and if the town folded, as folks said it was sure to do, she and her Tom would be without work along with everyone else.
“Well, your mama has been doing all she can. She has sent off a number of letters to see what kind of interest there might be in a tourist town here. We have about as nice a location as one could want. Beautiful mountains, pretty lakes, nice fishing streams. Your mama has summed it all up in her letters.”
“But tomorrow is Papa’s last day of work,” Felicity reminded Hettie.
“Not quite. A couple dozen men will be working for a while yet, tearing down the mill. Your papa still has work until that is done and the machines are shipped out of here. He says that it will take him another two or three weeks to get all that done.”
“But by then everyone else will have moved away,” pined Felicity.
“Not everyone,” replied Hettie.
“Well, most. Some of our friends have left already.”
“Some folks don’t have much faith,” said Hettie.
Jennifer lowered her head. She wasn’t sure just how strong her own faith was, but she wouldn’t admit as much to Hettie.
“Here’s your milk and corn bread,” Hettie offered. “Stay here in the kitchen with it so you won’t bother your mama. She’s busy with her letter writing.”
“What’s she writing about now?” asked Felicity.
“She’s still trying to find someone who would be interested in buying the hotel and giving it a face-lift.”
“That old thing?” said Felicity. “Who’d want that?”
“Well, if this becomes a tourist town that ‘old thing’ could be worth a lot of money.”
Felicity shrugged and lifted her milk glass. She wasn’t convinced.
Julia and her committee worked doggedly. A number of the ladies had reconsidered Julia’s idea and decided that her plan, exciting as it sounded, was just not feasible. They had families that needed to be fed and clothed
now
—they could not wait for some future venture to pay off. Julia’s committee now consisted of just eight ladies—eight determined ladies bent on saving their town, their homes, and their dreams.
Julia straightened her bent shoulders and pushed back a wisp of wayward hair. She had always loved gardening. Had always filled her flower beds with summer flowers. Had always planted a garden to supply her family with fresh vegetables. But the plot she worked over now was much bigger than any she had taken on before. She was thankful that Tom had prepared the soil for planting. Already her back ached and her knees felt bruised from kneeling.
She stood up and removed the glove from her right hand.
I’m almost half done with the planting
, she told herself, hoping to feel a sense of accomplishment. But all she felt was weariness. “I have over half of it to do yet,” she sighed, unable to keep from stating the negative way of looking at it.
She lifted a hand to remove her garden hat and tossed the hat to the wooden bench under the lilac bush.
“I need a break,” she admitted. “I think I’ll see if Hettie has a cup of tea.”
Julia went directly to the kitchen, stopping only long enough to get rid of her gardening shoes. Hettie hated to have dirt tracked into her spotless kitchen.
“My, you look exhausted,” Hettie said in alarm when Julia stepped through the kitchen door.
Julia smiled. “Guess I’m not good for much when I can’t even plant a garden,” she admitted with a chuckle.
“You’ve always had a garden—just not a whole farm, that’s all,” Hettie replied in defense of her employer.
“Well, I decided it was time for a cup of tea,” Julia admitted and crossed to the kitchen sink to wash her hands.
“It’s a shame Tom can’t help more,” went on Hettie.
“Poor man! I shouldn’t have had him doing all that spading. How is his back?”
“An embarrassment,” admitted Hettie. “He feels so bad that his back gave out and you have to do the plantin’ yourself.”
“Now you tell him not to worry about that,” Julia said firmly. “Besides I plan to get myself some help. As soon as the girls are home from school I’m going to teach them to plant. Their young backs can bend much more easily than mine.”
Hettie nodded as she bustled about the kitchen preparing the tea.
“Oh, Hettie,” Julia moaned, her voice low and worried. “I won’t mind the work one bit—if it—if it just works out.”
Hettie placed the pot of hot tea on the kitchen table and took the chair opposite her mistress.
“You’re still worryin’?” she asked.
“Well, I try not to—but—frankly—I have no idea if anyone will ever want to come to our little town for a vacation. If it doesn’t work—I’ve got these poor women believing in a dream that can never be. It would be better if—”
“Now you stop your fussin’. At least you’re tryin’. No one will fault you if it doesn’t work out.”
“I’ve prayed and prayed,” continued Julia, “and I’m still not sure I’m doing the right thing.”
“Well, if it isn’t, you can still do as the others. Quit and move.” Hettie made the comment with a bit of contempt for those who had so easily given up.
“Oh, Hettie—if you only knew the times I would have gladly quit and moved. Even now I—I would be glad to go if—if only it wouldn’t be so hard on John.”
Hettie’s eyes looked up to study Julia’s face above the teapot she held.
“Do you know the first thing that came to his mind when he told me the news?” Julia asked. “The house. Leaving the house. I hadn’t known how important it was to him until then. If—if it wasn’t for that—I’d move tomorrow. There are other houses.”
The creases in Hettie’s forehead deepened.
“Oh, I know,” Julia hurried on. “I love this house too—but for me it—it isn’t the house that brings happiness. It’s the ones you share it with.”
Hettie nodded and passed Julia her tea.
“You see, I’ve always lived in a big house. Bigger and more elegant than this one. We—we rattled around in it. After Mama died there was just Papa and me and the servants—and Papa was rarely home. Do you know what, Hettie? I used to love walking along streets where the houses were small and crowded together and children played in tiny yards and mothers leaned over fences to chat with one another. I listened to the laughter and the chatter—and even the childish squabbles—and I envied those people until I was ashamed of myself.”
Julia stopped to stir sugar into her tea, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.
“It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy all the nice things in our big house,” she went on. “It’s just that it—it wasn’t as important as having a family to love. But Papa—Papa always felt that fine things were so important—and he taught me to appreciate nice things too. But if I have to do without one or the other—things or family—things don’t seem very significant.”
Hettie passed her mistress a linen handkerchief and Julia wiped her eyes and nose.
“John never had a big house—or nice things. His folks pioneered on the prairie. He spent his first years in a sod shanty. He was twelve years old before they even had a wood floor, he told me. His mother had to carry water from the stream and carry chips for her fire. She did her laundry in a big tub—on a metal scrub board. Even after they moved into the wood house—with real glass panes in the windows—she still had none of the things that make life easier.”
“Many women did that,” recalled Hettie, thinking of her own mother.
Julia sipped the sweet tea from her china cup.
“For our first few years—I did it too,” admitted Julia, thinking back. “It really wasn’t so bad. A lot of work—but I had the time to do it. Although John never let me carry the wood or the water. He always got up early to carry in the day’s supply before he left for work. It’s funny, but I have never felt as loved and cared for as I did in those first few years.”
Embarrassed by her own comment, Julia stirred on her chair. “I—I don’t mean that I don’t feel loved now,” she explained quickly. “John still looks after me in every way—but we shared and planned in a different way then. We only had each other. John—John looked after me, and I—I cooked and—and did his laundry and cleaned his house. We didn’t have you for the kitchen—or your Tom for the gardens—or Rose to help with the cleaning and serving. I guess there is a different feeling when you do the caring for each other—with your own hands.”
Hettie nodded that she understood as she poured Julia more tea.
“You know, Hettie, if my girls don’t have all the nice things—if they have to rough it just a bit with—with the man each chooses to marry, I won’t feel sorry for them. If they really love each other—if they work together to make a home—even a small, simple place that is their own little haven—if they care enough to seek the happiness of each other—then I will consider them blessed.
“I have been blessed—more than I realized,” Julia continued. “I have had both. A lovely home and a loving family. Maybe I have had more than my share. Maybe I haven’t had the sense to be as thankful as I should have been. God forgive me if I have taken it all for granted.”
Hettie was about to defend her young mistress again, but Julia kept talking.
“Well, no more. I have sorted out many things in the last few weeks. This I know. God is still in charge of my life. He knows what I need and what is just pleasant baggage. If I must forfeit the baggage—I will not pout. But since it is important to John, I will do my best to hold things together—for him—and for the girls.”