The Daughter's Walk (14 page)

Thirty-five miles a day, walking to make up time, legs aching, feet wet and cold. Chapped cheeks, no fur mufflers to keep my neck warm, though we'd bought warm hats after Chicago. No fat on our bones, so the wind played against our narrow backs as though we were xylophones.
Through Pennsylvania we accepted warm meals from the Amish, whom Mama described as the true heart of America. I could have bunked with them for the winter, they acted so welcoming.

Energized, we made forty miles one day. In Pittsburgh we rode a trolley, acceptable because it was a free ride, Mama said, apparently no longer worried over spies turning us in as contract breakers. Maybe because there wasn't any way we'd fulfill the contract. But like a child who hopes for dessert even when the plate is empty, I prayed we would prevail. Maybe it was Jonah and the whale that inspired, despite the narrowness of that whale's throat.

News of our arrival now preceded us with greater interest, so in Reading, when we stayed at a hotel, we had requests from visitors who'd read the news reports of our trek. Mama entertained the reporters and society people with her stories. I even joined in at one point by saying, “McKinley well deserved to win. He's steady and conscientious and understands finances. Mr. Bryan makes a good speech, but his interest in returning to the silver standard from the gold I think not very wise at all.”

“Everyone's entitled to her opinion,” Mama chirped. “I know I have mine!”

“A woman who doesn't is dead,” one of the suffragettes said to laughter.

One reporter described us both as “intelligent and well-spoken even as they disagreed” and said he was “charmed” by the “bronzed western women none the worse for wear.” Maybe Mama could charm the sponsors. Maybe I could too.

On December 10, with us slogging our way through New Jersey, I knew we could not make the deadline and all we had left was charm. This entire trip would be for nothing. We'd spent two hundred dollars and had one hundred remaining. We'd been seven months away from
family, pushed our bodies to such leanness, and all for nothing. Anger and disappointment, futility and regret, churned through my day.

“It'll work out,” Mama said. “God provides.”

December 13 found us still miles from the New York skyline, and I couldn't keep the terseness from my tone as Mama chatted gaily with a tramp warming his hands over a metal tub near the tracks. I stomped my frozen feet. “We have to keep moving,” I said. Why couldn't she see the consequences?

“Don't be so glum. With the publicity of our arrival—we're only a few days away, Clara—the sponsors will change their minds. They wouldn't want bad press, now, would they?”

“If they didn't allow an extension for my ankle on a walking trip, why would they give up ten thousand dollars when we didn't meet the conditions of the contract? In business, even bad publicity can be a good thing, so they likely won't mind at all. The facts do not support your view, Mama.”

She said nothing, then in a firm whisper, “God will provide.”

In New Jersey God did
not
provide. We walked forty-five miles in the wrong direction, then a blizzard rolled in as we headed back, forcing us to huddle for a full day in a rail station lacking coal. I think it was my lowest point.

We limped into New York City December 23 while a big clock clanged 1:00 p.m. I looked up at the tall buildings, the seat of power and influence. We were almost two weeks late.

I'd been right, and it wasn't good.

F
ailed?” Mama said. She actually sounded like it was a surprise, yet she repeated the
World
editor's words. “We've failed?”

“You're ten days past the adjusted date,” he said. He tapped a pencil on his desk, didn't look right at us.

“Because they didn't account for my daughter's ankle sprain, which is ridiculous. We made it within ten days, for heaven's sake. The press across the country touted our walk and the reform dresses. That's what they wanted. The time we had to stop and work to earn the money we needed to support ourselves equaled two months. We're here, with proof.” She showed him the signatures. “We demonstrated a woman's stamina.”

“But not on time,” he repeated. “Not on time.”

“Come along, Mama,” I said taking her elbow. “There's nothing more we can do here.”

“But—”

“We'll write about your arrival,” the editor said. “Maybe you can sell more photographs and get speaking engagements, though during
the holidays it's difficult to draw a crowd. I …” He fiddled in his pocket, took out his wallet. He put a five-dollar bill on the desk, slid it toward us.

“We don't need your money,” Mama said then, standing. “We certainly won't take charity. We earned that ten thousand dollars. If I could please talk—”

“Mama,” I urged, “take it.”

“The truth is, a couple of the sponsors are out of the country,” the editor said. “And those who are here don't feel they can make any adjustments without the vote of everyone. I'll make certain they see these signatures,” he added.

“When might they all be here?” I asked.

“Oh, not until the summer,” the editor said.

“The summer,” Mama whispered. “We have to be home before then.”

“I'm sorry.” He pushed the bill closer to Mama.

I snatched it up.

“Do you suppose they're having lingonberry sauce and sour cream pudding at home?” I said. We'd rented a room at a Manhattan hotel. “Or maybe
lefse
and
lutefisk
. Or the almond cookies that Bertha makes. And do you think Ida could make the
julekaga
?”

“Not the bread, but the other. I'm sure she could do that,” Mama said. She pored over the newspaper clippings. In the two days since we'd arrived, there'd been several articles about our walking “success” and our business “failure.” Letters to the editors supported us receiving the award, but that had little merit. The sponsors didn't.

I hated being right. I did.

“I wish we were there with them,” I said. Thoughts of family made me wonder about my father again, whoever and wherever he might be. I thought of Ole too, how he must have taken the news that the wire service sent to the Spokane papers too.

The Estbys would spend Christmas Eve together around the fire. They'd probably exchange few presents with money so tight, but they'd have the pleasure of each other. They'd play games and maybe reread letters sent by Mama and me. I'd written postcards addressed to Lillian, but the newsy ones came from Mama.

My brothers and sisters … No, half brothers and sisters. That's how I would need to think of them now. I was not only a year older on this trip; my family had changed too. I'd lost them as full brothers and sisters. Any children my natural father might have would be only half to me too.

I was all alone.

“We have to go back to the newspaper offices,” Mama said, standing. “Bring all of these clippings to verify where we were and that we accomplished this goal. If we hadn't had to work to make expenses—why, a cat could have made the journey if it didn't have to beat rugs for a meal.”

“And if I hadn't sprained my ankle or gotten sick so much.”

“The time is less significant than that we did it. Walking all the way but for one little wagon ride near Walla Walla and the electric car in Pennsylvania, both allowed. They were free. It's scandalous that they'd withhold the money because of a few days' time. It's not right.”

“But those were the conditions,” I said. “Maybe they never intended to pay, thinking it so unlikely we'd succeed.”

“Don't talk dumb,” Mama said. She stuffed notes and photographs in the grip, put her purse inside along with my curling iron, all our goods.

“What are you doing?”

“We don't know how safe the hotel is,” Mama said. “We take everything with us. We'll go back. Get the editor to wire the sponsors, wherever they are. The
New York Times
even ran a story this morning, Clara. They love the signatures we gathered. Come along. We need to return and finish this contract so we can buy train tickets and go home.”

She was wasting our time talking to the editor. Maybe after January she could make some presentations and we'd collect enough for the journey. One had to face facts; Mama wouldn't.

“We need to find a charitable society who might be willing to fund our train ticket home,” I said.

“What, beg? Never. That's immoral.”

“It's simply accepting money,” I said. “It's no different from Papa receiving union payments for his injury.”

“It's every bit different from that.” I thought I saw fear in her eyes, maybe for the first time on this entire trip except in the lava craters. “He earned that pension, as we earned our walk. We do not beg, Clara. An Estby does not beg. We will find a way to complete the contract and get home.”

“We have to cut our losses,” I said.

“Where do you hear such talk?”

“At the Stapletons', the Rutters' before that. It's business, Mama.”

“How can you be so cold, Clara?”

“Cold? I'm not cold at all. These are the facts, Mama. We made a contract; we didn't keep it. It's no different from what will happen if you can't make the mortgage payment.”

She slapped my face then, the sting shaped like her fingers staying with me even as I added through stinging tears, “It's business, Mama. We misjudged our sponsors and our abilities, and we failed. I want to
get home however we can.” She stared at me, and I couldn't tell if my words or her action distressed her more. “It's the day after Christmas, Mama. The editor may not be in. He may be spending time with his family. Like I wish we were.”

“You can come with me or stay,” she said.

Against my better judgment, I followed her, wishing later that I'd stayed right where I was. And yet I told myself, wrongly, it couldn't get worse.

W
e pressed against people crowding the city's streets. “I'll buy you that ceramic pot when we return,” Mama said. She pointed to a piece of pottery with a sunflower shiny beneath the glaze in the window of a store that sold only dishes. The piece was marked down, an after-season sale.

“Before or after we buy the train tickets?” I said.

“I didn't have a present to give you for Christmas.” Her emotions simmered like a custard getting ready to jell.

“It would be nice,” I said. “It would remind me to keep looking up for the light. But don't waste any money on it. Not now.”

“It will be a reminder of our success.”

“Mama—”

The man came out of nowhere, grabbed at the grip, knocking Mama down.

“What …?” she groaned.