The Daughter's Walk (41 page)

How different this trip would have been with them along. I'd have been looking after Louise, probably contending with Olea over travel details, and I know we wouldn't have taken the time to ride the mules to Delphi. We'd probably have stayed in Norway until winter. No, Franklin was the perfect traveling mate. Curious yet cautious, wise and adventuresome, respectful of the countries we visited, of their citizens and me.

It's what I complimented Franklin on as we steamed back to New York. We carried with us finished garments that he'd place in the retail stores in New York. He also had orders for Chicago's outlets and for Stone's Furs in Detroit. We'd not spoken of the kiss nor had any other intimate conversation, but I knew we needed to.

“I couldn't have asked for a better companion,” I told him as I toasted him with my glass of white wine, which we'd taken to the ship's deck following our last dinner. Tomorrow we'd be in New York. A new moon sliced the dark sky, and I could hear the sounds of water shushing
up against the ship despite the steam engines pushing us along. The smokestack belched out its inky scent. “You've been the perfect gentleman.”

“Not that I think that's a compliment,” he said.

“Well, it is. A single woman has to be wary,” I told him.

“I don't doubt that. Especially one as lovely as you are, Clara. And you are. Don't protest every compliment you receive,” he added as I started to object.

“You took the scare out of traveling for me.”

“I suspect your mother did that, didn't she?”

“She was daunting,” I said. “She showed me that a woman could be wise enough to raise funds to maintain us as we traveled and have judgment enough to get all the way to New York on foot. But we shouldn't have had to make that trip. If there had been better decisions made before, and after …”

“People make mistakes,” he said. “It's not a crime, Clara. Maybe you ought to forgive your parents for that. They were doing the best they could.”

“My parents couldn't keep their commitments,” I said. “And they turned down an honorable way out.”

I wished again my mother could have written of the trek. Maybe she'd have discovered insights about herself, the commitments she made and kept.

Franklin spoke.

“What?” I asked.

“I said it's not only your beauty that attracts, but the mystery and seriousness with which you approach life.”

“Mysterious? I'm just … shy,” I said. “I lack your wit and ease with people.”

“What you lack is confidence, though I don't know why. You're very competent, Clara.”

“Only because you and Olea and Louise have sponsored me. I have yet to do things truly on my own.”

He turned his back to the railing, leaned against his elbows, still holding his glass by the stem. “We could continue to travel together in the future.”

“I hope for that,” I said. “I may well take Kalmar up on his offer one day, and I'd want you to be my escort while bringing the foxes back.”

“That's not what I mean, Clara. You know that.” I did. “I want us to pursue … what we've found here.” He pulled a box from his pocket. “It comes with no obligations, but it reminded me of you.”

I opened it. “You said I could set the pace,” I told him. I held the box in my hand, the diamond ring sparkling in the deck's lights.

“True, but that doesn't keep me from expressing gratitude to you,” he said.

“Franklin, I couldn't. It's much—”

“It's not an engagement ring, though I'd be pleased if it were. It's. to commemorate a wonderful journey because you rarely do nice things for yourself.”

It fit. I knew it would. I leaned over to kiss him, to see if my heart could open to what I knew he longed for—for me to feel for him what a woman in love should feel, more than the infatuation of Forest. I wanted what he felt to be a bridge to something more between us. His mustache tickled my lips, his breath was sweet, his mouth gentle. Sadly, there were no sparks, no thumping heart this time, as there had been that first night when he'd walked me to the door. Was I prepared to be a spinster all my life because I expected fireworks and frolic? Maybe true love didn't demand one abandon all else for it.

“I like you, Franklin. We're … Well, we're like kin. We share a name,” I said. I started to remove the ring.

“Keep it, please,” he said. “It's a gift to a friend and fine traveling companion.” I nodded. It was lovely. “I'd like more. This trip has shown me that. We could be a successful team.”

“We are a successful team,” I teased.

He said nothing. He was honest with me, and I needed to reciprocate, but the discussion made me want to chew my nails. “Perhaps I haven't been fair to you, accepting your gift, your time. I surely haven't paid you commensurate with all you've done. The side trip to Norway—”

“Was a highlight for me, to see you pick up stardust that links your family constellation.” He brushed at my cheek. “I want to make you want to explore
our
universe.”

“It's been the most comforting time. I love to hear you think out loud. I enjoy your banter with other guests. I admire your … felicity with words and languages and the people. I love all of that about you.”

“But you don't love me.”

“
Love
. Such a multilayered word with rich color, density, coverage.”

“Like a good pelt,” he said.

I nodded. “Could we see where this journey takes us?”

He smiled, but sadness crinkled at his eyes. “ ‘The traveler has to knock at every alien door to come to his own, and one has to wander through all the outer worlds to reach the innermost shrine at the end.' Rabindranath Tagore. An Indian poet,” he explained.

“I guess I'm wandering through those outer worlds right now, knocking at every alien door.”

“What I know is that if one isn't purposeful about affairs of the heart, they may never flower,” he said.

Experience entered into this conversation, but I didn't want to know how he might have loved before and lost.

“Consider it, Clara,” he continued. “You'll never find anyone who will love you more than I do.” He swallowed, his Adam's apple moving in his slender neck. “Promise me you'll consider it. You could stay in Coulee City. You could continue life as you have it, but one day, we'd plan to be together, live and travel together.”

“Right now, I want to achieve financial security—or lose it—on my own.”

He sighed, turned back toward the sea. “I hadn't thought about love as caught up in some financial endeavor, a sort of currency.”

“You invest. You risk. You can't be certain of the outcome.”

“Or you double your money,” he said. He smiled then. “There is no real security in this world, Clara, save God and love.”

“Love is fickle and God distant from me,” I told him. “I'll put my trust in the stability of funds. That's what will open those doors to the innermost shrine.”

I truly thought it would.

H
ome in Coulee City felt right as I walked up the path to the porch. The wide boards had been swept of leaves, and the geraniums were spent-red, splattered into their grassy graves. “Anyone home?” I shouted.

Louise waddled out of the house, wiping her hands in her apron. She hugged me, admired my motor coat, and said we'd have to invest in one of those vehicles to wear it specially one day. “You look healthy and rested, Clara. The trip served you well.”

She'd gained weight in the time I'd been gone, or perhaps she'd been slowly gaining it through the years and I hadn't noticed. Her face looked puffy to me and splotches of red that weren't rouge dotted her cheeks and neck. The delivery man carried my trunk inside. “Set it there, please.” I pointed toward the alcove under the stairwell. I paid him and he left.

I pulled gloves from my fingers and looked around. I didn't wear the ring, would save it for special occasions. The house smelled of
lavender, and I could see small knitted sacks set beside the lamp, another on the mantel, filled with the herb. I squeezed the one on the entry table and inhaled the fragrance. “Where's Olea?” I asked.

“She's … well … she's …” Louise kept wringing her hand in her apron. She turned abruptly, picked up books stacked beside a single chair, and straightened them.

“Is Olea all right?”

“Yes. Well, I believe so.”

“Louise?”

“She doesn't live here anymore,” she wailed.

“What?”

She collected herself. “How was your trip? Did you have a good time? Did you get new ideas? I love your coat, I simply love it!” She stroked the fur.

“Louise. What's happened?”

“Oh, I don't know.” She sat down and took a hanky from her apron pocket and blew her nose. “She came in one day and said she'd found another house, down the street, and that it was time we each had our own place. I … I didn't know what to say. I haven't lived with anyone else since that time—” She stopped. “She asked me to move with her, but I. Well, I'd made a commitment to you. And we have boarders, so I couldn't up and leave them without a cook now, could I?”

I imagined Olea becoming upset about Louise's not moving with her, but what would have made her leave in the first place?

“Did the two of you argue? How soon after I left did this happen?”

If Louise had been running things on her own, that might account for the tired look on her face, the dust where my fingers left an impression when I'd reached for the lavender sachet.

“It wasn't very long after you left, no. Olea has most of the money between the two of us, as I'm sure you know. John Stone may have had the marriage annulled, but he still left her with resources.”

“Olea was married? To a Stone?” So that was the reason for the constant tenderness whenever her middle name was mentioned.

“He married her and then left her.”

I sat down now and looked around for Lucky and the cat. I didn't see him nor any sign of the cat either. I let Louise continue.

“When they got married, he didn't realize she was … Jewish. His family wasn't happy once they learned that.”

“Olea is Jewish?”

She continued to wring her hanky through her fingers. “Let me get you cocoa,” I said, to give myself time to consider her revelations. The image of a large candelabra on the Bakkes' hearth in Minneapolis came to mind. It was a menorah!

“Oh, that would be so lovely.” She leaned back into the divan, and I saw then that her ankles were swollen and she wore slippers.

I said from the kitchen. “But Olea's a Christian—”

“I know it,” Louise said. “She is. Her family is Jewish. She converted, but she lets her heritage stand, of course. Being Jewish in the furrier business wasn't a problem, but she is truly faithful. It's so sad she's gone.”

The kitchen was in need of a thorough cleaning. Bits of toasted bread caked on the stove. A red sauce was so hardened on the enamel that my fingernail split when I tried to loosen it while I waited for the tea water to boil.

“Are you Jewish?” I asked, standing in the doorway. “Were you?”

“Not really,” Louise said.

“She must have felt terribly betrayed by her husband,” I said as I
turned back to the whistling pot. Moments later I carried the tray out of the kitchen.

“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?