The Daughter's Walk - Jane Kirkpatrick [19]
“I’m afraid I can only recommend the Grove Hotel. I wish you well, dear ladies. Send me a post from New York.” He returned to his office, and Miss Simmons handed Mama a piece of paper.
“The Grove’s address,” she said. She looked more closely at our clothing caked with mud. “And a portrait studio.” She tapped her lips with her finger. “Do you sell these portraits?” She still held the one Mama had showed her.
“Yes. We need to get more made and hope to spend only a week here. We’re to make it to New York by the end of November.”
“I’ll buy one. Put it in my scrapbook. Not many women walkers come this way. And my sister might use a washerwoman this week,” she said. “The Grove could need extra serving girls with people stuck here because of the flood. Lots of miners in town too. You must be exhausted.”
“Oh no, we’re doing fine,” Mama chirped.
“We need a place to sleep,” I said. “Can anyone think of a place to sleep?”
“My daughter is tired,” Mama said, apology in her voice.
“What about the ladies’ preparation room downstairs?” I said.
“Clara,” Mama said.
“You told me this building belongs to us, the people,” I said.
Miss Simmons brightened. “Why, I can’t imagine anyone would mind if they did notice,” she said. “It’s nearly closing time. You could … wash out your things there and hang them. Lock the door. No one will bother you. Tomorrow I’ll see if my sister might have a couple beds to spare. She runs a boardinghouse.”
The mere thought of a warm, dry place to sleep on a brocade settee slipped fatigue from my shoulders. In the powder room, I collapsed onto the couch. “This belongs to us,” I said.
“We Americans are one big family,” Mama said plopping into the chair across from me. “The sunflowers brought us to good things. I’m sure grateful the governor signed that paper.”
“But you sounded so certain he would,” I said. She looked away, and I realized that some of her bravado was an act to convince not only me but herself.
She looked more tired than I felt now. “Here,” I said. “You take the settee. I’ll sleep in the chair. That way I can curl my feet up beneath me and get them warm for the first time in days.”
“Thank you, daughter.” She sank onto the settee and fell immediately to sleep.
The growling of my stomach didn’t keep me from joining my mother’s rest, and I hoped for sweet dreams and dry weather for tomorrow.
NINE
Shortcut
In the morning, we met with a reporter who did a fine story about the governor’s endorsement and referred us to jobs. With Miss Simmons’s sister’s boardinghouse, we located warm beds for five days. Refreshed and replenished at the end of the week, a warm sun greeted us as it dried the landscape and the river receded.
“Why are we going this way?” I asked. I’d thought we’d head back out the spur track to pick up the Union rail line again. Instead we followed a pack train more east than south.
“There’s an old immigrant trail this way,” Mama said. “It intersects with the railroad and will save us several days.”
“We don’t have a map for it,” I said. My stomach clenched at this risky change. “We should follow the rails.”
“We have a compass. I spoke with a miner who takes the road to his claim. He gave me landmarks to look for,” Mama said. “We can go with him to his claim and even pan for a little gold.”
“Mother.”
“Nothing wrong with trying that,” she said. “He’s safe enough and we lost time, Clara, through all the mud and having to work. This will help us.”
“He might lead us out to a forsaken place and—”
“Don’t fill that wheelbarrow,” she said. “Miss Simmons knows him. He’s a common man, a working soul. They can be trusted.”
Like the tramp you shot because you didn’t consider other possibilities.
We walked southeast, and the sun beat down hotter than anything we’d experienced in the summers in Washington State. I wanted to unbutton my jacket but couldn’t because the man and his pack mule traveled with us. The desert trail revealed pools of water surrounded by chalky dust. We made camp earlier than usual, beside a little stream, the miner sharing our fire. We couldn’t walk