The Daughter's Walk - Jane Kirkpatrick [34]
“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.
FIFTEEN
A Business Decision
Failed?” 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