The Daughter's Walk - Jane Kirkpatrick [35]
“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