The Daughter's Walk - Jane Kirkpatrick [55]
“I can never be near this shed without thinking of …”
“Maybe you should ask Ole to tear it down,” I said.
“Oh, I already asked, but Ida insisted it remain. A memorial, I suppose.”
“Or a way of hanging on to her outrage,” I said.
“She did the best she could,” Mama said. “I forgive her.”
“She hasn’t forgiven you, I don’t think.”
“In time,” Mama said. It would be good for me to be away, so good.
After breakfast in the morning, I said good-bye to my family, and Olaf carried my trunk to the train and waited with me. “This is right for you, Clara,” he said. “You need this chance.”
“I’m glad for it. I plan to earn enough to send home but also put a little aside for your schooling. You need a chance too.”
He shrugged. “I may be one of the Norwegian bachelor farmers like Papa says were in the old country. Like he almost was before he fell in love with Mama.”
I wondered if I should tell Olaf. I’d told no one of what Mama shared at Dale Creek about my place in the family.
“Olaf, if I tell you a secret, will you promise not to tell anyone?”
“I can keep a secret.”
“Papa didn’t exactly fall in love with Mama. Bestefar introduced them, and they married quickly because … because … Mama was with child. With me. It was for the good of her family that she married him.”
“Ah, no,” Olaf said. He frowned. “That can’t be.”
“It is. And they had a child right after me, before you, one who didn’t live long, Mama told me. I’m actually a year older than everyone thinks.”
“But then … who is your father?”
“I don’t know his name. Mama wouldn’t tell me. Someone in Michigan. Mama worked for his family. But it explains why I’m. different.”
“You’re not.”
“I am. All the Estbys have white-blond hair, and here I am, a dirty blond. You all have such thick, strong hair, and mine is as limp and stringy as Sailor’s tail without my curling iron.”
Olaf shook his head. “So that’s why you called Papa ‘Ole’ that time.” He brushed aside a curl that had escaped from beneath my hat. “You’re different because you’re smarter than the rest of us,” Olaf said, “if you’re different at all.”
“I’m not.” I bumped his shoulder, pleased by the compliment.
“You’ll always be my big sister,” he said. “The rest doesn’t matter. I’m glad for you. When one of us makes his way, it gives the rest of us hope that we’ll make our way too.”
“What do you think Mama will do if the farm is foreclosed on?” I said. I fanned my face with my straw hat.
“What will they do? I think it will be the best days of their lives once they get over the shock of it.”
“Olaf!”
“It’s true. The farm has consumed all of us. I know they love the land and it’s fed us, but it devours too, taking every dime we’ll give it but not in proportion to what it demands. There is more cost than just dollars, Clara. Once they got behind and borrowed with no way to repay it, then with Papa’s injuries, trying to hang on to it has been like holding on to a cow’s tail in a cyclone. You know you’re going to get hurt and separated. It’s just a matter of how much pain you’ll endure before you let go. They’ll hate it, the humiliation. But it will free them. All of us.”
“Mama walked east for the farm,” I said.
“And see what it cost her?” He pulled on a grass stem and chewed on it. In the distance we heard the train chugging. “I’ll keep your secret,” he said. “And you need to keep mine. They’d think me a traitor if I said good riddance, let the farm go. But that’s how I feel. At least today.” He smiled.
“We’ll keep our secrets,” I said. I hugged him and whispered, “I’ll miss you most of all.” I thought it was the truth.
The routine of Blair College and the presence of the two women filled my life in ways I’d never known. Days I spent in classes; evenings I assisted with laundry, the heavier work, as both Olea and Louise were in their fifties (or so I guessed) and were pleased by my strong arms and back. Then I studied while Louise plied me with cookies and cakes. On Saturdays, Olea introduced me to their ledgers. I took her training seriously and saw it as the path that would help me move