The Daughter's Walk - Jane Kirkpatrick [66]
Help my family. Wasn’t that what I’d always done? They refused my help. They couldn’t see the merit of the money nor of allowing others to pay penance for a wrong.
I looked at my mother. She sat, a frozen sea within.
And then I chose.
“You said that an Estby wouldn’t keep it, Papa. You’re right. But I’m not an Estby, and you’re not my papa. I guess that’s the truth of things. This money is a tool; it’s … it’s not good or bad. Can’t you see that? It would do what you wanted it to do. You’re the ones who are foolish and betray the family by not accepting it.”
“Clara. Stop now.” My stepfather stood.
I could hardly hold back the tears. “I’ve done everything I could for this family. Everything. I made that trip even though I didn’t want to. I grieved with Mama over Bertha’s death, just the two of us alone. I ached with you over Johnny’s. I gave up my own life to help save this farm, but it doesn’t matter to you. If I have joy from my work, you say it’s from dirty money. If I can’t help in the way you think is good, then I can’t help at all.” My voice broke.
“Clara,” my mother said.
“What?” I turned on her.
“Do what Ole asks.”
“No. I’ll get out of your way and make my own way.” I pulled my hat onto my head, grabbed the purse.
“It’s all right, Lillian,” I said. The child shrank on the daybed, pulling her knees up as though all this emotion was her fault, begun by her opening my purse. But it had begun years before, perhaps when Mama chose to do what her family asked and marry my stepfather even though she didn’t love him, denied herself to save her family. Always for the family.
“If you can’t live with our rules, then you must live without us,” my stepfather said.
The tears ran freely, and a sob escaped me.
“You’re abandoning us,” Ida said. She whispered as if in shock. “In our hour of greatest need.”
“A need I can fix but not the way you want,” I said. I hiccupped with sorrow. “Call it what you will. You’re sending me out.”
I thought Mama’s eyes spoke to me as I pushed past her. I hesitated, to see if she’d reach up to stop me, keep me in this family. But her eyes had no message, at least none I could read through my tears. I touched Olaf on the shoulder as I passed behind him, grabbed my fur from the coat tree. I looked into the wide eyes of Arthur, Billy, and Ida, and then I stepped outside, struggling to catch my breath.
Sailor sat up on the porch, his tail hitting the boards in happy anticipation. I patted his head. I hoped someone would come outside and ask me back. I prayed that Olaf would say, “Let’s think this over.” But no one did.
Sailor padded with me down the lane until I stopped. “Go back, Sailor. Just go home.” Snow fell like melting tears. “Turn around. You can’t come with me.”
The dog stopped, tail down, head cocked as though trying to understand what I told him. I pointed toward the house, and he turned around. “They need someone to take care of them,” I said.
I wasn’t certain if I spoke to him or to myself. It didn’t matter. I was alone now, on my own, taking my first steps into exile.
PART TWO
Exile
TWENTY-EIGHT
Journey Outward, Journey Inward
For the love of family, I’d been sent away. At least that’s how I saw it. While I waited at Schwartz’s store for the afternoon train, I pulled my jacket tighter against the cold, as adrift as a snowflake tossed in the wind. The ride back to Spokane was long and lonely. A part of me wished I’d taken time to walk around the old farm before I left, to look in the barn and smell the hay, listen to the chickens cackling, scratch behind a horse’s ear. Take one last cold drink at the pump. I’d never go back to that place even if it remained with the Estbys. I wasn’t one of them anymore.
The train chugged along through the falling snow. I wasn’t sure what to tell Olea and Louise. They’d want to hear how I heroically saved the family farm, rescued my mother