The Daughter's Walk - Jane Kirkpatrick [7]
“Surely you don’t think they’ll actually pay that kind of money for advertising. Ten thousand dollars? Clara, that’s … preposterous. I thought you were a much brighter thinker than that.”
“My mother says there’s a huge push for suffrage nationally, and the sponsors are people who know that women are capable, able to do more, be fuller members of society. They’re investing in the future through this walk.” I had to defend my mother.
“We women rock the cradle and rule the roost. Gaining the vote won’t change that. It’ll put women into the mess of politics with men. Unsavory at best.” She sat down, fanned herself with her fingers, clutched at her long beaded necklace with the other hand. She acted almost frightened.
“Clara, Clara.” She scanned the article again. “Who will look after your brothers and sisters? Don’t you have a baby sister?”
“Lillian,” I said. “She’s two.”
“A baby! How can your mother consider leaving a baby behind? Your father agrees to this?”
“He … he understands the importance of saving the farm,” I said. “He was injured, and the support we receive from the carpenters’ union isn’t enough.” My hands grew moist with this intimate disclosure. My father would be appalled if he knew I had spoken of the payments.
Mrs. Stapleton shivered, then stood. “I’ll pay up your wages through today. I’m sure I can find a replacement, even with this short notice.” She shook her head. “Don’t expect to have a place when you return. I can’t have … your kind of person in my employ. I assume that’s what you wished to discuss with me?”
“I regret the short notice, ma’am.” I curtsied, drying my hands on my apron.
“Finish up with your day, then you may leave. I imagine you need the money.”
If I didn’t say it now, I never would. “I wonder if I might wait … until Master Forest returns from school,” I said. “I’d like to say good-bye to him as well. I’ll wait outside, of course.”
Mrs. Stapleton stared at me, and then she narrowed her eyes and said in a low seethe, “Absolutely not. My son takes no notice of the help, and I’m certain he won’t want to be bothered by a schoolgirl’s silly au revoir as he’s returning from his studies. That’s foolish thinking, Clara. Foolish. Perhaps you should just leave now.”
“Yes ma’am.” I backed out, tears stinging from her rebuke and my lost wages.
My future in Spokane was over. I might never get another job in the finer households here. And all because of my mother’s warped way of taking care of her family.
FOUR
Wedding Thoughts
On the Saturday when my mother planned to tell my brothers and sisters of her plan (she was of the opinion not to give them too much time to cry or protest), I helped fix breakfast while the little ones slept. Even Bertha and Ida were given time to sleep past dawn in our shared room upstairs. I guessed it was because I wouldn’t be frying bacon or grating potatoes in this kitchen for a while and Mama wanted to give them all a rest before she told them what was happening. While we worked I told her that I’d defied Mrs. Stapleton and waited to speak with Forest. She shook her head in disgust at me.
“I told you he was driving you,” mother said, “and how damaging that can be.”
“He’s not driving me.” I’d blame the old onion for my pinched tears instead of her embarrassing words from the old country about men pursuing young women.
“But you wish he was. I see it in your eyes and that’s a danger. You’re hun gâ i giftetanke.”
“I’m not going in wedding thoughts, Mama,” I lied. “We’ve done nothing.” I didn’t tell her that last January, when I couldn’t sleep and neither could Forest, I’d prepared warm milk for him in the kitchen and we’d had a conversation about school and life almost as though we were equals. I’d even told him of how much I missed my brother, Henry, who’d died that month. For comfort, Forest kissed my cheek as I stood between the copper pans and herb pots. It was then that my wedding thoughts began, and I wondered