The Daughter's Walk - Jane Kirkpatrick [70]
His view was yet another indication of how different I really was from the Estby family.
“You have money now, Clara. Do something good with it.”
“I’m trying to, but you won’t take it.”
He grinned. “Then do something you never imagined you’d be able to do.”
“Help you. Help my family. That’s all I ever wanted, and look where it’s gotten me.”
A terrible sadness crossed his face, and I knew he couldn’t agree to anything I offered. The money was tainted by its history, by the consequences he’d endure if he accepted anything from his ostracized sister.
“I’m a coward, Clara. If I took the risk of having my own farm and failed, I’d have lost your money, and for what?”
“But what’s the point of having a dream if you don’t take a chance to accomplish it?”
He shrugged. “They’d never forgive me if they found out I let you talk me into something.”
“I’m not trying to talk you into anything.” I bristled. I didn’t want to be angry with my brother, but I could feel the palms of my hands grow wet, heard my heart thumping louder in my chest. “I’m offering you a chance.” Didn’t he have an ounce of Mama’s fighting blood in him—the blood that made her take a chance even though we failed in the end?
“I can’t take it,” he said. “It’s too big a risk.”
He’d chosen too.
I stood, brushed off my skirt, picked up my reticule, and wrapped the string around my wrist. I adjusted my hat.
“Maybe I can still write to you,” I said. “Or will that be too risky?”
“Clara. Of course, write. Send it here. I’ll let you know if I leave and take another job.”
“I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble with Mama and Papa,” I said.
His eyes had the sad look of Sailor when I’d sent him home, wouldn’t let him follow me.
“At least you talk to me,” I said.
“Always,” he said. “I always will.”
I was connected to one member of my family. His would have to be the thread I hung on to.
TWENTY-NINE
Exploration
I walked in a daze through the Blair College graduation ceremony, looked into the crowd for a familiar Estby face. None appeared. Olea and Louise applauded when I accepted my certificate, and we lunched at a nice restaurant in Spokane. The rest of the summer, I worked for the women, tried not to think of how alone I felt. Olaf was right about one thing: I wasn’t doing anything differently than what I’d done before, even though I now had resources. Squashed dreams came in my size too. Was I as afraid to fail as Olaf was? Or worse, maybe I was in love with the idea of money, and now that I had some, I just wanted to keep it.
In September Olea announced: “You’ve moped around enough. We’re going to make a trip.”
“I love traveling,” Louise said. She actually clapped her hands.
“There’s nothing that requires our presence in Spokane, is there, Louise?”
“Where are we off to?” Louise asked.
“We’ve hardly been anywhere in Washington State,” Olea said. “It’s time we got more acquainted with where we live.”
“You’ll come along, Clara,” Olea directed.
I could have resisted, agreed to remain behind, but for what? Hoping my family would contact me? Just to say that I’d decided on my own? “Why not?” I said. “We’re a … team.” I hesitated to use the word family. Our relationship was still very much that of employer and employee. Traveling with them might answer my daily question of what I should do with my life. I was, after all, Clara Doré trying to hear the words of Isaiah: “This is the way, walk ye in it.”
We made preparations, closed up the house, hired a local man to rake the leaves. He’d build a fire to warm the house if it turned cold during the weeks we’d be gone. He’d also forward our mail to Seattle, where Olea said we’d spend a few weeks in that “marvelous city.”
I packed my bank-books and a little cash, stuffing them into a waist purse I’d made so any cash I carried would be on my person. The belt felt tight but not restrictive. I wasn’t going to risk a robbery again. My stomach knotted when I thought of how the money I had now would have helped us back then, and I wondered