The Daughter's Walk - Jane Kirkpatrick [83]
I stood up now, to make my case firmer. “The finest fur-bearing animals in the country thrive in Washington State, in the Spokane area,” I said. “Beaver, otter, mink, coyote, fisher, skunk, squirrel, muskrat, bobcat—even bigger animal hides, such as elk, for the leather markets. And bear for rugs and such. Raccoon skins make beautiful and warm coats, and we have thousands of them; they’re almost like rabbits. Why depend on the auctions for pelts? Why not trap our own?”
“You want to move me from New York?” Franklin said. “Send me back out to the traps?” His face hardened, and I saw within the furrowed brows the steeliness that enabled him to buy at good prices. “Trapping is dangerous work, Miss Doré. And the West Coast harvests have declined.”
“I understand that,” I said. “I’ll trap.”
“Oh, Clara, no. That’s much too hard a job,” Louise said.
“Franklin could teach me. Then I’ll provide choice prime pelts so you won’t have to buy at auction. You’ll still have to negotiate tanning and dressing, but we can bring the pelts right into Spokane for the sale … after we’ve kept the best ones for our own use.”
“It’s not a very large auction, the one in Spokane,” Olea said. “We’ve attended.”
“Then we’ll use Seattle. But if we keep the prime pelts, Franklin could take them directly to the dressers and cut out the middleman completely. The rest we’d sell at the auctions in Seattle. They’ll ship directly to New York or Hong Kong or even Russia. We’d make less than at the big auctions back east, but that would be compensated for by having quality pelts of our own for our orders. We can ask higher prices. After they’re dressed, we’ll have them sewn and manufactured and sold back to furriers in Spokane or San Francisco. ‘West Coast Soft Gold,’ we could call the line.” I improvised.
“You’ve been studying,” Louise said. She smiled like a proud parent.
“You should learn the fashion end of things,” Franklin said again. “Trapping is only part of it. You’ll have to learn grading for various coats and muffs and furs. It’s not easily mastered. Consider design instead.”
“He’s right,” Louise said. “You made that supporter for your … for when you don’t wear a corset,” she said.
“Louise,” I protested. She’d seen my breast supporter one morning lying in my room and asked what it was. “That’s—”
“Private, I know. But it is a good design. It tells me you could do that sort of thing.”
“You could set new fashion trends from the West Coast if you’re a good sketch artist,” Franklin said. “Didn’t I hear that you were illustrating a book once?”
“Design doesn’t interest me,” I said.
“To humor you: where would we trap?” Franklin asked. He wasn’t scowling now. He looked more curious, surprised even.
“I’d buy land. The right kind of land, where I’d trap.”
“It’s not women’s work. You’re already thin as spaghetti,” Louise said.
Franklin shook his head.
“Women’s work is defined by women doing it,” I said. “Indian women have handled pelts for decades, so it is women’s work. Surely I can do it. The land is a good investment. Isn’t that what you told me, Olea? There’ll be timber I can sell. Trapping is seasonal, winter work. I could do it on my own.”
“Franklin’s right. You’d be better at the fashion end,” Louise said. “You sketch well. Didn’t you say your father was an artist?”
“Trapping …” Franklin said. He shook his head, his jaw flexing before he spoke. “It’s cold, hard work. You’d have to live out there, it would be the only way, learn to boil the human scent from traps, plunge your hands into icy streams. Why, are you even strong enough to set a trap?” He looked at my arms.
“I’ve brought in loads of hay,” I told him. “I’m sturdy. And I love the forests and studying the paths of beaver or muskrat. I love the cold air, a night sky filled with stars twinkling like lights on tall fir trees.”
“You’d have to check the traps every day, regardless