The Daughter's Walk - Jane Kirkpatrick [97]
I didn’t return to Coulee City that afternoon. Instead, I stayed at the Fairview house. I didn’t sleep, couldn’t concentrate. My eyes swelled with crying. Finally, at dawn I knew what I would do.
The first house I bought was occupied by renters in a growing section of Spokane. Their rents would make the payments. I purchased a second house in the new Alta Vista Estates strictly for investment. I used my Spokane River property as collateral. I’d hold it until the price rose, then sell for a small profit. I’d slowly gain and make money, add to my accounts, that’s what I’d do. Build security. I ignored the silent voice reminding me of a different path. It felt right.
But by the next morning, it didn’t. There was no need for me to go into debt. This wasn’t what living an abundant life meant, was it? What had I been thinking?
“I’ve been impulsive,” I told the real estate agent, catching him before he left for the day. “I want to put both houses back on the market.”
“Now?” he said. I nodded. “But you’ll lose earnest money. I’ll have to charge fees.”
“I don’t care. Sell them.”
“Give yourself time to think this over. You can’t go wrong with property,” he assured me.
Of course one could. Mama had lost the farm.
“Just sell the rental then,” I said, “Even if it’s at a loss.”
There was something different I needed to invest in as a memorial to my brother. He’d lived a safe and simple life. I needed to fully live my own.
“Where have you been? We’ve been worried about you,” Louise said when I stepped up on the porch.
“I should have called,” I said.
“You’re not required to apprise us of your whereabouts,” Olea said. “But a week—”
“It was rude of me. I’m sorry. I had business to tend to.” I chewed on my nail.
“What is it?” Louise said. “You’re so pale.” She came to sit beside me.
“My brother Olaf died,” I said.
Louise gasped. “I’m so sorry.” Olea put her arm around my shoulder. “We would have come to be with you. Were there funeral arrangements to make?”
“He died years ago. I … didn’t know.”
Louise squatted down in front of me. “The brother you hoped to come here to help farm?” I nodded. “Oh, that’s so sad, so very sad. What happened?”
I gave her the obituary I’d gotten when I stopped at the newspaper office. I imagined my mother giving the newspaper the information for it. Yet one more child, gone from her life.
“What about one of your other brothers?” Louise asked. “Could you invite them to visit and consider farming it with you?”
“Louise, she needs time to grieve,” Olea corrected. “We can fix things later.”
But I liked solving a problem rather than dwelling on the sadness. Arthur would be twenty-one. He’d always shown more interest in Ole’s carpentry work than in farming. Billy would be fourteen, too young to manage a farm even if he had an interest. Olaf had been the one with soil in his soul.
“I doubt any of the others would be interested,” I said.
“Which brother was it again?” Louise asked.
“Olaf,” I repeated.
“Why don’t you contact your family?” Olea said. Her voice held sorrow. “Let them know you grieve with them.”
“They would have seen my letters to Olaf among his things,” I said. “It had my address on it. So did the birthday cards I’ve sent.”
“Maybe he didn’t keep them,” Louise said.
Maybe he hadn’t, but someone in the house knew where I lived. No, there’d been no effort to reach me.
I shook my head. I’d been growing new flesh over the cuts of the past, but they still weren’t healed. My family, not I, held the key to ending this separation.
“What will you do now?” Louise asked.
I inhaled a deep breath. “I’m going to Finland.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
Traveling Mercies
It’s about time,” Franklin yelled at me over the phone when I told him I thought we should make the trip.
“It’s not necessary to shout,” I told him. “I can hear you fine.”
“So can our neighbors,” Louise said. She gave woolen mittens to children in the winter, so she sat knitting as Franklin spoke. It was eighty degrees outside, but she wore a sweater. Working with wool “keeps my