The Daughter's Walk - Jane Kirkpatrick [99]
“Then you’ll have to make this a family trip without me,” I said. “I could as easily end up spending a month or more visiting your relatives or taking a side trip to Oslo that could last a month, as New York did. I spent a winter in Minneapolis because I didn’t speak up. I’m speaking up today.”
Olea raised one eyebrow. “You appeared perfectly happy to accept my sister’s hospitality.” She roughly folded a shawl, threw it into her trunk. “We’ll take a different ship, do what we want, won’t we, Louise?”
“I didn’t think about leaving the house with no one in it for so long,” Louise said. “What if they forget to come feed Lucky? And I didn’t get anyone to look after Lucy.” She blinked rapidly in that frightened way she had.
“The pastor’s wife,” Olea said quietly.
“Lucy won’t adapt well to others coming to take care of her. I … I think maybe I’ll stay home.” She swallowed and tugged on her apron, picking at the tiny embroidered strawberries. “There might be an earthquake to hit us here, like in San Francisco. That’s only been two months ago. We can plan another time to go to Norway.”
It was such a silly thing to argue over. Maybe if they had told me of their plans earlier, it wouldn’t have bothered me. Some of the silver fox pelts raised by the Finns were earning more than a hundred dollars a pelt at the auctions. Olea had a good head for money; maybe that’s why she wanted to go along.
If I didn’t assert myself with this, I could imagine Olea deciding everything about the ranching operation: where the large pens should go, what the animals should be fed, when the kits should be weaned, which animals to breed. There might not be much demand for ermine yet, but by the time I had the ranching operation down—beginning with fox but moving to mink—there would be. I wasn’t interested in importing Norwegian stock; I wanted to do this my own way. The longhaired furs like silver fox had been popular for decades; it was time for the fashion to change, and I could open the door. I felt my heart pound. Despite the uncertainty, I felt … alive.
“I intend to go alone,” I said.
Olea sighed loudly. “I thought we were family. We’ve traveled together before … I simply … Well, perhaps it’s time we did do things differently.” She straightened a lace doily at the back of the divan, patted it with her long fingers. She didn’t look at anyone.
Louise said. “I don’t want to travel right now, Olea. My hip … You and Franklin go ahead,” she said to me. “We’ll make it a foursome another time, won’t we, Olea?”
Olea stood quietly for a time, her hands touching the cameo at her neck. Her bearing reminded me of Ida’s when Mama and I had returned from New York, anger tensed in a frame as slender as barbed wire and just as dangerous if one didn’t know how to get through it.
“Yes, let them go.” Olea sighed. “But for heaven’s sake, take the time you need. Take three months.”
“I can’t stay that long. What if I need to sign papers about my properties?”
“Give me your power of attorney then,” Olea said. “I can sign for you.”
She was my friend. But what if my not wanting the women to come along sharpened Olea’s nails on a power of attorney? Still, giving her the power would serve as a backup plan if I did want to stay a little longer, knowing she could handle my affairs.
“Good,” I said. I didn’t apologize for asking for what I wanted. I didn’t back down. “I’d appreciate that. We’ll get it signed and recorded in the morning.”
Both women waved me off at the start of my journey. The power of attorney niggled at the back of my mind, but by the time the train hit southern Idaho, the changing landscapes, eavesdropping on strangers’ stories, and settling in with my book brought me ease. I couldn’t help but think of my mother and our journey.
Franklin met me in New York, and we took the train from there to Montreal. “Not a side trip,” Franklin said when I protested the delay. “Essential.