Page 26 of Hope’s Enduring Echo
Jennie
If Jennie’s emotions had been tumultuous before Mama’s commitment to become the linewalker, they blossomed to turbulent afterward. On the positive side, she believed that Mama would send her to Canon City for school. But on the negative side, she was certain Mama could not take care of Daddy plus Rags and the chickens, see to all the household chores on her own, and inspect the line every day. No one person could manage it all. The two opposing beliefs swung back and forth like a pendulum in her mind, nearly driving her to distraction during those days she established the routine of setting off with Mama in the morning, breaking for a picnic lunch with Daddy, then setting off again.
She faced a constant inward battle about whether or not she should go to school. Did she truly need to attend classes with others? She’d lasted this long without friends, so couldn’t she continue without them? She told herself she’d be fine finishing her education with Mama here at home. But she couldn’t stop thinking about the groups of young people she’d seen in town on the Fourth of July weekend. She wanted to be part of a group of friends—to giggle in the lunchroom and pass notes during class with girls her age, the way she’d done before they moved to the cabin. Taking classes beyond the rudimentary sounded so wonderful. Was it wrong to want to once again experience being something other than a loner?
Not all her thoughts were about herself and her needs. She worried about Mama, too. Especially about her becoming despondent. Jennie relied on Mama’s strength and positive attitude to keep from absorbing Daddy’s morose bearing. Mama had confided on one of their treks how much it helped her when Jennie chose a cheerful countenance. If Jennie wasn’t there to brighten her days, would Mama sink into sadness? Guilt plagued her that her departure could destroy Mama’s hopeful demeanor.
Although the thoughts continually tormented her, she kept them to herself. She wasn’t willing to burden her mother. Daddy was in no position to even listen let alone advise. She could talk to Rags. He’d keep whatever she said secret. But she’d feel like a ninny exposing her innermost thoughts to a dog. If she had time alone with Leo, she would trust him to listen, advise, and pray for her. But those days were past and she couldn’t count on having private conversations with him ever again. She considered asking God the Father to calm her storm-tossed mind, but she felt selfish praying for herself. Especially when Mama’s need for strength and Daddy’s need for healing were so much more important than her gaining control of her silly emotional whirlwinds.
At least she had Mama’s company while walking the line. At first it was awkward reversing their roles as teacher and student. She’d never been one to tell her parents what to do—she respected their authority too much. But Mama praised Jennie for her knowledge and keen eye, and soon Jennie set aside her discomfort and took pride in sharing the things she’d learned from Daddy. She complimented Mama for making it farther day by day—for noticing the places where rebar looked loose, a bolt was rusting, or an insect had chewed a worm-shaped indention in a stave. She felt grown-up saying such things to her mother, almost as if they were becoming friends. She liked the feeling.
Maybe a friend should tell Mama how funny she looked wearing Daddy’s trousers, shirt, and suspenders, but she kept that to herself. Oddest looking was her ladies-style lace-up oxfords sticking out from the rolled hems of men’s pant legs. Worse than the shoes’ appearance, though, was their inadequacy. They weren’t designed for so much walking. Jennie was convinced Mama would be more secure on the pipe and her feet wouldn’t hurt as badly if she had different shoes. She needed work boots like Jennie wore.
If Jennie went to school, she wouldn’t need her boots anymore. She could leave them for Mama to wear. In the meantime, her mother soaked her feet in warm water with Epsom salt at the end of each day. The sight stung Jennie’s heart. Mama worked so hard, did so much. It wasn’t fair that she ended her days weary and sore. Jennie wouldn’t move to Canon City for another six weeks. Mama needed better shoes now.
On Wednesday after supper, Jennie penned a note to Leo asking him to have Aunt Delia send out a pair of work boots for Mama to wear on the route. The sisters wore the same size, so Aunt Delia would be able to choose something sturdy and comfortable. She left the note under the rock on Thursday morning, and that evening she found a response written in pencil on a scrap torn from the corner of her note.
You’re a thoughtful daughter. I will talk to your aunt tonight. Keep watch for a box. —Leo
She tucked the scrap in her pocket and transferred it to her treasure box when she got home. There was no box waiting on Friday, but on Saturday morning—early, just as she and Mama were sitting down for their breakfast—someone knocked on their door.
Mama told Jennie to close Rags in her bedroom. Jennie obeyed, ignoring the pup’s complaining whines, while Mama went to the door. “Good morning.” Mama’s tone held a cheery welcome. “You’re here early.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
At the sound of Leo’s voice, Jennie hurried over. Had he brought Mama’s new shoes? She started to ask, but another man stood on the stoop with Leo. Until that moment, she’d forgotten about Leo’s intentions to fossil hunt with the businessman from town. Early in the week, she and her parents discussed the possibility of her going with them, but Daddy hadn’t granted permission yet. And now they’d come before Daddy was even out of bed.
Leo gestured the other fellow forward. “Mr. DeWeece, you probably remember meeting Mrs. Etta Ward a couple weeks ago. And this is the artist, her daughter, Jennie.”
Jennie swelled with both pride and embarrassment at the title Leo used. She felt like she was stricken tongue-tied, so she nodded at Mr. DeWeece in a silent hello.
“Good morning, ladies.” The man removed his hat, uncovering thick dark hair graying at the temples, and gave a little bow. His smile crinkled the corners of his eyes and turned up the tips of his mustache. “I trust we haven’t arrived at an inconvenient time. We wanted to take advantage of as much daylight as possible, so we borrowed a handcar and brought ourselves out ahead of the train.”
“It’s very nice to see you again, Mr. DeWeece.” Mama shook hands with him. “Your timing is fortuitous if you haven’t had breakfast.”
It didn’t surprise Jennie a bit that Mama was willing to share. Mama was always the giver in their family. Was Leo holding something behind his back? She wished he’d bring it out so she’d know if it was a shoebox. She couldn’t wait to see Mama become the receiver of a gift for a change.
“We ate at the hotel before setting out,” Mr. DeWeece said, “but thank you for your offer. We stopped to see if young Miss Ward intended to accompany us today.”
“And also to make a delivery,” Leo added.
Jennie stifled a gasp. “What is it?”
Leo held out a rectangular box wrapped in gray-speckled white paper. On its end, a fancy border design framed the words The Florsheim Shoe, all stamped in crisp black ink. “Here you are, Mrs. Ward.”
Mama pressed her fingertips to her bodice and drew back, her eyes wide. “F-for me?”
Jennie nearly bounced in place. “Take it, Mama.”
Leo grinned, his eyes sparkling. “Yes, please, before Jennie explodes.”
Heat filled her face. She was behaving like an overexcited puppy, but she didn’t care.
Mama took the box, her puzzled gaze settling on Jennie. “What do you know about this?”
“I know it’s something you need.” Suddenly a mist of tears blurred her mother’s face. Jennie wished the box contained something even better than new shoes that wouldn’t hurt Mama’s feet. She wished it were full of emeralds, sapphires, and rubies—jewels fit for a woman who poured herself out on others. She wished it held the answers to all their prayers. But how silly to indulge in such whimsical thoughts. Mama would say that not having aching feet at the end of the day would be an abundant blessing. “Open it, Mama.”
Mama set the box on the little table near the door that held their parlor lamp and removed the lid. She folded back a layer of crinkly paper and lifted out a brown leather work boot. She turned it upside down and ran her finger along the sole from the rounded toe to the nearly flat heel. A delight-filled laugh trickled. “Oh, my, you’re absolutely right, Jennie. These are exactly what I need.” She aimed her smile at Leo. “How did you know?”
Leo pointed at Jennie, and Jennie hunched her shoulders and giggled. She draped her arm over Mama’s shoulders. “Leo and I conspired with Aunt Delia. She did the purchasing.”
Mama laid the shoe aside and hugged Jennie. “Well, I’ll be certain to reimburse her when I see her next.”
“No.” Jennie pulled loose and shook her head. “I’ll pay for them when I start working at the hotel.” They’d planned, before Daddy got sick, for Jennie to work part-time at the hotel and give some of the money to her aunt and uncle for housing her. “I want to buy them, Mama. Please?” She lowered her voice to a whisper, aware of their guest close by. “If you weren’t willing to walk the line, I wouldn’t be able to go to school. You’re giving me a big gift. Please let me gift you a little bit, too.”
Tears swam in Mama’s blue eyes, making the irises glisten like sapphires. She nodded and cupped Jennie’s cheek with her warm hand. “All right, sweetheart. Thank you.” She hugged Jennie again, then turned to the men. “Thank you so much for bringing this special delivery. Are you sure you wouldn’t like some pancakes and maple syrup?”
“No, thank you. We should be going.” Mr. DeWeece stepped from the stoop. “Are you coming with us today, Miss Ward?”
Jennie glanced down at her stocking-covered feet. “I don’t have my shoes on.” Then she looked at Mama. “And I need to make sure Mama doesn’t need me here.”
Mama laughed softly. “Get your feet covered, Jennie. Why you want to go traipsing on Saturday with all the walking you do Monday through Friday, I can’t know, but I won’t hold you back.”
Jennie grabbed Mama in a hug, then snatched up her shoes from their spot by the door and sat on the edge of the sofa.
Leo cleared his throat and leaned a little closer to Mama. “Mrs. Ward, there’s another special delivery in the box. Under the shoes.”
Jennie’s fingers stilled in pulling on one shoe, a tingle attacking her flesh.
Mama’s hand flew to her throat. “Is it…” The unfinished query hung in the air, causing as much tension as a wasp invading the outhouse.
Leo nodded. “I pray it’s good news.” He straightened and looked at Jennie. “Are you ready to go?”
If he’d asked the question before giving such a secretive message to Mama, Jennie would trail the men. But Mama’s strange reaction to his comment about a special delivery trampled the desire to leave. Whatever else was in the box had left Mama trembling and pale. Mama might not need help with chores, but she needed her.
She swung a shoe by its laces, feigning a casual air. “May I go next week? I…I think I should…”
Leo nodded, a smile of understanding softening the square contour of his jaw. “That sounds fine. Have a good day.” He hopped from the stoop and followed Mr. DeWeece across the yard.
Mama carried the box to the table, her steps as slow and labored as if she’d just walked the seven miles of pipeline all the way up and back again. Jennie dropped her shoe and stayed close behind her, her pulse galloping, although she couldn’t explain why. Mama lifted out the new boots and set them side by side next to the box. Then she pried out a large brown envelope, which Leo must have folded in half and pressed into the bottom of the box.
Jennie peeked at the front of the envelope. The block letters didn’t resemble Leo’s handwriting. And it was addressed to Dr. Whiteside in Canon City. Why was a letter intended for Dr. Whiteside in the box with Mama’s shoes?
A remembrance fell on Jennie with as much shock as if someone had dumped a tub of cold water over her head. Mama had seen the doctor their last weekend in town. She’d told Jennie she wasn’t sick but wanted only to talk to the doctor. What if she hadn’t told Jennie the truth? What if Mama really was sick? It would be like Mama to hide an ailment so she wouldn’t worry anyone.
Jennie had wished the box might hold the answers to her prayers, but what if it held a nightmare instead?