Page 9 of Hope’s Enduring Echo

Etta

Monday morning, Etta sent Jennie out the door with a hug and whispered promise—“Only three months, honey, and you can go back to being our daughter instead of our breadwinner.”

She watched Jennie trot down the rise, her braid bouncing on her spine. So carefree she appeared. For a moment, Etta worried she’d made a promise she couldn’t keep. But the girl deserved to be set free. God had great plans for her. How would she find her God-given pathway if she didn’t have the opportunity to explore?

Stepping out onto the stoop, she looked up at the sky. “I will keep the promise to Jennie. With Your help, God, I will keep it.”

Saying the prayer aloud bolstered her, and she headed to her bedroom, where Claude still lay flat on his back snoring, one foot out from under the light covers and an arm flung above his head. She paused and smiled at his relaxed position. A part of her hesitated to disturb him, but he needed to break his habit of sleeping late. With determination, she marched to the bed and put her hand on his chest.

“Claude?”

He gave a little jerk. His eyes popped open, then quickly narrowed to slits. “What?”

“It’s breakfast time. Come and eat.”

He brought his arm down and rubbed his nose. “Not hungry.”

Etta hid a smile at his grumbly tone. “Not even for pancakes and maple syrup?” She always purchased a quart tin of maple syrup with their monthly groceries, but it never lasted to the end of the month. Claude liked to drown his pancakes, as he put it.

He licked his lips. “That does sound good.”

“All right, then. Visit the outhouse, get dressed, and come to the table. I’ll have a short stack ready for you.”

Etta had already sprinkled a pancake with sugar and rolled it into a tube, which she’d eaten with Jennie. But she enjoyed a second one flat on the plate with syrup while Claude ate his drowned stack. She waited until he was using his finger to scoop the last smears of syrup, then delivered the speech she’d practiced in her head after bedtime last night.

“Now that you’ve got your belly filled, you can help me stack the mercantile’s empty crates on the wagon and tote them down the hill for Mr. Jenkins to collect when the train comes by.”

Claude paused with his sticky finger halfway to his mouth. “What’d you say?”

She repeated it all word for word, in exactly the same nonchalant tone, like it was something she asked of him every day of the week.

He wiped his syrup-smeared hand with his napkin. “They’re still here?”

She forced a soft laugh. “Of course they are.”

He grunted. “Figured you’d ask that young fellow to take ’em back since he helped cart ’em in. He had to meet the train last evening anyway.”

Etta shrugged and rose. “I suppose I could have.” She’d actually thought about it, but then she’d decided taking those crates down the hill would be good exercise for Claude. She gathered their plates and carried them to the sink. “But he’d already helped enough by pulling the full wagon up the rise. I didn’t want to take advantage of his kindness.”

Claude pushed up from his chair and limped to the stove. He refilled his coffee cup, then leaned against the counter, slurping the brew and watching her pump water into the basin. As she lowered the dishes into the water, he plunked the empty cup onto the counter. “I already told you it’s a hard walk to the footbridge. Don’t see myself being able to get that far and back again.”

She kept her eyes on her hands running a sopping cloth over her plate. “You won’t know unless you try. And we don’t have to be in a hurry. The train won’t come by until midmorning.” She glanced out the window. “The sun hasn’t even cleared the mountain peaks yet. We can go slow, let you rest as often as you want to.” She sneaked a peek at his frowning countenance. “It’d be a real treat to go out walking with you this morning, Claude.” Etta set the clean plate in the dish drainer and looked him full in the face. “Please?”

He stared at her unblinking for several seconds, his lips puckered into a half scowl. She held her breath, waiting, hoping, praying he’d agree. Finally, he lurched away from the counter, a huge sigh heaving from his chest. “I’m just not up to that walk, Etta.”

Her spirits sank.

“But I reckon I can stack the crates on the wagon for you if it’d help.”

A smile formed without effort. “That would be a real help. Thank you, Claude.” And thank You, God, for this little step forward.

Jennie

Jennie reminded herself to slow down as she inspected the pipeline’s staves and steel bands. She was still the linewalker. She needed to do a good job. But her mind refused to focus. Too many exciting, scary, unsettled thoughts cluttered her head.

Would Mama really convince Daddy he was able to do this work again? Would she really get to move to town and stay with Aunt Delia and Uncle Prime at the end of the summer and finish her education in a classroom? She wanted to believe it, but she was afraid to. There was a verse somewhere in Proverbs that said hope deferred made the heart sick. If she believed—really believed—and then Daddy didn’t get better and take over and she didn’t get to move to town, her heart might never recover. She’d end up the way Daddy was now. Morose. Uncommunicative. Trapped in a constant state of despair.

And what if she did get to go to town but she was too far behind to keep up with her classmates? When she was younger, she was a good student. She got high marks and praise from her teachers. She’d wither up from mortification if she failed tests or had to attend classes meant for students younger than her age. What if she ended up in the same class as those obnoxious boys who’d pestered her at the drugstore? Maybe it was best if she finished her schooling with Mama instead. She wouldn’t go to college anyway. She had no important aspirations. Not like Leo, who needed training to become a paleontologist.

But if she went to school in Canon City, she could take an art class. Aunt Delia said she had a real knack for drawing—that it was a God-given gift and she should make the most of it. How could she do that if she didn’t go to school?

And now she couldn’t remember if she’d even looked at the pipeline. She released a huff of aggravation and carefully turned around. She swept her gaze across the pipe, taking slow, cautious forward steps. No cracks or breaks in the staves. No signs of weakness in the reinforcing bars. No leaks or rot or other signs of damage.

The river’s song roared in her ears. The wind tossed her hair. Her heels squeaked on the dew-damp redwood staves. She held her balance and advanced, step-by-step, just the way Daddy had done.

There was no need to hurry, anyway. Yesterday, after she got Mama’s permission to be Leo’s guide, they’d planned it all out. He would hop off the afternoon train and meet her near the spot they’d encountered each other last week. She stifled a snicker. This time, though, she wouldn’t pretend she might clop him with a bone and he wouldn’t sit and wait for her to finish her route. He said he wanted to walk the pipeline with her, build up his muscles for trekking over the hillsides.

Maybe he’d end up setting an example for Daddy.

She stopped for a moment, contemplating the thought. She’d prayed for Daddy to get better and for a friend. Leo had prayed for dinosaur bones. He believed God aligned his pathway to meet hers. Was Leo’s answer to prayer also her answer to prayer…for Daddy?

The question was still rolling in the back of her mind when the train rumbled by. She waved as always, then remained in her place, watching the pile of boulders for Leo. When he popped into view, a laugh burbled up. Where was his fancy suit and bowler hat? The college boy had been transformed into a…she didn’t know what to call him. He wore a light-brown button-up shirt with buttoned patch pockets on the chest, trousers the same color as his shirt, and a darker-brown belt with flat leather pouches hanging from it. Wide canvas straps over his shoulders held a good-sized well-worn knapsack on his back. He’d tucked his pant legs into nearly knee-high brown lace-up boots, and on his head was a wide-brimmed hat of some sort of heavy tan-colored material secured by a string under his chin. She’d never seen the like.

He splashed across the river, then clambered on top of a large partially submerged boulder along the bank and grinned up at her. “Were you laughing at me, Miss Mountain Goat?”

His teasing query only made her laugh again. “I guess I was. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, but…” She swallowed her amusement and gave him a slow toes-to-hat perusal. “You look so different in those clothes.”

He held his arms outward and glanced down at himself. “When I was in high school, I was a junior leader for a boys’ scouting group. This is my uniform, which is perfect for camping or hiking. See?” He patted one of the leather pouches. “This holds my folding knife. This one”—he pointed to another pouch—“has flint and steel in case I want to build a campfire.” He shared the contents of each pouch and shirt pocket, then chuckled. “I’m much better prepared for mountain climbing in this gear than I was the last time we met out here.”

She had to admit, his current clothes were more appropriate, but she’d become accustomed to his formal bearing. The uniform, as he’d called it, gave him a youthful, relaxed countenance that she found both appealing and a little frightening. This Leo seemed even more approachable than the dignified version. She would have a harder time guarding herself from growing too attached to him.

“You’re probably right about that.” She gestured to the upward slope behind the pipe. “Better come on over and pull yourself up on the pipe. I’ve got a route to finish.” She gave herself a stern warning to pay attention, too.

Leo remained a few feet behind her the remainder of her daily examination. To his credit, he didn’t speak to her, which should have helped her stay focused on the task at hand. But just knowing he was there proved distracting. And comforting. An odd combination Mama would probably blame on Jennie’s tumultuous age. Had her traipsing after Daddy been both distracting and comforting to him? She wished she could ask him, but she never knew how he would respond to questions anymore. And what did it matter, anyway? Her days of following Daddy were done. If he did take over the route again, she’d be in Canon City with her aunt and uncle. Those days of following his footsteps and peppering him with questions were long gone.

She reached the end of the pipe and released a big sigh of satisfaction. She pulled out the little pad of paper and wrote “7 June 1915—no issues.” Proud of herself for remembering the correct way to write the date, she slid the notepad back in her shirt pocket and turned to face Leo.

“That’s it for the day. Let’s walk the pipe back to my cabin. Mama said she’d pack us a few sandwiches to take along when we go up on the hillside.”

He grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “Ah, there’s no need to backtrack to the cabin.” He shrugged one arm free of the knapsack strap and brought the bulky pouch to his front. “I asked the hotel cook to pack a picnic supper for us. We can go straight to exploring.”

Jennie cringed. “Isn’t that kind of expensive?” He’d told her his family wasn’t wealthy. Paying to stay at the hotel all summer long was costly enough. She shouldn’t expect him to feed her, even if she was acting as his guide.

He slid his arm back through the strap and bounced a couple of times, settling the sack on his back. “I suppose it would be if I paid for it outright. But I hired on at the hotel.”

“You did? Are you a clerk or a porter?” Many young men served in those capacities at the St. Cloud.

“Neither.” He struck a regal pose, made all the more ludicrous by the floppy hat and its dangling strings. “I scrub pots and pans and see to the trash bins. For my labor, I receive a room, three meals a day, and fifty-cents spending money each week.” He chuckled and slid his hands into his trouser pockets. “Granted, the job isn’t as glamorous as discovering prehistoric species embedded in rocks and dirt, but it will allow me to stay in the area and do what I set out to do.”

Leo was raised by a preacher, lived in a house with many amenities, and attended college. He could consider himself above such menial tasks, but he didn’t. Her admiration for him increased again. She wanted to tell him so, but bashfulness held the words inside. So she drew on impishness.

She sat and slid off the pipe, then looked up at him with one fist propped on her hip. “Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s go hunting.”

He released a hearty laugh, then saluted. “Yes, ma’am.” He slid to the ground, and they took off up the hill.