by Sydney Avey
Young people were flocking to Portland, a progressive city that was growing and changing. No longer young, Nellie banked on her experience and ability to remain employable to afford her freedom to enjoy the promise of the new century. Teddy Roosevelt was out stumping for a square deal. She had every hope that would include women in the workforce.
On a sunny spring Saturday, Nellie sat in a restaurant doodling on a paper pad while she waited to be served. This particular day, strangers crowded the streets and spilled into local eateries, so Nellie wasn’t surprised when her waiter sought permission to seat a lady at her table.
“Why, most assuredly.” Nellie nodded toward the chair opposite hers and smiled at the stranger. “We must all extend our hospitality to our guests on every possible occasion.”
“Thank you for your willingness to share your table.” A matronly woman squeezed herself into the tiny space and sighed heavily. “But I hardly consider myself to be a guest.”
“Oh, not so.” Nellie set down the menu she had been studying and began a study of the woman seated across from her. “The entire world has been invited to the Festival of Roses. I shall consider you one of our guests. You saw the parade today, I assume?”
“Beautiful beyond description.” The stranger spoke in the modulated tones of someone who is used to public speaking. “This is my first trip to the coast. I’ve no language at my command to express my admiration for your beautiful city. I am a convert. We intend to make your city our future home.”
We? The question got lost in a discussion of menu options and the bustle of service. When they finished their meal of Chinook salmon and roasted potatoes, Nellie’s guest glanced at the clock.
“Oh my, it’s getting late. The shops will close soon. By any chance could you give me the address of a reliable jeweler? My watch needs adjusting to your western time.”
Nellie scribbled the address of her old friend Mr. Reeves on the back of her card, handed it to her companion, and they said their good-byes.
A few mornings later, Nellie ambled through the shopping district on her way to the courthouse. Her thoughts were on the long day ahead when Mr. Reeves accosted her from the doorway of his shop.
“Good morning, young lady. I want to thank you for the customer you directed to my door the other day.” He beckoned her inside. “I have something I want to show you that I know you will admire.”
Perking up, Nellie followed Mr. Reeves into the jewelry store. He walked behind the counter and retrieved a black felt square, which he smoothed out on the countertop. With a bony-fingered flourish, he set a small object on top of the cloth.
“This is her purchase for a very dear friend of hers. I have just finished the engraving.”
Nellie leaned in close to inspect a beautiful gold pocket knife.
“I was just starting to wrap this for the post.” Mr. Reeves placed a finger on the knife and rotated it so she could see his handiwork.
At the sight of his clipped, rosy nails, Nellie slipped her hands into the pockets of her skirt. She kept her hands so busy with work that her cuticles were ragged and her nails were chipped. She bent closer to read the name engraved on the handle in a signature font: Ray Tanner.
Mr. Reeves lowered his chin and jumped his bushy eyebrows up at her, a clear invitation for an appreciative comment.
“It’s lovely.” Nellie straightened up. “Is there an occasion for this thoughtful gift?”
“It is a birthday present for the gentleman, I’m told.” Mr. Reeves winked and smiled at Nellie. “Your friend expected her gentleman to be here on his birthday, but business delayed him. From the little conversation I had with her, I imagine that when he arrives—Mr. Reeves placed the tips of his long, slender fingers together and pronounced his expectation in a singsong voice—wedding bells will ring.”
“Is that so?” Nellie turned her attention to a display case and pointed to a small manicure gift set. “I’ll take that.”
“Lovely. Would you like that gift-wrapped?”
“No thank you. It’s a gift for me.”
R
Several weeks passed before Nellie had another occasion to dine with her new friend, whose name, she had learned, was Lucy. After dinner, the two women walked over to the Ellwood Apartments, where her companion kept rooms. Lucy had discovered Nellie’s ability to type information neatly and accurately. She begged for Nellie’s help to complete an employment application on the typewriter Lucy had yet to master. Nellie learned more of her story as she typed.
Name: Lucille A. Hanson
Age: 51 years
Residence: Portland Oregon, formerly a resident of Burton, Kansas.
Experience: 20 years, elementary school teacher.
“I have no intention of resuming my former occupation.” Lucy settled into an easy chair in the stuffy room. “I want to keep working, though.”
“Oh absolutely. You should.” Nellie sat on a straight chair at a small writing table. She rolled the barrel of the typewriter up so she could examine the page.
“But after a woman has followed one profession for twenty years, it is almost impossible to engage in another line of work successfully, don’t you think?” Lucy gave Nellie the look of an overfed dog hoping for a treat.
“I have known several women who have begun new endeavors later in life. I’m thinking of a Mrs. McGregory.”
“Even if a woman has been provident during her wage earning years and has no need to seek other employment, life would be a long, dreary stretch without an occupation, don’t you agree?”
Before Nellie could open her mouth to reply, Lucy launched into a long tale of how she had renewed her contract faithfully each year, had seen the day coming when a younger woman would supplant her, had known she would be compelled to give way to the rising generation. Lucy moved from her chair to stand at the window. The dusk slowly shadowed her face. Nellie went to stand behind her slump-shouldered friend.
“It is the law of nature.” Nellie clasped her hands together under her chin and looked out. Across the street, a light switched on in a large, front-facing window. A man and a woman entered their dining room, the man first, his hands full of dishes and cutlery. He began placing them on the table. The woman followed close behind, adjusting a plate, refolding a napkin, moving a spoon to the right side of the knife. Light from a crystal chandelier illumined a silver tea set holding court with china tea cups in the corner of the room. Who used these relics anymore, now that instant coffee and tea bags made clean up so much easier? Times were changing.
Nellie shook her head slowly. “It is a situation we all must face, Lucy; the old giving way to the new. I think it is just and right.”
Lucy circled Nellie’s waist with her arm, and they turned from the window and walked toward the door. Lingering in the doorway, the dispirited woman changed the subject abruptly and began to talk about what marriage might mean to her—love, a home, companionship to the end. Her face lit up when she acknowledged her prolonged absence from Ray had, indeed, made her heart grow fonder.
Nellie turned to face Lucy. “You’ve not mentioned this before. An old friend whom you have admired for years? A friendship that has flamed into romance?”
“Oh no! I have only known him a short time since my last term expired. Rather quickly, we found ourselves to be a most congenial couple.” A flush rose to Lucy’s cheeks. She chattered on, speculating that Ray wished to marry for a home, acknowledging that it was his idea to move west.
“It all came about so suddenly.” Lucy began to talk faster. “I sold everything I had, gave Ray power of attorney to settle my affairs, and here I am.”
Nellie’s hand went to her throat, and she gave a little gasp.
“Oh I know what you’re thinking; a plain woman like me, a handsome businessman like Ray.” Lucy lowered her chin and looked at Nellie over her wire-rimmed glasses. “He only wants to relieve me of all worry and financial responsibility. After so many years of being on my own, it is such a relief to have
a man like Ray take charge of my affairs.”
Down the hallway, the elevator bell rang. Nellie leaned in to peck Lucy’s cheek goodbye, but the woman grabbed the sleeve of her coat and kept talking.
“My Ray is settling his affairs also, but it has taken him longer than he expected. He is driving across country right now in my little roadster. He arranged the purchase for me, courtesy of his connection to a large automobile firm in Kansas City.”
The elevator door shut and shuddered its way down to the lobby. When Lucy grabbed her hand, Nellie’s insides shuddered as well.
“Thinking of him on the road alone, well I just pray my life would end quickly if something were to happen to him.” Lucy spoke in a stage whisper. Then she gave herself a little shake and brightened. “I would like to write a story and let the whole world know that romance is not dead and that life is lovelier than the most imaginative fiction. You could help me with that.” Lucy laughed and gave Nellie’s hand a little shake, then released it. “I know you understand.”
The elevator bell dinged again, and Nellie nodded her head. “Oh yes, I understand.” She turned away as politely as she could and scurried for the elevator. Once inside, she jabbed the button to close the doors and then hit the lobby button before leaning against the elevator wall. I understand only too well.
R
A few days later Nellie entered the courtroom to relieve Tom O’Brien, a reporter in Department No. 7. Tom’s reputation as a moralist was much in evidence that morning. The judge had just sentenced a prisoner, who was being led back to jail. As Nellie approached the reporter’s table, Tom nodded in the direction of the convicted.
“The court just gave him the limit.” Tom began to load pieces of evidence into a cardboard box.
Nellie set her note-taking implements on the table. “Why is the Judge in such a bad mood?”
“That guy? He got what was coming to him.”
Nellie scanned the room. Jurors were filing out the door in groups of twos and threes, discussing the case. The attorneys were making lunch plans, and Judge Wolverton had retired to chambers.
“Wolverton has a special dislike for men who prey on older women.”
Nellie bristled. “Older women? Older women are wiser, I would hope, and better able to recognize a charlatan.” But as she said those words, she thought of Lucy.
“Young or old, they all fall for that Chesterfield gallantry.” Tom laughed wickedly. “Just look at the denomination of the check he cashed on Mrs. Crawley’s account.”
Nellie counted so many added zeroes that she doubted a check of that amount could ever be cashed. When she expressed her disbelief, Tom pointed out that the plaintiff had a line of credit established at the bank that would bring the rosy blush to a millionaire’s cheek.
“Mrs. Crawley had a case in court last winter, didn’t she?” Nellie leafed through her memory of lawsuits and brought up a seventy-five-year-old woman full of dignity, pride, and parsimony.
“She is well known by the courts for challenging her creditors and collecting her debts. How she hitched up with a fancy man, I just can’t figure.”
Fancy man. The back of her neck began to prickle.
“Tom, where did this man come from?”
“Blew in from the East, Kansas City I think, a month or so ago. Lived like a prince at the Ambassador, sported around in a swell roadster and kept lots to drink and lots of pretty girls around. How he managed to get acquainted with old Mrs. Crawley though, I can’t figure. And why he couldn’t resist a heist before blowing town with her money? Boy oh boy, when he got picked up for theft she blew the whistle on him.”
Nellie cupped her elbow with her right hand and tapped her cheek with her left finger. “You know, Tom, it takes two to tango. These men wouldn’t so likely go down the garden path if women didn’t fall so easily for their charms.”
“That is a funny way to look at it, Mrs. Scott. You make a good point, but it isn’t relevant in this case.” Tom held up a stack of exhibits. “For all his charming ways, in the end, he was just a lowdown sneak thief.”
“And this is the take?” Nellie reached for the exhibits Tom was marking for the theft case that would follow the check fraud conviction. She leafed through them quickly, shook her head, and handed them back to Tom. She turned her attention to arranging her pads and pencils on the stenographer’s desk.
“In a couple of years, they say we’ll have stenotype machines.” Tom stuffed his papers into his portfolio. He continued to stand by the desk.
“That will be a welcome change.”
At the side of the courtroom, the bailiff pushed open the heavy doors and ushered in the afternoon’s jurors. “I was thinking about the holler the defendant put up over one of the exhibits. Claimed it was a birthday gift and had sentimental value. Can you imagine?”
Nellie remained focused on her task. “Even criminals show sentiment, Tom; they are human after all.”
“Beautiful little knife …”
Nellie’s cheeks began to burn. She looked up. “Was it a gold knife?”
“Yes.” Tom zipped his portfolio and tucked it under his arm. “That’s unusual, don’t you think?”
“Was it engraved?”
Tom did not have time to answer. The bailiff called court back into session. Tom lifted the box of evidence from the desk and made a hasty exit.
Nellie did not register the subject matter of the case she reported that day. She took her shorthand notes automatically until court adjourned. Her nervous tension was somewhat relieved that evening by the vacant chair at her table in the restaurant where Lucy often joined her.
R
On Saturday, Nellie lounged in her room until late, reading the morning paper. After perusing the stock reports and the society column, she scanned the casualty report. The third listing caused her to bolt upright in her chair and clap her hand over her mouth. She reread the item: An unidentified woman was killed instantly by the northbound bus at the intersection of 74th and Oak streets. That was the vicinity in which her friend lived; Nellie sucked in her breath and let it out slowly. Oh, poor soul, her prayer has been answered.
Just then, the phone rang. “Mrs. Scott, your services are required at the Ellwood Apartments.” She didn’t recognize the voice, full of proper authority. The man did not identify himself, but she was used to such calls.
Nellie got dressed and made her way to the apartments. In the hushed atmosphere of the lobby, a clergyman with a melancholy face stepped forward to greet her in hushed tones.
“She is in here.” He pulled open the heavy drapes to an alcove off the lobby just enough to allow Nellie, head bowed in respect, to follow him into the dimly lit room. She had never been called to identify a body.
How did they think to call me? I suppose they found my card in her room. But it’s been days since the accident. And it makes no sense that her body would be laid out in her apartment building! With all the cross-examination going on in her head, it took awhile for the scene to register in Nellie’s brain when she finally looked up.
Under a bower of roses, Lucy stood in a shimmering white wedding gown, a distinguished looking gentleman at her side.
“We wanted you as a witness to our marriage.” A bright smile lit up Lucy’s face. Then the two elderly lovers turned to face the clergyman and joined their lives together.
10 - Passion and Pain
10
Passion and Pain
Spokane, 1916
The joy on Lucy’s face and the respect in the ardent gentleman’s eyes remained with Nellie for the rest of her life. In the years ahead, she learned to reserve judgment. But as she gypsied up and down the Pacific coast, recording court proceedings and collecting stories, she could not help notice the trouble people brought on themselves for want of prudence and a proper sense of purpose. She began to question her ambitions.
“I spent the first half of my life praying for the wrong thing,” she told Jessie during a visit. “I prayed for a life that
would engage my imagination and allow me to use my mind. I was wrong to do that.”
“How were you wrong?” Jessie stood at the sink, washing up the lunch dishes.
Nellie recited a favorite quote from memory: “It is for us to pray not for tasks equal to our powers, but for powers equal to our tasks, to go forward with a great desire forever beating at the door of our hearts as we travel toward our distant goal.”
“Helen Keller.” Jessie finished drying the china soup tureen and set it back on the sideboard.
“Yes. Miss Keller rallies against all preparations for war. She urges women to be heroes in an army of construction. As much as I enjoy my job, I can’t pretend I am working for any great cause. Due process keeps society orderly. It changes nothing.”
“Are you saying that you are as dissatisfied with your career as you were with your marriage?
“No, I am just wondering. Instead of all the grumbling I did, what if I had prayed for the power to perform my mundane tasks with good grace? Might I have been granted a higher calling?” Nellie removed the unused dishtowel from where it hung draped over her arm, refolded it, and set it aside.
“Perhaps.” Jessie pulled the plug on the sink and wiped away the moisture that glistened on her forehead. She eyed the clean towel. “Then again, it’s never too late to start.”
Noise and laughter erupted from the back bedroom. The sound advanced like the tremors of a California earthquake. Walls shook, and the floor resounded with the thud of small feet. Leading the pack, Leone burst into the kitchen and threw her arms around her grandmother’s waist.
Four years before, Opal had returned to Spokane with her child barely out of diapers. Before the dance troupe arrived in Chicago, Jack had abandoned the tour and traveled to California where there was an opportunity to make some quick money in Oroville. He wrote Opal, suggesting she give up their apartment and go back to Spokane to wait for him.
Desperate and lonely, Opal managed to get a telephone call through to her mother. “What could be in Oroville that interests Jack so much?” Opal asked Nellie.
