The Daughters of Erietown

by Connie Schultz

  When Ellie was little, she sometimes overheard her grandmother describe her sister’s “barren life” and how sad it was that Aunt Nessa had no children of her own. Ellie used to wince in silent agreement. What was a woman’s life worth if she couldn’t be a wife and mother? It wasn’t until last December that Ellie had seen it differently, when she was visiting Aunt Nessa. Ellie marveled aloud at the hundreds of Christmas cards hanging from string draped across three doorways and along the crown molding in both the dining and living rooms.

  “My children,” Aunt Nessa said, waving her arm under one of the curtains of cards. “I’ve launched so many of them into the world. They like to let me know what they’re up to. They’ve got a lot of children of their own now.” She looked at Ellie’s confused face and smiled. “Never feel sorry for me, sweetheart. I have lived an amazing life.”

  “I never said I—”

  Aunt Nessa waved her off. “I know what my big sister thinks of my choices. I don’t expect her to understand. Just don’t you believe it.”

  It was that one word that burrowed into Ellie’s mind and took hold. Choices. It had never occurred to Ellie that her great-aunt had ever had options. She had always assumed that Aunt Nessa was an old maid by fate, not choice. What if she could have married, and chose not to? The more Ellie stewed about her own future, the more she wanted to talk to Aunt Nessa about her “choices.”

  A month later, Ellie got her chance. “Aunt Nessa called,” Grandma Ada said one day after school. “Says she wants to pick you up and take you to Cleveland for lunch on Saturday.”

  Ellie could not contain her excitement. “Just the two of us?”

  Ada was at the stove, mashing a pot of potatoes. “That’s what she said. I don’t know that you need to go all the way to Cleveland for a sandwich, but if Nessa wants to waste her money like that, who am I to stop her?”

  Early on Saturday morning, Nessa had barely pulled her arctic blue Oldsmobile into the Fetterses’ driveway before Ellie was shouting goodbye to her grandparents and running out the door. On the drive to Cleveland, Aunt Nessa made small talk about school and her plans for next summer’s train trip, but after they parked and the doorman ushered them into Higbee’s department store, she was all business.

  “It’s time you had your own train case,” Aunt Nessa said, guiding her toward the escalator.

  Ellie watched her aunt step on the grated stair and slide her hand onto the railing. “Okay,” she whispered to herself. “You can do this.” She jumped onto the bottom stair with both feet and grabbed the railing. On her way to the mezzanine, Ellie tried to memorize everything on the first floor. The smell of dried rosebuds wafting from silver bowls on countertops. Gleaming glass tops reflecting the spray of chandelier lights. The fine wools and silks, and chirpy greetings from one saleslady after another.

  “Aunt Nessa,” Ellie said, stepping off the escalator. “I don’t even know what a train case is.” Nessa pointed to the Personal Leather Goods sign. “Every girl needs a train case,” she said, leading her through the archway. “I’ve had mine for decades. If you buy a top-notch one, it will last you a lifetime.”

  “Afternoon, Miss Reilly.”

  Aunt Nessa smiled at the young woman standing behind the glass counter. “Hello, Melissa,” she said. The brass name tag pinned to the clerk’s cardigan was bigger and shinier than any piece of jewelry Ellie owned. The clerk lowered her chin and peered at Ellie from under her bangs. “Is this your niece we’ve heard so much about?”

  Ellie looked at her aunt. “You talk about me, Aunt Ness?”

  The salesclerk smiled. “Does she.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Aunt Nessa said, coaxing Ellie to the counter. Another saleswoman, older and with a small diamond embedded in her name tag, approached them. “Miss Reilly, what brings you here today?”

  Aunt Nessa unlocked arms with Ellie and wrapped an arm over her shoulder. “Hello, Kristina. My niece here needs a train case in”—she looked at Ellie—“what color would you like?”

  Ellie looked around the room, which smelled of leather and lavender potpourri. “There’s so much here,” she said, staring at the racks of suitcases and purses. “I don’t know where to begin.”

  “Well,” Kristina said, “let’s start with your favorite color.”

  “Grandma says that blue’s my color.”

  Aunt Ness lifted her gloved hand and pushed a lock of curls from Ellie’s forehead. “Well, Grandma’s right. You look beautiful in blue. And since you’ll be carrying this everywhere, why not have it match your eyes?”

  A few minutes later, another young clerk had wrapped a powder blue vanity case in sheets of yellow tissue paper and slid it into a cream-colored box. She noticed Ellie staring at the brass name plate pinned to her dress.

  “Angela,” the girl said, tapping her pin. “My mother thought she was giving birth to an angel. What a surprise I was.”

  Ellie laughed. “I know a woman named Angela.”

  The woman pushed the lid onto the box and slid it into a large, flat-bottomed bag with braided cotton handles. “Has she earned the name?”

  Ellie thought about Brick’s mother, and how his face softened whenever he talked about her. “I think her son would say so.” The woman looked up from the receipt she was writing and smiled at Ellie. “Well, any man who loves his mother like that is a real catch.”

  Aunt Nessa moved a little closer to Ellie. “My niece has big plans,” she said, taking the bag from the clerk. “Which is why she needs this.” She handed it to Ellie. “Let’s go up to lunch and talk about all that.”

  On the elevator, Ellie smiled at the male operator and looped her arm through Aunt Nessa’s. “I just can’t believe how nice you are to me,” Ellie said. “And how everyone knows you here and fusses over you.”

  Aunt Nessa laughed softly. “Never confuse customer service with kindness, honey. They hover because I’ve spent a lot of money here over the years.”

  They got off the elevator and started walking toward the restaurant. Ellie caught her reflection in a gilded mirror on the wall. Her cheeks were red, and her forehead was shiny from sweat. She set the shopping bag on the floor. “Aunt Nessa.”

  Her aunt turned around. “My word, Ellie,” she said, walking toward her. “What’s the matter?”

  Ellie clasped her cheeks with her hands. “Aunt Nessa, I don’t know.” She glanced again at the frightened girl in the mirror. “I don’t know what I’m going to do next.” Nessa pointed to the shopping bag. “Pick that up, and follow me. We’ll figure it all out over lunch.”

  Ellie took a deep breath as they walked into the restaurant. “I’ve never seen a place like this in all my life,” she said, staring at the silver gazebo in the center of the room. It was wrapped in a trellis of silk vines and flowers, and overlooked a gurgling fountain.

  Her aunt pointed to the raised platform parting the room full of linen-draped gold-and-silver tables for four. “They sometimes have fashion shows during lunch,” she said. “It can be a bit much when you’re trying to have a conversation, but a lot of the ladies love it.” She nodded at the hostess approaching them. “Hello, Arlene,” Nessa said, patting Ellie’s back. “This is my niece, Ellie. She’s never been here before.” The hostess extended her arm toward the dining room. “Well, then, this is a special day for you, Miss Ellie. Welcome to the Silver Grille.” She walked them to a table by the wall of windows.

  “I’ve never heard of Indian chicken curry,” Ellie said.

  “It’s got a bit of kick, but it’s delicious,” Aunt Nessa said. “Sounds like it’s calling to you. And wait until you taste their orange tea biscuits.” She handed the menus to the waitress. “We’ll take”—she looked at Ellie—“the butterscotch cream pie for dessert?”

  Ellie clapped her hands together. “I’ve never had that, either.”

  Ellie opened t
he pocketbook on her lap and pulled out the receipt for her train case. “Miss Eleanor Fetters,” she read aloud, tapping her name written in her aunt’s hand at the bottom. “I feel so grown up.” Aunt Nessa leaned back in her seat. “As you almost are.” She lifted her cup and took a sip of tea. “Now, what’s on your mind?”

  Ellie spread her napkin across her lap. “What makes you think I’ve got anything on my mind?”

  “You’re almost eighteen, honey. On the brink of womanhood.” She reached for a biscuit. “And I heard about Brick’s scholarship.”

  Ellie slumped back in her seat. “Is there anyone who hasn’t? You’d think he was just elected president or something.”

  Nessa split open the biscuit and handed half to Ellie. “Don’t, honey. Nothing ages a woman faster than bitterness. Brick’s gain is not your loss.”

  “Grandma and Grandpa don’t like Brick. They don’t approve of his father.”

  “Yes, well,” Aunt Nessa said, “it’s easier to judge the father you had no role in raising.”

  Ellie sat up straighter. “I never thought of it that way.”

  Her aunt waved her hand. “I don’t mean to be harsh. We’re complicated creatures, every last one of us.”

  “Aunt Nessa, can I ask you a question?”

  “You may.”

  “Did you ever, I don’t know.” Her aunt was holding her teacup now with both hands. “Did you ever think you’d get married?”

  Aunt Nessa set the cup down. “I did,” she said. “Even knew the fellow I wanted to marry.”

  “You did?”

  “Benjamin Whitmore. Sweetest boy. His father was a pharmacist, which was almost like being a doctor in our dinky little town. Nice man. His mother taught the piano.”

  “Why didn’t you marry him?”

  Ellie waited as her aunt took another sip of tea. She looked out the window for a moment before continuing. “Well, I thought about it. A lot. He proposed three times.” She looked at Ellie. “Can you believe that? Three times, this handsome boy asked me to marry him. And three times I had to say no.”

  “Didn’t you love him?”

  Aunt Nessa looked away again. “I did love him. But I guess you could say I loved my freedom more. When I was your age, a woman couldn’t be a teacher after she had a baby. She couldn’t even be in the classroom once she started to show. I loved teaching. More to the point, I loved having a career. I didn’t want to give that up.”

  Ellie waited for the waitress to set down their plates and leave before asking another question. “Do you ever regret that decision?”

  “Ellie, we all make choices in life. I made mine, and I’ve never looked back. What you really want to know is what you should do with the rest of your life.”

  Ellie nodded, her eyes welling. “I just don’t know what will happen to me if Brick goes away. I do want to be married.”

  “And you will be, someday. But what else do you want to be?”

  “What else can I be? I have no money, and no scholarship. And Grandma and Grandpa won’t even talk about me going to college.”

  Aunt Nessa reached across the table and grabbed Ellie’s hand. “My sister and her husband love you very much, but they don’t know what’s out there for a young girl these days.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What I mean is, you could go to nursing school.” She scooped up a forkful of rice. “Your grades are excellent. You could get a full scholarship at St. Luke’s Hospital in Cleveland. I’ve already been in touch with them. I’ve been sending girls to them for years. They’ll train and board you for two years, and then they’ll hire you.” Nessa waved her hand in front of Ellie’s stunned face. “Ellie, did you hear what I just said?”

  “Why?” she whispered. “Why didn’t anybody tell me this?”

  Her aunt smiled. “I’m afraid Clayton Valley hasn’t caught up with the rest of the world yet.”

  Ellie set her fork down, her appetite vanquished. She looked around the room, suddenly aware of the hum of conversations. For the first time, she imagined Brick playing basketball at Kent State and felt only happiness for him.

  “I could go to nursing school,” she said. “I could work as a nurse. And then when Brick graduates from college—”

  “When Brick graduates, he can only hope you’ll still be waiting for him,” Aunt Nessa said, flagging the waitress. “Let’s ask for dessert right now. Let’s celebrate, and then let’s start planning.” She reached across the table and grabbed Ellie’s hand again. “You have a big, bold adventure waiting for you, dear one. Don’t be late for your own life.”

  Brick looked at the full moon peeking through the sliver of his bedroom window and thought about his afternoon with Ellie. This was their third time, and just thinking about her got him ready for the fourth. She wanted him as bad as he wanted her, even if they always had to have the God talk first. Would God want them to be doing this? Would God punish them? Was God disappointed in them?

  He was certain God didn’t care what they did. If God was always hanging around, he sure played favorites, and neither he nor Ellie had made the list. How could God let Ellie be abandoned by her parents? And why did he stick Brick with Bull McGinty for a father? Ellie hated it whenever he asked such questions. “Everything happens for a reason, Brick. Sometimes we have to wait it out to see what God has planned.”

  He imagined her face flush with hope, and felt another round of guilt. What would happen to Ellie if he left? To his mom? Would God take care of them? He pulled the bedcovers tighter around his neck and scratched Patch’s head as the dog groaned in his sleep. Brick looked at his alarm clock. 4:06. Jesus. He’d been awake all night. He pulled the wool blanket up to his nose and inhaled. The scent of Harry was long gone.

  The blanket was the only thing of Harry’s that Brick had wanted after his brother died in the war. He had been six years old when his brother’s plane exploded over England, leaving the McGinty family in shards. He remembered every horrible moment of that summer afternoon in ’44. The knock on the frame of the screen door. The creak of rusty hinges as his mother pushed it open. A man’s low voice. His mother’s scream. Brick’s attempt to catch her as her knees buckled. She fell to the floor, pulling Brick down with her. “Too much,” she wailed, rocking in his arms. “You ask too much of me.”

  Not long after Harry’s funeral, Brick found his mother sitting on the kitchen floor, staring at a cardboard box stamped UNITED STATES NAVY. Her hands trembled when she sliced open the shipping tape. Brick tiptoed toward her as she slowly pulled out each of his brother’s belongings and set them gently on the linoleum floor, as if she were setting an altar for communion.

  After a few minutes of this, Brick bent down and leaned on his heels to get a better look. He ran his fingers along the grooves of Harry’s hand-carved wooden box, the one he had made in high school. He echoed his mother’s deep breath as she opened it to find his cigarette lighter and a bundle of letters from home, tied with twine, all of them written in her hand. She pulled out Harry’s penknife and set it on the floor, next to a small brown envelope stuffed with his collection of palm-size picture postcards. She took out Harry’s prized fountain pen, a gift from his oldest sister, Lillian. “He wrote all his letters with this,” she said, holding it up to the window light. “Look,” she said, pointing toward the nib. “You can see his fingerprint.”

  A folded olive-colored blanket lined the bottom of the box. Angie lifted it out with both hands and unfurled it across her lap. Brick slid next to her and held up a corner of the blanket to his face. He took a deep breath and exhaled. “Can I have it, Ma?”

  Angie looked down at him, her eyes red and watery. “What?”

  “Can I have the blanket?”

  “Of all the things here, why this?”

  Brick buried his face in it again and took another deep breath. “It smells like
him, Ma. It smells like Harry.” Angie lifted the blanket and inhaled, and started to sob. Brick jumped to his feet. “I’m sorry, Ma. I’m sorry.” He ran out of the room wishing he’d never said a word.

  A few months later, after Bull had unleashed another round of fury, Brick woke up to find Harry’s blanket draped across the foot of his bed. He never mentioned it to his mother. As much as he feared his father’s temper, he feared his mother’s tears even more.

  Brick looked at the clock again. 4:35. He stood up and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders while Patch rolled over onto his back, his legs splayed as he continued to snore. Brick smiled. “Lucky you, boy. At least you can sleep.” He walked over to the window. The fat snowflakes looked so innocent as they steadily buried the town. His father’s truck was parked next to his. A rare sight. Bull often left the house for days at a time now, but his mother had seemed to stop caring years ago. The week after Harry died, she’d cleared out her bureau drawers and moved into Harry’s bedroom. She had slept there ever since.

  Gone were the long nights when Brick used to lie in bed with a pillow over his head, trying to muffle the sounds of his father’s drunken rage as they wafted through the floorboards. So many mornings, Brick would walk into the kitchen and hear his mother softly singing the same hymn, over and over.

  There will be peace in the valley for me, someday

  There will be peace in the valley for me, oh Lord I pray

  There’ll be no sadness, no sorrow

  No trouble, trouble I see

  There will be peace in the valley for me, for me.

  She was fifty-four now, and looked ancient. Her hair was snow white and thinning, her face sliding away and pooling around her neck. The kindest woman he knew was surrendering to the dark cloud that had been trying to catch her for years. She walked more slowly, and he could no longer ignore how often she paused and pressed a palm against the small of her back. The more slowly she moved, the more Brick hovered. “What’s wrong, Ma?” he’d ask, trying to nudge her into a chair. Her answer was always the same: “Nothing God won’t fix down the road, Son.” Even when he stood right next to her, his mother looked so alone.