She's Gone: A Novel

by Emmens, Joye

  She held her face in her hands as tears streamed down her cheeks.

  10

  Be Here Now

  Bill got the group a two-day job harvesting filberts at a nearby orchard. Saturday morning, a bell clanged at six from the dining room. Will moaned, rolled over, and went back to sleep. Jolie slipped out of bed and into a pair of denim overalls she’d found in the communal clothes bin. In the kitchen, she put on the kettle and placed a large scoop of dried red rose hips into the chipped floral teapot.

  Deidre came in, hair tousled, rubbing her eyes, “You look like a farmer.”

  “Tell me something. Are filberts the same as hazelnuts?” Jolie said.

  “In Oregon they’re filberts and most everywhere else they’re hazelnuts.”

  “Hmm.” Sometimes the simplest things didn’t make sense.

  They cut slices of homemade bread and packed sandwiches for the group along with crisp, tart apples and homemade cookies Jolie had baked the night before. Cooking for twenty was a lot easier with electricity and running water. The old boarding house kitchen was perfect for a commune. Two stoves and refrigerators were located across from a cavernous pantry full of bulk food and baskets of nuts and apples. A large work table stood in the center of the room, and a wide swinging door lead to the dining room.

  Maddy joined them and made a huge pot of oatmeal. Commune members started to assemble in the dining room. Not seeing Will, Jolie slipped up to their room to rouse him. After breakfast, the work party got into three cars and drove out to the orchard. They wound their way along the Willamette River; its wide banks and shimmering green water melted into darker green fields dotted with yellowing oak trees. Dairy cows and an occasional horse grazed in pastures. In the morning fog, the blue outline of the Coastal Range faded into the horizon.

  The three car caravan turned onto a long driveway marked by a large sign: Walt’s Orchard—Willamette Valley Famous Filberts. They rattled down the dirt road to the barn. A man came out and watched the procession arrive. He must be Walt. He looked like a farmer, red plaid shirt, denim overalls, and black rubber boots. His tan face was creased with lines.

  “Well, well. Look at all these workers,” the man said to Bill. They stood around him in a group. “I’m Walt. So here’s what we’re going to do. Pair up, every pair takes one rake and one pole. Start on a row and shake the tree with the pole. I want every one of those nuts off the trees. Rake the nuts into a pile at the center of the row. I’ll come along after and collect them with the filbert sweeper. Now make sure you get them all. I’ll be checking on you,” he said.

  They all laughed.

  Bill moved toward Jolie. “Let’s pair up.” Jolie looked at Deidre, panic in her eyes.

  “We’ve already paired,” Deidre said.

  Relief flooded her. Jolie smiled at her friend. She did not want to pair up with Bill for anything.

  They grabbed the tools and started the harvest at the far end of the orchard.

  “Thanks for saving me from Bill.”

  Deidre rolled her eyes. “Just ignore him. He’ll get the message. But he’s really okay. He taught me to be here now.”

  “Be here now?”

  “The here and now are all that exist because the past and future are simply that...the past and future. He taught me to be true to the moment and experience peace and joy.”

  Jolie raked more nuts. Feel the now. She stopped raking and looked at Deidre. “What if you don’t like the now?”

  “Then change it, I guess.” She turned to Jolie. “What’s wrong with the now?”

  Jolie shrugged and returned to raking. Everything. Everything was wrong with the now.

  “Well, the future is more important than the past. You can change the future.”

  They worked side by side, shaking the trees and raking nuts. By noon, they had progressed halfway up the row. Walt rang a bell, signaling lunch time. Jolie looked for Will. He and Michael were only a quarter of the way up their row. They stood and talked more than they worked. Will was out to change the world one recruit at a time.

  They finished on Sunday as the sun set. At the end of the day everyone helped Will and Michael finish their row. They’d beaten the rain. Walt paid Bill in bushels of nuts and cash.

  That night, they roasted hazelnuts in the oven until the skins cracked. They removed the hulls and ate the warm, rich, sweet-flavored nuts. They talked about other jobs they could do. Jolie went into the kitchen to make tea. She stood by the gleaming counter in the soft light, waiting for the water to boil. The door swung open, and Bill sidled up next to her. She moved away.

  “Why are you afraid of me?” he said, stroking his mustache.

  “I’m not.” She moved to get a mug from the cupboard.

  “I’ve got to have you.”

  A wave of disgust rose in her. “You have Maddy.”

  “But I want you. I can teach you things.”

  With a shaking hand, she poured water over an orange pekoe tea bag. Unable to speak, she shook her head and moved toward the door.

  “You’ll come around. Just you wait and see.”

  She quietly slipped past Will and the others in the parlor and went upstairs to their room. Later, Will came in. “What are you reading?” He picked up her book and shook his head. “The Transcendental Movement? That’s mumbo jumbo.” He reached for a frayed book on the dresser. “Read this and then we can discuss it.”

  She took the well-worn copy of The Communist Manifesto and set it down.

  “I want to get our own house. We need to get jobs and move.”

  “Move? We just got here,” Will said.

  “We have to get out of here. I don’t want to live like this.”

  “What’s the matter with this?” He motioned with his hand around the room. “Don’t act like a spoiled child.”

  Spoiled child? She was anything but a spoiled child. Should she tell him about Bill? No, first they needed a plan to leave. In the meantime they needed a place to stay, and telling Will would only cause trouble.

  11

  Mill Race Cafe

  Jolie’s social security card arrived from the Social Security Administration office in San Francisco a few weeks after she had mailed her application. She changed her birth date and her last name on the application. It had been that easy. She held out the card. Her new name, Jolie Cassady, leapt off. She could get a real job now. She wanted to get their own place, a small house on a tree-lined street with a flower garden and a dog. She wanted her independence.

  She read the Help Wanted advertisements. Topless server? No way. There was an ad for a waitress. She could wait tables couldn’t she?

  Will drove her to the Mill Race Café, the local coffee shop, and waited in Michael’s car. She walked in and squinted. The fluorescent lights were bright in contrast to the gray outside. Red booths glowed against yellow Formica countertops. A cook in a white hat and apron slapped two steaming plates of pancakes and eggs on a stainless steel counter and rang a bell. A middle-aged waitress walked toward the counter and stabbed her pencil through her beehive hairdo. She took the plates and served them to a couple in a booth.

  Jolie approached the cash register and waited. She scanned the menu. They served an all-American breakfast and lunch. The waitress walked over, wiping her glasses on her apron and then sliding them back on. She looked like a cat, the eyeglass corners pointing skyward. Did designers actually believe that style of glasses looked good on anyone?

  Jolie asked about the job, and the waitress took out an application from underneath the counter and handed it to her with a pen. She pointed to a stool at the counter, and Jolie sat down and filled it out. She paused occasionally and looked around. There was laughter from the waitress and customers. The decor was hideous, but it was warm and bright. Jolie walked back to the cash register and waited. The waitress came back and reviewed the applicati
on.

  “Wait here, honey,” she said. She took the application and walked back through the kitchen. Jolie watched as she and the cook talked. The cook scanned the paper and glanced out at her. A moment later he stood in front of Jolie, the application in his hand and the waitress at his side. He looked her up and down.

  “You don’t look eighteen,” he said.

  She inhaled quickly.

  “But all you kids look so young to me. Can you start tomorrow?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your shift is from six in the morning until two, Monday through Friday. We pay minimum wage, and you keep your tips. Georgina here will get you a uniform.” He turned and walked back to the kitchen.

  “I’ll be right back, honey.” Georgina disappeared through the swinging door to the kitchen. When she returned, she handed Jolie a uniform and a starched white half-apron with two pockets. “Hallelujah, I have some help. The other girl didn’t show up the other day. Not even a courtesy call.”

  “I promise I’ll call if I can’t make it in,” Jolie said.

  “I know you will, honey. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Just like that, she had her first full-time job. She announced it at dinner that night. The dinner turned into a meeting of sorts that Bill led, as usual. Will could use Michael’s car to drive Jolie to work in the mornings, but she’d have to take the bus home. After some debate, it was agreed that Jolie would turn her paycheck over to the commune but she could keep her tips. That seemed fair.

  She was nervous about her new job, but hopeful. She would save her tips, and she and Will would get their own house. He’d get a job too. But he said he needed to remain underground for a while as he feared there was a warrant for his arrest for leaving with Jolie, a minor. He spent his time perfecting his socialist revolution manifesto that he planned to publish under his assumed name.

  Later that night Jolie lay on the bed, reading Emerson. She’d methodically been reading through the library in the parlor. She put the book down and pondered his essay on the over-soul. The universe was connected to nature and united all mankind with each other, a common heart. A common heart with the universe. Did she still have a common heart with her family?

  Will came in. “You look so sad.”

  “I miss home.”

  “We have a new life now,” he said, taking her hand.

  “I just want to let them know I’m okay.”

  “We can’t risk it right now.”

  She didn’t speak. She closed her eyes. She would find a way. She would get them a message somehow. She needed to give them peace of mind.

  Jolie woke at five the next morning. She showered and dressed in her uniform. The pale blue dress hung on her like a sack. The hem fell below her knees. There was no way she would go out in public like that.

  Outside the door Will whispered, “Time to go, or you’ll be late.”

  She looked at her reflection, humiliated. Why hadn’t she tried it on yesterday? She’d been so nervous about the new job she hadn’t even thought of that. She would alter it that night. Maddy had a sewing machine. She walked out of the bathroom. Will stood waiting to drive her, looking sleepy.

  She expected some kind of comment about her uniform but none came. There was a slight arch to his eyebrows, but he stayed silent.

  Georgina trained Jolie, and her first task every day was to make cake donuts. When they were partly cooled, she dipped them in the frostings, maple, chocolate, and vanilla. The vanilla frosted doughnuts got a dusting of chocolate sprinkles. At the end of the day Georgina sent her home with any leftover donuts. They disappeared instantly at the Big Yellow House.

  It was a busy café, and Jolie was on the go her entire shift. Georgina was happy to return to her hostess role. Within a week Jolie had learned the ropes. The owners, it turned out, were the cook and Georgina. They liked her enthusiasm and made light of her mistakes. As the weeks went on she got to know the regulars. The customers liked her good-natured smile and easy conversation, and to her amazement her tips increased with every shift. Every week she painstakingly put her coins from tips into coin wrappers and put them in her drawer. Her dream was to rent a house of their own. That kept her going.

  At the restaurant she was always on edge. She scanned the face of each and every customer coming through the door, always expecting her dad to walk in. It was a haunting feeling. Every time the local police came through the door for donuts and coffee, her heart leapt and a rush of panic spread through her.

  Will had become a regular at C.J.’s, a downtown coffee house and the political hub of Eugene. The owner, C.J., and Will had become fast friends. Will hung out on the faded, threadbare couches everyday while Jolie was at work. Radical newspapers were stacked by the door; anti-war protest schedules were tacked to the bulletin board. On weekends, musicians jammed on the small stage.

  Jolie joined Will on her days off. The coffee house was a cozy refuge from the constant rain. The air was thick with the aroma of fresh ground coffee and herbal tea. She sat in an overstuffed chair and listened with interest to Will’s spirited discussion on political change. A small group always encircled him.

  One rainy afternoon at the coffee house, Will and C.J. hatched the local chapter of the Revolutionary Youth Movement, the RYM.

  Jolie listened to the plan. “What exactly is it?”

  “It’s a faction of the Students for a Democratic Society, the SDS, but more radical,” C.J. said.

  “We’re going to recruit and build a fighting force of working class youth, a revolutionary movement. A movement to represent the working class of America. A movement to bring down capitalism,” Will said.

  “Well, I’m a working class waitress. I’ll be your first recruit,” she said.

  And so the recruitment began. Will became the heart and soul of the local RYM. Will used C.J.’s and other local hangouts to recruit members. He hung out at the university student union during the day. The cafeteria near the bookstore, known as the Fishbowl, was the center for student socializing. Jolie joined him one Saturday as he sat in a booth holding court. Male and female students called out to him or joined him in political discussions. She was amazed at how many people knew him.

  “How many have you recruited here?” Jolie said.

  “Over a hundred. Recruitment is ripe with these students. Our timing is perfect. We’re building a strong collective, both on and off campus.”

  Three male students slid into the large booth with them.

  “How’s it going?” asked one.

  “Good, it’s going good,” Will said.

  Jolie instantly felt the tension. Their eyes were trained on Will. One tapped his fingers on the table. Another ran his hand through his hair repeatedly.

  “Instead of two movements, don’t you think we’d all be stronger with just one?” the second student said.

  “We need more than students. We need all youth,” Will said. “Students alone can’t bring down capitalism. The RYM represents the entire working class of America.”

  They didn’t argue. He was right. They needed more than students to bring about change.

  Jolie picked up the student newspaper and scanned the houses for rent. She’d been looking at the rental advertisements in the paper at work. At the Big Yellow House she could never fully relax or let her guard down. All the drama, spoken and unspoken, and Bill, still made her uncomfortable. She liked going to work to get away from the house. She turned the page to the Help Wanted section. When she looked up the students were gone.

  “There are some jobs in the paper,” she said.

  “I have a job. This is my job.”

  “I mean a paying job.”

  “Don’t be bourgeois. We don’t need any more money. You have a job. We have a roof over our heads. The movement needs me.”

  She put down the paper and studied him.

 
He leaned in close to her. “Everything changed for me when we left together. I made a huge sacrifice to be with you. There is a warrant out for my arrest because you are under age. I can’t be visible. I can’t give speeches. I have to stay underground for a while. But I can publish my manifesto under my assumed name and I can recruit and that is what I plan to do.” He sat back.

  She gulped, speechless. She had assumed he would work and make some money. They hadn’t specifically talked about it, but wasn’t that what a good man would do, contribute his fair share? He had a college degree. A heaviness landed on her heart. She hadn’t known what to expect, but she never thought she’d be the one supporting them both. And she wasn’t bourgeois. Whatever that really meant. She just wanted certain things, and right now it was freedom from living with a tribe of people.

  “I just want to get our own place and make our own life.”

  His eyes moved from hers to something of interest over her shoulder. He waved and smiled and instantly three students, two females and a male, slid into the booth. Will introduced them as members of the movement. Will talked on about Karl Marx and Mao Tse Tung. The two women hung on every word, enamored with Will’s eloquence.

  So this was what he did all day while she waitressed. Recruiting a revolutionary movement and talking to beautiful young women. She loved him so much and didn’t want to feel resentful. Reading The Wisdom of Buddha, she had learned right mindfulness. To acknowledge the feeling and free yourself from it. She slowly breathed in and out in a wakeful meditation, but disappointment weighed heavy on her chest. She wouldn’t give up on getting their own place.

  12

  The Letter

  Jolie took a shortcut to the bus after work one afternoon. On a quiet, tree-lined street a For Rent sign in the window of a blue cottage with white trim, caught her eye. The monthly rent amount was posted and her weekly paycheck alone would cover the rent. The front door stood wide open despite the drizzle. Country music floated out to the sidewalk. She walked up the stone path and saw a man in coveralls singing along to the radio as he painted the living room. She knocked on the open door.