“Well, I can’t wait to get rid of you and have the house to myself,” he came back. Then Brock quickly slid his free arm around her shoulder and squeezed.
“You’ll miss me, and you know it. Who will you have to pester?” She deliberately shrugged off his embrace. Jutting her chin in the air, she screwed up her face into a pucker and gave him the girl look as Brock called it. He hooted.
Dena really looked at her brother. His white-blonde hair enhanced his tanned face, giving him a dashing look. His hardened muscles from the constant farm work bulged under his shirt. It’s a wonder girls don’t fall over each other trying to date him.
“And I won’t miss your constant nagging.” He smirked, reaching for the second suitcase. With several exaggerated steps, Brock moved toward the stairs. She gathered up the cosmetics case, the small carry-on bag and followed. “I don’t nag, pester, or badger.”
“I got you. Ha, ha, ha.”
Brock continued taunting as they reached the bottom of the stairs. She hurried ahead of him, reaching the kitchen just as her dad came in from outside. Brock intensified his groan as he followed his sister through the kitchen door.
“Do you have everything, dear?” Her mother’s smile didn’t quite reach her mouth.
“Yes, I think so, Mother.” Brock groaned again.
“Well now, don’t you look spiffy, girl.” With pride her dad slowly looked at her from head to foot. Dena fidgeted, smoothing the front of her jacket. He turned to Susan, smiling. Her sister was his baby and held his heart. Then he smiled tenderly at his wife.
“Mother, you keep an eye on my two lovely, young ladies. I don’t want them bothered by any boys on the train,” he softly said. Brock hooted, ducking when Dad playfully cuffed him about the ear. Dad pulled out his new pocket watch.
“We had better go. We don’t want to miss the train. It leaves promptly in about two hours, and it’ll take almost an hour for us to get there.”
Susan reached for the wicker basket on the table. Ducking her head, Dena snickered as she watched her sister’s eyes widen. The basket was heavier than she realized. It contained fruit, cheese, and carefully wrapped and sealed quart canning jars of water.
“Oh, Mother! Do we have to carry food and water like in the old days; this is 1939!” protested Dena, trying not to show her embarrassment. Earlier, her mother said they wouldn’t eat every meal on the train. Then she repeated horror stories she had heard from neighbors and friends, at the ice cream socials and dances that had eaten the food and had become ill. And Mother had said she wasn’t taking sick girls to California for Doreen to nurse, but it hadn’t stopped Dena from protesting.
“If you want to go to California, girl,” her dad said sternly, “you will obey your mother’s instructions.”
Dena lowered her head and bit the inside of her lower lip as she helped Susan carry the basket to the car, setting it between her parents. I am ungrateful. I know that everyone has sacrificed for this trip, but it’s my trip! I’m the one going to California to live. And why does Dad always call me girl?
Their old, dust-covered, black Plymouth was packed with suitcases piled in the trunk and strapped on the roof.
She squeezed into the backseat between her siblings. It used to be easier to ride three across the seat, Dena suddenly realized, but now we all have grown up and out, especially Brock. He starts his third year at Colorado University this fall. Hmmm, I wonder if he dates. He never mentions any special girl. As a matter of fact, the only one in the family who has a steady is Susan. Boys don’t interest me. She glanced at Brock, then pursed her lips and wrinkled her nose, giving her girl look. He grinned broadly.
Dena turned, ignoring her brother. She looked past him to watch her dad push the screen door shut, making sure it latched, and propping a red brick against it before he walked to the car. He did this each time everyone was going to be gone. It must be a habit from his childhood since she knew the door shut securely.
Dad turned the key and pushed the starter button. It took a couple tries before the old car purred. Grinding the gears, he turned the steering wheel and slowly aimed the car down the well-grooved, dusty road. It sped along at fifty-miles-per-hour, causing the countryside to rush by. Dena watched. I’ll not miss the mountain slopes, sage, or scrub bushes. Nor will I miss the ranch or this country life I grew up in. But, I do wonder about my future, starting a new life somewhere on the California coast, living with family I don’t know. No wonder my feelings are like the pendulum on our old grandfather clock.
She inhaled before squeezing her lips tightly between her teeth until the tears disappeared. It’s 1939. I am …I am nineteen … I will not cry.
Chapter Two
The westbound train was already at the depot as Dad eased the car into a parking lane. Dena leaned forward, looking out the window. Steam wheezed intermittingly and loudly next to the platform. Everyone tumbled out of the Plymouth, adding to the confusion of people bustling about the depot. Mesmerized, Dena watched the activity while her dad and brother unloaded the baggage and hurried to check it in. The hustle excited her. She had never ridden on a train. Biting at her lip, Dena saw Susan standing next to Mother wearing that blue gauze dress.
“You board at Pier 16. Let’s go,” Dad urged, putting his hand on Mother’s elbow and guiding the small group to their coach. As he handed Mother the tickets and baggage slips, he smiled.
“Give Doreen my love, Judith. I would like to see her, but I don’t like leaving the farm. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”
Dad always refers to home as a farm—Dena frowned—when it’s really a ranch; we run cattle and raise only enough crops to feed the livestock. Her mother’s face glowed while she gently caressed Dad’s cheek. Dena stood perfectly straight, thinking, I would like the closeness my mother and my dad share when I get married, but not now; my first goal is to have a career like Aunt Doreen, then maybe I’ll think about marriage.
“Dena, you take care and mind your Aunt Doreen. Don’t forget to say your prayers and read your Bible every day.” Her dad looked directly into her eyes, demanding her total attention as he held her shoulders firmly in his large, calloused hands. He didn’t say much to her about his faith, but he lived it.
“Yes, Daddy,” she mumbled. Saying goodbye was harder than she had expected; she wanted to say something more to her father, like Who will spoil me, correct me, and allow me to do things my own way?
“Remember girl, you are always welcome here. This is your home,” he continued gruffly, holding her close. She barely nodded. At last, she said scarcely above a whisper, “I love you, Daddy.”
Her dad gently kissed her forehead, wiped away a tear before he turned to Susan. Dena boarded the steps and moved to the first window seat where she could watch her dad and brother on the platform. Mother and Susan got on just after her. The train whistle blew.
“Susan, why don’t you take the window seat across from Dena,” Mother said. Impatiently, Dena waited for the train to move, and move it did. It lurched forward, almost throwing her onto Susan’s lap. The steam engines pulsated, and the train steadily picked up speed. In a crouched position with her knee on the seat to keep steady, she pressed her nose against the window, watching until she could no longer see the depot or her dad. Dark smoke floated away on the wind. Then Dena plopped down into her seat. She listened to the rhythmic clickety-clack noise. Mother frowned but said nothing.
The conductor stopped beside Mother. Taking the tickets from her bag, she checked to see if she had all three before handing them to him. Dena watched as his pudgy fingers punched each ticket. Then he returned Mother and Susan’s tickets.
“San Jose? That’s quite a trip for you ladies,” the conductor said, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“How long is the trip?” Susan asked politely.
“About thirty-six hours. You’ll stay on this train all the way to where the round house is,”
he explained.
Oh,” Susan said. Suddenly, she remembered her manners. “Thank you.”
He smiled.
Round house—what’s a round house? Dena’s brow wrinkled. Not to be outdone by Susan, she quickly asked, “How fast does the train travel?”
“Between forty and fifty-miles-per-hour,” the rotund conductor replied while checking the tickets across the aisle. “At each stop, local people get on selling drinks, sandwiches, and desserts. Also, we have a dining car and sleeper cars for a small fee. If you wish to use any of these facilities, just let me know.”
Mother thanked him for his thoughtfulness. Grateful that neither Mother nor Susan mentioned their basket, Dena muttered a small prayer. Shortly, the conductor turned back to Mother, leaned over, and spoke in a low voice. “There’s a water closet located at the either end of the coach for your convenience, ladies on the right and men on the left.”
Flushing, Mother averted her eyes as she thanked him again. Reddening, Dena carefully released her breath. A group of young men passed by, collectively moving toward the other end of the coach. Cautiously checking them out, she noticed that some wore suits while others were dressed in slacks and short-sleeve shirts with ties loosened at the neck. Two young men tipped their hats and openly admired the girls while another made a remark that caused all of them to laugh. Susan blushed.
“They sure are rude,” Dena murmured, turning her attention to the men in uniform that followed the first group but didn’t look to be part of the crowd; they were more respectful and gathered together in twos and threes. Dena wondered why they were in uniform. Is the United States at war?
“Girls, you must not visibly acknowledge the young men, not even with a nod or a glance. We don’t know anything about them,” Mother cautioned, looking directly at Dena. “Remember your upbringing and Bible verses. Psalm 139 reminds us that God knows our character, our thoughts, our conduct, and our conversation before we do. If you keep this in mind, then you will not embarrass yourself or others.” Susan nodded absently, but Mother closely watched Dena, fully knowing the pitfalls her oldest daughter would face.
Dena’s head respectfully bobbed even though she wished they didn’t have to always talk about scriptures. It annoyed her, especially when in public.
Mother pulled out the handiwork she was making for Aunt Doreen. Dena moved her carry-on bag over so she could get more comfortable on the old, bench-style coach seat. The aged leather covering the seat was firm, and the springs were unrelenting. Her stomach rumbled. She sighed, watching out the window as the train squealed to a stop. Passengers got on while others got off, followed by the train continuing swiftly down the track. Brown pastures, rundown towns, lean-to buildings, scraggly looking dogs and equally ragged trees rushed by. They were bent over or sprawled out, forming different shapes that reminded her of people. I wonder what they’re called.
“Do you know where we are?” Susan leaned over her sister’s shoulder to peer out.
“No, I don’t.” She squirmed to shrug Susan off.“It sure looks different from home. I wonder what people do?” Susan continued, ignoring the shrug.
“I don’t know.” Dena answered, softening her tone, “maybe hunting, farming and—”
“My, but it’s warm,” Mother said, running the palms of her hands along her skirt. “Where’s my handkerchief?”
Susan found a dainty embroidered handkerchief crumpled up on the seat and handed it to her. Much to Dena’s alarm, Mother opened a water jar, wet her handkerchief, and put the cool cloth to her face and neck; that was something you would do on the farm, not in public. Quickly, Dena glanced at the people across the aisle. They didn’t notice.
Mother spoke in a tone loud enough for others to hear,
“You girls might want to freshen up.”
Susan nodded. Amused, Dena watched as her sister patted her face and neck in the same way Mother had. Then she relaxed into her seat and looked bored. She wanted to laugh but didn’t because Mother gave the moistened handkerchief to her. While she carefully dabbed, Dena wondered if she too looked like Mother. No matter how much she wanted to deny the fact, the cool rag felt good. She slipped out of her shoes and propped her feet up on the seat next to Susan. Susan grimaced but didn’t move.
She again stared out the window at an approaching platform. Three hours on the train seemed much longer to Dena because of the many stops at small depots taking on and letting people off. This stop offered some excitement. She leaned forward and watched one man punch another in the face, knocking him to the ground. Fascinated, she couldn't take her eyes from the drama as the man leaned over with his nose in the other man’s face. He yelled heated words. Dena blushed. What are they fighting about?
Susan leaned forward and put her face next to Dena’s shoulder, watching. Glancing at her sister’s face, Dena watched her eyes widen at the harshly spoken words, causing her to shrink away from the window. The second man hurriedly got up, wiped his nose on his sleeve, and ran for the slow-moving train. Disappointed that he didn’t come into her coach, Dena watched the first man clench and unclench his fists, grow smaller and smaller.
“We should eat.” Her mother, who was oblivious of the fight, pulled out wrapped fruit and cheese.
“Could Susan and I go to the ladies room first?” Mother nodded, putting the food back in the basket. As soon as they got back, she indicated for them to bow their heads for prayer. Then she handed each girl a pear and a small chunk of cheese. Dena’s face fell. There was no way of hiding their lunch. She looked around the coach section, noting several other travelers munching on food. Removing the wrapping from around the cheese, she took a small bite and turned back to the window. There wasn’t much excitement in sand and sagebrush. Dena squirmed around in her seat, stretched, and then relaxed the best she could.
Thinking back to the day her dad told her about the trip to California Dena smiled slightly. It was Father’s Day. They had just given him a new pocket watch. He stood up and tapped on his glass with his spoon.
“Thank you all for my new watch. I’ll use it daily and treasure it forever.” Her dad carefully studied her as she looked up at him. Unable to speak, Dena gulped. He smiled at Mother.
“Mother and I have decided that she and you girls will take a trip to California to see Aunt Doreen.” Her dad paused. “And if you want, Dena, you may stay for a while with Doreen.”
Dena was sure he had forgotten. Not once had he talked about his discussion with Uncle Walter. Not only had her dad remembered, but he had called his sister. And he and Mother prayed. There were many considerations; money for Dena and the trip. Plus the clothes she would need.
He finally asked, “Well, girl would you like that?” Her dad’s eyes twinkled as he waited for her answer.
“Yes, oh yes, Daddy! I would!” Dena tipped her chair over when she jumped up to hug him. Everyone laughed. She didn’t care. She was going to California. Dena glowed. The train came to a stop, jolting her back to reality.
“Dena, you should eat,” Mother quietly admonished her daughter before picking up her handiwork. Squirming in the hard leather seat, Dena picked up her pear and bit into it. Watching her mother’s hands methodically move over her stitching lulled Dena’s mind back to June. Everything that month consisted of buying, making, and sorting but her wardrobe took shape. In a few weeks her mother managed to make all the needed new outfits. It amazed Dena how much her mother accomplished with all the canning too.
Mother worried about her and continually hovered over her. She had patiently listened to Mother remind her about her conscience. She knew it was there to help her to make right decisions, not to do something stupid, as Susan aptly put it in her prissy-sissy voice.
I can’t wait to be on my own, making my own decisions. Her face brightened at the thought. Susan flourishes on Mother’s attention. But I want my space and the freedom to make my own decisions. That is why I liked working outside with Dad milking cows, feeding chickens, g
athering eggs, and working in the garden while Susan helped Mother.
Looking around, Dena discreetly studied the other people in her area. Most looked bored or tired.
One young mother about her age cradled a small child with rosy cheeks while an older couple sitting across from her helped her with her toddler. Dena was glad she wasn’t a mother of two.
Somewhere behind her male voices belted out “I’ll Never Smile Again.” No matter how much she wanted to look, she knew mustn’t. It was one of the popular songs she had heard on the radio. The singing and laughter continued all afternoon. Weary of it all, she watched the day fade into night. The late afternoon hues created shadowy shapes that distorted and quickly disappeared. The weird and wonderful landscaped fascinated her—rocks, sand, and occasional cacti. She watched the sunset disappear, then darkness. Crossing her ankles, Dena tugged at her skirt. The conductor came around, turning up the lanterns. He smiled. She stifled a yawn. It’s going to be a long night.
“Mother, do you have …” Mother put her forefinger to her lips stopping her in mid-sentence. Dena glanced at her sister, who was asleep on Mother’s shoulder. Her mother handed her a nearly empty jar. Susan stirred and moaned.
“You should get some sleep, dear,” Mother whispered. “We will arrive at San Jose tomorrow evening if the train is on schedule. Somewhere before we arrive in San Jose; we change to Pacific Standard Time. We’ll need our rest.”
Dena yawned, huddled into her seat. Funny, how the street lamps highlight different passengers. Are they going to California too? She yawned for a second time and then nodded off into a restless sleep lulled by the train’s continuous clickety-clack beat...
***
“Mother, could we go to the dining car for breakfast?” Susan asked in a plaintive voice early the next morning. She watched a group of young men walk by. They smiled and tipped their hats, causing her to become flustered and drop her eyes. Her sister wouldn’t admit it, but she really wanted to be noticed. Dena smirked. How typical of a sixteen-year-old.
A Matter Of Trust Page 2
