It was time I gave it up and tried to get on to doing something else with the rest of my life.
Chapter 31
“How Bad Do You Want It?”
I moped around for a few days, keeping mostly to myself. I didn’t even talk to Almeda or Pa. I was too dejected and defeated to want to talk about it.
They gave me room to wallow around in my self-pity for a while. But then eventually they both began to try to encourage me out of my despondency. When you’re in one of those holes where you feel everything in your life has failed, part of you doesn’t even want to get out of the hole you’ve dug for yourself. Strange as it seems, you almost enjoy feeling sorry for yourself.
But Pa and Almeda wouldn’t let me do that.
“Ain’t it about time you got back to your article writing?” Pa asked me the second evening after I’d got the letter.
I shrugged and said I didn’t know if I’d do any more articles.
“What?” he exclaimed. “This from my daughter who wants to be a newspaper reporter more than anything? What’re you talking about, girl?”
Finally I showed them the letter.
They both read it quietly and seriously, and neither of them said much else that night. But over the next couple of days both Pa and Almeda found a time to be alone with me.
“There’s times when a body’s just gotta force himself to keep going,” Pa told me, “even though maybe inside everything’s screaming at him to do something else. If something’s the right thing to do, then you just gotta do it.”
He looked at me carefully. “You want to keep writing, don’t you?” he said.
“Of course I do, Pa. But everything Mr. Kemble said is true. And besides, my writing is terrible, and he doesn’t think I was honest with him.”
“But it’s something you still want to do?”
“Yes.”
“Then how else you figure on gettin’ any better at it if you don’t do it? And how you figure on gettin’ Kemble to trust you if you don’t keep going to him and writing for him and showing him he can trust you? Ain’t no other way but to keep at it.”
“I just don’t know how I can, Pa, after that letter of his.”
“I reckon it’s a setback for you, all right. And I can understand how it’d hurt a mite, those things he said. But don’t you want to prove him wrong, prove to him that you can do it, prove that a woman can write as well as that O’Flaridy kid?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you gotta toughen up, Corrie! Get that Belle blood working for you. Toughen up, fight back, keep writing and don’t let either Kemble or O’Flaridy take your dream away. Maybe they stole your idea, and even your words. But don’t let them steal your dream. Fight for it, Corrie. And if Kemble doesn’t like what you write, then do like he said and take it someplace else. But don’t let him rob you of what God gave you just ’cause he don’t have the good sense to see what a fine writer you’re gonna be someday.”
He gave me a hug and a kiss, and I cried a little again. It made me feel better just knowing that he still believed in me.
Almeda told me what it was like for her after Mr. Parrish died.
“After my husband died, Corrie, I was absolutely despondent. I felt so alone and out of place in this world. We hadn’t been in California much longer than a year and our business was just getting going. I was the only woman in Miracle Springs besides the saloon girls. Mr. Parrish and I had dreamed of the life we would build in the new west, and all of a sudden it was shattered.”
“But you probably didn’t fall apart like me,” I said.
“Oh, I did,” she answered.
“I cried thousands of tears, so I think I know a little of what you are feeling right now. I wanted to just sit down and die at times. Then at other times I would decide to pack everything up and go back East. I had my reasons for not wanting to go back to Boston. Someday, when the time is right, perhaps I’ll tell you about that period of my life. In light of what I’ve seen and been through, Corrie, God has been so wonderfully good to me. But it wasn’t because of being afraid of my past that I decided not to go back. No, Corrie, it was because I finally realized I couldn’t give up. That wouldn’t have been fair to my husband and to the dream we’d had of a new and happy life in California. And it wouldn’t have been fair to me!”
She stopped, and it was real quiet. I hadn’t seen that distant look in her eyes since she and Pa had been married, but there it was again. I knew she was thinking about another time and another place, and I didn’t want to disturb her.
But as usual, the silence only lasted a few moments. Then her face suddenly brightened and she spoke again.
“In every person’s life, Corrie, there come times like you’re going through right now. Usually everyone has several such moments, when everything you think you wanted seems suddenly gone, destroyed, unattainable. At those times a woman’s got to stop and take stock of herself. Just like in business. We have to do periodic stock-checks, inventories of supplies—just like you and Marcus did out in the supply room last week. We had to know what we had on hand so we’d know what to do in the future.
“A person has to do that too—take inventory, check the supply room. Especially when you come to what you might call ‘crisis’ times, or times of evaluation and question, when you have to ask yourself where you’re going as a person, where your life is headed. You have to take stock. You have to find out if where you’ve been going is still where you want to go, or if you need to change directions.”
“And you think maybe that’s where I’m at now?”
“Quite possibly.
“Sometimes God allows difficulties and hardships and questions and heartbreaks to come our way because he wants us to change directions. And so whenever they come we have to stop and try to listen to his voice and ask him what he’s trying to get through to us. But there are other times when the disappointments come not to get us to change directions at all, but to strengthen and toughen us, so that we will be all the more dedicated to accomplishing what we felt God was leading us toward in the first place. Do you see the difference, Corrie?” she asked.
I nodded. “Like how hard it was when us kids and Pa got together,” I said. “I think we all wanted to find some way out of that situation—especially Pa!”
Almeda laughed.
“But we knew we had to stick it out because it was the right thing.”
“Exactly! And that’s why I decided to stay here rather than go back East. After taking stock of myself, I realized that I wanted to make it work. I had to ask myself how willing I was to fight for what I wanted to do. And I decided I was willing to fight for it, even though I knew it would be hard and that men would probably be against me at first. But I was determined to fight for what I believed in, to fight for my dream.
“Now you’re facing almost exactly the same thing. You’ve had a bad letdown. You’re a woman up against stiff odds. The man you’re up against—in my case it was the men of the community whose support and business I had to have to survive. In your case it is an editor you have to prove yourself to—such men don’t necessarily make it easy for us. Now you have to take inventory of the direction you’ve been going and ask yourself if it’s still the direction you want to keep going.
“What it boils down to, Corrie, is this—how bad do you want it?”
“I do want to be able to write,” I said.
“I had to ask myself the same question. How bad did I want to see my business succeed? What sacrifices was I willing to make? Was I willing to fight for what I believed in? In the same way—how bad do you still want to be a writer? Are you willing to fight for it? What sacrifices are you willing to make? If you don’t think you’re a good writer now, how hard are you willing to work to improve? Are you willing to work twice as hard as a man would have to, and get only half the pay?”
She paused and looked into my eyes. “How much do you want it, Corrie?”
“I think I want it,” I answered lamely.
“Well, if after taking stock of yourself, you decide you do still want to be a writer, then don’t let Kemble or O’Flaridy or anyone else stop you. Go after it! It’s your dream—so fight for it, and don’t let go of it.”
Chapter 32
My Decision and What Came of It
Even before Almeda was through talking, I knew what my decision was!
This was one time when I didn’t need to go out in the woods for a long time to think and try to figure things out. I knew what I wanted—and that was to keep writing! And if it meant working even harder than before and trying to make my writing better than it had been, I’d do it! If it meant getting only $1 an article, maybe I’d do that too. But then maybe I’d tell Mr. Kemble I wanted more. And if he said my articles weren’t good enough to pay more, then I’d make them good enough! I’d improve my writing. I’d practice. I’d learn.
How bad did I want to do what I’d dreamed of doing? I figured I wanted it bad enough to fight for it, just like Almeda had.
Within ten or fifteen minutes I was in the saddle and on my way back toward town. It was Saturday afternoon, a good time to interview some more people about the election. If my first article wasn’t good enough for Mr. Kemble, then I’d make my second one all the better—with facts and the five w’s and human interest all put together! I’d make it so interesting even he would enjoy reading it! And since I’d gotten behind during this last week, I couldn’t afford to waste another minute. Most of the people in town had seen Almeda’s flyer. Mr. Royce had put up a great big new banner on the side of his bank building just three days ago, which said in big letters and bright paint: ROYCE FOR MAYOR. MIRACLE SPRINGS’ FUTURE PROSPERITY DEPENDS ON YOUR VOTE. Folks were really interested and were talking a lot about everything. Now was the time to see everybody to get their thoughts and reactions while interest was high and they were willing to talk.
But about halfway into town a huge new idea suddenly hit me! It was such a great idea I completely forgot about Mr. Royce and Almeda and Miracle Springs in an instant. If I could write an article about someone really important, about news that was significant to the whole country, not just a little town like Miracle Springs, then Mr. Kemble would have to print it! And he’d see that I could be a reporter who could write about more than just pretty leaves and sunsets and interesting people nobody’d ever heard of.
I yanked back on the reins, swung my horse around on the trail, dug in my heels to her flanks, and galloped back to the house.
I ran straight inside and began searching through the pile of old newspapers Pa kept by the fireplace to start fires with. I hoped it was still there!
Then I remembered. I’d saved the August 8 issue with my own articles. I ran into my room. There it was, right with the others! Hurriedly I scanned through the paper until I found it. I read the brief article again, then went back into the big room where Pa and Almeda were sitting with puzzled expressions watching me scurry around.
“Look!” I exclaimed, pointing to the paper still in my hand. “It says right here that there is a controversy about Mr. Fremont’s estate, but it doesn’t say what it is. What if I could find out? That would sure be a story Mr. Kemble couldn’t refuse!”
“There ain’t no mystery there,” laughed Pa. “Everyone knows they been trying to claim jump and get his gold mines away from him ever since he found gold on his land.”
“Who, Pa? Who’s they?”
“His enemies, people who want his gold—neighbors, claim jumpers, drifters, Mexicans. Anybody who’s rich and powerful always has a pack of people trying to do him in, and John Fremont’s both. All this time he’s been back in Washington senatoring and now running for President, folks back here’s trying to get their hands on his gold.”
“But who, Pa?”
“I don’t know. I suppose there’s lots of ’em.”
“Well, I’m gonna go find out,” I said determinedly.
Pa laughed again. “What you figure on doin’, girl?” he said. “The man’s running for President of the United States! And you figure on uncovering some mystery about him that no one else knows?”
“I don’t know, Pa. It’s probably downright foolish—but I know there’s a story there. I can feel it! A story for me . . . if I can just find it!”
“And how you figure to find this story that’s waitin’ just for you?” I know the smile on Pa’s face wasn’t meant to be making fun of me, but at the same time he just couldn’t keep from chuckling. I was serious.
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just go out there and start looking around. I guess maybe that’s what a reporter’s got to do sometimes, and maybe it’s time I learned how.”
“Go where—Mariposa? That’s a hundred and twenty, maybe a hundred and thirty miles.”
“Through the mountains,” added Almeda. “Through Sacramento and the valley roads, more like a hundred seventy-five.”
“If that’s what I gotta do for a story, then maybe that’s just what I gotta do.”
I reckon I’d been swept along in this conversation by the emotion of the moment. But the minute those words were out of my mouth, suddenly the reality of what I’d said seemed to strike us all. There was silence for a moment, and I guess somehow in the very saying of the words a determination rose up within me to do what I’d said, even if the words had been spoken lightly. I think Pa and Almeda realized, too, that a change had come in that instant. And maybe inside, both of them had to face how they were going to react to my growing up.
Almeda’s next words were not what you’d expect from a mother who was worried about what her son or daughter was about to do, and who wanted to talk them out of it.
“I think it’s a sensational idea, Corrie!” said Almeda. “If you are going to go after something and follow a dream you have, you might as well go straight to the top.”
Pa had been serious for a minute, but now he chuckled again. “You’re a determined one,” he said. “Once you make your mind up about something, I wouldn’t want to be the one standin’ in your way. But how do you figure on going all that way . . . how do you figure on findin’ something out that other folks don’t know?”
“I don’t know,” I answered again with all my innocent youthful enthusiasm. “I’ll find a way.”
“You want me to take you down there, maybe go with you?” he asked.
I hesitated a minute before answering. “I don’t know, Pa,” I said finally. “Something inside me wants to do this alone, though I’m afraid at the same time. Maybe one of you should go with me . . . if you could.” I was already starting to get cold feet about my idea.
A little frown passed over Almeda’s forehead and I could tell she was thinking. But the reply she gave startled me.
“I don’t think we ought to, Corrie,” she said after a minute. “This is your idea, and you’re the one who wants to go down there and uncover a story you think is waiting for you. I think it’s time you figured out the best way to go about it yourself. I can give you the names of good boarding houses all the way, people I know and that we can trust. But I think perhaps it’s time you saw what you were capable of. You can do it—I know you can.”
“It is a fearsome thing, to go so far alone, not even knowing what I am looking for, not even knowing who to talk to, not knowing if anybody will listen to me.” My earlier resolve was fading fast.
“They will listen to you, young lady. You can be very determined . . . and very persuasive! Besides, part of the process I was telling you about of fighting for your dream—part of it is learning to stand alone if you have to, facing the dangers and uncertainties, and learning to go where maybe no one else has gone in just the same way, or asking questions no one has voiced before. That’s part of growing up—finding your own inner strength with God. Something inside tells me this might be one of those times. If there’s a story there meant for you, then you have to be the one to find it.”
“I don’t know, Almeda,” said Pa. “I ain’t so sure I agree with you
. There’s bears and varmints and who knows what kind of hoodlums all the way up an’ down that way. I don’t like it. I’ll go with her, just to keep an eye on things.”
Neither of us said anything more. From the sound of it, Pa had made up his mind, and I knew what he said was the logical way to look at it. So I was surprised the next morning when he announced that he’d changed his mind, and that if I wanted to make the trip alone, he wouldn’t forbid me. He’d still rather he or Zack went with me, but he’d trust me to make the decision.
Naturally I was fearful at first as I anticipated such a trip, such a quest for the unknown. Later I looked back at this as another one of those growing experiences. And I came to thank Pa and Almeda afterward for not doing it for me, for giving me encouragement but not actually helping me, and for forcing me not just to believe in what I wanted to do—but for forcing me to believe in myself too. Whatever I felt at the time, Pa and Almeda didn’t try to make it easy for me. They pushed me out from under their wings to go after this story—whatever it was!—by myself, showed me that they really did believe in me, and were ready to treat me like an adult. There’s just no other way to get your legs strong unless you stand on them without holding on to someone else. And that’s what I was about to do.
I would have to finish my interviews and articles about the Miracle Springs election for mayor later. Whatever was waiting for me at the Fremont estate, I figured it had more potential for being something that Mr. Kemble would take notice of.
Two days later, my decision had been made!
With saddlebags full of a week’s supply of food, and with blankets in case I couldn’t put up at a boardinghouse for any reason, I set off on my faithful horse Raspberry alone, headed for Sacramento.
On the Trail of the Truth Page 18
