She shook her head. “I’ve recently lost my husband. It wouldn’t be right.”
David interjected, “Jack wouldn’t have wanted you to be alone.”
Kathleen hesitated then smiled at Andrew. “You know where I live. When you return, please stop by.”
Myra and Kathleen walked home. They were in front of their homes when Kathleen stopped, bent at the waist, grabbed Myra’s arm, and said, “Wait.”.
“What’s wrong?”
“The baby. My water broke.”
Jack Kaufman was born 11 hours later.
“We’ll gather the Jewish community up here,” Myra said, as radiant, but tired, Kathleen cuddled her newborn. “There’s going to be a circumcision.”
Kathleen nodded, sighed, and said, “If only his father could be here to see him.”
Chapter Eight: Kathleen Assists Again
Two months later on a Sunday morning, members of the Jewish community gathered at the Kaplan’s home for a picnic. While admiring the blooms on the trees in her orchard with David and Kathleen, Myra said, “The apple blossoms are particularly fragrant.”
“Wouldn’t these have been a blessing to our families during the Potato Famine,” Kathleen said, as she nursed Jack She turned to David, noting his constant grim expression. “You seem preoccupied.”
“As the fall weather approaches, there’s less shipping so the warehouse is barely making money. I’m going to lay-off some of the workers.”
“The woodshop and ironworks?” she asked.
“Making money hand-over-fist.”
Myra said, “With the children’s help around the house, I need more to do.”
“With myself, our accountant, and the foremen we have everything covered at the business.”
“Which is what allows me,” said Kathleen, “to stay home with Jack.” She glanced at Myra. “How about we start up your dress business again.”
Myra said, “I’ll make up flyers to distribute and create another book of designs for potential clients to view.”
David nodded. “There’s a small, single story building for sale, not far from here. It has a wide store front and a small apartment in the rear of the building.”
Kathleen asked, “We haven’t started and you want to buy a building?”
“It’s dirt cheap,” David replied. “We earned good coin with Myra’s business. It paid for my college and our living expenses. With Kathleen’s knowledge of accounting, you can run it without my help.”
“There’s still something bothering you,” Kathleen said.
“I stopped by the bank today. Mr. Alton was out of jail and back running the place.”
“How can that be?” Kathleen asked.
“Most likely he paid someone. I talked to him and he pointed out his nephew works for us and said we were nice people so as long as we take care of his nephew and the local sheriff’s men, he won’t try and get even for the trouble we put him through.”
“Take care of the sheriff’s men?” Myra asked.
Kathleen explained, “They get money to keep the peace around our building. This also prevents it from going up in flames.”
“What kind of place is this?” Myra said.
Chapter Nine: Myra and Kathleen’s Business
Word went out to the community about the birth of Sarah’s son, Michael. Friends and family gathered in the Kaplan’s home for a ceremony on a Sunday on his eighth day. Following his circumcision, most were gathered in the parlor and a few women in the kitchen.
“I know you’re occupied with Michael but since arriving, Fred Levin’s only had eye’s for you,” Myra said.
Sarah held up her nose. “There’s never been a man in my life. Don’t think I need one.”
Kathleen said, “I had a man in my life and it was the best days of my existence.”
“I’m doing fine.”
“If Andrew Khasina is still interested, I’ll let him court me next time he’s in town.”
Myra said, “Sarah. If you two get together you wouldn’t have to change your last name again.”
Sarah giggled then became serious. “That’s enough, please.” She eyed Fred. “Mr. Levin, dinner’s ready.”
* * *
At the dress shop, Kathleen measured lengths of cloth while infant Jack slept in a cradle.
“So this is your dress making business.” A busty, middle-aged woman in a gaudy dress said after she entered the store front. She brushed a lock of hair out of her overly made up face and approached Kathleen.
“I’ll get my tape,” Kathleen said, “and take your measurements but the cloth samples won’t be here until tomorrow. Myra, let me present my friend.”
“Britta Regenbogen,” the women said, shaking Myra’s hand. “A local dress shop should do well. My fellow workers pay big money to have dresses sent from San Francisco.” She looked at the floor. “Others may not purchase from a store that has us type for clients.”
Kathleen glanced at Myra. “She may be right.”
Myra pursed her lips while considering a response. “If you think it’s a bad idea that they visit the store, we could visit them. I’ll show them my design book and cloth samples then take their measurements.”
Myra’s four older children burst through the front door.
“Hi Mom,” Abbey yelled. “Hi Aunt Kathleen.”
Myra said, “This is Miss Regenbogen.”
“I think that means rainbow,” Nathan said as he shook her hand.
“Miss Rainbow. Nice name,” Celeste said taking a turn shaking hands.
Ciara began fussing.
Celeste ran to her crib and picked her up.
“Maybe she’s hungry?” Celeste said.
“Probably,” Myra said. “I need you girls to head home and bring back the left over corned beef, sauerkraut, boiled beets, and bread plus dishes so we can have dinner over here. Nathan, walk over to the supply store and buy a kettle, a sauce pan, and a fry pan. Remind Mr. Koenig who your mother is so he doesn’t jack up the price.”
“What should I do?” William asked.
“Bring stove polish and rags.”
“Mom, please. Not that.”
Myra turned to Britta and Kathleen. “One of my boys used most unkind language during a disagreement with his sister last night.”
“Words can hurt,” Kathleen said, sending a disapproving visage toward William.
He hung his head. “Stove polish and rags. Yes, Mom.”
Myra noticed Celeste gloating.
“His sister responded in similar language so she’s going to help him.”
“Mom, he started…”
Myra peered over the tops of her glasses and put one hand on her hip. “Keep talking young lady. The outhouse over here needs a good scrubbing.”
Celeste clamped her mouth shut and dropped her eyes.
“Everyone has something to do so get busy.”
They headed out the door.
“Miss Regenbogen, will you join us for a meal,” Kathleen said and pulled out a chair for their first customer.
“Yes, thank you.” She turned to Myra. “You have lovely children.”
“They’re behavior is usually tolerable but the two six-year-olds seem to pick at each other.” Myra began nursing Ciara. “But let someone else go after them and they support each other like barrel-staves.”
* * *
The following day Britta returned to select cloth. Myra brewed tea.
“Britta, pardon my ignorance but I’d like to know how you ended up doing…you know.”
“Well…”
“If you’re uncomfortable telling me, I understand. It’s certainly none of my business.”
“You won’t think the less of me?”
“Certainly not.”
“I started life in an orphanage. Never knew my parents. When I was twelve, a year-older friend told me she found work cleaning. Turned out to be a cat-house. The owner was strict but fair. We cleaned bedding, swept and mopped the floors, and perf
ormed kitchen chores. Also did little favors for the woman who serviced the lumberjacks and sailors.”
Kathleen asked, “How old were you when you realized what the woman were doing?”
“Maybe fourteen or fifteen.” She giggled. “Looked through a crack in a wall when I wondered what all the grunting was.”
Myra and Kathleen laughed.
“Thought it was disgusting and I’d have nothing to do with it. A couple years later these” she waved her hand in front of her substantial bust, “grew in. A man offered me a dollar-gold-coin to reach in my shirt.” She regarded the floor for a while. “It wasn’t long before the other girls my age were doing it so I thought I would as well.”
Myra asked, “Weren’t you embarrassed?”
“At first but after a while it was just work. I didn’t have any other skills to make a living. I didn’t know about the diseases then.”
Kathleen asked, “But you decided to quit.”
“Some of the girls got terrible and painful sicknesses which killed them or birthed babies with deformities and such. Others took heroin which ended up killing them. After I lost my best friend, I found I was pregnant. I decided to try for a new life. Praise the lord, my baby is healthy. I’m good with numbers and do bookkeeping for a few bars.”
Myra said, “We’re not so different. When I was a teen in Ireland during the Potato Famine, I used my body to get food for my family.”
“Does your husband know?”
“He does.”
“Has it ever been a problem?”
“No. Not once. In fact, it brought us closer.”
* * *
A freight wagon came to a halt in front of the dress shop. A short, rather rotund man left a woman and four children on the wagon. He entered the store and removed his hat.
“The owner please,” he said.
“I’m one of the owners,” Kathleen said.
“I am Victor Anchote. I make men and woman’s boots and shoes. I was hoping I might rent space to set up a business.”
Kathleen called Myra over.
“Your products would complement the dress shop,” Myra said. “Let’s sit down and discuss this. Where are you staying?”
“Just arrived in town with my family. No place yet.”
Myra said, “If we can come to an agreement, you can stay in the small apartment behind the store front until you find your own place.”
Chapter Ten: More Family
Myra helped Kathleen slip her wedding gown over her head.
“Your big day,” Myra said.
“Yes.”
“Andrew is a good man.”
“Yes.”
“And yet not one smile this morning.”
“Before wedding nerves.”
“It’s more than that.” Myra stepped back and looked over the dress. She regarded Kathleen’s blank expression then grabbed her friend by the shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
“Andrew is a wonderful man. He loves me and adores Jack.”
“Do you love him?”
“His career pays well. We don’t lack for anything.”
“Do you love him?”
“Please, Myra. Help me finish getting dressed and don’t ask about love.”
* * *
The Kaplans plus Andrew and Kathleen, who held her infant son Jack, just finished an evening meal of homemade noodles and meat sauce.
There was a loud knock on their front door and a voice shouted, “Hello Kaplans!”
William ran to open the door, swung it open and yelled to those inside, “It’s Doctor Beckham and Mrs. Beckham plus a lady and some kids.”
They met in the parlor.
Kathleen screamed when she recognized her sister. “Daire, I had no idea you were coming out.” Two teens and a young girl followed Daire into the house.
“Mom sent me with Dr. Beckham and his wife. She and Myra’s parents didn’t have enough money to come west so they stayed behind to work. Is this?”
“Your nephew, Jack.” Kathleen handed him to Daire who gently took him in her arms.
Daire asked, “Where’s your husband?”
“This is Andrew.”
Daire shook his hand. “Thought your name was Jack.”
Kathleen told her, “Long story. I’ll tell you later.”
With a wave of her arm, Daire motioned the children to her side. “Kathleen, I want to introduce you to…more family. Their parents died on the trip and I’ve been taking care of them. This is Gavin, Theresa and Angela.”
Kathleen smiled at the trio. “I live next door and we have room. You stay with us.”
“Have you eaten dinner?” David asked.
“We have,” Dr. Beckham said.
“Please have a seat,” David said.
“Myra, you look well,” Mrs. Beckham said.
“Thank you. It’s so good to see you again,” she said with a brief embrace.
“Mrs. Beckham,” Abbey said. “You’re expecting?”
“In three months,” the doctor’s wife said with pride.
“Dad,” William said. “Can I show Dr. Beckham how I can sew noodles?”
David nodded.
“William’s been practicing and practicing,” Abbey said. “His hands can sew little bitty stitches and he doesn’t tear the noodles.”
The six-year-old returned with two flat noodles on a plate and a small curved needle with thread.
“Who made the little needle for you?” Dr. Beckham asked.
“Dad did. I couldn’t use the big needle you gave us to sew little stitches.”
William proceeded to sew evenly spaced and consistent sized stitches which precisely joined the pasta.
“You have incredible hands, young man,” Dr. Beckham said.
“I have an engineer’s hands to build things,” William said.
Dr. Beckham ran a finger across the stitches. “This is more like a doctor’s handy work.”
Chapter Eleven: Oregon Trail
“How was your journey on the Oregon Trail?” Kathleen asked during Sunday dinner at the Kaplan’s home..
Dr. Beckham’s expression brightened. “At times, we found ourselves submerged in the Lord’s unending beauty. We travelled amidst oceans of wildflowers, majestic mountains and forests; enough splendor to make an atheist a believer.” His brow furrowed. “But also enduring the devil’s heel on our necks for weeks-at-a-time.”
* * *
After two days of rain, their prairie wagon was mired in the sticky mud of the Kansas section of the Oregon Trail. Sixteen-year-old Daire bent her knees, and wedged her shoulder against a spoke on the rear wheel. Dr. Gunter Beckham yelled; entreating six oxen to strain against their yokes.
Rain drops the size of acorns thumped Daire head. They slapped the earth and struck percussive notes on the canvas canopy of the prairie wagon. She heard Mrs. Rivka Beckham groan as she strained against the opposite wheel. The wagon creaked at the contrary forces; the mud gripping it’s wheels like anchors versus the animate forces trying to liberate it.
The wheel groaned as it started to rotate. Daire repositioned her shoulder under the next spoke…and grinned briefly, reliving the moment she declared to Mrs. Beckham after one dry and dusty week on the Oregon trail, “This journey seems to be made up of nothing but long periods of tedium interrupted by longer periods of tedium.”
Daire jammed her shoulder against the next spoke and strained against it. The wheel continued to move. The young woman tried to take a step but her foot was mired. She fell forward, extending her arms in a futile effort to stem her fall. The sixteen-year-old felt wet clay oozing between her fingers while mud splashed onto her face. Daire wrenched her hands out of the muck, sitting on her knees. She repeatedly coughed and spit out the gritty soil which also stung her eyes. Looking for a relatively mud-free area of her skirt to wipe her hands, she wiped the mud and grit off her face as best she could. Daire closed her eyes and held her face up to the punishing torrent; hoping it would clear more of the mud. S
he wiped her eyes on her shoulders. The wagon was getting bogged down again. With eyes still stinging, she slogged back to the wheel, and renewed her effort at keeping it turning.
* * *
“Mr. Anderson just died,” Dr. Gunter Beckham said. “He was out getting water and keeled over at the stream’s edge.”
They heard a woman scream.
“Sounds like Mrs. Kelsey just told his wife.”
“I’ll see if I can do anything to console her,” Rivka said.
“Tell Preacher Straus. We’ll need him for a burial.”
* * *
Daire shook her head to help clear the sleep from her brain. A few birds sang; which meant the rain stopped. The early hour provided sparse illumination in the tent. “At least it’s not raining,” she said to the empty tent.
Sitting up, she rotated her sore shoulders, still stiff and uncomfortable from wedging them against the wagon wheels the day before. Two weeks sleeping on the cot made her other muscles sore but cots and tents were customary for travelers on the Oregon trail.
She heard Rivka calling her. “Be right there, Mrs. Beckham.” Daire pulled on clothing and examined the hem of her dress. It was stained by the mud and dust it continually dragged through. Tilting her head, she listened to a woman crying.
“What’s wrong?” She asked the doctor’s wife as she left their tent.
“Mr. Anderson died this morning. Mrs. Kelsey is with his wife. She’s been a widow since her husband passed during the tornado that came through Independence last spring. She’ll help Mrs. Anderson manage as will the rest of us. There’ll be a burial as soon as they get a grave dug.” The doctor’s wife slowly shook her head. “Sad. He wasn’t that old.” She took a brief rapid breath then said, “Daire, I need a few slices of bacon, please.”
The Pioneer: A Journey to the Pacific Page 5
