Twenty-four

The next day, Orval took his father and sister to the train station in the early morning. The two had little to

say, other than Ella thanking her brother for the ride. Aunt Ella was using Lizzie’s return train ticket,

leaving the latter to purchase another on whatever day she chose to return.

The train to Moberly had only a few passenger cars and no dining car. They could have boarded a later train which continued on to Iowa and Minnesota. That one was rather lavish. But the earlier one not only got them on their way, it fit their budget better. Though J.K. could well afford to travel where he wished, within continental limits, his money usually went back into the farm.

At the house, Jennie and Aunt Lizzie languished over leftover food from the day before; John and Jay were sleeping. Lizzie did not seem to notice Jennie was unusually quiet.

“Jennie, now might be an opportune time to speak to you about something.”

Jennie put down her butter knife, but not one of Jay’s biscuits which found its way to her mouth. In times of stress, she often turned to food. This was one of those times.

“Dearest niece, your grandmother Gardner and I are concerned. Have been concerned for years.”

Jennie swallowed what was in her mouth but set down the remainder of the bread. What did she mean? Concerned about what, exactly? Her Gardner relatives rarely spoke to her of serious things. She supposed they had enough tragedy in their lives that they chose to not tax themselves with weighty matters. So, now she wondered, which things concerned her aunt?

“Well, I suppose maybe I should let sleeping dogs lie.”

Jennie cocked her head in the familiar way.

Lizzie continued, “You have your life nicely planned. Teacher’s certificate, then off to Linneus while living again with your grandparents. I think your future is bright, Jennie!”

“What sleeping dogs, Auntie?
You might as well wake them up. I won’t be able to eat another bite until you explain.”

Miss Lizzie Gardner reached across the table to touch her niece’s hand. But only briefly. She cleared her throat.

“I owe you an apology, Jennie.”

“For what?”

Aunt Lizzie steeled herself. “Well, your grandmother and I shaded our eyes while you were in high school, you and your brothers still children. We were aware of your situation in Chillicothe. We knew it could not have been easy…”

She went on to describe how she and her mother heard from a member of the Chillicothe Church how wonderfully Jennie conducted herself despite her troubles.

“I know, for example, how you taught Sunday school to all the young boys in the church!”

Jennie looked away, then down at her plate.

“Was it, dearest?” Lizzie reached over again, but this time grasped Jennie’s hand and did not let go. “I am so sorry. I did not mean to upset you.”

“Auntie, it is all right. I was just remembering something…”

Jennie’s thoughts flew back to her time teaching Sunday school, how fulfilling it was. And how she threw a picnic for them all at the fairgrounds. She mumbled something her aunt asked her to repeat.

“The newspaper. The editor had it in for me.”

“Oh dear. What do you mean?”

“Well, for example, that picnic I had for my Sunday School students. The paper worded it so that for those who did not know otherwise, it sounded like I invited all of Chillicothe’s young men to have a picnic with me, the only female. They did not say these were young boys, from ages five to eight, that I was their teacher, and that others from the church were present!”

“My goodness.”

“But the worst?”

Jennie’s fist pounded the table.

“When they did a huge front page writeup of the graduating seniors back in 1909, do you know they published every single graduate’s portrait except for mine?”

Lizzie’s mouth flew open. She had heard about this but had forgotten.

“Well, at least they made a small mention of my name as a graduate. But for everyone else, there were glowing things said about them. And their portrait right there, prominently displayed.”

Jennie popped up. “I’ll be right back.”

After a few minutes of hearing sounds of a trunk opening and papers rustling, Jennie returned.

“Look at this! And this!”

Jennie slapped down several articles she had cut out. After glancing through them, Aunt Lizzie mumbled, “The sins of the father…”

Jennie began pacing.

“Auntie, you have no idea. Or little notion, at any rate. It is far worse than you can imagine.”

Outside, Orval could see his daughter shaking her fist, red-faced. He decided not to enter the house but to take a walk.

Jay popped his head in the kitchen.

“Jennie, what is this about?” He tried to give her a hug, but she pulled away.

“It is about Father. Our paternal figurehead. How he has made a fool of us, for years. Tell her, Jay. Tell Aunt Lizzie and John what you found out. About the marriages.”

“I do not think much good can come of it, Jennie. And it should remain a private matter between you and me.”

From the front room, all could hear John ask what they were talking about.

“If it concerns Pa, it concerns all of us,” he called out.

Jay turned to face John and said quietly, “We can talk about it later.”

Lizzie set down her teacup. “This must be something you do not wish me to know.” She arose. “I must admit to being no fan of your father. Not since…”

“Not since our mother died.” Jennie said what all thought.

Lizzie wanted to add she had never been a fan of Orval, even before the marriage. She kept silent about the small things her sister told her that did nothing further to endear him to her. Although she understood it was not Orval’s fault that her sister and niece got consumption and died, her mother got it, too, from caring for them. The deaths were just the catalyst for her anger, made greater over the years. Tried though she did, mightily, despite prayers to find forgiveness in her heart, she could not.

But she did overhear Orval’s soliloquy from the from porch the evening before. A small part wanted to believe him. She spent too many years resenting him, and she wanted a change. But though her curiosity was intensely piqued, she encouraged her niece and nephews to continue their discussion.

“I believe I will walk over to the church today. It probably is not open, but perhaps the organist is practicing for tomorrow’s service.”

“That sounds lovely, Auntie. And boys, what say we also take a stroll?” Jennie pasted a smile on her strained face. Smiling through grief once again. “Perhaps we could go over to the quadrangle, then maybe to…The Palms? For a sundae? Or a sandwich?”

John was about to decline but brightened at the mention of The Palms. Maybe Miss Church was working today.

“Jennie, I suppose John has a right to know,” said Jay. “And maybe he will bring a different perspective. You know he always sees the brighter side of things, especially when it comes to Pa.”