Twenty-Seven

“I hope to make this afternoon’s train, Aunt Lizzie,” Jennie said over her shoulder from her room. “So, I’m trying to pack what I can into my trunk. John is seeing to hiring a wagon for both of us.”

“Both of you? You mean, you and me? Or John, too?”

“She means all of us, Auntie.” John had entered the front door. “But I am sorry to say, Jennie, there is no wagon to be had. Many people are in town who now desire to leave. I am uncertain you will even get a train ticket.”

Jennie sank onto her bed. The plans she formulated so quickly were evaporating.

“So, that means, what…? Are there no alternatives? Can we hire an automobile?”

Jennie was not opposed to automobiles, so long as the drivers were respectful of horses and people. Sometimes, she saw them lining up side by side on Broadway, trying for a little race. She knew that people with horses did that years ago, too, with tragic results.

“We can chance it, Jennie. I’ll try to secure one. But I advise you to pack your satchel lightly in the event we must walk. I can carry Aunt Lizzie’s along with my own, but a trunk is out of the question.”

“Oh my.” Jennie took stock of her belongings. She had traveled before with just a satchel, of course, but she was planning on permanently moving.

“Jennie, why not ask one of your friends to have your trunk sent at the first opportunity? Or, of course, you can ask Father.”

She had not considered asking Orval. As it was, she had a difficult time thinking of what she was going to write in her note to him. It should be short. Just saying she changed her mind and was going to the farm, and that she would need her things sent to her.

Aunt Lizzie patted Jennie on the hand. “Dearest niece, I wonder if you should consider taking your most precious belongings and say farewell to the rest. They may never reach you. But if they do, it could be a pleasant surprise!”

Pessimistic though she was, Jennie had not considered her father would refuse to send her belongings. A part of her believed Orval was changing, or at least wanted to change, and that was something.

Intellectual though she was, Jennie was too poor to afford buying the books she read, so heavy volumes would not be weighing her down. She could take her Bible and maybe one or two others. She could wear two of her heaviest dresses. Though it was quite hot, and pack two more. But, of course, she absolutely must have her most precious possession, her mother’s photograph album.

Out on the porch, John was about to rush off but there stood Orval, hat in hand. “Good morning, son. My job got canceled, so I thought I would come back and make a proper breakfast for everyone.”

“Father, I believe everyone has adequately eaten. There are,” he paused to look his father in the eye, “bigger fish to fry.”

From observing the actions of his daughter, his father, and the others of his family over the prior two days, Orval surmised something was amiss. And that it had to do with him. But he was tired of running away. He had done that ever since Annie died.

“Excuse me, then, John. I shall go see how big the skillet should be to cook those fish.”

Jennie emerged from her room, while Aunt Lizzie headed for the back door. She reconsidered. Maybe it was time she found a way to improve the situation for her niece’s sake. Pulling a chair out next to the kitchen table, Lizzie eased herself into it quietly. She did not wish to be noticed, if possible. Not yet.

“Father.”

“Jennie. I, um… I thought I was working today, but found I was not needed.” What Orval did not add was that when he showed up at the jobsite, his friend could tell something was bothering him. When it was apparent that the chasm Orval had with his family could possibly be bridged because of Orval’s willingness to change, he advised the older wallpaper-hanger to go home. Try to make amends.

“Father, I was about to write you a note.” Jennie wore that crooked smile, the one when smiling through grief. She was attempting to be a hint more cheery, but knew she was failing. “I am not going to take more courses this summer after all. I decided to return home to the farm.” She gazed upward to meet her father’s stare. “Permanently.”

Orval had long known all three of his children were leaving. He also realized his daughter did not intend to stay with him past June. He even recognized she might go to a friend’s home before the end of the month. But a declaration she was moving to the farm—one she called “home”—stung more than expected.

“I’m leaving today, too.” John had turned around and re-entered the house and stood behind his father.

Orval sank onto the blue brocade fainting couch. Standing was no longer something he could muster. He fell silent.