Though Waters Roar (49 page)

There aren’t enough words to describe my outrage.

I don’t know how long I stood outside his office door and wept. His secretary came over with a handkerchief to console me but wisely refrained from asking me what was wrong. When I finally dried my tears, I went downstairs to say good-bye to the girls in my department. I didn’t see any reason to delay my departure, nor would I stick around and help Mr. Morton learn how to manage the department he had just stolen from me. I gave free spoons to Maude and Claudia, who had both become engaged to returning servicemen. Then I left Sherwood’s Department Store for good.

It was pouring rain outside, but I was so furious that I didn’t care how wet I got. I walked all the way to Grandma Bebe’s house, remembering how she had walked through a downpour, too, after leaving her job at the tannery—and leaving Neal MacLeod. I knew that she would understand the terrible loss I felt at that moment, if not my rage.

“Why, you poor thing,” she said when I appeared at her door, shivering. “Where’s your umbrella? Why aren’t you at work?”

The second question brought more tears. “Father fired me!”

“Fired you? Why? What happened?”

“He said that since the servicemen have all returned, he doesn’t need me anymore. It’s so unfair!”

Grandma Bebe pulled me into her arms and let me cry. Even in my anger and grief I was aware of how frail she had become— and how dear she was to me. When I finished crying, she took me into her kitchen and made tea.

“You’re right, Harriet. That was completely unfair of him. But I don’t suppose anyone is going to convince him to change his mind, are they?”

I shook my head, rainwater dripping from my hair. “Even Mother’s and Alice’s tears wouldn’t do me any good this time.”

Grandma fetched a towel and gave it to me to dry off. “I know that right now you want sympathy more than advice, Harriet, but I’m going to give you some advice anyway. Just two words: Trust God.”

I looked away. She was right—I didn’t want to hear it.

“You have to trust that He is arranging the events in your life in order to lead you to the purpose He has for you,” she continued. “Sometimes those events are tragic and painful. But He uses them to shape us into the people He wants us to become.”

“But I loved my job. And I was good at it!”

“Did you ever stop to think that maybe God has an even better job for you? You’re so young, Harriet, and working at the store was the first challenge you ever faced on your own. But what if God has planned something even better for your future? Would you want to end up stuck at the store all your life and missing something great? Remember poor Horatio and how much he disliked working in his father’s business? I always thought he was destined for better, greater things, but he was stuck there. He had no choice. He was expected to continue his father’s work. And poor Neal MacLeod, who was so well suited for the job, was written right out of his father’s will.”

I tossed the wet towel down on the floor. “Life is so unfair.”

“Yes, it is. But in spite of that fact, we can trust God to always do what is best for us—best for
His
purposes. If working at the store is His choice for you, then He’ll arrange circumstances to lead you back there. Maybe your father’s attitude will change. But in the meantime, go to college. Find out more about yourself and your gifts. Women will be able to vote soon, and then watch out. There will be no limit to what we can accomplish.”

“My life was going along so nicely,” I said. “And now I have nothing.”

“Remember what my mother once told me, Harriet? She said, ‘Life is always changing, always flowing forward like a stream. Things never stay the same. And we have to move on and change, too.’ She was right, you know.”

I heard what Grandma was saying, but disappointment and rage kept her words from sinking in. “I want to move in with you,” I told her. “I hate my father and I’m never going home again!”

She stood to pour water from the boiling kettle, then said, “You may stay for a day or two. . . . After all, I would hate to see you commit patricide. But eventually you will have to forgive him.”

“Never! What he did was unforgivable!”

Grandma smiled sadly. “Your father grew up in an era when a man’s role was that of provider and protector. Whether men went to war or to work, they did it so that the women they loved could stay home where they were safe and cherished. That’s the way your father was raised, and in his mind he is doing what’s best for you—saving you from being forced to earn a living. He thinks he’s your knight in shining armor, doing battle in the business world so that he can give you and your mother everything you need, without you having to lift a finger. That’s the only way he knows to show his love for you. He can’t change his role overnight. Imagine how threatened men like your father must feel now that women are coming into their own, working in professional fields, voting to change things. Look how much your mother has changed in the past few years. In many ways, your father’s entire way of life is coming apart.”

“Don’t ask me to feel sorry for him, Grandma. I can’t do it.”

“I know, dear. But you are going to have to forgive him.”

I closed my eyes, picturing my beloved Home Goods Department, knowing I would never work there again. I shook my head. “Forgiving him is impossible.”

CHAPTER
27

I decided to start college in the fall of 1919 and faced a new injustice. When I reapplied to the school that had accepted me two years ago, I discovered that the admissions office was now giving preference to the men who had served their country during the war. And because so many men enrolled that fall, there was no room for me. Grandma Bebe would have told me that it was another instance of God ordering the circumstances in my life for His purposes, but if that was the case, I was starting to feel pretty angry with God, too.

I ended up attending a small female college in Roseton and living at home. My classes weren’t nearly as challenging as my job had been. I signed up for a liberal arts degree with no clear goals in mind.

On January 29, 1920, Grandma Bebe’s prohibition amendment went into effect. It was now officially against the law to manufacture, transport, or sell alcoholic beverages in the United States. “You have a right to be proud,” I told Grandma. “You’ve accomplished all your goals.”

She must have detected a note of jealousy or maybe bitterness in my voice, because she caressed my cheek and said, “Your day will come, Harriet. Just be patient.” That August I was on summer break and sitting around feeling sorry for myself when Maude called to tell me that Bertha and Lyle had just had a second child. I decided to pay Bertha a visit and surprise her with a gift. I found her in tears.

“Bertha, what’s wrong?” It was probably a stupid question. She had a runny-nosed two-year-old hanging on to her apron and a fussy newborn in her arms. The apartment looked much too cramped for a family of four, and the temperature inside felt ten degrees hotter than outside. I would weep, too, if I were Bertha.

“Oh, Miss Sherwood. Lyle and I are in a terrible pickle. He . . . oh, maybe I shouldn’t tell you. He said not to tell anybody, but I . . . I just don’t know what we’re going to do!”

I guided her to a chair so she could finish feeding the baby, then gave her two-year-old the stuffed bear I had brought him. Both children were content momentarily, so I encouraged Bertha to confide in me. “You know that I would never share your secrets with anyone—and maybe there’s something I can do to help.”

Bertha wiped her eyes on the burping cloth that was slung over her shoulder. “You see this crummy apartment? It was all we could afford, and now we can’t even afford to live here. If we don’t pay the rent by next week, they’re going to throw us out.”

“I thought Lyle had a good job.”

“He did! But they went on strike a month ago and now we’re all out of money.”

“Maybe I could loan—”

“I’m not even to the worse part, Miss Sherwood.”

I could see that this might take a while, so I sat down on one of Bertha’s splintery kitchen chairs to listen.

“Please don’t get me wrong. My Lyle is a very good man, and he knows that he never should have done such a stupid thing, but with two children to take care of and no money for the rent, he was desperate. So when a friend told him how he could make a little extra money . . . well . . .” Bertha’s voice dropped to a whisper. “He got mixed up with the wrong kind of people, and . . . and he agreed to smuggle liquor across the border from Canada.”

“Oh my.”

“Transporting liquor is against the law, Miss Sherwood, and if Lyle gets thrown into jail, we’ll starve. I didn’t know he was planning to do it until it was too late. He had already gone up to Canada and he never said a word about it until I saw him bringing all the crates of liquor and beer into the apartment, and I—”

“Wait a minute, slow down. He brought the liquor in here?”

“Yes, here! Lyle hid it here in our apartment.”

I took a quick glance around the two rooms and knew it wouldn’t be too hard for me or anyone else to find it. The baby had fallen asleep in Bertha’s arms, so she laid him in a laundry basket that she was using for his cradle. Now that her hands were empty, she began wringing them. “I don’t know what to do!”

“Why didn’t Lyle just deliver his cargo right away?” I asked. “Why bring it here?”

“They told him to wait a couple of days and to use a different car in case the police were watching him and were planning to follow him to the delivery place. When he told me all this . . . honestly, Miss Sherwood, I had a fit! We have two children to think about. Lyle told the people that they would have to come here and get the liquor themselves, but they explained that transporting it is the part that’s against the law. They said that Lyle has to deliver it, but now he’s afraid to. And I’m afraid to let him. Oh, I just don’t know what to do!”

“If I were you, I think I would dump it all down the sink.”

“We can’t. The people loaned him the money to drive up to Canada and buy it. Beer costs five dollars a case up there and sells for twenty-five dollars a case down here, and after Lyle pays the people back, plus a little bit for interest, we were supposed to keep the rest. Now we’re in even more debt.”

It sounded like a very well-planned operation where the bad guys made desperate people like Lyle and Bertha take all of the risks. “Have you considered going to the police?” I asked.

“We can’t. Lyle broke the law. We’ll starve while he’s in jail, and once he has a prison record, he’ll never be able to get another job. I know you’re very smart, Miss Sherwood, and you’re always thinking up new ideas and things—please tell me what we should do.”

“Wow.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I ran my hands through my short hair as I pondered Bertha’s dilemma.

She was an excellent salesclerk, but she would never be able to find a job now that she was married. Besides, who would take care of her children? The women like Millie White who had come to Grandma Bebe for help had faced the same dead end, and Grandma had begun her temperance crusade to help them. My mother’s involvement with the suffrage movement had started after Daniel Carver’s wife and children were also left destitute. Mother had enlisted the help of her women’s club the very next day. Now it was my turn to come up with a solution to rescue someone in need. I rose from the chair and started to pace.

I could borrow Grandma Bebe’s car and deliver the liquor myself, but I would be taking a huge risk. Then again, Great-Grandma Hannah had taken a risk when she hid escaped slaves in the back of her wagon. And Grandma Bebe had not only risked contracting cholera in order to help out, but she had been willing to go to jail to close down saloons. My mother had risked losing her reputation and all of her society friends when she stood up in front of her club members and declared her intention to help families in need. And I wanted to help this family.

“I’ll deliver the liquor,” I told Bertha. “And collect your money.”

“Y-you will?”

“Yes. But I need you to swear to me that you and Lyle will never do anything this stupid again.”

“I do swear! On my very life! And I’ll make sure that Lyle swears, too.”

I borrowed Grandma’s car that evening. As I drove back to Bertha’s apartment I felt like Joan of Arc or Queen Esther, or some other noble heroine racing to the rescue. I admit that the thought

of breaking the law—for a worthy cause—was very exciting. And heaven knows I hadn’t had much excitement in my life lately.

My apprehension began as I watched Lyle loading all the liquor into the car. “I never imagined that there would be so much of it,” I told him.

“Yeah,” he said, wiping sweat from his forehead. “And I don’t think it’s all going to fit in your trunk.”

“How did you get all of this across the border?”

“They gave me a special car to drive, with compartments to hide it all in.”

“Well, I’m not making two trips,” I said. “You’ll have to pile the rest of it in the back seat and cover it with a blanket. I want to get this over with.”

Lyle gave me the address where I was supposed to deliver the liquor, along with his profuse thanks. “Good luck, Miss Sherwood.”

I started the car and took a moment to wipe my sweating palms on my thighs before shifting into gear. The excitement I had felt on the way over began to drain away once I started driving through town. Fear replaced it. What in the world was I doing? I pushed down on the accelerator, driving a little faster, eager to get my good deed over with. That’s when I heard the siren behind me.

My first impulse was to press the accelerator all the way to the floor and make a run for it, but then I recalled how Hannah had stopped and waited for her pursuers. I pulled the car over to the side of the road, hoping the police car would drive past, hoping the blaring siren wasn’t meant for me, after all. But the police car came to a stop behind me. I thought I knew how Grandma Bebe felt when the bounty hunters had halted their horses beside her wagon and the dogs started sniffing around. I tried to act calm, but my entire body was trembling. Imagine my surprise when I looked in the mirror and recognized the officer who was walking up to my car window.