Julia's Last Hope (8 page)
Downtown was even worse. The butcher had packed his cleavers in wooden crates and thrown his stained, worn apron in the garbage can. “Can’t stay any longer,” he muttered. “Got a wife and family to feed.”
The library closed, as did the bakery, the tailor, the blacksmith. Even the doctor shook his head sadly, packed up his wife and two small sons and left for places unknown.
“Go see Charlie,” he told his grim-faced patients. “He can at least give you some shelf medicine.”
But Charlie Rennings, the druggist, shook his head. He didn’t know enough to become the medical advisor for the town. Nor did he know how long his little drugstore would endure.
The grocer stayed. His shelves were not filled with the same variety of merchandise as in the past, but he still stocked the basics—flour, sugar, salt, coffee. He hoped the women were right—that the tourist trade would come to their small town. Yet, he wondered if people could hang on until then.
There was still the railroad and the post office. Surely they won’t abandon us too, the people reasoned. But had they admitted it to one another, their dreams were often haunted by the prospect of days without trains.
And then one day late in July it happened. Julia hurried past the closed-up buildings to do her meager shopping. On the way home she stopped at the post office, and there it was, a white envelope bearing a return address of Toronto. Julia hastened from the building and took refuge on a bench by the railroad track.
Her fingers trembled as she tore open the envelope and withdrew the single sheet of paper. She had difficulty reading, for tears blurred her sight.
At length she calmed herself enough to scan the brief letter. It was a request for accommodation—“for myself, my wife, and three children,” the letter stated. Julia’s tears spotted the ink before she arrived home to show John.
The Harrigan household was not the only one in town to welcome the good news. The remaining families were all excited about the prospect of their area becoming a tourist town. Activity increased everywhere. Women worked extra long hours to add handcrafted merchandise to the little shop. Men wielded paint brushes and hammers, cleaned up board fences, and repaired broken walks. Boys were sent to mow the lawns of vacated neighborhood houses. Girls swept the walks.
“No one wants to come to a ghost town,” Julia told her committee at their weekly meeting. “We must do all we can to make it look as if the town is still alive.”
Heads nodded, but every woman in the group knew it would be hard to disguise the fact that most folks had already deserted Calder Springs.
The women agreed that Julia would take the first house guests.
“We want them to get a good impression so they will tell others,” Mrs. Greenwald announced to all who would listen.
No one disagreed.
“The rest of us need to be ready at all times for business.” The group had been encouraged by a second letter that came soon after the first. The Greenwalds too had the promise of summer guests.
“Too bad we can’t do something about Main Street and all those boarded-up buildings,” sighed young Matilda Pendleton. The empty town was adding to her discouragement. She was about to suggest to her husband that they board up their own house and move elsewhere, but she did not make her confession to the ladies of the committee.
“We should have asked permission to use some of the buildings for our crafts,” said Mrs. Clancy. “It would have kept them in better repair—and we could have arranged a small space at the front that would have kept Main Street more—more active and entertaining to our guests.”
“Couldn’t we still do it?” Maude Shannon asked. “There’s nothing but a few boards covering those store fronts. My Jim would be glad to pull nails. Says he can’t stand to even walk down the street.”
Julia was tempted to voice her approval, but propriety overcame the notion.
“It’s a wonderful idea—to use the buildings, I mean.” Then quickly added before the ladies bolted to send their husbands forth with hammers in hand, “But we’ll need the owners’ permission. Mrs. Clancy—your husband is town clerk. Could he give me the names and addresses of the owners of those buildings so I might write letters asking permission?”
“I’ll ask him,” Mrs. Clancy offered.
“I’ll get them in the mail right away,” Julia promised. The ladies finalized plans for the arrival of the first customers, drank tea, and departed to fulfill their various duties.
The big day finally arrived. Julia sent Tom to the train station to fetch the guests. Mr. Clancy had a fine buggy that had been washed and polished for the occasion. They had talked of using Mac Pendleton’s team of blacks to pull the buggy. They were the prettiest horses Julia had ever seen. But they were also the most spirited. Tom shook his head emphatically when Julia suggested them.
“Not iffen I’m drivin’,” he stated flatly.
Julia was about to suggest that Mac do the driving when she remembered that the black team had bolted even with Mac at the reins, giving him the ride of his life and scaring the townsfolk half to death.
“We’ll use our own bays,” Julia said instead, and Tom nodded with relief.
Everyone in town waited anxiously for the whistle of the afternoon train. Julia was a bundle of nerves. John knew better than to hang around. He took the hedge trimmers and went out to prune neighborhood hedges—to keep the town looking “lived in.”
Felicity and Jennifer hovered around, their eyes big with the excitement of the hour.
“Did you raise the windows in the guest rooms?” Julia asked. “We do want them to smell that fresh mountain air.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Did you fluff the towels?”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Did you smooth the beds?”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Did you dust the furniture one last time?”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Did you check the flowers to be sure they are fresh?”
Felicity sighed. “We did all that—you did all that—over and over.”
Jennifer’s jaw dropped when she heard Felicity’s sassiness, but she had to admit to the truth of the words.
Julia did not scold Felicity. She too knew the words were true. Without comment she moved toward the kitchen.
The girls headed for the porch swing. “Now she will go and pester Hettie with her questions,” Felicity whispered to Jennifer. “Did you polish the silver? Did you prepare the tea trays? Did you—?”
“Don’t be mean,” ordered Jennifer. “She’s just tense. This is very important, you know. If it doesn’t work…” Jennifer left the sentence unfinished.
Felicity shrugged. She knew it was important. But she also wondered at times if all this fuss would really help.
“Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to move,” Felicity said carelessly.
Jennifer frowned.
“Josie says she likes the new place where they live,” Felicity defended.
Jennifer was well aware of what Josie had said in the letter she had sent after her family moved. It had made even Jennifer a bit envious.
“Well, Mama and Papa don’t wish to move,” Jennifer stated.
“But why?” Felicity dared to ask.
“I guess they like it here,” Jennifer said with a shrug.
“I like it here too,” Felicity began, and then sighed. “At least I used to.”
“And they like the house—and the mountains—and the neighbors.” Jennifer tried hard to think of as many reasons as she could to dispel Felicity’s doubts—and her own.
Felicity looked around her. The house was nice, the mountains were pretty. But neighbors? Felicity’s eyes widened. “We hardly have any neighbors anymore,” she argued. “All of our friends have already moved.”
“We still have Millicent,” Jennifer reminded her.
“Pooh!” cried Felicity, jumping to her feet. “Millicent is—is dull. She—she talks with her mouth full and she—she scratches in public and she—”
“Shh,” admonished Jennifer. “If Mama hears you she’ll send you upstairs.”
“I don’t care,” Felicity stormed. “I miss all my friends. I miss the shops and the ice-cream parlor and the—”
Jennifer placed a restraining hand on Felicity’s arm and tried to hush her once more.
Felicity shook it off, tears forming in her eyes.
“It’s not fair,” she cried. “It’s just not fair.”
Jennifer took charge. “Do you think Mama and Papa like it?” she challenged. “Do you think they wanted the mill to close? The people to move away? Do you think they like having to make do? To open our home to—to strangers? Do you think they are never scared—or lonely? They lost friends too.”
Felicity’s noisy sniffling abated. She shrugged her shoulders and wiped her nose, then settled back on the swing and continued to mope. Jennifer said no more. She reached out her foot and started the swing in motion. They sat together in silence for some time before Felicity spoke again. This time her voice was low, her tone confidential.
“Jen, I’m going to hate living in a ghost town.”
“That’s why Mama is working so hard,” Jennifer reminded her. “So that it won’t be a ghost town. So that it will—will come alive again. With tourists and—and interesting people and—”
“Jen,” said Felicity, halting Jennifer’s flow of words, “do you think it will work?”
Jennifer stopped short, thought for a minute, then answered honestly, “All we can do is try.”
“But what if—what if we don’t like the people who are our guests?” asked Felicity.
“We—we need to make them feel…”
“At home?” prompted Felicity.
“No. No, better than that. Like they’re special, Mama told the ladies. We need to make them feel like—kings and queens, Mama said. Then they will go home and tell their friends—and the town will be okay.”
Silence again.
“What if—what if they are—grouchy—and—and stupid?” asked Felicity.
“What if they are nice—and exciting?” Jennifer countered.
“Do you think they might be?”
Jennifer shrugged. “Why not?”
Then she continued with a statement she knew would intrigue her sister. “Maybe they will even have handsome sons.”
Felicity could not keep the laughter from her blue eyes, and it spilled over to her pouting mouth and curved it into an enchanting smile. Then the giggle came. Jennifer had hoped that it would. In spite of Jennifer’s usual propriety she joined her sister in a moment of mirth.
“Do you s’pose our first guests will have a son?” giggled Felicity.
“We’ll just have to wait and see,” teased Jennifer, and they leaned against each other and laughed some more.
John was torn. He wanted Julia to keep their lovely house. He wanted her hard-fought battle to be victorious—the venture to succeed, the town to be revived, but he had to admit that things looked grim.
Funds were very low. If it weren’t for Julia’s big garden—if Tom and Hettie hadn’t agreed to work for room and board—if Rose hadn’t moved away with her family, if they didn’t get free firewood from the old mill site—if—
But John tried to be positive. The first guests were soon to arrive. Julia was sure that many more would follow. She was even concerned about where they would house them all once they started coming. She had already sent letters to former shop owners, asking for the use of their buildings in exchange for proper upkeep. With the shop doors opened, their simple space filled with baked goods, canned wild jams and jellies, handcrafted doilies, quilts and aprons, perhaps—just perhaps, folks would enjoy a stroll down Main Street once again.
In the meantime, he would keep it looking as neat as he could. Snip, snip, went his clippers. From vacated yard to vacated yard, he snipped his way. The Martins, Browns, Carltons, and Schnells. All neighbors just a short time ago. Now gone. He didn’t even know where many of them had relocated. He hoped they had found work. He knew the pain of being unable to provide properly for a family.
Snip. Snip. What if the venture didn’t work? How long could he let Jule pursue her dream before he stepped in? Would it crush her? Snip. He could never build her another house like the one they had now. Should he suggest sending her and the girls back east to her father while he tried to get established again? The thought made John cringe.
“If only I knew what to do,” he sighed for the hundredth time. “If only I could be sure.”
And then, through the sharp, clear afternoon air, reverberating from mountain peak to mountain peak, came the distinct, distant cry of the coming train.
Julia met her guests at the front door. Hettie stood a few steps behind her, her starched white apron glistening in the afternoon brightness, her nervous smile well in place.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Hammond, Mrs. Hammond,” Julia said, her tone and smile indicating more confidence than she felt. She held the door open for them and allowed them to enter the spacious entrance hall.
Mrs. Hammond smiled, almost, and nodded. Mr. Hammond did not even acknowledge Julia. He was busy studying the curved stairway, the oriental rugs, the art on the walls.
Mrs. Hammond soon joined him, her eyes traveling carelessly over her surroundings. Julia shifted uneasily from foot to foot and cast a nervous glance Hettie’s way. Julia’s home had never before been so openly and critically appraised.
