On Her Way Home (3 page)

Chapter Five

Wind fluttered the long white drapes framing the window in Jo’s second floor hotel room at the White Castle. The night air had cooled but not enough to let her sleep as contentedly as she had planned. Around one o’clock in the morning, she swung her hot legs out of bed and restlessly moved to the window. The round heavy moon moved its pale shadow through the wispy white curtains. Jo grasped the soft fabric and ran her hand up and down it absentmindedly. She loved the cool night air, felt its refreshing waves clear her unsettled mind. She crossed her arms, rested her elbows on the sill, and leaned out to look over the deserted street below, letting her mind wander.

This place was so different than home, yet something about it seemed very familiar as well. She had posted two letters to home since leaving and imagined that her mother had already shared them with the family and any visitors who had dropped by. Whenever a family member was absent from home, letters always remained unopened on the secretary desk until the whole family could be gathered together to read what they contained. The only exception had been when her oldest brother, Johnny, was in the Great War. Three letters of the hundreds written had made it safely home to anxious loved ones, and Mother had opened every one of them immediately and privately. The third came after six months of no contact and frightening rumors of high casualties as the war came to an end. Mother had taken the letter and walked to her room alone. A cry had escaped under her door and held the family hostage while they’d waited for the news. Slowly, the knob had turned as Mother then stood in the doorway, face tear-streaked. “He’s coming home,” she’d breathed. The unspoken fear that had blanketed home and happiness for months vanished on that breath. Jo could feel that release even now, years later, as she leaned out into the night. At the corner of her eye, a clear teardrop formed, slowly spilling its way down her cheek to drop, unseen in the dark street below. The entire time that Johnny was gone she’d feared for his life, and he had made it home without a scrape. It was the pain she didn’t see coming that had hurt the most—life stolen away without preamble, without preparation for mind or heart.

Her mind melted back to six months ago. Jo had just made a deposit at the bank and was on her way home, her briefcase loaded with exams to grade and English papers to edit. Her scrimping and saving were finally paying off as the small sum of money in her bank account began to increase. Jo started saving every cent of her meager salary the very day after her crying fit at the schoolhouse. That morning she had sat, embarrassed, at her desk, looking at the stack of crinkly papers she had blubbered all over.
What’s come over me
, she’d chided herself. Mortified by her own breakdown, she’d made a plan and begun hoarding every dollar.

As Jo left the bank with her papers in tow, a friend happened along and offered to drive her home in his automobile. Dust followed them up the drive, and no sooner had Jo stepped from the vehicle when her sister, Krissy, came screaming down the porch stairs. Shrieking at Jo, she clutched her arm and yanked her brutally to the house. “It’s Pa. It’s Pa. It’s Pa.”

Jo tripped violently up the porch steps and staggered into the living room behind Krissy to find Pa slumped over in his chair. Mother was shaking him and screeching his name in a wild, feral voice Jo had never heard before, while Johnny shouted into the telephone. Jo stood rooted to the rug, trying to grasp the deafening scene around her. A second later, Travis and Caleb barged into the room and hefted Pa out of his chair, his heavy arms thumping as they flopped to the ground, and packed him into the car. Mother crawled in after him, his head lolling back on her chest as she choked and sobbed over him. Then the car skidded out of the dirt driveway.

Jo listened to it holler down the road, spitting rocks behind it until there was nothing, only silence. Days and weeks passed, but the sound wouldn’t return. Life moved around her, but Jo was a silhouette, puppetted by time. She couldn’t remember when she began to hear again, really hear; she just remembered that the first hum to break through the numbness was a still, quiet voice.

***

The morning sunlight beamed across Jo’s freckled face as she slept curled in the chair by the window. A slight breeze wafted through the curtains and sent her brown locks tickling across her face. The sensation roused her. She stretched her arms above her head and pointed her toes, flexing her calf muscles. Jo was surprised to find herself in the chair. She didn’t recall scooting it to the window last night and falling asleep in it
. After three weeks of train travel, I could probably sleep anywhere
, she mused. Jo felt lighthearted this morning after last night’s good cry had released the hovering bit of sadness that had followed her to Montana. She had made up her mind to apply as a ranch hand, figuring a ranch on the outskirts of town surrounded by beautiful mountains with plenty of hard work to keep her mind occupied might be just what she needed. Physical labor had always invigorated Jo. Her Pa used to goad her brothers, “Well, if you don’t think you’re up to the task, I’ll ask Jo…” His ploy had spurred them into action every time.

Jo wrapped her robe around her and peeped out the door. She was in luck. No one was in the shared hallway, so she could scoot along quickly to the hotel water closet. Jo had been surprised to learn that her room and two others on this floor shared the same amenities. She had assumed a hotel with the modern conveniences of electricity and telephone would also have private baths, but that was not the case. This city was just like her hometown in Illinois, only five years tardy. Big industries stretched their reach further and further into America’s nooks and crannies increasing the prevalence of electricity, indoor plumbing, and telephones, but rarely did they arrive in a building at the same time, and this hotel was no different. Jo gathered up her toiletries and bustled down the carpeted hall. Once in the bathroom, she plugged the hole with the white cork and pulled the shiny chain to fill the tub. Soaking in the tub with her thick hair piled on top of her head, she mentally composed her letter to Leif Hawkins.

Chapter Six

The black Ford truck jerked along the road to town carrying Leif and Kirby. It was a thirty-minute drive from the ranch to town when the road wasn’t muddy, but this spring had been a particularly wet one in northwestern Montana. The water runoff from the spring melt, along with the added rain, had made the road extra tricky to drive as Leif yanked the wheel right and then left to avoid rocks and deep potholes.

Kirby muttered under his breath as he gripped the open sill of the door and held on, “We should’ve rode the horses, Leif. This dang truck jumping around is worse than breaking in a colt.”

Leif felt sorry for the old man. He tried to remember how old Kirby was.
Sixty-five or sixty-six
, he couldn’t remember exactly. He was definitely old enough to be done in by a week of sawing timber and digging fence posts, and he wasn’t the only one. Leif was sore all over and bone tired. He hated the idea of riding in to town today. If there wasn’t an inquiry about the ranch position waiting for him, he was heading straight home. The boss would be back either Thursday or Friday next week, and Leif hoped to have someone hired and working before then.

“Next time we drive this road, it ought to be with that new tractor the boss is bringing home. We could pull one of those heavy timbers behind us and smooth out the rode a bit,” Kirby said. Mention of the tractor raised Leif’s spirits. Hooking the plow to the tractor and watching all that dark soil turn over was one thing he was looking forward to.

Before the wheels of the truck even came to a complete stop in front of the post office, Kirby leapt out and stretched his jumbled up bones. “I’ll just go on in and check the post.”

Leif opened the truck door and extended one long leg out and rubbed it, trying to loosen up his stiff muscles. He wore a pair of dark dungarees, and the sun beat down on his outstretched leg. Pulling out his pocket knife, he began cleaning up his fingernails while he waited. Unlike the hustle and bustle that greeted them last Saturday, this morning the town was quiet.

Finally, Kirby came down the steps, pulled open the truck door and climbed in. He sat back heavily in the seat and rested his head on the upholstery, closing his eyes and sighing as if he was about to take a nap.

Leif was annoyed. “Well, what was in the mail?”

“Nothing,” Kirby mumbled. Then squinting one eye open and fixing it on Leif, he said, “Just this.” And he lifted up an envelope with “Leif Hawkins” sprawled in neat cursive across the front. Kirby grinned and handed it over to Leif, who quickly slit the envelope open with his pocket knife.

Mr. Hawkins,

I have recently relocated to western Montana, and I am interested in ranch work. I have worked the last fifteen years as a farmhand, and although it is not cattle ranching, there are similarities in the work. I am young and have no health problems. My previous employer described me as “sturdy and capable.” Additionally, I have two years of experience herding stock. I would appreciate the opportunity to discuss this further with you. I am staying at the White Castle Hotel.

Thank you for your consideration in this matter.

--Jo Swenson

Leif was relieved. This applicant sounded much more promising than the previous. He turned to Kirby, “Fifteen years as a farmhand and two years riding herd is better than nothing. “And…” Leif drawled, staring fixedly at Kirby, “he is young and healthy too.” Mischief twinkled in his eyes. “Wouldn’t that be a change on the ranch?”

Kirby tipped his head back on the seat and pulled his hat down over his eyes, “I can still whip you, scamp,” he boasted. Leif guffawed as he revved the engine and drove to the White Castle Hotel.

After leaving a note addressed to Mr. Swenson at the hotel front desk, Leif and Kirby walked next door to the café where they would order breakfast and wait for Jo.

The door jingled as they walked in and took a seat at their usual table. The café was a homey place with its thick coffee smell overwhelming the room. It had the look and feel of a delicious morning breakfast. The walls were the exact color of a pat of softened butter resting on top of hotcakes. The butter melted down the wall into rich wood maple syrup paneling. Distressed and dinged hardwood floors emitted a deep wet shine from their many waxings, and two tall windows draped with lacy curtains flanked each side of the fat woodstove. The sight of the place alone made Leif’s stomach growl. Kirby and Leif ordered the “Montana Special,” a sky high stack of fluffy huckleberry pancakes with two pieces of ham, two sausage links, and two strips of bacon, all smothered in heavy maple syrup. Kirby flicked open the newspaper and began reading. Every few minutes a “humph” or “pshaw” would escape over the top of the newspaper as Kirby agreed or disagreed with whatever he was reading. Leif heard heels clicking on the wood floor and turned to see the waitress bringing their breakfast. It smelled heavenly.

Mattie Smith, Kirby’s wife, was visiting her sister in Great Falls, so the fare at the ranch had been fairly sparse for the last two weeks. Yesterday, it had been Kirby’s turn in the kitchen; Leif didn’t know what had worn him out more, digging those fence posts or gnawing through Kirby’s black steak. The waitress placed the hot breakfast in front of the hungry men and they heartily ate it up.

Leif stabbed the last bit of pancake and stirred it around in the syrup, popping it into his mouth. With that last bite, he heard the jingle of the café door and turned to see if it was his awaited interview.
Nope
, he thought, as a woman entered the room. He wondered how long he would have to sit here and listen to Kirby complain about the plans for the new county courthouse. He hoped Mr. Swenson would show up soon.

“Excuse me,” a voice interrupted his thoughts, “Mr. Leif Hawkins, I presume?” enquired the woman who had just walked in the door. He nodded the affirmative, and she promptly stretched out her hand, “I’m Jo Swenson. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Her hand hung suspended in midair as Leif’s mouth slung open. Seconds ticked by.

“You’re a woman,” Leif said stupidly.

“Yes,” she replied in a tone similar to that of a patient teacher answering a slow-witted student.

Leif recalled his manners and shook her hand while standing up to pull out her chair, “I’m sorry, but your letter led me to believe that you were a…” Leif shuffled, “well, a man.”

Jo sat down solidly in the seat, adjusted her skirt, and looked up at him innocently. “Oh, did it? Well, I can assure you. I am not.”

Leif sat down disappointedly and pulled out the letter he had received, to read it again. Kirby was shaking Jo’s hand, having recovered much more gracefully than Leif, and was now asking her how she came to be in Montana.

“I traveled west by railway on the
Glacier Park Limited
from Chicago to Great Falls and then took the smaller engine forty-six. I arrived in town a little over a week ago. It’s so lovely here, not at all like the rest of Montana I passed through,” Jo answered. Turning to Leif she asked, “Well, should we get on with the interview? I gleaned from your letter that you can’t be in town long.”

A long moment passed while Leif scrutinized Jo. She wore a white short-sleeved blouse tucked neatly into a flowy skirt that ended mid-calf. Her long hair was pulled back with two silver clasps. Beyond that, she had large blue eyes and an open friendly face. He decided to get on with this sham of an interview. Now that she was here, he couldn’t openly dismiss her just because she was female.

“All right, Miss Swenson, it says here in your letter that you were a farmhand for fifteen years?”

“Yes. That’s correct,” replied Jo.

“Pardon me, Miss Swenson, but you don’t seem old enough to have had that much experience working somewhere on a farm?”

Jo squirmed in her seat. “Mr. Hawkins, my family owns a farm so that is the sum of my experience. I worked there from the time I was a child until I left home.”

“Well then, who is the employer you mentioned in your letter? It says here ‘my previous employer described me as “sturdy and capable,”’” Leif asked pointedly.

Jo cleared her throat nervously, “Um, that would be my father.”

Kirby looked away to the window, trying his best to avoid the awkward interview that was taking place.

Jo sat uncomfortably in her seat. She had purposely been vague, all right, even a little misleading in her letter, so that she could meet face to face with Mr. Hawkins and set forth her qualifications. It was the only way he wouldn’t dismiss her straightaway.

“Alrighty, Miss Swenson, I think I see what’s going on here,” Leif looked directly at her, “but I am curious…what is the ‘stock’ you have two years’ experience in herding?”

The room was quiet. Bolstering her courage, Jo met his stare and said forthrightly, “Children.” Kirby choked on his coffee. Jo reached across the table and smacked him on the back, trying to help. He waved her off with his hand, as he worked to get his sudden coughing fit under control.

“Excuse me,” Leif questioned as he looked at her incredulously, “but did you say ‘children’?”

Jo released all the air she had been holding in her lungs “Yes, children. I was a schoolteacher for two years; that is the “stock” I was referring to.”

“So… let me see if I am understanding you correctly. You grew up on a farm. Your only reference—your father—describes you as capable, and in reality you are a schoolteacher?” Leif pushed away from the table to lean back in his chair, as the three of them sat in uneasy silence. Leif and Kirby stared at her.

Jo, feeling the rising pressure, blew out her breath in one huge whoosh and proceeded to candidly tell her story. “Mr. Hawkins, I do apologize for misleading you in my letter. I feared that if you knew I was a woman, you wouldn’t have taken the time to interview me. I know that working on a farm is much different than ranching, but as I suggested in my letter, there are some similarities. One week ago at a depot station, I came across your advertisement for a ranch hand and decided that it might be just the change I need. I know I don’t look like much, but I am a hard worker. If you give me this opportunity, I will do my best.”

The earnest look in Jo’s eyes pulled at Kirby’s rusty heartstrings. Leif said nothing, but thought,
she’s right; if I knew she was female, I would have never agreed to an interview.
It galled him that she knew it too. More than anything, Leif was frustrated. The ranch wasn’t just a job to him. It was his home, his livelihood, and he wanted it to succeed. He ran his hand through his hair, out of options and applicants.

“Miss Swenson,” Leif paused, “you’re hired.”

Kirby shot a surprised glance at Leif. He was secretly pleased though. This Jo Swenson had pluck, and he liked that. Woman or not—they needed her. Mattie needed her too. It was lonely on the ranch for his wife. Hopefully, this plucky young woman could be company for her.

“You’re hired for this week,”
Leif modified. “If, at the end of this week, we are both still happy with the arrangement, you can stay on for the summer. Do you accept?”

Jo beamed, “I do indeed. Thank you for this opportunity, Mr. Hawkins. I won’t let you down.”

Leif nodded, uncertain whether he believed that statement or not. His mind wandered as Kirby began telling Jo all about the ranch: how many cattle they ran, what the farmhouse was like, and about Mattie, of course. Leif couldn’t help but notice that he left out a few important details, namely the boss and the kid. He wondered if it was presumptuous to ask Jo to move out to the ranch today and start work as early as tomorrow. He stretched his hands over his head, pulling against his sore shoulder.

“Miss Swenson…” he started.

“Please just call me Jo,” she interrupted. “It sounds like we will be working pretty close together on the ranch; we might as well be friends,” she twinkled.

“Jo it is then, and I’ve never been comfortable with Mr. Hawkins either, too stiff; just call me Leif.”

Kirby cut in, “Well, now that we are all on a first name basis, let’s get down to business. Jo, we need to be at the ranch. How soon do you think you could be ready to go?”

Well, that was
taking the bull by the horns
, Leif thought drolly to himself.

Jo was surprised. “You mean…today?”

“Yes. We have a couple of errands to run in town and some seed to pick up at the store, but besides that, you were the only reason we came into town today at all.”

Not expecting to go to the ranch today, Jo momentarily questioned her rash decision in applying and accepting this position. She knew virtually nothing of either of these two men, she was a thousand miles from home, and suddenly apprehension caught up with her.

The last year had been the most difficult of Jo’s young life. The passing of her father had created a void in her. He had been her confidant. Every big decision Jo made was always brought to Pa. He was the only person she had divulged her plans to about heading west. Two weeks after her decision, she was awake late into the night, reviewing the train fares and routes. It was exhausting trying to compare fares, cities, expenditures, cabin passage vs. sleeper passage, and so on without the help of an objective person. She heard a familiar creek in the kitchen floorboards directly under her room.
Ha
, she thought,
I bet that’s Pa sneaking into the last of the raspberry bars I left on the counter
. Jo tossed two train brochures on her quilt, one for the
Western Star
and the other for
Glacier Park Limited
. Silently, she slipped down the hallway, holding on to the smooth mahogany banister as she padded down the stairs. Pa was sitting at the kitchen table with the raspberry bars in front of him and a glass of milk.