All She Left Behind

by Jane Kirkpatrick

  “Oh, Josiah will do that. He loves to touch me.” Jennie thought she might have blushed, but it was difficult to tell. “Thank you. Come back. Any time.” She waved a weak hand, closed her eyes, adding as Jennie left, “It’s still a new beginning, isn’t it? Just one we have to take alone.” Then she began to softly snore.

  The kitchen sat across from Mrs. Parrish’s room, and Jennie heard Dougie chattering with Minnie, she thought, but the response came from an accented voice. The Chinese cook. All sounded well, so she returned to the parlor before Dougie could spy her, wondering if there was anything more she could do for Mrs. Parrish.

  “There you are. We were about to come and get you,” Charles said. “Wouldn’t want to tire Mrs. Parrish out now, would we.”

  “She’s resting. She seemed to like the visit.”

  “A woman’s touch is always welcome, I suspect.” Mr. Parrish turned back toward Charles as Jennie lifted her hoop to sit beside him. She smoothed her purple-dyed linen skirt. “Now that Charles and I have solved the problems of the world—including getting the anti-liquor laws passed—what was it the two of you wished to discuss with me?”

  That Charles would have talked about the anti-liquor laws amazed her, but then it shouldn’t have. Chameleon that he could be—as charming people often are—he would have found a way to see Mr. Parrish’s preferences opposing liquor and suggested he agreed with it. “Go ahead, Jennie.”

  A flare of irritation escaped her eyes as she looked at Charles.

  “We’ve come seeking a loan, Reverend Parrish. It’s a terrible thing to discuss commerce with someone who has his own trials, but here we are, hat in hand.” She motioned to Charles, who was kneading the edge of his bowler hat, crown down as though they were begging. Which they were. Her tone or the words caused him to stop the finger twisting and turn the hat crown up. “Charles has a good job at the prison working as an assistant to my brother-in-law. But we’d like very much to one day purchase our own property, have a small farm where I could grow my herbs and plants, and Charles could spend less time with people who have criminal intent.”

  “Many are imprisoned by their addictions,” Mr. Parrish said.

  Charles started to speak, but Jennie interrupted. “I agree. And that’s one reason why we seek a loan, so that Charles can spend more time with those not impaired by drink or laudanum or morphine. He’d like to use the funds to invest in property that he’d improve and then resell. Our capital city is growing here, now that the war is over. You’ve seen so many changes since you arrived in . . . what year?”

  “We left New York in ’39. Arrived here in ’40.”

  “It would take us a while, but Charles is a good carpenter and farmer and we are young and healthy and could improve properties. But we need a stake. Like the miners who head into Canyon City to find gold. Land would be our gold.”

  “How much are you seeking?”

  Charles said, “Five hundred dollars.”

  Jennie gasped. That wasn’t what he’d said. They’d agreed on one hundred dollars; more than enough, in fact. Why had he surged ahead to ask for such an impossible amount? Jennie couldn’t imagine Mr. Parrish loaning that much.

  “I’d need to think about it.” He isn’t turning us down outright? “Elizabeth and I like to encourage young families in our state. But that is a large amount of capital, especially here. You’ll soon discover that assets aren’t always in currency.”

  “We understand,” Jennie said. “Please take all the time you need to consider our request. Or an alternative.” She narrowed her eyes at Charles and he sat back, his lips tight.

  “Let’s speak on Monday. I like to discuss things with Mrs. Parrish. I’m sure we can do something to assist.”

  Dougie bounded down the hall at that moment, all smiles, and it seemed the perfect time to depart. Jennie stood, taking Dougie’s hand and pulling him into her skirts. “And were you a good boy?”

  “Quite the little charmer,” Minnie said. Jennie couldn’t tell if it was a compliment or not.

  “We should be going. Charles has promised to help me with the love apples we’ve planted. Tomatoes, I believe they call them now. They seem to be doing well, but we need to transplant them.”

  Charles stood then. “We’ll stop by Monday—to answer any questions you might have.” That last he said hurriedly before Jennie could stop him.

  “That’ll be fine. Two o’clock. And be sure to bring young Pickett too. Chen always has more cookies.”

  10

  The Passionate Sense of the Potential

  Mama, not so tight.”

  She loosened her grip on her son. “Five hundred dollars. What were you thinking?” Trees drifted white blossoms on them. Birds chattered and squirrels with long tails ran up the fir tree trunks. Pink azaleas spread between picket fences, but Jennie barely noticed. “How could you ask for so much?”

  “He’s good for it. Did you see the sculptures? And the vases themselves would bring in a hundred.”

  “I—this is not what we’re about, Charles. Is it? We had a plan—”

  He hugged her to his side, bent down and lifted Dougie, who squealed his delight. “They like you. He likes Dougie here. He’ll make the loan. Oh, maybe not for five hundred but half, I imagine. We can move so much faster that way. Don’t be so fragile.”

  Fragile. It was a good way to put how she felt. Her stomach hurt. In that moment, she wished they still lived with Lucinda so she could discuss this afternoon as soon as they got home. But she’d chosen to have her family on their own. She had to find a way to deal with the disappointments or worries alone too. They walked past Ariyah’s home and heard piano music drifting through the window. Maybe she’d visit tomorrow after their second appointment and get Ariyah’s thoughts on what had just happened. Jennie’s family didn’t need to know.

  “I apologize for my husband’s not being here,” Jennie told Reverend Parrish on Monday. “He had additional duties, at work. He suggested I come alone. How is Mrs. Parrish today?”

  “As well as can be expected. She appreciated the glycerin.” He had the warmest smile that went right up to his eyes.

  She held Dougie’s hand, wishing she’d asked Ariyah to watch him while Charles skipped out. That wasn’t fair. He had received a request from Joseph to come to the prison at dawn. Of course he had to comply.

  “I have a Quilton.” Dougie spoke to Mr. Parrish, who once again knelt down to his level.

  “And what is a quilton, Mr. Pickett?”

  Douglas looked around as though seeking his father.

  “You’re Mr. Pickett too,” Jennie told him.

  “I am?”

  She nodded. “Tell Mr. Parrish about Quilton.”

  “He’s my pork-a-pine. He eats leaves I find for him, doesn’t he, Mama? And he holds his tin cup when he wants milk.”

  Mr. Parrish smiled and stood, patting Douglas on his back as Jennie nodded agreement. “You’ll have to introduce us sometime. I’ve never seen a pet porcupine.”

  A Chinese man Jennie assumed to be Chen appeared. Douglas’s eyes lit up. “Cookies, Mama?”

  “Of course.” Her son went willingly with the small man, who quick-stepped down the hall, his single braid bouncing on his back. To Mr. Parrish she said, “You’ve won the heart of my son.”

  “Cookies can do that.” He took the seat across from her. “I do have a few questions about the loan request.”

  She swallowed, dreading the conversation about finance, even while aware of less anxiety than the day before, when Charles had been along. “I hope I can answer them.” She wondered if she should make the case that she and Charles had discussed it overnight and really only needed one hundred dollars and then tell Charles that’s the amount Mr. Parrish would loan. But she didn’t, not ready to tell a lie nor live with the consequences of upsetting her husband in the process.

  “We’ll need to work out an interest arrangement,” Jennie said, anticipating.

  “Elizabeth and I feel i
t isn’t right to charge family interest.”

  “But we aren’t—”

  He raised his palm to silence her. “Perhaps an exchange of labor now and then could suffice.”

  “I could look after Mrs. Parrish. I’d be honored.”

  “You mentioned Charles is a carpenter.”

  Jennie nodded. It was one of Charles’s strengths.

  “We have need of some repairs. So if labor is exchanged for interest, let me say that Mrs. Parrish and I felt that we could release two hundred fifty dollars now and the remaining in three months when I’ve sold some of the lambs. Would that be agreeable?”

  “Yes. Of course. I—we—that’s very generous of you. All of it is very generous.”

  “I’ll have papers drawn up with terms of repayment and Charles can sign them. We’ll ask you to sign them as well. Elizabeth and I believe that women ought to have a say in things legal and financial. We’re impressed that both of you came for the initial discussion. Oregon’s decision to allow a woman to own land in her own name is a great step forward for America, we believe.”

  “Yes. Indeed.”

  Jennie felt unbalanced with his goodness. Charles had been right in insisting she come along. He’d been right about asking for that amount of money, and now they had been given an even greater gift in Mr. Parrish’s interest arrangement: labor in return. What more could she receive?

  He spoke then about her parents, expressed how he admired her father’s ministry and his public service. Jennie accepted his compliments and offered to visit with Mrs. Parrish, if she might be of help.

  “She’s resting now. But perhaps you’d care for a walk in the garden?”

  “Yes. Oh, that would be lovely.”

  He described the variety of roses he’d planted, spoke of herbs he’d nurtured at the suggestion of some of the Indian healers he encountered in his work as Indian agent. “The healers share their skills among the tribes. I’ve learned about pasqueflower the Blackfeet use, and of course elderberry.”

  “For treatment of poisons, as an expectorant.”

  “Indeed.” He looked at Jennie with new respect. “The Tillamook,” he continued, “use dogwood root tea, should one run out of quinine, for malaria.”

  He learned from his Indian contacts, didn’t just go there to tell them what to do.

  Near the garden house, rhododendrons she’d seen growing wild beneath forest firs prospered in this place. Beyond the borders of the garden, white fluffs she realized were sheep dotted the rolling green fields. She remembered her wily swimming fox. A chipmunk with yellow stripes poked its head from the rock wall surrounding a pond, and Jennie found herself babbling on about the distillery and her plants and her wish to use them to heal people. They paused in front of a wooden bench that overlooked a topiary. The entire landscape reminded her of pictures of an English garden she’d seen in a book. Sparrows washed themselves at the stone birdbaths, and some sort of ivy promising a purple bloom wove its way up a trellis.

  “I’d say your healing plants are an extension of your own gifts,” he said.

  “It’s only the plants. I—I once thought of becoming a doctor, oh ages ago, but those are fanciful thoughts.” Why did I share that?

  “You’re young. That Danish philosopher Kierkegaard said he’d give up wealth and power for the ‘passionate sense of the potential, for the eye which, ever young and ardent, sees the possibilities.’”

  “I like that.” She asked him to repeat the quote and wrapped the words in memory.

  He motioned her toward a wrought-iron bench with a rose design in the back, and Jennie lifted her single hoop to sit. A blacksmith had worked overtime creating that treasure. “I was referring to your natural healing arts,” Mr. Parrish continued. “Elizabeth said your presence gave her peace, a gentle respite that eased her breathing.”

  “Did it? I’m so glad she felt better. I’ve brought an aromatic for her. I didn’t want to tire her.”

  “On the contrary.”

  Dougie ran out then, with Chen behind him, looking frazzled with a reddish stain on his white apron. “Boy like rhubarb but not know how to wait for sauce to arrive in bowl.”

  Jennie started to apologize, but Mr. Parrish stood and gestured for Dougie to sit between them. Douglas kicked his feet up and down.

  “Was the rhubarb good?” Mr. Parrish asked.

  Dougie nodded.

  “Excellent. Thank you, Chen. We were just finishing here.”

  The cook bowed twice and walked quick-quick back toward the house. The manor, was how Jennie saw it.

  She took Dougie’s hand, stood, and curtsied to Mr. Parrish. The yellow ribbons of her straw hat draped loosely at her bodice and they swished as she bent. “My son . . . I’m so sorry.”

  “Think nothing of it.”

  Douglas hadn’t embarrassed himself any worse than she had, sharing a dream with this man. At least she hadn’t confessed to how reluctant she was to leave the peace of this garden.

  Charles’s eyes carried a glazed look, which he explained resulted from the demands of the day. A sweet scent Jennie couldn’t name rose from his mustache when he kissed her. He combed it absently with his fingers when he talked now. “How did it go?”

  “Better than I expected. He’ll loan us the full amount, providing half after we sign the papers and the other half in three months. I . . . was stunned. It’s so much money. He wants quarterly payments.”

  “He sees the possibilities. That’s the youth in him.”

  Jennie laughed. “The youth in him? He must be fifty.” She thought of her father. “Maybe older.”

  “It’s his mind, Jennie, that’s what’s young. What interest did he demand? I said no more than 2 percent. Were you able to negotiate to that?”

  “No interest. He wants you to do some carpentry work for them. Repairs on the garden house or maybe the barn. I don’t know, really.”

  “No interest? How did the man ever get so wealthy not charging interest?”

  “He said we were like family.” She remembered something biblically about taking care of family, about not burdening them with additional costs attached to a financial assistance. “Maybe he hasn’t made many loans.”

  “We have ourselves a future, Jennie Pickett. Let’s drink to that!”

  She frowned.

  “Sassafras, of course.” He laughed, but it felt forced. He kissed her then, the gesture fleeting as a butterfly landing on a petal, soon moving on to other sweeter things.

  11

  Peplum

  And so it began, their new entrepreneurial life. Charles busied himself at the clerk’s office, looking for donation land claims up for sale. He bought a fine horse and buggy (“Every businessman needs a steed and carriage. How else will customers accept my good judgment?”). He drove it on weekends and, as the summer continued, in the evenings too. He bought new suits tailored for his physique and insisted Jennie go to the dressmaker for additional frocks. And hats. And reticules, even though outside pockets were fashionable—and more practical. He evaded questions of how he’d paid for the pearls and how much money was left. He wanted Lucinda and the girls to have new clothes, to spread his largess, but Joseph declined the offer. Charles bought new short pants and suspenders for Dougie and a bow tie he insisted the boy wear to church. Dougie tore it off as soon as they stepped into the carriage to return home. Charles insisted they pay George for the distillery, have no obligation “so it’s totally ours.” He insisted on calling cards for Jennie and had business cards made up at the printer.

  Pickett and Son

  Land Acquisitions and Dream Attainment

  Jennie urged restraint. He had yet to buy a piece of property and sell it at a profit. All he’d spent had gone into what she called “peplum,” like little flounces on women’s dress jackets that made things look bigger and perhaps finer and fancier than they were, that brought the eye to a slender waist while ignoring the larger bustle behind.

  “Everything has to look prospero
us” was his retort.

  Charles sometimes took Dougie with him on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon and the boy loved the buggy rides. Jennie would have liked to join them as a family but was not invited. Still, it pleased her to see her husband and son doing good things together. And selfishly, their absence gave her time with the essencier without the worry over Douglas. She lost herself in her efforts, setting aside the worry of her husband’s rate of spending without seeing results from his “dream attainment.”

  “He’s enthusiastic,” she told Ariyah on an afternoon. “All dreamers have to have that blind passion, I suppose. But I’m not seeing much from all his effort. It worries me a little.”

  “Peleg says men need to experience their impact on the world. Women less so.”

  “Do you think that’s true?” Jennie thought of the satisfaction derived from seeing her oils or herbal pastes bringing comfort to a mother. Healing was her passion, and yet it failed to fill her with the enthusiasm of the kind that drove her husband.

  Ariyah plunked on the piano and the two sat on separate round stools in front of it. She stopped to look at Jennie.

  “Women have children to show their impact on the world. That’s what Peleg says.”

  “But what about women who don’t have children, or whose children . . . die or turn out to not be good people in the end? Surely a woman still wants to know her life has meaning, even if she fails at something so significant.”

  Ariyah turned back, played a few notes, squinted at the music sheet. “It’s supposed to be those keys and those sounds. I think I hit them, though maybe not perfect.” She let her hands fall into her lap. “We don’t control the outcome of another’s life I don’t think. We do the best we can but just as with your plants—you provide good soil, you fertilize, you stake them before it looks as though they’ll need it, bring fresh water. Still, it’s the sunshine that makes the difference, the very thing you don’t control. We can only do what we can do.”

  “You’re a philosopher, Ariyah.”