“I was going to ask you about that. Is Grandpa Whitman home alone?”
Ashley shook her head and swallowed. “No, I had some things to do, so I asked Mrs. Breck to come over. She lives a few blocks away but always needs to earn an extra dime or two. I feel sorry for her, so when I get extra sewing money, I let her come do a few chores for me.”
“You’ll be able to hire her full-time now. Goodness, you won’t even need to stay in Winslow if you’re of a mind to move away,” Glenda commented. “You could even get a transfer to one of the Harvey Houses in California. I’d sure love to go to California.”
Ashley knew she spoke the truth, but as much as her memories of Los Angeles caused her to want to revisit the sights from time to time, she never really wanted to leave Winslow. “I’ve no desire to go away from here. I like Arizona, and I like the way the people are here. Besides, Natalie’s been here all her life and she’s happy here.”
“Well, I know that’s important, but maybe you’d both be happier in a bigger town.” A distant train whistle perked Glenda’s attention. “Well, we’re bound to get busy now. I’d better stop gabbing. You know how maddening the pace can get at the lunch counter.”
Ashley nodded. “I’ll finish up here and be on my way. There was trouble with the telegraph lines. They told me to come back later, but I still need to write out what I want to say to my mother and Aunt Lavelle.”
“What are you going to say?” Glenda asked, her blue eyes seeking Ashley’s face for an answer.
Ashley didn’t mind her probing question. Glenda had been as close of a friend as Ashley wanted. They didn’t do a lot of running around or going places. Many times Glenda had tried to talk Ashley into side trips on the train or just sightseeing to places like the nearby meteor crater, but Ashley generally declined because of Natalie. She hated leaving Natalie behind for any reason, and a group of single adults really had no use for a child.
Eating the last of her pie, Ashley shrugged and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Grandpa said to tell them to hurry. Otherwise, I don’t know what to say. I mean, how do I just open up the lines of communication after ten years of separation?”
Glenda took up the plate and fork. “I can’t imagine not talking to my mama for over ten years.”
Ashley felt the cynicism streak up her spine. “If my mother were your mother, you could imagine it well enough.”
The rumble of the train drew their attention as the passenger service slowed to a stop outside. “Talk to you later,” Ashley said, giving Glenda a little wave. She hurried across the room and out the side door before the crowds could pour in.
She couldn’t help smiling at the ruckus behind her. Life in the Harvey House was always exciting. Especially in this town, where the passenger trains came through at regular intervals. Ashley missed the commotion and urgency. She loved being home with Grandpa and Natalie, but Natalie was at school all day and Grandpa slept a good portion of the time. The old man was unable to bear up under the pain, and now that he had finally allowed Ashley to give him doses of the morphine, he slept more than ever. Already she had begun to mourn him—the one thing she’d promised herself she wouldn’t do until he was actually gone.
Stepping outside into the comfortable warmth of the late afternoon, Ashley pulled the brim of her straw hat down to avoid freckling from the sun. Consumed with thoughts of the job she had to do, Ashley’s steps were slow and methodical.
How do I write to Mother when she swore she’d never speak to me again—never hear a word I had to say? What makes me think she’ll even read a telegram that I send? Then it dawned on Ashley that perhaps the best thing to do would be to send the telegram in her grandfather’s name. She could send the news that he was gravely ill, not expected to live, and that he desired to see his daughters again. Ashley could even mention that she was now living with Grandpa—Natalie too. But sign the entire message from Russell Whitman instead of Ashley Reynolds.
It seemed reasonable. It also seemed to lessen the feeling that Ashley was betraying herself and Ethan’s memory. She had sworn she’d never again talk to her mother or father or have any communication with them as to her whereabouts. Somehow it seemed an honorable thing to do for Ethan.
“Oh, excuse me.”
Ashley looked up at the sound of a familiar voice. Strange how thinking of Ethan had caused the stranger’s tone to sound so similar. She looked into the face of E. J. Carson and blinked against the glare. “I’m sorry, did I nearly run you over?” she questioned, realizing she hadn’t been paying attention to where she was going.
“It’s as much my fault,” E. J. replied. “I wasn’t paying attention either.” His voice sounded shaky, almost as if they’d nearly fallen off the edge of a cliff rather than simply bumping into each other on the street.
The silence between them seemed quite awkward, and with nothing else to say, Ashley smiled and excused herself. “Well, I’ll be on my way.”
E. J. blurted out, “I think you have a very remarkable daughter. She’s been here several times to study the architecture of the hotel.”
Ashley paused in midstep. “Yes. She loves it. She’s quite good at drawing her own designs.”
E. J. nodded and a lock of wavy brown hair fell over his forehead, touching his gold-rimmed glasses. Ethan’s hair had been wavy and brown as well. He wore it shorter and fashioned just a little different, but nevertheless, Mr. Carson’s hair reminded her of her husband. For just a moment, Ashley almost reached up to push it back. She stopped herself just in time and shook her head. “Natalie speaks quite highly of you. I know she enjoys learning about the hotel. It’s kind of you to be so patient with her.”
He looked at the ground, seeming most uncomfortable. “I enjoy it myself. I haven’t had the opportunity to be around many children in my day, but Natalie is so much like a little adult that I scarcely notice the difference.”
“She is like that,” Ashley admitted. “She is probably far too much like that for her own good.” Ashley could clearly see that E. J. wasn’t at ease with her. She thought it strange, given the fact he’d started the conversation to begin with, but took that moment to put an end to their talk.
“I must be going. My grandfather is ill and I need to return home.”
Mr. Carson nodded. “I am sorry about that. Natalie mentioned her grandfather was ill.”
“Actually, it’s her great-grandfather, but he’s known by most everyone around here as Grandpa Whitman, so she just calls him that too.” E. J. looked up and Ashley added, “I hope things go well for you. I’m sure we’ll meet again.”
“To be sure,” Carson replied.
That evening Ashley thought back to her encounter with E. J. Carson while Natalie sat playing jacks on the floor of their living room. He seemed so eager to share his admiration of Natalie, yet so uncomfortable in speaking to Ashley.
Picking up her crochet work, Ashley wondered about Natalie and her artistic talent. She came by it naturally, that was for sure. Ethan had been a master at drawing. He’d won several awards and the esteem of his teachers. Perhaps Glenda’s thoughts of their moving away weren’t quite so out of line. Maybe Natalie could benefit by moving closer to a school that had classes for architects. It bore some consideration.
Her thoughts quickly moved from Natalie and school, however, to the task of notifying her mother and aunt of Grandpa’s illness. The telegraph office had remained closed and it seemed like a respite to Ashley. She supposed it might be prudent to check into telephoning, for her mother and father had put in a telephone in the years prior to Ashley leaving home. But she no longer recalled the number. Maybe they didn’t even have the same number, and if that were the case, how would she find out how to reach them?
This is so hard, she thought. I don’t know anything about Mother and Father these days. They could be dead for all I know. Ashley thought of that for a moment and wondered if it would grieve her to know they’d passed from this life without resolving the differences between them.<
br />
Then even as she thought of this, she looked at Natalie and knew how awful it would feel if Natalie rejected her the way Ashley had rejected her mother. But my mother brought it on herself, Ashley reminded herself. I wasn’t the one to say I’d never have anything more to do with them, until it was demanded of me that I never return—never write—never contact them at all.
And for what? Because her mother’s pride had been damaged? Because they couldn’t seal the deal with their wealthy, politically-minded friends? Because Ashley wouldn’t marry into the upper crust of Baltimore society?
She remembered her mother’s anger and rage upon learning of Ashley’s marriage to Ethan. The conversation had been so ugly and hurtful. Her mother accused Ashley of trying to destroy everything her father had worked for. Leticia Murphy had slapped her daughter hard across the face, telling her that she hoped to “knock some sense” into her wayward child.
Staring down at her crocheting, Ashley realized she’d messed up several stitches and had to pull out the thread and go back. She wished it could be that easy to unravel the mistakes of the past. Maybe her mother was sorry for what had transpired. Maybe she wished over and over that she’d never acted the way she had.
Ashley looked at her daughter once again. Her mother and father didn’t even know about Natalie. Ashley had never been given a chance to explain. They only knew that their daughter had defied them and their wishes for her life. They only knew that their bank accounts would not be quite so large because Ashley had married a lowly architect.
“Are Grandma and Grandpa Murphy going to visit us?” Natalie asked, as if she could read her mother’s thoughts.
Ashley continued working, paying closer attention to the stitches. “I don’t know, Nat. They might. Grandpa wants them to come, so I hope they will,” she said, though she really didn’t want them to come. She looked down at Natalie, hoping her daughter would just drop the subject.
“I hope they will too,” Natalie said, pushing her jacks aside and stretching out on the floor. She leaned up on one elbow. “Grandpa says he’s just holding on for the day he can seek their forgiveness and see the family brought back together. Do you think Grandma Murphy and her sister will forgive Grandpa?”
Probably not, Ashley thought to herself. Not if my mother is still the self-centered, bitter woman she was when I left. Ashley shrugged. “You know, I don’t see that Grandpa has anything to be forgiven for. Frankly, your grandpa is one of the most giving and loving men I’ve ever known. If Grandma Murphy and Aunt Lavelle can’t understand that, then it’s their loss.”
“Grandpa hopes they’ll come to know Jesus before he dies. He hopes that for you too,” Natalie said, smiling. “He says you’ll all be much happier if you know the source of life.”
Ashley bit her tongue. How dare Grandpa put her in the same category as her mother and aunt? They’d deserted him and done nothing but hurt him. I’m not like that, Ashley told herself, feeling a frustration she couldn’t begin to explain.
“Look, you need to get ready for bed. Have you put your clothes out for tomorrow?”
Natalie moaned. “Yes, but can’t I stay up? It’s just eight o’clock.”
“If you want to read in your bed for half an hour, then you need to get headed that way. By the time you get your jacks cleaned up, make sure your clothes are ready for tomorrow, brush your teeth, and actually get into bed, it will be eight-thirty. Then if you read for half an hour, it will be nine. So you need to scoot.” She smiled at Natalie, trying hard not to take out her frustration on the child.
Natalie yawned and picked up her jacks. “Okay.” She pushed the jacks into a little drawstring bag that Ashley had made for her, then came to give her mother a hug and kiss. “I love you, Mama.”
“I love you too, Natalie. Always remember that, no matter what happens. We have each other.”
“We’ve got Jesus too,” Natalie insisted.
Ashley nodded. “I’m sure we do.”
“Mama, what are we going to do after Grandpa is gone?” Natalie asked as she pulled away from the embrace.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, where are we going to live and who will take care of us?”
“We’ll live right here. Grandpa made sure of that. The house is ours. As for who will take care of us—well, I’ll take care of us. I have some money and we’ve always gotten by without any trouble before.”
“Sure, but we had Grandpa. When he’s gone we won’t have a man of the house. That worries Grandpa and it worries me. I think you should get married again.”
If a noose had tightened around her neck, it couldn’t have caused Ashley more discomfort. The very idea of sharing her life with a stranger was more than she wanted to imagine. She’d given cursory thought to remarrying. She’d acknowledged that she didn’t want to be alone for the rest of her life, but marrying again was a fearful thought.
Natalie continued before Ashley could respond. “Mr. Carson is very nice. He’s handsome too, don’t you think?”
Ashley was even more taken aback by her daughter’s reference to E. J. Carson’s appearance. “I don’t think that’s something a little girl should be thinking about.”
Natalie shrugged. “His wife died, so he knows how it feels to lose someone you love. He knows a lot about building things too, and he likes the desert. He might like to stay here once the hotel is built, and maybe he’d even like to have a family.”
“Where do you get these wild ideas?” Ashley said, shaking her head. “Go on, now, and go to bed. Your imagination will wear you out if you don’t.”
Natalie turned to go but paused by the arched entry. “I want a daddy. Someone who will teach me things and who will keep you from being too lonely.” She didn’t wait for Ashley’s reply but instead headed off for her room.
Ashley contemplated her daughter’s words and felt tears form in her eyes. “Have I so deprived her by not remarrying? I thought I’d done a good job of raising her. I thought having Grandpa here would make the loss of her father easier—more acceptable,” Ashley whispered to the empty room. “Was I blind to her need—to mine?”
****
Russell Whitman stared into the darkness of his bedroom. He’d found it impossible to sleep, although he’d dozed from time to time when the pain hadn’t been too much. He wondered if his daughters would come to see him. He wondered, too, if they would be willing to make some sort of peace with him—and with Ashley.
Pastor McGuire had said that God only expected him to do the things that were up to him to do. He couldn’t force Lavelle and Leticia to care about him or his beliefs.
“But I want them to love you, Lord,” he whispered.
Weary from the battle, Russell drew a ragged breath. “I want them to love me again as well. Is that so wrong?”
He remembered a time when the girls had been very small. They were such giggle boxes, as he affectionately called them. Work kept him away from home much of the time, but when he could, he arranged picnics or outings to show them how much he loved them.
“Ah, Peg, do you remember it?” He spoke to his dead wife as though she might answer. “You would dress in those lovely silk gowns. You always looked like a billowing cloud. The girls would wear pink ribbons in their hair, and you would don one of those extravagant hats that had become so fashionable.”
He smiled at the memory. In his mind he could see his little girls playing ball or hopscotch. Once he had made them a kite and they’d gone to the beach to fly it. It had crashed after only a few short tours in the air, but they’d had a marvelous time.
What had happened to change all of that?
Russell knew he’d taken up with the wrong people and had worried about the wrong things. Money had become increasingly important, and the more he made, the more he needed. It was a vicious circle that robbed him of time and of his children.
I can’t change that now, he reasoned, but if only they’ll come and see me, then maybe I can die in peace.
&nb
sp; But there was always the chance they wouldn’t come. Streaks of pain shot out across his body, but the pain in his heart was still more intense. If they wouldn’t come—wouldn’t even acknowledge his need—it would surely kill him quicker than the cancer.
****
E. J. Carson sat across from Mary Colter at the impeccably dressed dinner table in the Winslow Harvey House. Fine linen tablecloths and napkins lent elegance to the patterned china and silver. The traditional settings of the Fred Harvey table were not to be ignored. Coming into the room, E. J. had immediately been transported from the tiny desert town to one of the better East Coast supper clubs. And that was just as Fred Harvey, the creator of this experience, would have had it. It was good to see that in spite of the man having died over twenty years earlier, his sons were still looking to fulfill and carry out their father’s dream.
E. J. glanced to Mary’s right, where Earl Altaire, an artist who’d been hired to do paintings on the stucco walls, sat trying to explain a pattern he intended to use. He was sketching on a torn scrap of paper with a piece of charcoal he’d taken from his pocket. Mary nodded and from time to time commented, although E. J. couldn’t tell what was being said. To Mary’s left was E. V. Birt, master carpenter, who would take Mary’s furnishing ideas and recreate an antique look. The man had a true gift for working with his hands, and E. J. had thought to question him about some benches that were being designed for the lobby when the man on his right began to tap on his water glass.
“I’d like to make an introduction.”
E. J. recognized the man who spoke. He held some sort of position with the Winslow Chamber of Commerce. However, the man’s name totally eluded him.
E. J. paid attention as the older man motioned to a tall, lanky fellow on his right. The man had a good-natured look about him, rather casual and almost out of place at the elegantly set table.
[Desert Roses 02] - Across the Years Page 8