A Bridge Named Susan

by Sharon Chase Hoseley

The fourth weekend of our marriage, Tom came in all excited. “Great news!” he shouted. “My cousins, Curtis and Charlie, are movin’ into the house right behind us on Bridge Street.”

  “Uh, have I met them?” I faltered, trying hard to remember those names from that horrible night of meeting his family.

  “No, no. They’ve been living in Mexico.” He was grinning from ear to ear. “Their Dad died so they came back here to live.”

  “Mexico! That’s another country. What in the world were they doing there?” I couldn’t believe anyone would want to live any place else, let alone another country.

  “Well, it’s like this. Their father didn’t like to work. So he packed up his eleven kids and moved the family to Mexico. You don’t need much money to live there. They had nine more kids. He didn’t work, but his kids did. The neighbors felt sorry for the family and gave them corn and vegetables during growing season. I’ve heard the older boys even hunted alligators.”

  “Oh my.” I didn’t know what to think. Would they speak English? Did they work? What kind of neighbors would they be? So again, change was happening just when I thought we were settled in.

  I didn’t have to wonder long. They moved in on Sunday. Well, at least they came to that house and slept on the floor. They didn’t have much except bedrolls, dirty pillows, a banjo, and two wooden boxes of clothes. No furniture, no stove, or pots and pans, no dishes, no towels. How could they live this way?

  Tom immediately invited them to supper. “What? How could I possibly feed two extra men? Where would I get that much food?”

  Tom laughed and said, “Oh, you know how to stretch a biscuit. It’ll be just fine.”

  He was right. There was enough. I believed in the miracle of the loaves and fish right then. We all ate and were satisfied. I was even able to whip up a pudding for dessert. The men retreated to our living room while I got busy with the dishes. At least we’d found a used davenport so they didn’t have to sit on the floor. We were living like royalty compared to Curtis and Charlie.

  I worked quietly as I listened to their unbelievable stories of growing up so poor that their mama even rendered lard from the alligators so they could fry their corn tortillas. “Alligator was pretty good,” Charlie said. “But it couldn’t touch the great supper we had today.”

  Hmm. Maybe I was going to like these cousins. I smiled as I cleaned up.

  Come Monday morning, they rode with Tom out to the mill to put in their application for work. That was a good sign. At least they were willing to look for work. They were put on the “extra board,” which meant they would be called to work when someone was sick or they had extra work. That also meant they might be working any shift, day or night.

  Charlie was a good guy. He was respectful, kind and gave us newlyweds space. Curtis, however, was thinking himself a ladies’ man. I could tell by the way he looked at me, making sure I noticed what he was saying or doing, and even at times would touch my arm when Tom wasn’t around. He’d sit on their front porch and sing songs loudly to make sure I was listening. I hated the days when Tom was at work and Curtis was not. I’d go to the store or to town those days, avoiding rather than dealing with him. Why are men like that?

  I received a letter from Papa on November 15. It said, “Susie, I hate to ask this, but could you come home and help us? Mama is very sick and hasn’t been out of bed for three days. We need you to help.” My heart pounded; I began to get a headache. All I could think of was, I’ve got to go help my mama. I rushed into the bedroom and grabbed the old suitcase and began throwing clothes in. I heard a knock on the front door. Who was that? Too early for Tom to be home. He wouldn’t knock.

  “Susie, you here?” A familiar voice called. My brother! I hadn’t seen Johnny since I got married. He was always working on some get-rich scheme. Right now he was selling newspapers. I came out of the bedroom with the suitcase in my hands. I looked at his face and knew Papa had sent him to get me.

  “I had to come to Lewiston to pick up papers,” he said casually. “Papa asked if I … if I could … could bring you back home. Mama’s not doing well. Papa’s afraid …” He hung his head. “Can you come?”

  “Of course, of course I’ll come,” I said without hesitation. “But I need to wait until Tom gets home. I can’t just run off and leave him. Sit and I’ll get some dinner started. He’ll be home soon.” I bustled into the kitchen, stoked the stove, and started peeling potatoes. “Tell me about Mama,” I called to Johnny.

  He ambled out to the kitchen and sat at the table. “She’s runnin’ a fever. Can’t keep anything down. Got the runs. Lost weight. She just stares at the ceiling. Can’t talk above a whisper. We’ve been taking turns staying up at night with her. We’re dog-tired. The house is a mess. We sent Edna to Grace and Jim’s. Hate to admit it; we really miss you.”

  “I’ll come. Tom will understand.” I buzzed around the kitchen, thankful that I had baked that day and food-shopped yesterday. That was hard to get used to since I had always lived where we had our own food. Tom would be okay. After all he had been a bachelor for five years before we got married. He would survive.

  Johnny was finishing a big bowl of potato soup and a slice of bread when Tom pulled in. The first thing he saw was the suitcase sitting in the middle of the living room. “What!” he cried out. I ran to hug him and quickly spilled the story of Papa’s letter. “He sent Johnny to get me. My mama needs me.” I pleaded with my eyes.

  Johnny stepped from the kitchen and shook Tom’s hand. “She’s so sick. . .,” and he began to cry. It was overwhelming to see my brother crying tears of concern over someone else, not his fake crocodile tears of feeling sorry for himself.

  Tom read the letter, and wrapped me in his big strong arms. “You go help your family. I’ll miss you so much.” We stood in silence that way until I remembered the food.

  “There’s potato soup on the back of the stove, I baked today, I went to the store …”

  “Here, I’ll help carry your suitcase out.” Tom wrapped his arm around my waist, and we walked to Johnny’s car. “I’ll miss you. Oh, man, will I miss you, Susie. Write every day. I hope your mama gets well quick.” With tears spilling down our cheeks, we kissed goodbye. I climbed in the car and waved until he could no longer be seen. The ride was quiet. I couldn’t talk. Married only a month and having to leave my husband was the saddest thing I’d ever done.

  I thought when we were almost to the homestead, at least I won’t have to worry about avoiding Curtis. Maybe he’ll find a job someplace else and move before I get back.

  Chapter 26

  Influenza

  November winters in the high country were much different from the valley. I stepped from the car and plunged into snow up to my knees. “Brrrr!” I scolded myself for forgetting so quickly. I hadn’t even brought my boots.

  I waded to the house. Papa met me at the door and hugged me until I thought he would never let go. “She’s so sick, Susie. I can’t lose her. Got to pray and keep trusting God.” He broke into prayer as we walked. My papa, my prayer partner who had prayed me through many hard times, was now asking God to save my mama. I knew God heard.

  He led me into the parlor where they’d made a bed for her when she got too weak to climb the stairs. In the dim light she could have been a corpse, eyes open, staring, skin white as the muslin sheets she was lying on. I knelt beside her and took her cold hand. “Mama, I’m here. I’ve come home to take care of you.” There was no response. I touched her head. It was burning. How could her hands be so cold and her head so hot? I wasn’t a doctor. I was only eighteen. What should I do? My mind flew back to those days of my yellow jaundice. The doctor told Mama to put cold wet clothes on my face. Snow. There’s cold snow. We could pack a sock with snow and put it on Mama’s forehead.

  I told Papa to go get some sleep and promised I’d wake him if there was a change. Reluctantly he shuffled upstairs. I found some w
ool gloves and laid them on the wood stove. When they were warm, I slipped them on her hands. I felt her feet. Ice cold! I covered her feet with warm socks. I found an old sock in the mending drawer and with a big spoon, filled it from the snow piled up against the porch. How odd to be putting hot on one part of the body and cold on the other. I put another blanket on her then prayed and waited. I replaced the snow every few minutes when it started to melt; rewarming the mitts and socks every time I got snow. All winter nights are long, but this was the longest, darkest night of my life.

  It was just light enough that I could see the barn when I heard footsteps coming down the stairs—Papa. I looked at Mama. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed to be breathing easier. I hadn’t put the sock on her head since dawn first started to break. I reached over and touched her head. It was warm but not burning. The fever still hadn’t broken. I gave Papa a hug as he went to sit by her bed. I wrung out the wet sock, filled it, and brought it back. Papa took it from me and gently placed it on Mama. Feeling the cold, she stirred. Her eyes sprung open, she turned her head toward him and croaked, “Cold.” Papa stroked her hair and sang to her while keeping the sock in place.

  Keeping the same routine going broke the fever around suppertime. Sweat drenched her gown and bedding. Papa helped me give her a warm sponge bath and held her while I changed the bedding. Tears poured down our cheeks, and we sang praises to God. We knew the worst was over.

  Johnny went to his room when we arrived the night before. Papa and I ate hard biscuits and sausage gravy. I started some chicken broth from the larder. Mama needed to eat. Everyone knows chicken soup’s the best thing when you’re sick. I fed her with an eyedropper, one drop at a time, around a tablespoon the first time, every hour a little more. Finally she shook her head, closed her eyes, and went into a deep restful sleep.

  Influenza—that’s what the doctor called it. Many people on the prairie had come down with it. That’s why he hadn’t been able to get to our house sooner. Seven had died so far. It wasn’t as bad as ten years ago when we lost thirty-two in our community, mostly elderly and babies. He was relieved to see Mama awake, taking water and broth, and talking. “You did good. It will be a while ’til she can be out of bed. She’s weak. Don’t let her walk alone. Only liquids at first then soft food.” He gave us some liquid medicine and more instructions. “You are very lucky, Minnie,” he told Mama.

  “It wasn’t luck,” Papa said. “It was the good Lord and Susie.”

  Doc smiled and nodded. “She’s out of the woods. Call me if there’s a change.” He packed his bag, mounted his horse, and left for the next farm. The dreaded illness hadn’t left any family untouched. School and church meetings, dances, and literaries had all been canceled. We were isolated in hopes of stopping its spread.

  Tom! In taking care of Mama, I had forgotten to write to Tom. I knew he would be pacing the floor and stewing. Even though I had been up over thirty hours, I quickly wrote a note to my husband:

  My dear sweety-pie,

  I got to the place safe and sound. Mama wasn’t good at all. I packed snow on her face and heated gloves and socks for her hands and feet. She was so bad, she didn’t even know I was there. Her fever finally broke this evening. The doc came and said she’s over the worst. I miss you so much. I love you so much. I’ll write more tomorrow after I get some sleep.

  Your loving wife, Susie

  Sleep came quickly. When I woke up, I smelled bacon and coffee. It took me a minute to remember where I was. I quickly dressed and went downstairs. Papa had fixed breakfast. Mama sat in bed with pillows propping her up. She was finishing a small bowl of soupy Cream of Wheat. I took it from her shaky hands. “Let me get that, Mama. Looks like you ate good.” She fixed her blue eyes on me and smiled weakly. “Yes,” she croaked. Then she closed her eyes and nodded off.

  There was much to do around the house. I cleaned, scrubbed, washed clothes, and cooked. Edna came home the third day after I arrived. I was excited to see my little girl. Goodness how she had grown in just four weeks.

  We talked and talked while I worked. Looking back, it seemed strange Edna didn’t help. She certainly was capable at age ten. After all, when I was ten I was in charge of taking care of her, as a two-year-old, plus keeping the house clean. I guess we still thought of her as being the baby of the family. Babies don’t need to work when adults are around.

  A week without my dear sweetie pie was all I could stand. I had to go home. Home? I suddenly realized that in just five weeks, my mind had shifted “home” from Mama and Papa to my place with Tom. I kissed Mama’s forehead and told her goodbye. I promised to come back in three days. For the first time in my life, she looked into my eyes and said, “Thank you, Susie.” My mama had thanked me! My heart choked with tears as I rode the train to Lewiston.

  Chapter 27

  Another Change

  In the next month I traveled more than I had in my entire life. Three days in Clarkston, four days at the folks. The winter allowed Mama to take over housekeeping bit by bit. I tried to do extra baking, deep cleaning, and such when I was there.

  The second week of December when Tom picked me up at the train station, he drove to a different house. He’d moved us while I was gone. I no longer had to pray Curtis and Charlie would move. This small house on Second Street was next to another of Tom’s cousins, Orville Roe. He was married to a tiny lady named Ada who just happened to have a sister who was married to Tom’s brother, Stanley. It gets very complicated when you’re from a small town. Ada and I quickly became good friends. She reminded me of my school friend, Avis; small, strong-willed, independent, and fun. We could talk for hours.

  One night when Orville and Tom were working the graveyard shift at the mill, Ada and I decided to stay overnight at her house. After crawling in bed, we talked for hours before falling asleep. Unfortunately, Orville got off early. He didn’t want to wake his wife so didn’t turn on a light. Can you imagine my shock when I felt the covers lift and this big man started to crawl in bed beside me? I screamed, “Oh, no! Ada, Ada …”

  “What’s going on?” shouted Orville who was usually soft-spoken.

  Ada began to laugh. I joined her, laughing so hard we couldn’t get out of bed. Poor Orville was embarrassed and confused, plus exhausted from a hard night at work.

  Finally Ada caught her breath enough to order, “Honey, go in the living room so Susie can get dressed.” I quickly made my escape and crawled into my own bed next door, still laughing. We never let Orville forget the night that he tried to get in bed with two women.

  Christmas in 1928 became a difficult discussion. “I want to go home for Christmas,” I insisted.

  “Why?” countered Tom. “You’re already there more than here.”

  “I know. I’m sorry, but it will get better. I need to be with my family; it’s Christmas,” I argued.

  Christmas at the Kole household meant extended family, feasting for at least three days, visiting all of my cousins, singing, dancing. It wouldn’t be Christmas any place else.

  “Okay,” Tom finally conceded. “We’ll celebrate Christmas with your family and go to my family’s for New Year’s.” That decision set the pattern for the rest of our lives.

  We rode the train. Papa picked us up. I’d saved enough money from groceries to buy gifts. How great to live in the big city and buy things not available in the small town of Reubens. I was proud to buy our first gifts as a couple. Tom was proud to prove to my family that he could not only take care of me, but also provide gifts for everyone. We thought we were doing well.

  At the end of January 1929, the mill began laying off workers, meaning no work for Tom. What would we do? Tom only knew farming and mill work. His father pulled him out of school at the end of third grade to work on their farm. Thank goodness his mother and father had sold their farm and moved to a house on the river just above the Lewiston mill. I shuddered just thinking about possibly living in
the same house as my father-in-law.

  Tom came home one day and announced, “Susie, we’re movin’ to the Lame place.” In those days, farms were called by the last name of the original owner, no other address. The Lame and Kole families had been close friends for a long time. I’d visited their farm many times. There was a large house and around sixty acres.

  “How can we farm? We don’t have horses, equipment, or seed,” I questioned.

  “Don’t worry. I have family,” was his reply.

  “Yes, and I have Jesus,” I affirmed.

  There was an immediate dark cloud on Tom’s face. “Ya don’t think I can take care of us?”

  “I’m … I’m sorry. I just meant that He’ll help us.”

  “Don’t need no help,” grumbled Tom.

  It was a silent week as we packed our belongings in the wooden boxes and prepared to move. I was learning there were subjects I couldn’t mention—God, his father, his ability to do something, and questions about the future. Tom threw up “the silent wall” any time he felt I was criticizing or thought him incapable. It would take at least a week to tear it down. I’d pray, “Jesus, help me be loving and kind.” It would be another lonely time, a time when I learned to chatter on to myself, not expecting a response. I became a polished actress, sticking to my scripted lines, plastering on a smile, and keeping busy.

  Life never seems to be without challenge. Now that I’d built a bridge of love and acceptance with my mama, I found myself in another dilemma: my husband’s silent wall. His Chase stubbornness constantly had me walking on eggshells. As I learned more about their family, I began to understand “the wall” was survival. In my time around his brothers and sisters, I realized, I wasn’t alone in this struggle. It ran like an epidemic in the Chase family. Anyone married into it received “the wall” treatment from time to time. Their house wasn’t an easy place to grow up. The silence hid secrets of abuse: emotional, physical, mental, and sexual. All the while they went to the little church in the closest town, singing hymns, and putting on the “good family” face. Some turned to God when they left home. Others turned away. The silent retreat became a safe place to hide for each of the Chase children regardless of their relationship with God.