A Bridge Named Susan

by Sharon Chase Hoseley

  The only one who would speak to me for the next month was Mother Chase.

  Chapter 48

  Family Visit

  It was very quiet and lonely in our house by the river. Tom was gone from seven-thirty in the morning to eight-thirty at night, six days a week. What kind of a life was this? I kept myself busy with the garden, housework, and killing snakes. This was prime country for rattlesnakes; dry, hot, and rocky. I always carried a close-tined pitchfork and a heavy kitchen knife. You’d think the big rattlesnakes would be the hardest to kill, but it was actually the baby ones. They could slip out of the tines if I didn’t manage to spear it. Fortunately, I was able to keep myself bite-free.

  In late August, I heard a car arriving as I was weeding the garden. It was my folks in their pickup with my little sister riding in the back. “Little” was not the proper word. She was seventeen years old. I was thrilled to see them. Even though we were only six miles apart, with Tom working long hours, I had no way to visit them. I missed them and my thoughts were always wondering about them.

  Papa planted eight acres into raspberries and blackcaps at their new home. The other two held the house, starts of walnut trees, apples, apricots, peaches, cherries, and a big garden. Water was plentiful in the Lewiston Orchards. That was good. Plants and trees needed lots of water in this heat. He was quite certain they’d have a good crop of berries next year. They unloaded a box of apples and a box of peaches. They looked like gold to my eyes. How I missed having fresh fruit. I grabbed a peach immediately and began to gnaw.

  I pulled the kitchen chairs out to the shade on the east side of the house and got a bucket of fresh water from the river. “Sorry, you’ll have to drink from the dipper. My cups and glasses got broken.” I hoped they wouldn’t ask questions. No one said anything.

  After chitchatting, Edna wandered down to wade in the river, and Mama got up enough nerve to ask about my bruises and scrapes on my arms. “Is Tom being kind to you?” she asked, probing for the reason.

  “Tom treats me well,” I responded. I had never shared with them the “silent treatment.” It wasn’t anything they needed to know. “Oh,” I suddenly realized what she was hinting about. “These bruises and scratches I got when I was exploring the empty house next door. Had some nails sticking out in unexpected places.”

  “I see.” Mama looked doubtful, but said no more.

  Edna came barefoot through the brown grass, sopping wet up to her waist. “Better watch for snakes,” I called.

  “What? You didn’t tell me there were snakes!” she shrieked and walked slower with a close eye to the ground. She plopped herself in the chair with a squish.

  “Did you tell her?” She looked from Mama to Papa. They both shook their heads. She turned her big blue eyes on me and blurted out, “I’m quitting school.”

  My mind cried, Not you too. You had a chance to finish school. The chance I always wanted. The chance I was never offered because I didn’t have the right shoes to go to school in town! When I opened my mouth, I asked a simple question: “Why are you quitting?”

  “’Cause everyone’s mean to me. I hate the teachers. The school is too big. Besides,” she glanced at the folks, “I’m in love and don’t need more education. I’ll marry a rich man, and he’ll take care of me for the rest of my life.”

  I glanced at Mama and Papa. They were both looking down at their hands in their laps, not saying a word. “Edna, you are so smart. You’re talented. You could get a good job someday if you finish school.” I didn’t know that for sure. Not many women I knew worked. There were waitresses and cooks, clerks in stores, seamstresses, and nurses. Edna turned down all those ideas.

  “Nope. Don’t need a job. I’m gonna marry Herman.” Her lower lip came out like it used to when she was a pouty four-year-old.

  “Who’s Herman?” I asked, staring in disbelief. “Edna, you’ve only lived in Lewiston for fourteen months. You can’t possibly know this man well enough to marry him.” Then my memory hit me; I had only known Tom three months and six days before we got married. Who was I to tell my sister what to do? I took a deep breath. “Tell me about him.”

  “Well, he’s twenty-three, tall and handsome with wavy blonde hair …”

  “No, I don’t want to know stuff like that. I want to know what he’s like. How does he treat you? Is he a gentleman? Does he show you he loves you and wants to take care of you? Is he proud to be with you?”

  “Well,” she looked away. I knew she was hiding something, “He doesn’t take me out in public. We just do things at our house. He works a lot so I only get to see him once or twice a week. He … he’s … married.” I gasped. “But, he’s getting a divorce,” she rapidly added.

  All I could do was shake my head. “Edna, Edna, you’re just asking for trouble.”

  “No, honest. He’s getting a divorce. Then, he’ll marry me.”

  “What will keep him from divorcing you and marrying someone else? You may be honest about this, but you can’t expect a man who cheats on his wife to be honest.”

  She jumped to her feet and screamed at me, “You’re just like them! You don’t want me to be happy. I’m grown up. I can make my own decisions!” She raced to the pickup and climbed in.

  I looked at Mama and Papa’s sad faces and sagging shoulders. The move to the “big city” had obviously not been a good one for a teenager ready to sprout her wings. They had no control over her. I felt deep guilt for getting married and leaving my little sister. If I had stayed on the farm and continued to mother her, maybe things would have gone differently. Only God knew what was going to happen now.

  Chapter 49

  Escape from Isolation

  After my father-in-law incident, Tom installed dead bolts on the doors and taught me how to use the shotgun—not that I thought I could ever shoot it. It was the isolation that haunted me every day. Across the river, traffic on Highway 12 was on a constant move; our side of the river had maybe three cars a week besides Tom’s. I was more detached from the rest of the world than on the Stick Ranch, where people often stopped on their way to or from Reubens along with Friend and hunters. At least on the Stick Ranch, I received mail. This place didn’t even have an address. There was no mail carrier all the way out here. This wasn’t just the “silent wall” of Tom’s withdrawing spells; this was the “silent wall” of the entire world. The only conversation day after day was with God, and it seemed so one-sided. I longed to hear people’s voices in my ears.

  A week before Christmas, Tom came from work to find me curled up on the bed sobbing. I had even forgotten to slip the dead bolt.

  “What’s going on? Father hasn’t been here, has he?”

  It was difficult for me to even move. The fire was low, I was cold lying on top of the covers, and it was dark. “Susie! Susie!” he yelled. “Are you all right?”

  I managed a weak “yes” but inside echoed, “No … No, I’m not all right. I need people. I need someone to talk to. I need something productive to do. It’s winter. Nothing to do. No vegetables to can, no garden to water. I can only clean this little house so many times a day. I’m sick and tired of talking to myself all day …” I stopped suddenly, my ears hearing my mouth verbalizing the shouts of my mind. There was silence. Oh, no! Now Tom knows how I feel and he’ll put up the “silent wall” too. Sobs began again, but the tears were all cried out.

  “I’m taking you to your folks. Get some clothes together. I’ll come on Christmas and bring you home.” He went to light the kerosene lamp and made himself a sandwich.

  Guilt heaped upon guilt as I put a few items in a bag. I promised through better or worse, now I was leaving. How could I be a perfect wife and have these feelings? I should be happy just to be here with Tom. What was he going to eat while I was gone? Who was going to clean his house? Who would clean his clothes? No one would be here to greet him when he came home tired. Quietly, I climbed into the car, and
he drove me to the folks.

  Mama and Papa greeted us, but didn’t question. “She needs her family. I’ll be here Christmas for dinner and take her back with me.” I heard Tom tell them. They made a makeshift bed from an old quilt on the floor in the living room. Tom had remembered my pillow. I slept hard as a rock, waking up past nine in the morning.

  Edna had gone to school. They persuaded her to go one more semester. Papa was out finishing the chores. Mama was baking bread. I looked around at the familiar, well-worn furniture in the unfamiliar house. My head ached from all the tears shed last night. Guilt still played in my mind, but was quickly being replaced by a quiet peace. There were people here. People I loved as much as Tom. People who would listen to me and talk to me.

  I rose and quickly trotted down the path to the outhouse. I had slept in my dress. That was convenient for my first trip of the morning. Papa was putting hay in the cow’s stall as I came back. “Morning, Papa,” I called.

  “Morning. How’d ya sleep?” He put down his pitchfork and came to give me a hug. Papa was always the hugger. Mama, not so much. She’d put her hand on my shoulder once in a while.

  “I slept so hard, I have a headache. Probably has to do with crying, too.” It was cold and I began to shiver. “Can we talk? Maybe someplace warm?”

  “Of course.” He shut the barn door and led me to the other end where he’d built a workshop butted against the outside wall. A fire was going in the potbelly stove, and two stools sat by the bench where he’d been making a new handle for the hoe. “How do you like my new retreat?”

  “Retreat?” I wanted anything but a retreat. I wanted to be with people.

  “Yup. When the talk gets too much to handle in the house, I retreat out here and find something productive to do.” Papa winked. “What about you? Are you retreating?”

  “No … no, just the opposite. I need people. I miss people so much.” Tears started again. Guess I stored up more during the night. I poured out my heart about the last four lonely months

  “Sorry we couldn’t get out to see you more.” He shook his head. “It’s been real important we stay here for Edna. Don’t know what to do. She’s so dead-burned set on this guy, on quitting school, on spoiling everything we had hopes for. She won’t listen or take advice.”

  “I know. Papa, she’s almost grown up. You can’t force her.”

  “Doggone it. Why do kids have to grow up?” Papa looked at his hands and shook his head. “Life never turns out like you hope.”

  “You too, Papa? I’ve always wondered why I’m here. Why Mama didn’t like me. Why Tom and I don’t understand each other. Why Johnny took the wrong way off the farm. Why Edna doesn’t appreciate all you’ve done for her. I wonder why I don’t have any children. Is God punishing me? I feel constantly on the edge of discovering who I am but never really finding out.”

  We sat quietly and listened to the popping of wood in the stove. “There’s a time for everything,” Papa began. “There’s a beginning and an end. You know from being a farm kid, there’s a time to plant and a time to pick what’s planted. Walking through this life, we learn when to speak up and when to keep our mouth shut. We don’t want to go through those times of crying, but on the other side we laugh again. Sometimes, it seems like things are falling apart, but unless they do, we can’t build something new in its place. We’ve got to let go of the old so we can be blessed with the new. That’s the way life is. Just when ya think it’s goin’ well, it falls apart. But there’ll come a time when you’ll dance again. Keep memories of the good things and throw away the bad. Life’s full of ups and downs, Susie. The only consistent thing is God. He’s always there to hold us when we can’t stand up, and to dance with us when we celebrate the good times. He’s in charge of it all. Only he knows the beginning and the end. He makes everything beautiful in its time.”

  A penetrating peace floated into me. “I see what’s wrong. I’ve been trying to make life beautiful in my time, haven’t I? Thanks for your wisdom, Papa.”

  “Isn’t my wisdom. Credit goes to a guy named Solomon thousands of years ago.” Papa gave me a hug, “Now, you better get in the house before Mama thinks you froze in the outhouse.” He sent me out the door with that familiar chuckle he always had.

  Chapter 50

  Getting Ready

  My reentry into the world of people was exciting and yet alarming. Cut off from communication for many months, I heard no news, saw no newspaper, and knew nothing of what was going on in the world. The headlines of the Tribune on the end of the davenport startled me. “Europe Struggles.” I quickly read through the article about the Depression they too were struggling with. The whole world seemed to be on hold. It was hard times for people everywhere.

  Mama seemed smaller and more frail at the age of sixty-three. She hadn’t been able to keep up with housekeeping during the gardening, canning, and picking season of outdoor work. I plunged in to help get ready for Christmas, chattering all the time. Mama answered my zillion questions with “Oh,” “I don’t know,” and “I think so.” I never gave her time to say much more. Another question would pop in my head as I dusted, washed doorjambs, swept and mopped floors, filled the wood box, and stirred the box of walnuts drying behind the wood heater in the living room.

  By suppertime, I had run out of energy and out of words. Then I realized Edna hadn’t come home from school. “Where’s Edna?”

  There was a “should we tell her?” look that passed between Mama and Papa. Finally, Papa said, “She’s got a job after school—cooking downtown. She’ll get home around eleven.”

  “Oh, so she’s going to school and working. Well, that’s good.”

  “She’s done with school after Christmas. She refuses to go back.” Mama pushed her food around the plate. “She wants to be a cook.”

  “She’ll be a great cook.” I was thinking of the wonderful pies she made when we had family get-togethers.

  “S’pose so,” Mama replied. I felt heavy air and decided to drop it. After a bit Mama muttered, “Just wish she’d practice some ’round here.”

  I breathed deep and quickly changed the subject. “Where do you want to put the Christmas tree?”

  “We’ve had it in that far corner of the living room by the davenport.” Papa pointed. “I’ll get my things cleared out so there’ll be room.”

  I quickly cleared the table and washed the dishes. Mama dried. “What will we cook for Christmas dinner?” I asked.

  “There’s a ham in the root cellar I’ve been saving.”

  “I’ll make potato salad and baked beans. Maybe Edna will make a pie.” I could taste it all now. We’d been living on vegetables, soups, and whatever I could make from the milk Tom brought home from work: cottage cheese, pudding, brick cheese … It would be a treat to have a regular meal. Mama seemed relieved to have help.

  School was out for Christmas break the next day. I helped Edna dig out the tree decorations, and of course, the fuzzy, old, red and white wreath with one electric candle in the center that was always placed in a window. We laughed and talked about them. Many of them were handmade—wooden or cardboard painted by us kids. Some were store-bought last year—their first year in the big city. “Which one has the most memories for you?” I asked my sister.

  “This one.” She held up a hand-drawn, painted nativity from our last year together before I got married. “It’s the last thing you made with me. You always took time to do things with me. You loved me.”

  “Oh, honey. I still do. You’ll always be my little girl. I got to take care of you from the time you were a baby till I left home. I’ll love you forever.” There were tears in both our eyes as we hugged for a long time. “I want the very best for you. Are you sure you’re making good decisions?” She nodded. “I hope so.” My heart was crying for her future.

  The next day, Papa brought home a little tree. Edna and I carefully strung the new se
t of electric Christmas lights. The round, red and green bulbs were about half the size of a regular light bulb. We thought they were just the “cat’s meow.” We made a game of saying something nice about each decoration as we strategically placed it. Coming to the last one, which Johnny had made, we were without words. We carefully placed it front and center. His presence with us. Mama would shed silent tears when she saw it, but we couldn’t leave it off. For all the teasing and meanness he dealt out as we were growing up, he was still a part of us and we wished he were here.

  We were ready for Christmas.

  Chapter 51

  Happy Christmas to All

  Christmas Day, 1935! I got up early to stoke the wood in the cookstove that I had polished the day before. It gleamed black with sparkling silver trim ready to help us celebrate. I mixed beans in the brown, two-handled bean pot and put in my secret ingredient along with pieces of bacon and apples. The potatoes and eggs were boiled, and the ham was stuck in the oven to keep the beans company. The secret to keeping it all just the right temperature was how much and what kind of wood was put in the firebox and where each item was placed on the stove. The oven had to be slow cooking; the lids above the firebox had to be hot enough to boil water.

  Mama mixed up a batch of her unbelievable rolls and set them to rise in the warmer oven above the cooking area. I would have been happy with just those for dinner. Mine never tasted the same. Edna had made pies the day before: cherry and apple. The smells were driving my stomach crazy. Ah, now just to wait.

  Tom arrived around ten with his arms loaded with packages. My husband had gone Christmas shopping? I didn’t know he could do that. They were even wrapped. He gently set them on the floor and went back for more. My goodness, where did this all come from? Added to what the folks had under the tree, it looked like St. Nicholas remembered we’d been good boys and girls.