A Bridge Named Susan

by Sharon Chase Hoseley

  “You’re quiet this mornin’,” Tom commented as he watched me move around the kitchen. “Somethin’ wrong?”

  Funny, I thought. Tom could be quiet for weeks. It hasn’t been an hour and he’s asking why I’m quiet.

  I took a deep breath as I put breakfast on the table and sat down. “I had a visitor yesterday.” Tom’s head jerked back from his fork. “No, it wasn’t your father. It was Edna.”

  “Oh?” Tom poured his coffee into his saucer to cool and sat his cup on the table. “And?”

  “She came to share some news with me.”

  “Good news or bad news? The folks okay?” Tom was ignoring the food and staring at me. “Uh, she’s … she’s … she’s going to have a baby.” I just blurted it out. All the well-thought-out words had deserted my mind.

  “What?” Tom yelled, jumping up from the table, nearly tipping it over. Coffee spilled everywhere. “What are you talking about, woman? She can’t have a baby. It’s not s’pose to happen like this. She’s not married and she’s gonna have a baby? We’ve been married eight years and haven’t had even one pregnancy. It’s not s’pose to happen like this!”

  Tom was yelling at me. Where was the silent treatment? Where’s the retreating into your shell, Tom? Just when I thought I knew what to expect, life took another turn. I sat and waited, wordless, because my heart was chanting along with him.

  When he ran out of steam, he sat down, took a sip of what was left of his coffee, refilled his saucer, and looked at me. “What did she want ya to do about it?”

  “She wanted me to know first. We’re going to tell the folks on Friday. We’ll make a plan together. We still need to love her, Tom. It’s not her fault we don’t have a baby.”

  “How’d she get all the way out here? Walk?” Tom ate slowly.

  “No, he brought her in his car.” I had to be honest even knowing that Tom would be angry.

  “He was here—in this house? Good thing I wasn’t here or you’d be visiting me in jail.”

  “He stayed in the car. I was glad. I don’t know what I would have said to him. He refuses to get a divorce. It won’t be good for his kids. Now he’s going to have another one and you wanna bet he won’t claim it?” I shook my head and sighed. “I don’t know what Edna’s going to do. She’ll lose her job. Papa doesn’t have money to pay for a doctor, let alone at the age of fifty-six and Mama being sixty-four, raising another child? How will Mama stand having a baby in the house at that age? She didn’t even like babies when I was born.” I was trying to think things through out loud. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

  Tom was quiet for a long time. “Maybe we should raise the baby.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not sure Edna would let that happen. I’ll suggest it. Thanks. That thought hadn’t even occurred to me.”

  The next two days dragged by. I wracked my brain for answers to this dilemma. I made a list of possibilities. Tom’s suggestion kept floating to the top. Is this how I’m supposed to have a child? I questioned over and over.

  Tom dropped me off and went to town alone to do banking, shopping, and visiting. A trip to town always entailed seeing friends and stopping to “chew the fat” for an hour or so. That would give us plenty of time alone with the folks.

  After some chitchat, I said, “Mama, Papa, come sit in the living room. Edna and I have something we’d like to share with you.” I was boldly directing the scene on the outside, but quaking on the inside. With Papa in his brown leather chair and Mama in her little rocking chair, Edna and I sat on the davenport. I put the pillow in my lap and hung on for dear life. Edna twisted the daylights out of a hanky in her hands. How was this going to be received? “Edna has some news that could be good news or could be bad news.”

  Edna took a deep breath and simply said, “Mama, Papa … I’m going to have a baby.”

  Mama and Papa looked at each other and nodded. Mama responded, “Yes, I already knew that.”

  “How could you know? I’ve only told Herman and Susie,” Edna cried.

  “A mother has ways of knowing without words, daughter. I’ve known a while.”

  Papa asked the all-important question, “What are your plans?”

  Edna twisted the hanky. “I don’t have any. Herman’s promised to pay for the doctor and the hospital if I won’t tell them who the father is. He doesn’t want anything more to do with me or the baby.”

  It was my turn to be surprised. “Really? That’s good. He does have one decent spot left in his heart,” I said bitterly.

  Edna looked at me with tears. “This is as much my fault as his. I’ve got to take the

  responsibility of raising this baby.”

  With that statement, I decided not to even suggest Tom and I could raise this child. It wouldn’t be easy, but it was going to help Edna grow up—quickly.

  “When’s the baby due?” Mama asked with wet blue eyes.

  There was deep relief on Edna’s strained face. “The doctor says sometime in May. Herman took me to see him a few weeks ago.”

  “Your mother and I’ve already talked about this. You’ll stay here as long as it takes you to get on your feet enough to support yourself and the baby.” Papa gave a sad smile. “We’re sorry it turned out this way. We want you to know we still love you.” Wowzie! I never could have imagined what was happening before my eyes. Edna was going to be all right.

  When Tom came, he brought his favorite old-fashioned chocolates to share with everyone. It was a small celebration. Mama and Papa were at last going to be grandparents, and I was going to be an aunt—just one step down from being a mother.

  Tom and I rode home with some comfort that all would be well in the Kole household. We, more than ever, had no contentment. We longed for the joy a child could bring to the Chase household.

  Chapter 55

  House Hunting

  The second week of December, Tom declared, “I think we’ve got enough saved to go lookin’ for a place to buy. I heard there’s property in the Orchards that’s gone in default because of unpaid taxes and irrigation district dues. We can probably get it for a good price.”

  “You really think that’s possible? What does default mean?” I questioned. We only had a hundred and forty-two dollars in the savings. It was a huge amount to us. The most we ever saved. It should have been more. We took out some to fix the car, get work overalls and boots for Tom’s new job, and repair the damage his father had caused.

  “When someone doesn’t pay what’s owed in taxes, water, or the mortgage, it goes back to whoever owned it before—the city, mortgage company or the irrigation district. How ’bout taking a drive up there tomorrow before I go to work?” Tom grinned. I could tell he was excited.

  His hazel eyes sparkled.

  I was too, but there was also this nagging fear that it was just another move. We had moved five times in our eight years of marriage: four times the first year, spent five years on the Stick Ranch, and now two years of isolation on the river. I wanted so badly to be permanently settled. This dream was second only to having a baby.

  It took forty-five minutes to reach the property on Grelle between Twentieth and Twenty-First streets. Ten acres of flat, usable land lay to the north. A two-room shack sat at the end of a long, muddy driveway. The black tar paper roof looked new, but it had no permanent roofing. A new material called fake brick asbestos had been rolled around the outside walls, attempting to make it attractive.

  A wood cookstove stood against the entry wall of the kitchen. A tall, red water pump was piped into the opposite corner. One small window slid up from the bottom. The front and backdoors created a straight path through the fifteen-by-fifteen-foot kitchen. The other room would serve as a combination of living room and bedroom. It also had a small slide-up window, but no outside door. An archway connected the two rooms All totaled, there was around 400 square feet. The outhouse stood
a good fifty feet from the kitchen backdoor. That was the sum total of buildings. A bonus was the fruit trees: apple, peach, and prune. Otherwise, long grass and untilled ground covered the entire acreage. It looked like a lot of work to me.

  We leaned against the front of the car and stared for a long time, each trying to imagine what it could look like ten years from now. “Thoughts?” asked Tom.

  “Every bit of it could be planted.” I was trying hard to be positive.

  “It’s not big enough to make a living off. I’d still have to work.” Tom stated it matter-of-factly, like it was just going to be that way. It didn’t make any difference to him.

  I said a silent thank-you. I was tired of struggling to live off the land. My heart yearned to be in a secure, fruitful place. The Lord hadn’t let us starve, but he’d certainly taught us how to earn our keep by hard labor. “We could plant more fruit trees all the way out to the road. I’ve missed fresh fruit and canning for winter. A pear tree and an apricot would be perfect,” I added.

  Tom pointed, “I could see putting a barn back there to the left of the outhouse. It would need to be tall enough for a hayloft. There could be a pasture around it. All this over here, we could plant to alfalfa. Cows do well on it.” We were catching a picture of what it could be. “I’ve got tomorrow off. Let’s go talk to the county clerk.” We rode home, wrapped in dreams.

  We were two greenhorn kids who had no idea what the buying process was. Mary Gilmore, the Nez Perce County treasurer, was very kind, taking time to explain. “The back taxes and water rights have to be paid in cash. That amounts to one hundred and fifty-one dollars and ninety-six cents. Then you can apply for a mortgage to buy the land for the asking price of three hundred and seventy-five dollars.”

  I’m sure she noticed our quick exchange of disbelief. “How hard is it to get a mortgage?” Tom inquired. He hadn’t even worked for the railroad a year. Would they trust us?

  “Are you regularly employed?” she questioned.

  “Uh, I guess you’d call it that. I’ve worked for the railroad since April. They tell me I’m a good worker and they want ta keep me on.”

  “Good, good. Do you have enough cash to pay the back money owed?” she asked, smiling at us with friendly blue eyes.

  I found my proud voice responding, “Oh yes. We’ve been saving every payday since he got hired at the railroad.” However, my mind was questioning: where we would get the extra ten dollars.

  “Then don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll accept you. First, I want you to take these home and fill them out as accurately as possible.” She shoved a stack of papers toward us. “Then this,” she handed me a roll of papers bound by yellow oilcloth. “This is called the ‘Abstract of Title’ to the property. An abstract is the history of the piece of property. Read it carefully. Make sure you know there are no more liens against the land so you won’t be charged extra. Bring everything back to me by next Tuesday and we’ll get you started on your mortgage.”

  We walked back to the car, stunned by how fast all that had transpired. We hadn’t signed anything yet so we weren’t panicked. Three hundred and seventy-five dollars! That’s a lot of money. We counted on our one hundred forty-two dollars being a cushion to help during tight times. Would this be possible?

  I read the loan papers out loud. The terms were confusing. We would secure a “promissory note for purchasing Lot 6, Block 92, Lewiston Orchards for $375, due on or before December 1 of 1941, with interest on all deferred payments at the rate of 6% per annum from the date hereof, interest payable annually.” This included the real property and “water rights or shares of stock or water of any ditch or irrigation company situated in Nez Perce County, Idaho.”

  We hadn’t realized how much power the irrigation company held. We saw the fancy office they built after the folks bought the old water office building. So this is where they were getting their money—from the property owners.

  We began adding up the figures: $75 a year on the principle, approximately $22 for interest on the loan, and $148 for taxes and water … my goodness, that was $243 a year! Tom’s yearly take home pay was $480. Could we possibly live on $235 a year? This needed time to think—and pray.

  Chapter 56

  Looking Back, Looking Forward

  Tom went to work the next day. I started reading the oilcloth-bound abstract. My goodness, what a history that piece of property has. The first page was a certified copy of the United States patent in 1884 given to William Eakin, one hundred acres for the sum of two hundred dollars. It was signed by President Grover Cleveland. Mr. Eakin sold it to Donald Davidson and Patrick Campbell in 1887 for eight hundred dollars at 12 percent interest, and they in turn sold eighty acres to Mrs. C. L. Stevens for three hundred and fifty dollars in 1888. Then, it seems everyone defaulted on their payments and the land reverted back to the mortgage company in Salem, Oregon, which was owned by a company in Great Britain and Scotland with its main office in Dublin, Ireland. Who did this property belong to in the first place? Did President Cleveland have the right to sell it?

  After it had changed hands several times, with interest sometimes as high as 18 percent, Charles L. Gifford purchased the same one hundred sixty acres plus four hundred and eighty more, paying three thousand five hundred dollars in cash. The mortgage company wasn’t going to let go so easily and filed a quick claim deed through the Salem Bank, which was now owned by a company in Amsterdam, Netherlands. It was an international problem. In 1910, an Idaho judge awarded the property free and clear to the Giffords, severing all international ties. Mr. Gifford was a smart business man. He sold it off by lots and blocks. Lot 6 at 2023 Grelle sold for two thousand two hundred and sixty-five dollars that year. Again it was sold in 1924, along with other land, to John and Mabel Wilks for one thousand five hundred dollars, but they couldn’t pay the taxes and it defaulted to Nez Perce County. Now, they were offering it to us for three hundred seventy-five dollars. The Depression had been kind to us in the long run.

  Could we make the payments? Or would we join the long line of owners who had defaulted? It would be tight. We’d been living on a shoestring ever since we got married. What’s five more years? We could survive, but would we thrive?

  I carefully filled out all the paperwork Mrs. Gilmore gave us. Then I started figuring how we’d live on what was left.

  The next morning, I had everything ready to show my husband. After breakfast, I proudly placed it all before him—the neatly printed paperwork, the solution of where the extra ten dollars was going to come from, and the month-by-month budget that would help us save enough every year to make the mortgage payments plus pay the taxes and water. We wouldn’t be able to have electricity or phone, but we could live without that. We’d limit our trips, plan our visits to the folks and Neens either on the way to do town business or on the way back. Gas would be the greatest need on the list so Tom could get to his work. A gallon a week would do it, and at ten cents a gallon, we could figure forty cents a month.

  I would can fruit without sugar and vegetables without salt. I’d bake all of our bread. We needed to buy a cow and some chickens right away so we’d have milk and eggs. That meant building a fence, a barn, and a pen. No trees grew around here. We’d have to buy posts and wire. That would be our big expense the first year. We could cut the grass for hay the first few years till we could afford the alfalfa seeds.

  “See,” I said when he looked up at me. “We can do it.”

  Tom looked at me with a twinkle in his eye. “What did I ever do to deserve you?” I felt warm, loved, and accepted by my handsome man. I’d done my part to bridge between nomadic life and a permanent home.

  On Tom’s next day off, we went to the clerk’s office with papers in hand. Mrs. Gilmore looked them over. “I’ll get these filed right away. That will be one dollar for the filing.”

  Tom walked the block to the bank to draw out one dollar. Were there going to be other hi
dden costs she hadn’t told us about? We decided not to tell anyone about our plans, just in case things fell through. This was a giant, scary step in Mr. and Mrs. Tom Chase’s life. It turned out to be the best decision we ever made.

  We left the courthouse giddy as school girls. I did some light Christmas shopping. Tom bought his usual old-fashioned chocolates to share with everyone at Christmas Day. Couldn’t spend much this year since we just pledged to empty our entire savings account.

  As we were walking to our car, we ran into the folks. Papa invited us. “Come, have a donut à la mode with us. I’ll buy.” And then he led the way to the donut shop on Main Street. It was my favorite treat in town—a warm, plain, crispy donut with a large scoop of vanilla ice cream on top. Little did he know this was our secret celebration. We were going to be homeowners.

  Chapter 57

  We Did It!

  After Christmas, Edna quit her job and found a position taking care of children in the home of a wealthy family. It didn’t pay much, but they picked her up and brought her home. She ate lunch with the three kids. Sometimes, she fixed dinner for them when the parents were out to some event. The mother didn’t work, but was involved in volunteer work and high-society goings-on in the city of Lewiston. She didn’t seem to mind Edna’s situation.

  We gave notice to the landlord December 1 and moved most of our meager possessions out of the river house right after Christmas. We didn’t have to pay January’s rent, and by adding some of our grocery money, we made up the ten dollars for the cash payment. On December 31, 1936, we signed the final papers for our new home. New Year’s Eve, we slept in our own bed, in our own house!