Confessions to Mr. Roosevelt Page 13

  Driving down one farm road after another, leaving a sack of groceries here, a bag of clothing there, Ellen and Thelma settled into a friendly companionship. Thelma talked about Bill and the wedding. Miss Agatha was giving them money to pay three months’ rent on a little house. Miss Ivy was making Thelma a floor-length dress of white satin with a lace bodice. Bill had a new blue suit. Thelma wouldn’t have minded if he wore his duty uniform, but everyone else connected to the nuptials, including the groom, had voted her down.

  “I don’t understand it,” Thelma told Ellen. “Who doesn’t like a man in uniform? I once got on a Greyhound bus and rode all the way to the Colorado line just because the driver looked so snappy in his uniform, and for a while I had a terrible crush on the usher at the movie house here in town. He wore this red jacket with gold buttons.”

  “So, you’re marrying Bill because he wears a uniform?”

  “No, silly. He’s the guy for me. The uniform is a bonus.”

  Ellen smiled to herself. Who could argue with that?

  When Thelma asked if Ellen had a boyfriend, her first thought was to brush off the question, but in the face of Thelma’s openness, she heard herself talking about Jason and their breakup.

  Thelma sat back, folding her arms across her chest. “So, you don’t have a boyfriend.”

  The words hit Ellen like a bucket of cold water. Until that moment, she realized, some part of her believed the breakup was temporary. But she’d told him to go, and he had. She suddenly wondered if she had done the right thing.

  They made the last country delivery and headed back to town.

  “How long have you been doing this?”

  “About a year. When Miss Agatha’s son took away her car, she asked me to take over.”

  Ellen cut her eyes to Thelma and then back to the road. “Are you telling me Miss Agatha used to be out making her own deliveries?”

  “Just about every Saturday night, her and Miss Ivy would pack up that Oldsmobile and head out.”

  Ellen shook her head. “That’s crazy. They could have had an accident. Been hurt. Chased by Lucifer or run into one of those drunks you were talking about.”

  Thelma shrugged. “Maybe so, but if Miss Agatha still had her car, those two ladies would be out here instead of us. You should know by now you can’t tell them a thing. After Bill and I get married, he won’t want me doing this, so we’ve already arranged for Martha and Chester to take over.”

  Ellen couldn’t picture Martha rambling around on country roads but didn’t say so as they drove into town. Thelma directed her as they detoured down side streets and alleys to make their deliveries. Finally, there were two sacks left, one of groceries and one filled with boys’ shirts and overalls.

  “These go to the Picketts,” said Thelma, directing Ellen to stop midway down an alley. Ellen kept the motor running while she slipped out of the car, opened the back door, and grabbed the bag of clothes. Thelma snatched the other sack, and they pushed through a back gate and across the yard to a concrete stoop in front of the kitchen door. Through the open windows, they heard a radio playing and little-boy voices.

  Their last delivery finished, they scrambled back to the car. Ellen put the Packard in gear and eased down the alley.

  “Thanks for helping,” Thelma said when Ellen stopped in front of the Weaver house. “It’s sure easier with someone else along.”

  “I loved it. Can I come with you on the next run?”

  Thelma sat back and laughed. “I don’t know why not. For a college girl, you’re okay. I thought you might be a snob and look down on people like me. I should have known that if Miss Ivy and Miss Agatha liked you, things would be fine.”

  Ellen didn’t know what to say but decided to take it as a compliment. “Just remember to call me about next time. I’ll be disappointed if you don’t.”

  CHAPTER 16

  ELLEN

  It was another Friday and another week closer to the end of the work in Dobbs County. Ellen thought she should have a sense of growing panic, but she couldn’t muster more than a mild concern as she went through days of listening to stories that mixed grief with happiness, loneliness with just getting by. The article she promised Grover Calley appeared in Wednesday’s edition of the local paper, along with the first two settler interviews. And the newspaper man made good on his promise to Ellen. He liked her writing style well enough to give her the name of two friends, one at a St. Louis newspaper and one in Chicago. He told her to mention his name in her letters but cautioned her not to get her hopes too high. “Stringers are a dime a dozen, and you’ve got to be good—I mean really good—to get noticed.”

  Ellen knew what he left unsaid: it was even harder for a woman. He was trying to prepare her for disappointment, but she would have none of it.

  When she wasn’t at an interview or typing up the results, she worked on two articles to include with her letters. The first, she decided, would tell readers about the interview project from the WPA workers’ point of view, including comments from Audrey, who was more than happy to oblige, and from the professor, who huffed and puffed before agreeing. She wished she could write about the nighttime deliveries for the second story, but that was out of the question. She settled on the clothing bank, emphasizing the helping hand offered to friends and neighbors when times were hard.

  For that piece, Ellen wanted to talk to Ivy. She drove to the house late on Friday afternoon but was disappointed to find her gone. She was returning to her Packard when a next-door neighbor, watering potted geraniums on her front porch, called out to Ellen.

  “Mrs. Hamilton’s gone to visit Mrs. Bright. Her daughter-inlaw picked her up not more than fifteen minutes ago.”

  Ellen thanked the woman and started the car. She’d planned on visiting Agatha anyway. Her interview had appeared in that day’s paper, and Ellen was anxious to know what the woman thought of seeing her words in print.

  Ellen drove back to the old residential part of town. She found Ivy just where she hoped, rocking beside Agatha on the woman’s front porch. As Ellen exited the car, the women called for her to join them.

  “We were just talking about you,” said Ivy when Ellen took a seat beside her. “You did such a nice write-up about the project, and Agatha’s just as pleased as can be with her interview.”

  “I can speak for myself.” Agatha tapped her cane for attention. “And I agree with everything Ivy just said. I’ve had phone calls all afternoon from people saying how much they liked it.”

  “My daughter-in-law Constance is fit to be tied because Agatha got her name in the paper before I did.” Ivy laughed with delight.

  “I can talk to Mr. Calley about running your interview sooner than he planned,” Ellen offered, but Ivy wouldn’t hear of it.

  Ellen would willingly have put in a word with the man, especially since she had a favor to ask. She explained about the possibility of writing for the newspapers Mr. Calley suggested and outlined her idea for the articles. “But I need more information on the clothing bank.”

  “Well, that’s easy enough,” Ivy answered. “We’d be only too happy to help you whatever way we can.”

  Ellen pulled a pencil and her dog-eared notebook from the satchel that she was beginning to think of as an extension of herself. She never seemed to be without it.

  “We started the bank back in ’32,” began Ivy. “The crash on Wall Street in ’29 didn’t hit us all of the sudden. It was more like when you throw a rock in a pond; it takes a while for the splash to move out in bigger ripples.”

  “Some people thought we’d be safe,” broke in Agatha, “but my son knew better, and he took all the precautions he could think of to keep the bank solvent. It wasn’t too long before people around here began to feel the financial pinch, and then the weather turned against us.” She nodded to Ivy to continue.

  “There was the long drought, and the dust blowing in all the way from Oklahoma and western Kansas. Some people quit coming to church because they were ashamed to be
seen in threadbare clothes, and we heard of a girl, bright as a penny, who quit high school for the same reason.”

  Agatha picked up the story. “Several of us ladies at the church got together and went to the minister. It’s not an original idea, the clothing bank. One of us, I’m not sure who, heard about one in Calvert City. We decided to try the same thing here. At first, not many people came. Folks just don’t want to feel like they have to take charity, but, as this Depression keeps on and people get more desperate, more come.”

  Agatha stopped for a breath. “Of course, it helped draw people in when it got around that we had more than hand-medowns. We had clothes sewn from scratch by Ivy Hamilton.” She gave her friend a big smile.

  Ivy turned her head, embarrassed by the compliment. “Other ladies make clothes. I’m not the only one.”

  “No. But you’ve got a reputation for being the best.”

  “I’m sure that’s true.” Ellen put away the notebook and thanked them. She started to leave, but Ivy and Agatha protested. She had to have a lemonade.

  Ellen volunteered to fetch the drink, rather than Agatha calling Martha with the bell that sat on the table between her and Ivy. After returning with a large glass and a tray of gingersnap cookies, Ellen resettled herself.

  “Now, tell us about Mae Swenson,” said Agatha.

  Ellen laughed and shook her head. “It’s a mystery to me how you two can sit on a front porch and know everything that’s going on in town. I just heard about her this morning at our meeting with Mrs. Hewitt.”

  “Oh, I’m sure we don’t know everything,” answered Agatha, “but we like to keep informed.”

  She didn’t have to add that the information helped them decide who needed a sack of canned goods or a new shirt.

  Ellen took a long drink. The cool lemonade felt wonderful sliding down her throat. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but Mrs. Hewitt, with the blessing of the WPA woman in Topeka, let Mae go. This morning, Mrs. Hewitt divvied up her remaining assignments among the rest of us.”

  “But why was she fired? It’s true she sometimes acts like she’s in another world, but she means well,” said Agatha.

  “Sometimes her mother has to remind her to eat,” Ivy piped in. “And when Mae’s husband went out for a paper one day and just kept on walking, she didn’t miss him for two days.”

  Ellen gave Ivy a sidelong glance to see if she was exaggerating and saw by the look on her face she wasn’t.

  “Surely, she’s capable of writing down what people say to her,” Agatha chimed in.

  Ellen shook her head. “That’s the problem. She did two interviews the first week, and only two this week. It’s just not that she’s slow. She wrote down what people told her and then she turned it all into rhyme. I’ve been assigned the job of trying to salvage the interviews she turned in.” Ellen raised a hand before either woman could interrupt. “When Mrs. Hewitt tried to explain Mae’s poetry wouldn’t do, Mae accused her of stifling artistic expression.” A look of mischief stole over Ellen’s face. “Since we’re good at secrets, I know you won’t repeat this, so let me give you some examples of what she turned in. I read through them after lunch.” Closing her eyes, she leaned back in the chair. She began to recite a few of the lines, although she hadn’t intended to memorize them.

  “First,” she said, “this is from Mrs. Wentz’s interview: ‘The settlers did quake, as the snow fell in big flakes.’ And there’s this: ‘Grasshoppers hopped, they hopped along the floor, they chewed up my green curtains, and then they asked for more.’ ”

  Ellen kept her eyes closed, but there was no mistaking Ivy’s chuckle or Agatha’s low laugh. “Wait, one more.” She held a finger in the air and concentrated to get the right cadence. “This line is from the Harry Oliver interview: ‘In wagons they came, the prairie for to see, when they reached Opal’s Grove, Harry said, “Ma, I got to pee.” ’ ”

  Gales of laughter filled the porch. Ellen opened her eyes. She loved to watch people when they laughed, looking at each other to share the moment.

  “I shouldn’t laugh,” choked Ivy, wiping tears from her eyes. “Mae really is a dear person.”

  “I know,” agreed Agatha, getting herself under control. She exchanged looks with Ivy and burst into laughter again.

  As they quieted, Ellen stood. She had to be on her way. Miss Jewell served supper early, and she wanted to get to work on the article.

  She stopped on the top step and turned. “You probably already know this, but just in case you haven’t heard the good news, Jess Smith got a job with a Kansas City newspaper. It’s temporary, but it may turn into something permanent.”

  The women were slightly disgruntled that this piece of information had escaped them, but they recovered. They were happy for the young man. His father was a plumber by trade, but jobs were few these days, and the family struggled to get by. As Ellen made her way down the sidewalk, she heard them conspiring over how best to get him a new suit of clothes and a little spending money before he left for the big city.

  At the boardinghouse, Ellen found two letters waiting for her on the hall table. Fanning them, she went through the kitchen, saying hello to Miss Jewell, who was cleaning vegetables, and on to the backyard. Audrey was already there, reclining in her usual chair, a wet washcloth covering her face.

  She pulled the cloth away when she heard Ellen. “Doesn’t this heat beat everything? I’d strip down to my unmentionables, if it wouldn’t scandalize Miss Jewell.”

  Ellen sat, pulling her skirt up to mid-thigh. Stripping down didn’t seem like a bad idea. She waved the letters in Audrey’s direction. “One from my mother and one from my friend Nancy in Topeka.” She opened the one from home.

  Halfway through the letter, Ellen looked up, chuckling. “Sam Danner’s off the marriage market.”

  “Who?” Audrey swung her legs around to sit upright.

  “The mortician Mom thought I should snap up for a husband. Seems he’s engaged to Holly Spears. She teaches piano and sings in the church choir. She’s perfect for Sam. Now they won’t have to pay someone to provide the music for viewings and funerals.”

  “You know who another perfect wife would be?” Audrey didn’t wait for Ellen to answer. “A beautician.”

  Ellen stared.

  “Not that a funeral director isn’t trained for arranging the dearly departed’s hair or dabbing on rouge to give that healthy glow, but I’d want somebody like Angie at the Beauty Hut to fix me up when I go.” Audrey patted her hair, which no longer looked chopped and lopsided.

  Ellen smiled and went back to the letter. “Oh, my goodness!”

  “What? Bad news?” Audrey leaned forward.

  Ellen shook her head. “No, but very unexpected. Remember I told you about my cousin Louise?”

  Audrey nodded eagerly.

  “Well, Louise is back in Tulsa, but not for long. She’s on her way to Hollywood where the saxophone player’s band is going to be in a movie. And”—Ellen drew out the word—“she’s got a two-year-old son she plans to leave with his grandparents. Until Louise walked through the door, they didn’t know this little guy even existed.”

  Audrey lit a cigarette. “I hate to say this, Louise being your relation, but she doesn’t sound like a very nice person, leaving her child.”

  Ellen had to agree. “Maybe it’s best, though. If you’re going to get left on somebody’s doorstep, you couldn’t do better than Uncle Frank and Aunt Viv.”

  “On the other hand,” Audrey continued, “Louise being in Hollywood would be a break for you. I mean, if you decided to go in that direction and work as a screenwriter.”

  “I don’t think it’s the place for me.” Ellen put the letter aside and opened Nancy’s, certain it would be an amusing ramble. She smiled as she read. Nancy was going to her father’s office three mornings a week. When she wasn’t fetching her father iced coffee, which he had recently discovered, she read law books in the firm’s library. She had spent several afternoons playing tennis
at the country club. She and Franklin played bridge with his parents, and Nancy had managed to drag him to a charity event to raise money for the soup kitchen.

  Ellen came to the end of the letter, frowning at the postscript. Nancy had seen Jason when he was in town with his father for a meeting of some sort. Nancy said they’d run into each other by accident. Ellen doubted that, especially since Nancy made a point of giving him her address at Miss Jewell’s.

  Ellen let out a sigh. She wished Nancy had left things alone, but, still, she couldn’t help but feel a little pleased that Jason knew she’d found a job.

  Audrey waited, but when Ellen didn’t offer to share what was in this letter, she casually asked if Ellen had plans for the evening.

  Ellen eyed her warily.

  Audrey ignored the look. “The town band is giving a concert tonight at the city park.”

  Ellen groaned and made a face.

  Audrey didn’t miss a beat. “I wouldn’t mention it, except Miss Jewell seemed awfully disappointed because the friend she goes with is tied up with relatives from out of town. I thought, since she’s been so nice to us . . .”

  Ellen thought of Miss Jewell letting Audrey commandeer the writing desk in the living room for her typewriter and the old card table she’d brought up from the basement for Ellen’s use. After it was washed and hauled up to the bedroom, it made for a good typewriter stand. Then, of course, there was the woman’s general good nature.

  Ellen gave in.

  Later, as the landlady chirped excitedly through supper and then dressed for the outing, Ellen felt a twinge of guilt that she’d almost refused. It was little enough to pack three folding chairs from the backyard into the trunk of her car and drive the threesome to the city park.

  Ellen supposed she and Audrey should have realized there would be a large turnout. People unable to find seats on the wooden benches facing the bandshell fanned out on chairs and blankets brought from home. Miss Jewell had a favorite spot. By the time the band was assembled, she was in her lawn chair, Audrey and Ellen on either side.