Edith Shay Chapter 4

Katherine Lunden's hands are addicted to ink. Growing up in the 1860s in the woods of Wisconsin, she read every newspaper she can find and dreams of one day experiencing life outside of her small logging town. Then one day she sees a chance and grabs it. Catching a train to Chicago with nothing more than her satchel and abandoned suitcase bearing the name "Edith Shay," Katherine sets off on the adventure of a lifetime.

Transcript

This is Alexandria Le Fay of Silvanocity,

And today I'll be reading Chapter Four of Edith Shea,

Respect Your Elders.

The post office on Michigan and 7th was a converted general store.

The painted image of the blue speckled coffee pot seeped around the edges of the postmaster general's sign.

The strong smells of coffee beans and ground pepper lingered in the room every afternoon for weeks.

I'd meet Mr.

Quince,

The postmaster at the front door,

As he returned for lunch.

His gold keychain hung out of his pocket as he came up the boardwalk.

I was reminded of Buford stepping off the Chicago train with a long watch chain dangling at his side.

I was so sad when there was no letter for me.

I didn't have the strength to go right back to the shop to face Ellie and her rubber mans.

To build my strength,

I walked slowly back to the shop.

I didn't travel on the main streets.

To be truthful,

The enormous office buildings with their crouching gargoyles gave me the shivers.

Aslan told me that those frightful stone creatures were once meant to ward off demons,

But they scared me to the point that I took the side streets.

I enjoyed looking at the tall buildings with shops below and apartments above.

It was hard to think of a building as tall as a tree filled with tiny houses inside,

Enough to give homes to 20 families or more.

In some parts of Wisconsin,

There were barely 20 families in one county,

And the shops were so tiny they couldn't carry much of it,

If at all.

The mercantile I had worked in back home could have fit five of these little Chicago shops into their showroom and carried just as many things as all five put together.

There was a shop for shoes,

One for hats called a haberdashery,

A word that made me think of fairy tales and tiny furry creatures that lived under trees.

They even had a store that sold nothing but cheese and bread.

Mrs.

Beaufield's mercantile didn't sell either of those.

You made your own or bartered for them with your neighbor.

Then there were the tall,

Narrow buildings they called townhouses.

Three stories high and one room wide,

Townhouses were for just one family.

I couldn't imagine living in such a cramped place.

Our house was three times as wide.

Our living room wouldn't even fit in one of those narrow places.

But I was awed by the flower boxes that hung from the townhouse windows.

I'd never seen an ivy plant that wasn't wrapped around the trunk of a tree.

To see one dangling down from a box below a window was like watching a giant beanstalk grow in the backyard.

Most of the flowers were wilted or missing altogether by this time because the season was beginning to shift.

It was hard for me to tell at first because I was used to trees that change colors.

With the coming of fall,

Our house sat in a dense pine forest,

But around the pond grew many kinds of trees that turned red or orange and yellow in the cooling weather.

In Chicago,

It was the wind that carried the changing season.

It worked itself up to gale force after fighting the waves of Lake Michigan that blew its way along the streets.

Traveling away from the lake,

I always felt like the wind was a warm hand hurrying me along.

I became so attached to my afternoon tour of the neighborhood and so anxious for my letter that I got into the habit of arriving on the post office steps at one o'clock on the nose.

One such afternoon,

The door was already open when I got there and Mr.

Quince stood behind the counter,

Sifting through the afternoon mail,

His balding head pointing straight at me.

Afternoon,

Mr.

Quince.

He looked up without a smile,

Then tipped his chin as he reached below the counter.

Miss London.

He lowered his head and read from an envelope.

Miss Catherine London.

I was rude enough to snatch the letter right out of his hand as I shouted,

Thank you.

I ran the 10 blocks from the post office to my room above the shop.

I tore the end of the envelope to get at the letter written by my father's stilted handwriting.

October 5th,

1869.

Dear Catherine,

I write this letter because your mother refuses.

Your decision to spend your money on a ticket to Chicago wasn't a surprise.

The fact that you could leave your family is what hurt us.

The trip to Michigan should have shown you what a separation from your family really means.

Instead,

You were glad to leave us.

Your letter talks up some woman named Odell,

Who's a stranger to our family and our country.

Do you place her above your own mother?

Catherine,

We raised you to be loyal to your family and work with us to keep our land and our home.

Your grandfather and I built this house not for ourselves,

But for you children,

And now you've refused it.

If you choose to leave us,

Then we choose to close our door to you.

We care for you,

Catherine,

And we wish you well,

But we can no longer open our home to you because you have refused it.

Your father,

Elbert Blunt.

From the first sentence,

A storm brewed up in my heart.

Because your mother refuses?

Why would she refuse to write to me?

I started to pace the length of the room.

Father made it sound as if I'd abandoned the family.

I was short of breath,

But unsure if I wanted to cry or scream.

How could they tell me they loved me,

Then tell me never to come home again?

I was ready to break things,

Shatter the window in front of me into a thousand tiny pieces,

A rain of glass that was sprinkled onto the street.

I raised my hand to strike,

Then I thought of blood.

The blood in my father's hands as he fought to pick the stones to build our chimney.

I began to cry,

Seeing mother wipe blood from her face,

Remembering how she'd been struck by a fallen branch when she went out to push the shutters closed during a storm.

I could see them,

But I couldn't touch them.

I couldn't tell them I loved them.

Scrambling to my feet,

I ran downstairs.

I had to get to the telegraph office,

Tell my parents they'd made a mistake.

I rushed through the shop,

Ellie yelling after me,

Where are you going?

Running out into the street,

I ran smack into Aslan,

Knocking her to the ground.

Her purse went flying into the street.

For an instant,

I debated whether to keep going or to help her up.

She was obviously shaking,

Her face pale,

Her hands fluttering as she reached for her purse.

I'm so sorry,

I blurted,

Reaching down to help her up.

Where are you going in such a fury?

Aslan asked,

Wiping herself off.

Her question pulled a cinch around my emotions.

I was unable to think.

Edith?

I need to send a message.

You're not making any sense,

Edith.

What's wrong?

I should have gone straight to the train station and brought a tip home,

But I said,

I got a letter from home.

Is someone in?

She gripped my elbows and leaned over me.

Do you need train fare?

I shook my head.

She was confusing me.

No one is ill,

They're just angry.

Aslan stood tall,

Told you you shamed the family by leaving,

Did he?

How did you know?

Aslan laughed.

It was low and angry,

Almost like a growl.

I knew because I lived it.

My parents think America is a land of as a land of savages,

And they aren't talking about the Indians.

They are convinced that anyone fool enough to live in such a wild land has got to be half mad and willing to sell their soul to stay alive.

My parents don't want anyone to leave Wisconsin.

The blessed homeland?

Aslan smiled.

Unthinkable.

A laugh bubbled out of me.

I couldn't stop myself.

Don't listen to them,

Lass.

They're not thinking straight.

Anyone who puts their heart into soil is half buried.

They're not living life as it's meant to be lived,

Out in the open.

She raised her hands,

Amongst the people,

Seeing the world.

When Ethan and I have enough money,

We plan to see this country of yours,

Take a steamboat on the Mississippi.

Who knows?

We might keep sailing until we bump into South America.

Really?

Walk with me,

Lass.

She slipped her arm through my elbow and started to make her way down the boardwalk.

Let me guess now.

They said awful things in that letter you've got gripped in your hand.

I looked down.

I was still clutching the letter.

It was all rumbled and torn.

I stopped to smooth it out.

Aslan put her hand over mine.

Don't let them break your heart,

She whispered.

They'll never stop loving you,

Edith.

And when they realize they can't hold you down with their threats,

They'll be begging you to come home.

Are you sure?

I felt like crying again.

Aslan already was.

Me dad wrote just such a letter.

Said I was no longer a kid in his eyes.

No daughter of his would go off and leave the family,

She nodded.

A year later,

He and Ma started writing every week,

Sometimes every day,

To beg me to come home.

Said they missed me so much their hearts were shrinking.

I couldn't hold back the tears.

I longed for my parents too much.

I needed to hear them,

To see them,

To know they loved me.

Don't let them do it,

Edith.

Aslan shook me.

They've got their hands around your heart and they're squeezing it to make you come running home.

All parents want to keep their children close at hand,

But you won't be a child forever.

Was that it?

Did mother and father want me to remain a child,

Stay under their control?

I shook my head,

Unable to decide.

Shouldn't I write to them?

And say what?

Please forgive me?

I hurt them,

She nodded.

I thought you did.

And you'd better apologize for it too.

But not until you know what you really want.

Then you can explain it clearly and help them understand.

What did I want?

The same thing as Aslan,

I believe.

I wanted to see the world,

But I couldn't do that sitting on a bench in a seamstress shop.

I had to save my money.

Still,

I couldn't have my family believing I'd betrayed them.

I have to let them know how I feel.

She squeezed me.

And you will.

Just not at this moment.

You've got to let the dust set in.

Give yourself some time to think.

I nodded and turned toward the shop.

Thank you,

Mrs.

O'Dowd.

You're welcome.

Where do you think you're going?

Back to work?

Not today.

She turned me around.

You're walking,

Clear in your mind,

She gave me a gentle push.

And get out of here.

I've got work to do.

Yes,

Ma'am.

I laughed with relief.

Aslan walked away.

I watched her skirt swagger in the wind,

Saw the way she carried herself.

Like a woman who could see the end of the road she was walking.

I was happy with what she saw.

God did the right thing in sending me to Aslan O'Dowd.

I took her advice and walked the streets.

I even set my sights on finding Powell Park.

I thought the journey would take my mind off my family.

But every lanky boy with blonde hair became my brother Thomas,

Until I could see the features of his face.

I saw my mother serving coffee in a restaurant.

Grandpa Jacob throwing horseshoes in an alley.

I really wanted to go home.

It was dusk when I reached Powell Park.

My legs ached from all the walking.

My mind was still spinning.

I dropped onto a park bench and wished I could close my eyes and appear on our front porch.

I'd watch for the lantern to appear on the hill.

Maybe father would be singing and he and Grandpa Jacob came into view.

There was a little girl and she had a little curl.

I hated that song,

But father often sang it when he could see me from the hill.

To set him straight I'd shout,

My hair is as straight as pine needles.

He'd just sing it again.

I longed to be home so much my soul felt heavy,

But I wasn't welcome there.

I had to write them,

But what would I say?

A young man came into the park with a long pole to light the lanterns and I knew I had to return to my room.

On the way to the shop I tried to write the letter in my head,

Tell them why it was so important that I left Wisconsin,

But nothing came out right.

Eslyn opened the door for me.

I began to wonder if he'd walked into the lake.

I forced a smile.

No,

I was just wondering.

She took my arm and walked me to the stairs.

Are you all right?

I will be.

I almost believed it too.

Good,

Because the ladies are hopping mad that you took off work today.

Took off?

I turned to face her,

But she was already on her way out.

Shaking my head I went to my room.

It started to rain as I got undressed.

As the storm picked up I remembered how mother used to come to our room when the weather got bad.

My mother may have been tighter than a two-stall barn at times,

But she had a generous heart.

When thunderstorms ratted our walls she would come to the bedroom I shared with Thomas.

She'd pull a chair to the middle of the room and tell stories until the storm passed,

And we could lie down to sleep without the fear of bad dreams.

I could see her sitting there with a long braid hanging over her left shoulder and tiny rosebuds sewn on the front of her gown.

Her face was gray in the half-light,

Her eyes focused on the window,

Keeping watch for fallen branches.

She always wrapped her braid around her index finger as she spoke.

Her voice was as smooth as the surface of a pond on a windless day.

She often told us about the day her family's barn caught fire when she was a girl.

She'd been reading a book in her bedroom when she saw the flames reflected in the window.

Screaming at an alarm,

She sent the whole family scurrying to try and douse the fire with bucket after bucket of water from their well.

When she talked about fighting the flames,

She'd stop,

Touch her face,

And recall the heat on her skin.

It was like having a high fever,

She'd say,

Before telling us how Grandpa Vince rushed into action when he saw the sparks floating near the house.

He ordered everyone to run for blankets,

Wet them down,

And lay them on the roof to keep the house safe.

Grandpa Vince was a smart man and a quick thinker,

But they couldn't move faster than the fire.

The roof of the house caught fire before the blankets were even wet.

They could do nothing but watch the building burn.

They lost everything.

They moved north and settled with relatives in Hayward,

Wisconsin.

Grandpa Vince worked the coal mines in Virginia to pay for a new house,

But it was never built.

He died in the mines,

The coal company charged Grandma Marie $17 to ship his body back to Wisconsin.

I could see my mother's family standing at the train station,

Mother holding Grandma Marie's hand,

Her brother Edward towering over them,

Wearing the sweat-stained hat he never took off.

Aunt Fran was probably pacing the platform when the train rolled in.

She never could stand still.

They'd all be waiting there,

With the family shouting and laughing and hugging their relatives.

All mother's family had to greet was a plain pine box that reeked of death.

No wonder she hated train stations.

I woke up in the middle of the night.

The storm had stopped,

But the air smelled of rain.

Even the paper I took out of my satchel felt a little damp.

I brought a lantern downstairs to write my parents a letter.

Dear mother and father,

I'm sorry that I hurt you,

But I have to say my loyalty to you is unshaken.

I love you all with my whole heart.

I just cannot stay where you have tried to plant me.

I also know my dreams cannot be matched with yours.

I dream of far-off places,

And you dream of home.

I guess this means we can't be happy to live in the same place or in the same ways.

Forgive me for not taking your dreams as my own.

As for Mrs.

O'Dell,

No one can be my mother but the woman who brought me into this world.

I merely meant to reassure you that I was in good hands here in Chicago.

I'm doing good work,

Learning a new trade,

And making great new friends.

Please try to be happy for me.

I hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me.

Always remember that I love you,

One and all,

Your daughter,

Katherine.

I sealed the envelope with wax and took it down to the post office in the early morning and had it in the mail before Mr.

Quince even had time to put out the open sign.

I'd said my piece,

So it was time to be on my way.

And now it is time for me to be on my way.

But before I go,

Let's take a moment to think about this chapter and how so often those we love the most have the greatest power to hurt us and to bend us to their will because we want them to be happy.

We want that love to be unbroken and unshaken.

But you know what?

Stepping out and doing your own thing when it's the best thing for you because you know yourself even better than they do,

That can make the bond between the two of you or the lot of you all the stronger.

Because when you can stand on your own two feet and do your thing,

Those you love will learn to respect that,

To see it for the great value it holds.

True love between family members can stand any test.

Thank you for listening.

This has been Alexandria LaFaye of Silvanocity.

Reviews

The life lessons are woven carefully in. I wish there was a discussion. TY

So enjoyable - thank you ☺️