Night Journey (13 page)

INTERLUDE IN TIME

June 19, 1938

St. Louis, Missouri
BABE RUTH NAMED FIRST BASE COACH FOR BROOKLYN DODGERS.
Caleb Turner pondered the headline sprawled across the front page. He shook his head and sighed. What a low blow for such a great career. A little farther down, in smaller type, another caption read
JAPAN DECLARES WAR ON CHINA.
He shrugged with disinterest and thumbed through to the financial section.

The telephone rang. Once. Twice. Three times.

He glanced up from his newspaper and frowned, annoyed by the incessant ringing. He squirmed in his chair, rattled the paper and scanned the parlor. Would nobody answer the damned thing?

Exasperated, Caleb stood up and stubbed out his cigar. He threw down the newspaper and stalked toward the yammering contraption. He picked up the instrument by its long, thin base, jerked the earpiece from its cradle, and bellowed into the mouthpiece.

“Hullo?”

“May I speak to Ivy?” asked a feminine voice.

Without bothering to acknowledge the young lady on the telephone, he grunted and yelled toward the stairs. “Iv-ee!” Caleb tapped his foot impatiently. He dropped the earpiece and let it dangle while he craned his neck and watched for his daughter to come downstairs to take the call.

Where was the blasted maid? He was already in a bad mood from all his employees at the sawmill loafing around, all puffed up about Eleanor Roosevelt’s pet project. What did they call it? The Fair Labor Standards Act. Humph. Overtime
and
a minimum wage. It certainly wasn’t fair to the business owners. Thank God it didn’t include domestic help, or he’d never get any service anymore. But where was that woman? He paid her good money to clean the house and answer the telephone, yet here he was doing it himself. Couldn’t a man enjoy a Sunday afternoon of peace in his own home?

“Who is it Papa?” Ivy walked halfway down the stairs and peeked through the banister. She clutched a thin cotton robe with one hand and a towel on her shoulders with the other.

Caleb eyed her wet head and pin curls suspiciously. “I don’t know. One of your friends.” Three o’clock in the afternoon and she was still in her chemise! “What are you doing up there?”

Ivy came down the rest of the way and reached for the telephone. “Margot’s curling my hair.” She put the earpiece against her ear and spoke into the mouthpiece. “Hello? Oh, hi toots….you’re kidding…
Betty
from school went to Atlanta and auditioned for the part of Scarlett O’Hara? But she’s never even acted before. I thought they were gonna cast Talullah Bankhead?”

Caleb returned to his chair and tried to read the stock market report, but he couldn’t concentrate. Too much hen cackling. And the smell was overpowering. Whatever hair tonic she’d put on her head made his eyes tear up and his nose twitch.

“Whatcha been doin’?…Margot’s trying out a new hairdo on me…um hm. We used Jo-Cur Waveset…yeah, the one you told me about from the radio…really? He’s a good egg…” Ivy glanced toward her father. “I don’t know. It’s kind of iffy…he’s been trying a lot of sweet-talk, but between you and me, my patience is about gone. I think he’s gonna get the ol’ eighty-six….oh, that’s just Mrs. Hooper listening in on the party line…she’s such a Nice-Nelly, I’ve gotta be careful what I say.”

What kind of language was she speaking? He just did not understand young people nowadays—that infernal slang. His patience was almost to the breaking point. Even though Ivy thought of herself as grown up, he knew she needed her mother’s influence. He wished Winifred would hurry up and get over whatever it was she thought was wrong with her this time and come home from that expensive hospital.

Between his wife’s constant, elusive illnesses and his daughter’s bull-headedness, he would be bankrupt before the year was out if something didn’t change. Now he had to pay some ding-blasted Social Security tax on top of everything else—he gave the government a year to come to its senses and put a halt to such foolishness. And just when he thought this damned Depression was about to turn around and he’d ventured out with some investments, the stock market had crashed again.

“Okey-doke. Bye, now.” Ivy returned the handset to its cradle and set the telephone back on the hallstand. She turned to Caleb and asked. “When are we gonna get rid of this relic and get a modern desk phone?”

“Humph. Might I remind you there’s a depression going on, young lady? Most people nowadays don’t have telephones at all.”

“You’re right, Papa. I’m sorry for being so selfish. We should all count our blessings.”

Caleb grunted his acknowledgement, but his dander was still up about the lack of loyalty from the hired help. He was tired of having to do everything around here. “Where’s—uh—what’s-her-name—the housekeeper?”

“Yolanda? It’s her day off. Remember, you told her you had to cut back on her hours.” She hesitated at the foot of the stairs.

“Humph. I thought you were going out with Jared tonight?”

Ivy stopped. Her expression grew pensive and her tone was guarded. “I canceled.”

“To do your hair?” Caleb felt his anger rise. He narrowed his eyes and stared at his daughter. “Did you bob your hair?”

“No, I did
not
. It’s just curled.”

He exhaled a sigh of relief. “Good. You know how Jared feels about bobbed hair.”

Ivy rolled her eyes. “I don’t care what he thinks about my hair.”

“Don’t be a flibbertigibbet. Are you toying with his affections?” Caleb felt his blood pressure rise. “You know he wants to marry you.”

Ivy set her chin in a stubborn line and replied, “I’m not going to marry Jared.”

He clenched his jaw to control his fury. He was sick and tired of her impertinence. Why, in
his
day a girl married whomever her father told her to—and that was that. “And why, pray tell, do you not want to marry Jared? He’s been courting you for months now.”

“Because I don’t love him—and he’s old—he’s almost thirty!”

Caleb glared at Ivy. He’d just spent a small fortune to make sure she was properly presented to St. Louis society at the Veiled Prophet Debutante Ball and he thought his plan had hit pay dirt. Jared Covington was one of the richest bachelors in Missouri. He was counting on Jared’s investments in his business to keep him afloat until the economy turned around. Their whole future hinged on this match.

He sighed as he looked at his little girl—so petite and graceful. She looked more and more like her mother every day. Even with her chestnut hair in pin curls, Ivy was like a delicate, porcelain doll. It was no wonder Jared had been smitten with her charm and beauty. Smart too. Graduated high school with straight A’s. But she had a mind of her own—which could be a dangerous thing in a woman.

Caleb’s attention was diverted when he heard someone coming down the stairs. His bushy eyebrows raised in surprise when he saw the girl—he supposed it was a girl. She was wearing trousers!

“Hello, Mr. Turner. I’m Margot Hollander.” The girl smiled, extended her right hand, and proceeded to pump his with a strong, firm grip.

“Afternoon,” he responded warily, returning her handshake. He looked her up and down. She was tall and thin, with coal black bobbed hair that hugged her head in finger waves. She would have been almost pretty if not for her slightly enlarged nose and her loosey-goosey stance. But those slacks and that masculine-looking blouse set his teeth on edge. He hoped she wasn’t one of those lesbians he’d been hearing about.

“Papa, Margot’s going to be an aviatrix,” said Ivy. “Her boyfriend knows Adela Riek, who’s been taking flying lessons from one of Lindbergh’s friends, and he’s teaching her too.”

“Flying lessons!” Caleb was horrified. “Do you want to wind up like that Amelia Earhart person? Women don’t have any business flying planes.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Turner. Miss Earhart’s navigator was a man,” said Margot. “He’s the one who got them hopelessly lost.”

Before Caleb could reply, the doorbell rang. Ivy opened the door and stared. Three young men dressed in Western Union garb stood on the porch. One of them held a crystal vase filled with a dozen red roses and read from a card. “Are you Miss Ivy Turner?”

Ivy appeared confused as she accepted the flowers. “Yes, that’s me.”

“This is from Jared Covington—with love. Okay fellas, hit it.” The leader turned to the others. They immediately began harmonizing a popular Bing Crosby tune.

Caleb chewed on his cigar and watched Ivy’s expression. He wondered what was going through her mind as she stood politely and listened to the Sing-o-Gram. He chuckled to himself. That Jared was such a scamp. He certainly knew how to charm the ladies.

When the song ended, they began another, more fast-paced song. Ivy glanced helplessly toward her friend, but said nothing.

When the songs were finished, Caleb gave each boy a quarter, which lit up their young faces. Ivy’s shoulders drooped as she carried the roses into the dining room and set the vase in the middle of the table. She stood and stared at the arrangement, seemingly deep in thought.

“That was really swell,” said Margot. “Kid, I’ve got to run now. When your hair’s dry and you comb it out, let me know how it looks. Okay? Nice to meet you, Pops.” She bounced down the sidewalk, climbed into a silver Horch Cabriolet, and roared away.

Caleb closed the door and beamed at his daughter. “Now don’t you feel badly for the way you treated poor Jared?”

Ivy’s face suddenly contorted and she put her hand to her forehead. She sank into a chair and stared at the floor. “Papa, you just don’t understand about him.”

Now what was the matter? “Understand what?”

Ivy looked up at her father with a pleading expression. “Haven’t you ever wondered where he got his money?”

“He’s a businessman. He’s very smart and he’s made a lot of wise investments. What are you getting at?”

“Doesn’t it bother you that he and his brother took advantage of a lot of poor farmers who lost everything they had to foreclosure during the bad times? That’s how they amassed their fortunes in the first place, you know.”

“That’s just business. Buy low, sell high. That’s the name of the game.” he reached over and patted her hand. “I think he was very shrewd. If he hadn’t done it, somebody else would have.”

“But that doesn’t make it right!”

“Look,” Caleb spluttered, amazed that his little girl even thought about such things. “Those people were losing their farms because they couldn’t pay the mortgage. Those are the breaks when you can’t pay your debts.”

“It wasn’t their fault.” Ivy’s face grew red with anger. “The banks closed down and they lost their life savings. And then the prices for their crops tumbled so low they couldn’t make a living. It wasn’t fair. He took advantage of those poor people.”

“Well, the farmers had their own methods of cheating too, you know. Didn’t you ever hear about the penny auctions?” Caleb bristled. “They all got together like a band of thugs and scared off the honest bidders. Then they intimidated the auctioneer so bad he sold the farmers back their land for a penny. It was either that or get his head bashed in.”

“Good. That’s what they should have done.”

“God’s teeth, girl! Who’s putting these notions in your head?” His eyes narrowed. “Is it that Margot? Is she a Socialist or something?”

“No, Papa. She’s Jewish.”

“Um.” Caleb leaned back in his chair, lit his cigar, and took a puff.

“What’s the matter? Do you have something against the Jews?”

“No. No, of course not,” said Caleb, puffing his cigar thoughtfully. “But you’ve got to admit they’re certainly stirring up a ruckus over in Europe.”

“What are you talking about? The Jews haven’t done anything wrong. It’s that Hitler person who’s causing all the trouble. He’s the one who annexed Austria and now all the Jews are scared to death over there.”

“Humph. Since when did you take such an interest in politics?”

“Margot says Jared is selling lead out of his mines to the Nazis. She says Hitler is planning to exterminate the Jews and then take over the world. He’s using it to make weapons to use against all of us. She says there’s going to be another big war. Bigger than the last one.”

“What a bunch of folderol! There aren’t going to be any more wars, especially not like the Great War,” Caleb stormed. His bad leg throbbed at the reminder of his time in the trenches. “I was
over there
, remember? Armageddon will come before we see anything like that again.”

Ivy continued, despite her father’s reaction. “Margot has relatives who were run out of Germany because of the Nazis. They moved to Amsterdam, but she doesn’t think they’ll be safe there much longer. She has two little cousins she’s very worried about—the youngest wants to become a writer. Margot sent her a journal for her birthday, but she doesn’t know if it got there or not.”

“I’m not so sure this Margot is such a good influence on you.” Caleb tapped his ashes into the ashtray. “I don’t want you seeing her any more.”

Ivy bristled. “I am eighteen years old, Papa. You can’t control who my friends are any longer.”

“Well, young lady,” he replied, his fury building. “You may be all grown up according to the law, but as long as you’re under
my
roof, you will do what I say.”

“Very well.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “If you will excuse me, I’ll go pack my things and be on my way.”

“Where do you intend to go?” He clenched his fists and forced himself to be calm. “You can’t go out on the street with those thingamajigs in your hair.”

“They’re called bobby pins—and I’ll wear one of Mama’s turbans.” She glared defiantly and began to climb the stairs. “I’ll go stay with Margot. She’s going to college in the fall. I’ll go too.”

“College? How’re you going to pay for that?”

“I’ll get a job.” Ivy appeared determined. “I can be a secretary, or a telephone operator, or a sales girl.” She continued to climb the stairs, her head held high.

Caleb flinched when he heard the door slam upstairs. He sank into a chair, defeated. Now what was he going to do? He knew Ivy possessed enough stubbornness to follow through with her threats. She wasn’t like her mother, who wilted at every crisis. In the past he’d been proud of the fact she was so much like her old man, but now he was worried.

Several moments passed before he decided on a plan of action. He would just have to beat her at her own game. He crept up the stairs and knocked on Ivy’s bedroom door. “Ivy, are you still in there?”

The door opened slightly and she stared questioningly at her father. A stretchy turban covered her head and he could see her opened suitcase on the bed. “Yes, Papa?”

“Ivy, I’m sorry I spoke so harshly with you earlier. It’s just hard for me right now, with your mother away. Please don’t leave.”

“Oh, Papa.” Ivy ran toward Caleb and hugged him. “I’m sorry, too. I miss Mama so much—but I just don’t like being pressured about Jared.”

“Well, don’t you worry your pretty little head about that any more.” He patted her on the back. “I just had an idea. I really need to go down to Joplin to take care of some business, so I thought maybe you and I could take the train to Eureka Springs and visit your mother. How would that be?”

“That would be just grand!” Ivy’s eyes danced and she clapped her hands. “How long will we stay?”