Novel Treatments / Grandmother's Secret-Chapter 2
Josephine stood behind the screen door of the farmhouse and gazed outside. It was just past eight-thirty in the morning and the sun was already blazing hot. She wiped a bead of perspiration from her forehead and looked out across the yard.
Jo reached down into her pocket and pulled out the note from Ray Briggs, the postmaster. There was a certified letter waiting for her signature at the post office. She normally had her mail delivered by Ray’s brother, Pete. Jo figured it must be important if she had to drive into town. She tried not to worry but it made her nervous, nonetheless. She didn’t like going to town unless she had to.
Becky appeared in the doorway of the henhouse holding a crate of fresh eggs in her arms. They were going to town, to trade the eggs for credit at Olson’s Mercantile. She carefully walked down the wooden plank and walked over to the truck, setting the crate down on the tailgate to await her mother’s inspection.
Becky put a sweaty hand into the pocket of her hand-me-down overalls and found the nickel and dime safely tucked into the cotton fabric. It was the last of her money. Her Pa usually left some change on the dresser for her, while she slept, but he hadn’t been around for a while. She sure did miss him.
She tried to decide between lemon drops and licorice coins. Maybe she would get some each, and a chocolate bar for her mother. Becky sat down on the running board of the old Model A truck, to wait in the shade, and gave it some more thought.
Josephine reached up for her straw sunbonnet, hanging on a wooden peg next to her father’s hat. She couldn’t bring herself to take his hat down. He had been gone for several years now, leaving Jo and Becky alone on the farm.
Jo hadn’t seen much of her husband, not since he had taken up with his crew of bootleggers. That suited her fine but she could have used some money. Carl always made sure to slip her some cash. He often showed up late, wanting sandwiches and coffee for him and his men. At least he didn’t bother her in “that way” anymore. She hated him, but she needed his handout.
Becky stood up when she heard the screen door slam shut and saw her mother walk across the yard towards the truck. Becky thought her mother was beautiful, even if she did wear old fashioned dresses and kept her hair long when most women had cut their’s into the popular “bob” style.
Josephine was younger than most mothers but she acted more like an old person. Becky didn’t understand her very well.
Becky wished she had just a few more pennies. She didn’t know when the next chance would be to buy some candy. Her mother didn’t go to town very often. Becky climbed into the truck and slammed the door while Josephine hand-cranked the engine of the old Model A truck.
Josephine kept both hands on the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. The tires kicked up small clouds of dust behind them that hung in the thick air while Becky leaned her head out the window, watching the grasshoppers jump away safely into the tall grass at the side of the road.
As they neared the highway, Becky could see that something was going on at the old Amundson place. Her best friend, Annette, had lived there and had gone to the country school with Becky until their family moved to Iowa. Becky leaned out the window to get a better look.
“Get your head back inside,” Josephine admonished her, but she too, was trying to see.
There were several boxes sitting on the porch, tied with twine, and several pieces of furniture still sitting in the front yard. the front door was closed and there was no sign of human life.
“Do you think Annette is back?” Becky asked eagerly.
“I don’t think so,” Jo said, surveying the house. She softened her tone when she saw Becky slump back on the bench seat. “The Amundson’s are farming in Iowa. Must be someone else that bought the place.”
Sometimes her words came out too harshly towards the girl, Josephine thought to herself. She knew Becky was lonesome for a friend her age. Now that school was out for the summer, there was no one close by that Becky could play with. She hoped the new neighbors had children, for Becky’s sake. Josephine turned off the gravel road and onto the paved highway that led towards town.
Pine River
Small towns sprung up overnight as the railroad pushed its way north from St. Paul to Hibbing. Pine River Township was named in 1882 for its proximity to the banks of the Pine River that meandered through Kan-a-bec County.
At first the area had been the site of a large logging operation, but slowly more immigrants arrived, from Holland, Sweden and Germany, to settle the land with crops and cattle.
By 1915, the automobile was becoming popular for transportation and Pine River had become a bustling little town that thrived on the tourists that stopped on their way to the pristine lakes and resorts of northern Minnesota.
In 1931, the nation was still reeling from the stock market crash of 1929. Pine River residents struggled to keep their farms and businesses operating. The tourists still stopped on their way up north, to buy gas at Torchy’s Filling Station and to buy fresh bread and pastry at Stepanik’s Bakery. Addie Stepnaik’s sweet rolls were famous for miles around, having won the blue ribbon at the Kan-a-bec County Fair for three years in a row.
The water tower could be seen from almost all directions when approaching Pine River. It was the only one of it’s kind in all the states. It reminded Becky of the fairy-tale story of Rapunzel, with it’s turrets on top and long cylindrical body standing more than eight stories high. The volunteer fire department had a shed at the base of the tower where they kept the horse-drawn fire wagon. The new fire department, on Main Street, had a modern day fire truck and so the old wagon was only taken out for the town’s 4th of July parade.
Josephine turned right, onto 2nd Street. Next to the tower was a small park and the bandshell where traveling musicians would play, passing the hat for spare change. A few children were playing there and Becky sat up to stare out the window at them.
Main street had several automobiles that were parked diagonally to the sidewalk in front of Conger’s Drug Store and the Red Ox Café. Josephine drove slowly past the café window where several farmers had gathered for a cup of coffee and the latest crop reports on the radio.
Olson’s Mercantile was on the corner of Main Street and Fifth Avenue, directly across the street from the small brick post office building.
Josephine pulled the truck into a parking space and shut off the engine. Several people were walking by on the sidewalk but no one paid any attention to them. Jo was relieved that she didn’t see any familiar faces.
“You take the eggs inside to Mrs. Olson, directly.” Josephine said, watching Becky climb out of the truck. “I’ll meet you there shortly. I have some business with Mr. Briggs at the post office.”
Becky nodded her head and hastily opened the tailgate to retrieve the crate. She would have more time to look at the candy counter to make her decision on how to spend the fifteen cents.
Josephine looked both ways before crossing the street. She knew that she was being watched from the window of the café. The farmers were known for more gossiping than the ladies sewing circle.
The post office was built from red brick that had been brought over from Hibbing. A large American flag out in front hung limp on the pole, already tired from the heat coming off of the sidewalk.
Jo pulled open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside where the air was almost ten degrees cooler. The main lights had been turned
off and the room was full of shadows. She gazed along the wall where the small brass mail boxes were, each numbered and having it’s own small key slot.
She remembered when she was a child and how she would ride into town with her father and the team of horses, Jack and Jill, to retrieve the mail. Their box number was 26 and her father would always let her open the small door with his key.
The room smelled of old wood, brass and ink. It was a comforting smell. Josephine could see that someone was standing at the caged window, talking to Ray Briggs. She didn’t recognize the stranger with the worn leather hat. Ray was wearing his familiar visor and black apron, leaning on the counter behind the steel bars. Josephine waited silently, next to the old writing table that held envelopes and writing paper and a partially filled inkwell.
Josephine averted her eyes when the stranger turned around. Out of the corner of her eye she could see that the man had a profound limp of his left leg. He tipped his hat towards her as he left and Josephine nodded her head in acknowledgment, hoping he didn’t see her flush.
“Good morning, Josephine. I was wondering when you were going to make it in.” Ray Briggs smiled at her from behind his spectacles. “I have your letter, right here,” he said, reaching for a small white envelope.
Josephine approached the caged window and reached inside of her pocket for the note. She slid it underneath the bars without saying a word. Ray had her sign the small green signature card that accompanied the letter, then he pushed the envelope towards her and watched her face for a reaction. He anticipated it.
Josephine opened her eyes widely and stared at the writing. The letter was addressed to her, but it was addressed to Josephine Miller, her maiden name No one had used her name that way since….
The postmark was stamped in Chicago and suddenly Josephine’s heart began to pound. She barely mumbled her thanks to Mr. Briggs, and put the letter inside her pocket, unread. She turned away from the counter quickly. She had to get outside. She needed fresh air.
“Say, by the way,” Mr. Briggs called out,” that gentleman who was just here, well, he’s your new neighbor.”
Josephine didn’t hear him. She bolted from the post office and ran quickly across the street to fetch Becky.
Becky balanced the crate of eggs on one knee while she opened the door to Olson’s Mercantile, “Fairest Prices, Freshest Meat”. A brass bell rang above the door, announcing her arrival. She walked over to the wooden counter and set the crate down carefully.
She could see the candy behind the glass window and peered inside, looking at the assortment of buttermint cremes and BlackJack chewing gum, candied fruit and caramels dusted with pecans.
“What are you doing?” Molly Olson appeared at the counter.
Becky knew it was Molly immediately. She spoke with venom in her tongue. Becky wished it was Milly, instead, the nice twin.
“I’m waiting for my Ma,” Becky said, “there’s eggs over there for Mrs. Olson.”
“Well, get your grimy hands off the glass. I don’t want to have to clean up after the likes of you ” Molly spat out at her. “Where is your mother?”
Suddenly the heavy brocade curtain opened up, the one that separated the store from the Olson’s living quarters. Mrs. Olson appeared, with a smudge of flour on her pudgy cheeks.
“Molly, I asked you earlier to start your sweeping, now get going.”
Mrs. Olson wiped her hands on her apron and smiled at Becky. Molly made a mean face at Becky behind her mother’s back.
“My mother will be here soon,” Becky said, ignoring Molly. “She’s at the post office.”
Mrs. Olson walked over to the crate on the counter and brushed the straw aside. “Good. Fresh eggs. I could use these.” She really didn’t need them, but she tried to help out Josephine when she could.
Becky was just about to ask for the candy, while they waited for Josephine, and was reaching into her pocket for the coins when the brass bell rang over the door.
Josephine stepped inside, looking flushed. She was upset.
“Something’s come up, we have to head home.” Josephine whispered to her daughter when Becky approached. Jo could see the disappointment in Becky’s face. “We’ll come back later, I promise.”
“Josephine, did you need me to tally these up?” Blanch Olson bent over the crate and started to remove the eggs, putting them into a cardboard carton.
“I don’t have time right now, Mrs. Olson. I’ll have to come back this afternoon,” Josephine managed to say. Her voice quivered in her throat and she realized that her hands were trembling.
Josephine hurried to the truck and started the engine. Becky climbed in quickly, knowing that her mother was upset about something, something that maybe happened at the post office?
Becky knew better that to upset her further so she sat quietly as they drove back down main street towards the water tower, past the prying eyes staring out at them from the Red Ox Café.
Tom McAllister watched the truck drive past him as he stood in front of Jenson’s Hardware store. It was the same woman he had seen in the post office and she had a young girl with her in the front seat.
Darlene lit a cigarette and peered down onto main street from her front room window. Her head was throbbing from the cheap gin she drank the night before and she needed a strong cup of black coffee. She looked over at the figure still asleep in her bed. His pants were tossed across a chair and she was tempted to look in his pockets, but she didn’t dare. She knew he would smack her if she got caught.
The sputter of an old truck caught her attention and she pulled the lace curtains back to get a better look. Josephine passed by the beauty shop downstairs without even a sideways glance. Her eyes were glued to the road ahead. Darlene could see the girl, slumped down on the seat.
She almost felt sorry for them but it wasn’t her fault that Jo kept herself so plain. Darlene had the town’s tongues wagging, (about her many affairs) but at least she didn’t hide like Josephine did, staying out on that farm since having the kid when she was barely fifteen years old.
Josephine looked upset and Becky knew better than to ask any questions. They drove down Main Street, heading towards the tower.Just then a shiny black roadster passed by them and Becky let out a low whistle. It was the slickest automobile she had ever seen.
The man driving the black Phantom had hair just as black as the finish on the car and he winked at Becky as he drove by.
“Get up, lover-boy. Your ride’s here.” Darlene stubbed out her cigarette in an already overflowing ashtray. She picked up the dirty glasses from the nightstand and put them inside the sink.
Carl “Tommy” Thompson sat up and rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?” he said, looking around for his watch.
“Almost nine,” Darlene answered. “Your friend’s here, he’s pulling around to the back. Oh yeah, your wife and kid just drove by too.”
Darlene lit another cigarette and brought it over to Tommy. He grabbed for her and she slapped his hand. “You’ve got to go. I’ve got a perm appointment in ten minutes.”
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As with the other chapter I read, the sense of time and place is well detailed. And the mysterious man, the mysterious letter, and the cheating husband are all good elements that leave us wanting to know more.
Your point-of-view is all over the place. Apparently you are doing omnicscient POV, but I have to say, I think it weakens the power of your story. We jump willy-nilly from one character’s head to another within single scenes and even single paragraphs. This has the effect of making it feel like we’re watching the whole thing from the outside, not experiencing the unfolding events from within the story by being in the head of one particular character.
I guess I would suggest you ask yourself why you have chosen this POV. This combined with a lot of telling as opposed to showing really keeps the reader from being fully invested in the characters or the story. The thing is, it does take more effort to select a single POV (at least for each scene) and to pull the reader into the story as a participant by showing the story from that characters POV. It takes a lot more effort. But if that’s the only reason you’ve chosen this omniscient approach, I would say your story deserves the extra effort. And will not survive without it, I suspect.
Your prose is in general pretty clean and flows well and your dialog is, on the whole, believable.
Josephine feels like a scared rabbit to me and frankly, I’d like to see some unexpected twist in her personality or character, because without that, she’s just going to annoy me after awhile.
I think this story has real possibilities.
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I liked everything about it until the last eight paragraghs, then you lost me. There was a switch in focus or something. Maybe it should be worded different or something, but I became confused.
You capture the time period and the rural living very good. I know from experience it is hard to try and write about the past. There are so many things that we do today and take for granted, that they couldn’t do. It adds plot complication in many ways. Good work. Keep writing. I want to find out more about this story and what Josephine got upset about.
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