A Matter Of Trust, Page 3

  “Well, only for toast and jam. Maybe coffee,” Mother agreed. “Straighten your dresses and smooth your hair. And, Susan, remember the verse we discussed yesterday.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Her response was so automatic, Dena had to wonder if Susan really heard or just answered by rote. Presently the conductor came by.

  “If you wish to leave your things, I can keep your seats for you.”

  “Thank you.” Mother arranged the bags and hats on the two bench seats. She slid the wicker basket onto the floor, tucking it under the seat. Then Mother accompanied her girls to the water closet.

  “We are fortunate there’s not a line, but then again, at seven thirty most ladies aren’t up. Dena you go first.” Dena quickly stepped in with Susan following her. Mother waited. Then they reversed places. Susan gazed down the long hallway towards the dining car.

  “May we escort you to the dining car?” a tall young man with auburn-colored hair and a big smile asked. Dena didn't know where they had come from. A group of young men had gone by earlier.

  “No, thank you,” she replied, lifting her chin. She hoped she sounded mature.

  “Then maybe we will see you there.” The young man smiled as he slid by. Dena noted the second young man had neatly clipped, honey-colored hair. He studied her a moment longer, causing her to look at the floor. Yet, she watched him follow his friend down the corridor. Just then Mother stepped out and laid her hand on Susan’s back, encouraging her to follow the young men.

  ***

  Stopping just inside the dining car, Dena admired the elegance of the table settings—white linen table clothes, maroon napkins. Her heart fell when she didn’t see a table open.

  “Table for three, madam?” the maître–d asked. Mother nodded. He ushered them to a small table by a window where she saw the two young men sitting next to her. Dena took the chair across from Mother and Susan. She noticed the second young man wasn’t as loud or boisterous as the rest at the table. In fact, he seemed to sit on the outer edge of their conversations, entering only the discussion occasionally. She wondered what they were talking about. As she looked around the room, he caught her eye and dipped his chin so slightly. She lowered her head.

  “Mother, Dena’s blushing!” Susan teased. She wanted to turn to see who had made her sister redden.

  “I’m not blushing, Mother,” Dena said as she reached for her water. “I’m just … uh … hot. It’s really warm in here.”

  “Yes, it is, dear.” Mother sipped her coffee. Dena understood her mother knew she had not told the whole truth. Susan smirked.

  “May I take your order, madam?”

  “Three orders of dry toast with jam and one side order of bacon,” Mother politely said.

  “Yes, madam.” The waiter scribbled down their order then went to another table. Mother poured two half cups of coffee for her daughters. Frowning, Dena added cream and sugar. She would have liked eggs too. The waiter returned with their breakfast. Mother slipped her hand under the table, clasped each girl’s hand in hers, bowed her head and said a small hushed prayer. After eating a slice of toast, her mother enjoyed her coffee.

  “This jam is really good,” Dena admitted between bites. She studied the white, arched ceiling graced with gold etchings. Not wanting to look interested in the young man, yet she tried to sneak another look. He grinned and dipped his chin.

  Coughing, she quickly took another sip of coffee. “What kind do you think it is, Mother? I don’t believe we have this jam at home.”

  “I would guess it’s a native wild berry or a variation of cherry.”

  “Well, I really enjoyed breakfast, Mother,” Dena said before she ate the last of her toast. Patting her mouth, Dena peeked over Susan’s shoulder again. Susan shifted ever so slightly to block Dena’s view and stared directly at her sister, daring her to say something.

  “Are you girls ready?” Mother asked.

  “I’m glad we came to the dining car,” Dena declared. “Could we … uh… look around? You know, tour the train?”

  “Maybe later; right now I want to work some more on my needlepoint for Doreen. Did you bring books to read?” Dena’s face fell. Reading is boring when there are new things to explore like checking out the sleeper car or maybe other passenger or club cars.

  “Will Aunt Doreen be waiting for us when we arrive?” Susan asked as they waited to pay for their breakfast. Dena watched the two young men as they approached. The one with honey-colored hair grinned at something his friend said.

  “Yes. Your father sent a telegram after our train left, telling her of our arrival time.”

  “Hi. My name is Jack … Jack Smith … ma’am,” the taller young man said to Mother. “May I walk with you back to the coach?”

  “Well …” Dena could tell Mother was thinking about saying no. She crossed her fingers behind her back and quickly said a short, selfish prayer.

  “We’re going back to San Jose to college,” he quickly said, with an air of confidence. “I’ve been in Virginia visiting my family this summer.”

  “Well … yes. I guess you may,” Mother glanced at the girls.

  “Thank you, ma’am!” he said, looking directly at Dena.

  “I’m Clay Brewster,” the other one said. He stood off to one side of Jack. Dena smiled. He was the one who had noticed her in the diner, the one who sat on the outer edge of the group. He jerked his head toward his friend, speaking amiably. “My friend sometimes neglects to introduce me. I’ve been in Virginia working.”

  Dena smiled warmly. She liked these young men. She must remember their names, letting each syllable roll off of her tongue.

  Mother linked her arm with Susan’s and moved on, allowing Dena to walk with the two young men, but to her dismay, Mother walked slowly. Her intention was to stay in earshot.

  “Are you going to San Jose?” Clay asked, looking into her face. His blue eyes glinted.

  “Actually we are going to Palo Alto. We’re visiting my aunt. Do you go to Stanford University?”

  “Yes. I’m in my second year. I’m majoring in film,” Jack butted in. Then he jerked his thumb toward Clay. “He’s in his third year … engineering.”

  “Really,” Dena said. Fancy that. College men. That explained the confidence about them even though they are friendly. She smiled; pleased she had met two college guys. She wondered if she might get the chance to see them again. Sitting down across from Mother and Susan, she sweetly smiled up at the two.

  “Maybe we can tell you about Stanford later?” Jack asked, politely looking from Dena to her mother.

  “Maybe later.” Dena said as she looked at her mother, who picked up her needlepoint, dismissing the young men. Again, she turned toward the window. Fancy that, an engineer and a film producer. She wriggled and groaned mostly to herself. Almost three slow-moving days to the west coast spent sitting stiffly in the hard seats made her tired of sitting, tired of riding. She wanted to freshen up, but it wasn’t possible until they reached Aunt Doreen’s. That wouldn’t be until much later tonight.

  “Mother, could I go to the ladies room?” Dena asked just above a whisper.

  “Take Susan with you.” It irritated her that Susan had to go everywhere she went. But she bit her tongue. She really needed to use the ladies room. Susan jumped up and followed closely not wanting anyone to step between them.

  Morning moved into afternoon with lunch being the same as yesterday: cheese and fruit. Dena wanted to go to the dining car again, but Mother said maybe later, which usually meant “no.”

  Dena tried to read. Loud voices filtered through the coach.

  “I wonder what those Japs think they’re doing; bombing their own?” someone said loudly.

  “They aren’t. They’re occupying Hainan and blocking the Britain concession at Tientsin. Roosevelt is renouncing Japanese trade agreement of 1911, while Britain and France recognizes Franco’s government,” another voice spoke with such authority Dena wondered as she listened. Wh
y would the Japanese want to do that?

  “Well, all I can say is Roosevelt was right in recalling the ambassador in Germany. That’s a mess!” Dismayed, Dena looked back at her book, not seeing the page. However, she noticed that Susan seemed engrossed in her book.

  “Is your book good, Susan?” she asked, hoping to disturb her sister.

  “Why yes, it is,” Susan answered. “It’s that new novel, The Yearling. You must read—”

  “Mother, what time is it?” Dena cut off her sister, clearly ignoring her suggestion. She didn’t know Susan had a new book.

  Most of their books came from the library. Besides she was bored and maybe she could look behind her.

  “I’m not sure, dear. Just a minute—let me see,” Mother squinted at the large clock located just above the door at the end of the coach. Dena turned around to look: four thirty p.m.

  “It’s four thirty, dear,” Mother answered. Dena nodded, seeing the young man sitting between her and the clock. What’s his name? Jack. Yes, it was Jack Smith. She thought that was his last name. He grinned. She half-smiled before dropping her eyes and turning around. Watching, Mother nodded her approval. “It won’t be long. Maybe we can go to the dining car for supper.”

  “Really, Mother?” the girls spoke in unison. They looked at each other and laughed. Mother continued working on her needlepoint.

  “The scarf you’re making really looks nice, Mother. I’m sure Aunt Doreen will like it,” Dena said. Susan nodded without really looking. Her eyes barely left her book. Dena stared at the book on her lap. It was her favorite book of poetry, but she couldn’t concentrate. She turned back to the window, squirming slightly. The spring wouldn’t heed, and she was numb from sitting so long. Thirty-six hours felt like an eternity.

  ***

  Around five thirty they went to the dining car; it was crowded. Dena looked around the room. She was hoping they would find a good seat. A sandwich sounded good. Dena pulled her lower lip in and ran her tongue back and forth, wetting it.

  “Come this way, madam.” The maître-d ushered them through the crowded room to a small table near the other end of the dining car—one that Dena hadn’t seen from the entryway. It was perfect. She could readily study the other passengers. Susan watched too.

  “May I recommend the special: cold meatloaf sandwiches with lemonade and potato chips?” After the waiter, noticed Mother’s puzzled look, he explained, “They’re called potato chips but are really home fries which are thinly cut and fried.”

  “I think that sounds good, don’t you?” Mother looked at each of the girls. They nodded. Dena was sure the meatloaf wouldn’t be as good as Mother’s.

  Dena and Susan looked around the dining room until Mother scolded them for being so obvious. Susan giggled when a gentleman who was trying to entertain his lady friend, hit a passing waiter. The waiter’s tray flew out of his hands and onto the floor with a loud clatter. His lady friend wasn’t amused.

  A few minutes later their meal came. Along with the sandwich, which sported thick slices of homemade oat bread, was the new food called potato chips. Also there was a dilled pickle and cookie. Mother beamed. She reached for and clasped each girl’s hand, bowing her head, and quietly thanked God for their food. Dena quickly picked up her pickle and munched while she observed the crowd. She felt someone watching her. She stiffened her back before turning slightly and glancing to her left.

  “Uh, Jack’s watching you, Dena,” Susan huskily whispered, picking up half of her sandwich and taking a bite.

  “How do you know he’s not watching you?” Dena hissed. She detested her sister when she said things like that. She sounded so superior. Unrelenting, each sister transfixed her eye on the other. Mother interrupted in a low but firm tone.

  “Girls.”

  “It doesn’t matter if he’s watching me. I love Grant,” Susan came back, sticking out her tongue. Dena made a face. Grant indeed. For as long as she could remember Grant and Susan had been friends, and now they were going steady. It was always Grant.

  “Girls!” Mother’s firm tone brooked no further discussion. Dena eyed several service men passing by. In fact, she realized, they were everywhere. She leaned over and asked her mother in a low voice, “Are we at war?”

  “No, dear,” her mother answered. “These young men choose to be in the service. Possibly so they can pay for their education or have a career.” Dena nodded.

  “Mother, could we take a drink back to our seats? I see other people with refreshments,” Susan asked. Dena shot her a withering look. She too, had considered asking.

  “Water will be fine. When we reach San Jose, we’ll have time for refreshments before driving on to Palo Alto.” Mother looked from one girl to the other. Dena’s face dropped. Not wanting Mother to see her disappointment she quickly led the way to their seats. Watching her mother put the finishing touches on her needlework and tie off the ends, she considered the elegance in her mother’s stature. Mother had made a special point to quietly thank the waiter for the cookies and press a tip of a few coins into his hand. Dena saw the maître-d’s face light up.

  ***

  Dena checked the large clock: six forty-five p.m. It won’t be long now, maybe another hour or two. She gazed out at the landscape, which continued to change. It was so different from Colorado farm country and yet the same. Somewhere the train crossed into California. She continued to look out the window, wanting to see everything there was to see about California before the sun set. The horizon shone in red and orange, followed by purple with blue hues before it disappeared. There were small shrub-like trees scattered in the grass and flat, very flat.

  “San Jose. Next stop San Jose.” The conductor belted out as he walked through the coach. Dena gasped. How did I miss Los Angeles? It must have been one of those many stops the train made, or maybe the train passed through it while we were in the dining room.

  The train started braking and slowing. Steam exploded up the side. People gathered up their bags and hurried toward an exit. Finally, the train jolted to a stop. Steam continued to billow up. Dena lost her balance and fell back hard into the seat. Susan covered her mouth. Following their mother, they stopped on the platform and waited while Mother searched for their aunt. Dena scanned the crowd too, but she didn’t see anyone she knew.

  Chapter Three

  Slowly opening her eyes, Dena shook her head. She heard birds singing, cars speeding by, and laughter. A faint snore came from the mound next to her. Pushing herself up on her elbow, she saw Susan. Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes and looked around. Where am I? This isn’t my…. Ah! Yes! I’m in California!

  Dena examined every detail in the room. It was lovely, papered in light pink and dotted with small white flowers. Sitting in front of a large five-drawer chest, she spied her trunk and their suitcases. She laughed out loud.

  “Susan!” she whispered, shaking her sister by the shoulder. Why she was whispering? “Susan, wake up!”

  “Mmm.” Susan groaned and covered up her head. “Go away.”

  No matter, she would explore without old sleepyhead. She hurried to her suitcase and picked out a light green cotton skirt and matching shirt. Swiftly she slid into them and brushed her hair. Finding a pair of summer shoes, she slipped into them and hurried out the door. It slammed.

  Aunt Doreen had picked them up at the depot in her new 1939 Black Packard Coach. As soon as they arrived at the house, Polly, Aunt Doreen’s cook, had ice cream and ice tea waiting. She was surprised that her cousins weren’t present.

  Reaching the top of the stairs, Dena started to take two steps at a time. Silently she heard her mother’s voice scolding her,

  “Ladies never rush down stairs two at a time. Walk.” Scowling, Dena slowed down to a walk before she reached the main floor. She disliked those teachings. Stopping on the lower level, Dena went looking for her mother. Dena hurried toward the opened double-doors where she heard voices.

  “Oh, there you are, dear,” Mother said warmly
.

  “Good morning, Mother.” Dena smiled at the other woman, who was a smaller version of her dad. “Good morning, Aunt Doreen.”

  “Would you like some coffee?” Aunt Doreen held the coffee pot. She motioned for Dena to sit.

  “Yes, please.”

  “Your mother and I were just planning to go to the department store to find beach apparel. Then perhaps tomorrow we will go to the beach.”

  “That sounds great.” Dena nodded, looking over the food.

  “I need to go back to work next week. The university will start preparing for the fall term, and since I’m one of the dean’s secretaries, I need to be there. But we’ll have this week to spend together.” Aunt Doreen continued. “Emily’s working at the university cafeteria this fall. We probably could get Dena a job there too.”

  “I have a certificate in advanced typing and one in office procedures,” Dena said between bites.

  “You do? That’s wonderful!” Aunt Doreen turned to Mother, “Judith, you didn’t tell me. Dena can apply for a typing position at the college typing pool. The hours will be better, as well as the pay.”

  “Did Walter or Lawrence not tell you?” her mother asked.

  “If they did, I forgot,” Aunt Doreen said, smiling at Dena.

  “Well, hello, sleepyhead.” Everyone looked toward the door. Susan grinned sheepishly. She wore a pale blue cotton dress and had tied her dark hair back with a blue ribbon. “Would you like some breakfast?”

  “No cheese or fruit please,” Susan answered. Aunt Doreen looked puzzled. But, Mother and Dena laughed. Mother said, “It’s an inside joke. I’ll tell you later.”

  “What’s wrong with telling Aunt Doreen now?” Susan asked. Not waiting for an answer, she turned to her aunt, blurting out, “Mother brought fruit and cheese on the train for us to eat as well as jars of water.”

  “Why, Judith, how clever of you. I’m not sure I would have considered doing that,” her sister-in-law remarked. The girls looked confused.

  ***

  Within the hour, the four women were on the bus riding to the business square. Dena didn’t see how far they had gone because was too absorbed in her new surroundings. This was her new home. Susan leaned over looking out.