|
Out of courage or necessity, women have often had to take their lives in their own hands and build the world they want for themselves and their children In Swallowing Sand, recalls such a life. This unusual book is fiction presented as the research of an academic interviewing Penelope Reilly, a one hundred year old woman, about the movement West. Pen, as she prefers to be known tells her story herself but it is punctuated by excerpts from her journal and letters from the time. The voice is always Pen, but she has changed in those years and not all of her memories in the present agree with what she said in her youth. Pen does not tell her story in linear time but it all comes together to create a whole that is moving and inspirational. Chapter V: Rusted Wheels and Iron Highways
It's hard for young people today to imagine what a mixed blessing the mechanical wonders of my day were. Why, now you just get on a plane, fly from one place to another and complain if there is turbulence in between. I don't really know how planes work but they aren't like trains in my time. Hell, neither are the trains. Mechanical wonders. Did you ever think what that means? Mechanical: things turning, pieces pulling and pushing against other pieces and all of them hard! As hard as the metal they were made out of. That's what it was like. After a few hours on that train I was ready to walk home. After a day and a half, I broke down and cried. Poor Nathan. He couldn't understand why his Momma was cryin'. But I hurt all over, tip to toe; just ached from the rattling. I thought I would die. For the last two days, I hoped I would die. And all this for a man who'd already up and left us and I had no idea if he'd be there when that god-awful rattling finally did stop. I don't mean to talk badly of Mr. Reilly. I can still recall the first time I set eyes on him. He was handsome in a way, if a bit overdressed to be standing outside the doors of the Emporium when Momma, Abby and I left that night. The night watchman, Bob Miller I think he was, came angrily around the corner, where he always watched our departure. He was a cautious man as night watchmen ought to be and kind of protective of his employers, us now that Pa was gone. Mr. Reilly held up his hand like a policemen gesturing to a carriage and Bob Miller obediently stopped, but he didn't return to the corner where he could see the approach to both the front and back of the building from the stool he had settled there. He watched politely from his stopping place, a few steps away from where Mr. Reilly stood looking at the three of us like we were expected guests at a ball. Bob Miller did not relax in spite of Mr. Reilly's smile. He watched and listened, a little more carefully when he heard the brogue of Mr. Reilly's speech, but our Momma listened too and she didn't seem to care about the brogue. Mr. Reilly offered us safety that night. He didn't keep that promise but I don't suppose it would be fair to blame him for that. The Lord knows he wasn't around long enough for anyone to feel anything but sorry. But, after the promise and the times he almost made it come true, it didn't seem fair-after my pa leaving like he did to search for gold-for Mr. Reilly to leave us to find silver. Momma turned our lives over to Mr. Reilly that night, and her youngest daughter over to him just a couple of years later. We thought he would be our future. It seems that having met his obligation to produce a son and heir and with the Emporium doing so badly, with all his money tied up in silver and his political future tied to that same metal… And I want you to know that I refrained from any kind of nagging on that score, in spite of the fact that I had seen it coming. With the all of our futures at stake, Mr. Reilly decided the best thing he could do was go west where he could join in the discoveries of silver that were being reported every day in the newspapers. Why should some rube who knew nothing about currency values or mercantile potential make his fortune off of this latest rush for mineral wealth, when a man like Mr. Reilly, who knew about silver, would know what to do with it? Something like that was what he said before he left. I know he didn't expect me to be taking Nathan to follow him when he went, but I never forgot how my pa never came back and I wasn't about to let that happen to me. Besides, things changed once he got to the west and thought he saw the future of himself and his family there. He sent a letter to ask us to come. I didn't feel bad about leaving. I would miss Momma and Abby, but Jason would soon be a grown man and it was time he took responsibility for the family. May 30, 1895 I suppose it was the hurly burley of my life with Mr. Reilly, the arrival of our son, Nathan, and all else that has happened, but I find I have once again neglected my plan to record my life as it has happened. On packing for this trip, though, I placed my book with those things which were to accompany us on our journey. I realize now that I thought this might be the most important experience of my life and that I wished to record this experience if no other. Only time will tell if I was right. The train trip:When Mr. Reilly sent word that it was his desire to have his wife and child join him in the wild-west because he had decided to relocate there permanently, I will admit I was not very enthusiastic. My poor momma gasped when I read the letter, and did not speak for several hours. I know she is concerned for me, but her most immediate concern was for Jason. He has little training in the management of the business, and, though Mr. Reilly has washed his hands of the affair, I have continued to take care of the accounts in his absence-I believe we all expected that My Dear Husband would soon be disillusioned by the promise of riches and return to his well managed home and family. Though my own father never did return from the western gold fields, I choose to think it was some unavoidable circumstance that kept him away. I believe this was on Momma's mind as well, when she heard that letter. She had been very nervous after Mr. Reilly left to investigate the silver strike in Nevada, but he had little choice, as he explained himself. The shopping emporium was failing and Mr. Reilly's other business interests had suffered from the economy as well. There were creditors at our door and that was unacceptable to a man of Mr. Reilly's standing. The fact that he rescued the Gottsman family from a similar state more than fifteen years before, only made Mr. Reilly's concern more intense. My father, Mr. Gottsman, inherited the shopping emporium as a small dry-goods store and Jason is at the ready to point this out to me now. It is true that the shopping emporium is part of Jason's legacy as a Gottsman. It is also a part of my own life and that of my husband Mr. Reilly. That he went off to the silver fields was the result of circumstances not of his making. I must also admit, if this is to be an honest account, that I was not inclined to rush forward with my plans to join my husband in his new life. Nathan stood alone in his excitement over the idea of "Red Indians," buffalo, and the silver fields. This son of mine could not contain his excitement and was constantly begging to be taken into the store that he might find all of the gear he imagined he would need for the trip. Nathan's preparations served for some time as a reasonable delay, but, at last, I found myself bound to name a date for my departure. In truth, Jason was ready for us to leave, having convinced himself that he knew all that was needed to make a success of himself in mercantile. I have my doubts that this will work out as readily as he claims but am in no position to argue with my Baby Brother on this point, since his efforts were meant to facilitate the departure that I have stated, and truly believe, is my duty. We left amidst the bustle of a normal Sunday in Philadelphia, right after church, or it seemed so since there was no time to go back for Sunday supper. We brought our bags along to the service, in the back of the carriage, and did not go home afterward, but drove directly to the 11th Street Station. Jason drove and then carried our baggage into the station for the red cap to take. They were quite a challenge for a slight young man-boy such as Jason is. My poor mother could not come inside, distraught as she was about my leaving. How could I not go? Mr. Reilly is my husband and I would be by his side no matter what. I was raised to be a good wife and that I will. Abby stayed with our mother; the saintly daughter, as always. It seemed a long wait, there on the platform, but I am certain that it was not. Jason was unusually punctual in planning this event. When the train rolled slowly up to the assigned place, Nathan tugged at my arm and wanted to run along beside it in his excitement. I held firmly to his hand. It would not do to have our new lives begin with heathenly behavior and this was a Sunday afternoon in spite of the extraordinary occurrences in our own lives. I did not allow a single tear to show, though they were there, right under my eyelids and, if I had been alone and where no one could see, I might have cried as much as a bucket full. Jason settled us in our seats, gave Nathan a firm pat on the arm and a manly "take care of your mother," before kissing me on the cheek like a stranger and departing for the platform, the carriage, and home. It almost seemed as if he were glad to be rid of us, but after all of the problems Mr. Reilly's western adventure had already caused, I suppose it is not unreasonable for him to resent my leaving as well. (I would never voice such a disloyal thought before anyone, certainly not to Jason or Mr. Reilly, but these are only my private thoughts, hidden here in my own little book where no one else can see.) As for what we said to each other and to those whose concern it was, Jason expressed only his pleasure at having full control of his father's legacy to himself, and I my happiness at the opportunity to join my husband in the building of a new territory which might, someday, be as grand as our own beloved Pennsylvania. Nathan was excited beyond words, beyond my ability to control his twisting and jumping. One moment I would have him seated and apparently calm, and the next he was standing to see out the window, though, as yet, there was nothing to be seen except the other passengers gathered on the platform and the trains awaiting their turn to pull forward and gather up waiting travelers. I looked, too, I must say. Where are they all going? I wondered. Not all to the west, I imagined. But there was as large a throng as I had seen in any public gathering save the World's Fair, which attracted many more than I could have counted. It made me feel, somehow, that our departure was not so lonely. In a short while, the train began to lurch, not move, exactly, just an awkward rocking, and a very large Negro in a neatly pressed white uniform, the porter, came down the aisle between the rows of seats asking for our tickets. When he stopped at our seats he looked questioningly at me for a minute, as though he wanted to ask why a young wife would be alone with her small son on such a trip as this. He said nothing, except the expected "Good day, mam," and went on to the next row of seats. Before he had gone much beyond us, the train began an honest forward movement and Nathan was caught off guard and thrown back into the seat from which he had jumped only a moment before to see a train on the next track move by. He laughed with some good nature but it occurred to me that it would not be as pleasurable for him in a few hours, and of course it was not. It seemed that it took only minutes before we were away from Philadelphia. I wanted to hurry to the back of the train and watch as long as it took for it to disappear, but held myself in place, pretending interest in the trees and fields that Nathan saw with such novelty and enthusiasm. It was not very long before there was nothing of my beloved Philadelphia outside those windows, and the few signs of habitation that could be seen at a distance only made it seem farther away. Some time later, at the first stop, I thought that I could debark, find transportation home and write to Mr. Reilly that the trip was not advantageous at this time. By the firmest act of will, I did not. I believe the first day and night were the hardest. Our accommodation was adequate but, our means being modest these days, not extravagant. Not to imply complaint: the seats were hard. Yes, even beyond firm, and after only a few hours I began to have the most uncomfortable pain in my back and hips. As the train wobbled and jerked along, each movement was a jolt that caused me to wince visibly. The porter was very kind and asked after me several times, but there was nothing for it but to endure with as much grace as I could manage in the circumstance. Nathan was unaffected, as children often are, by these discomforts. In spite of this advantage, he did not enjoy the trip more notably than I. After his initial enthusiasm, his mood turned to boredom and restlessness, and the child was ready to embrace each and any town where the train would stop just to end the thing, long before our trip was finished. These towns seemed so desolate, lined up to face the railroad, welcoming what little it has to offer to these lonely gatherings. When the first day ended, the sun set abruptly and we were plunged into a deep dark. The sides of the carriage were hugged by the cuttings made in the hillsides for its passage, an oppressive embrace. We were surrounded by this dark, which was only occasionally broken by the dim lights and sparking smokestack of some nearby factory. In an odd way I found these signs of civilization comforting, and tried to imagine the pleasant life of the workers and factory owners. Nathan collapsed, at last, sprawled across my lap in exhaustion. Both he and I awakened with the dawn. I had drifted off to sleep some time in the night and my hat and hair were disheveled and unpresentable. I did with them what little I could in the circumstance and sat as straight as my poor, sore back would allow so no one would mistake us for vagrants, or drifters, or worse! I looked out to see a rosy hued sunrise behind us. It was beautiful, but we were going away from that and away from everything else in the world that was wonderful. I will admit that I was deeply affected by despair. My feelings of gloom were not helped by our layover in Chicago, which we reached shortly after dawn. It is a large city but badly affected by the smell of slaughterhouses, by the rough manners of its inhabitants, and the terrible wind that seems to blow incessantly, distributing the odor of the stock yards far and wide. We bought inedible bread and sliced meat from a vendor and choked it down in spite of the odor and the grit from the wind. Our basket, which Abigail packed with all good intent, barely lasted us through the first day, so I purchased a half loaf and some apples from another vendor to take back to the train with us. Late on the third day we arrived in Denver. The height was quite dizzying and the layover of three hours in this town, which seemed almost a metropolis after most of the small bergs we had stopped in since Chicago, was something of a relief. We found ourselves in a bright, clean, stone and sandstone structure, a modern terminal, almost a rival of our own 11th Street Station. The terminal structure is built in three sections. The central section burned in 1894. It was quickly rebuilt and was newly opened upon our passage. The middle section is three stories tall with high, arched windows and is the main entrance for trains, and the principal impression of the station. Nearby was a manufacturing district, but we found a small restaurant that sold sandwiches made from thickly sliced bread and slabs of fresh meat and had our first real meal since finishing the food we had carried in our traveling basket. I will admit that this helped to lighten my spirits which had sunk to new lows as I watched the flat, open country roll past. It was in Denver that Nathan and I saw our first Indian. They are a shorter, stockier people than I realized from pictures I have seen, but noble in the way one would expect of a people who have lost all else. I know that Reverend Harper has said it is God's Will that we inhabit this land because those savages have done nothing to develop or expand its wealth, but there was something in his eyes, this Indian dressed in white man's clothes with his hair chopped raggedly about his ears, something that made me think that he was human. I tried not to stare and to stop Nathan from running toward him with a stick he pretended was a rifle but to no avail. I think he may have been used to this treatment, because he moved but little and made no attempt to avoid us or to leave. Like a beaten dog, I thought, and wondered if this red man had really given up as a dog might, or if he was somehow waiting until we were less vigilant. A strange thought I know, but there was the straight back and unmoving face to make me suspect that there was much one could never know about such a being. |
