27
Packing and Moving
Portland, 1934
The Great Depression may have ended Nellie’s career in the courts, but ample opportunity had presented itself elsewhere. Insurance firms like the American Fire and Casualty Company had taken a longer investment view, selecting stocks with more stable earnings. In her seventh decade, stability was more appealing than before. Her job in an insurance office, while not challenging, paid the bills and that was all right.
Most Saturdays, Nellie took the bus to Opal’s, and they shopped together, but today she sat at her daughter’s kitchen table while Opal wrapped dishware in newspaper and stacked them in boxes. Felix had succeeded in his campaign to move his little family to San Francisco. He wanted to be near his aging parents, who struggled to keep their Union Street art and frame shop open.
Something niggled at Nellie. “I thought you told me that Felix was French.”
“Well, they emigrated from Paris.”
“But Union Street, that’s the Fillmore district. Isn’t that the Jewish part of town?”
Opal pulled another coffee mug from the cupboard. She held it in her hand as if weighing the bulky piece of brown Buckeye Pottery, one of many mismatched pieces Felix had brought back from his travels.
“I don’t know; it might be.” She wrapped the mug and shoved it into the box. “We don’t talk about things like that. In this country, the Wolffs are just shopkeepers. Business people.”
“Well, you better start talking about it. The anti-Jewish sentiment in Europe could come to our shores.”
Opal froze. She turned to face Nellie. “Is that why you won’ t come with us? Because Felix is Jewish?”
Nellie drew herself up. Her left hand shook where it lay on the table, and her dark eyes glittered. “You know better than that. How could you say such a thing? I didn’t know until this moment that his family is Jewish.”
“Then why?”
Nellie slumped. She placed her right hand on top of her left to calm the bothersome tremor. Her voice shook.“Because I don’t want to be the old lady living off her daughter.” She fidgeted with a ring on her finger, a turquoise set in silver. “Someday it may come to that, but I’m not ready.”
Opal sat down at the table and reached for her mother’s hands. “I know, Mother, but please remember, you will always have a home with Felix and me if you need it.”
“Hmm.” Nellie pressed her lips into the barest of smiles and pulled her hand away. She pushed herself up from the table. “Can I help?” She carried her coffee cup to the sink, rinsed and dried it, wrapped it in newspaper, and set it in the packing box.
The two women worked together in silence for a moment, then spoke at the same time.
“Where did Felix take Jane?” Nellie asked.
“Have you gotten a postcard from Leone yet?” Opal wanted to know.
“Not a one.”
“Felix took Jane to the beach.” Opal glanced up at the clock and then washed her hands under the tap and began to make sandwiches.
Breathing hard, Nellie walked back to the table and lowered herself into a chair. “Do you have any idea where Leone is?”
The screen door rattled. Opal went to let the pawing tabby out and the eager spaniel in. The luscious scent of lilacs competed with the daily drama that played around Opal’s ankles—a hiss and a slap, followed by a yip and the clatter of toenails trying for traction on the floor. She continued to stand in the open doorway.
“I’m going to miss Oregon. We have been a family here. It will never be the same.” Opal drew in a deep breath, shut the door, and reached for a towel. Bending down to wipe the dog’s paws she said “But to answer your question, a postcard came last week. It didn’t say much. The postmark was Oceano. That’s about two hundred miles north of Los Angeles, I think.”
“Do you think she’s left Hollywood for good?”
Opal shrugged. “May have. She didn’t give me an address. I have no way of letting her know we’re moving. Maybe we’ll never see her again.”
“Not likely.” Nellie snorted. “What did she say?”
Opal pulled the card out of her apron pocket and handed it to Nellie. It was a black and white reproduction of a photo, a house set among sand dunes. Nellie looked at the image briefly and flipped it over. Her eyebrows inched up as she read aloud the one sentence scrawled across the back of the card. My oasis in beautiful mountains of sand. L. Nellie stared at the message for a long minute. Then she set it down on the table.
“That’s all she said? Her handwriting has gotten sloppy.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
“Looks like she spilled a drink on it. See here?” Nellie pointed to a dried splotch that had caused the signature to bleed into something unrecognizable. “I don’t think that’s tears. Whiskey is more like it.”
Opal hugged herself. “We know so little of her life. I don’t know what to think. She seemed so happy her first year, even after the accident. When she stopped writing, I figured it was because she’d gotten so busy.”
“You kept writing to her, didn’t you?“
“Of course, but six months ago my letter was returned. Someone had written No longer at this address on the envelope.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t want to worry you. I figured we would hear from her eventually.”
“And now you have. Opal, she is a young woman finding her way. She’s no different than you or me at that age.”
“You can’t say that. I wrote to you every week.”
“Until you got pregnant.”
“You don’t think she’s pregnant …” Opal’s hand went to her mouth.
“No. Not likely.” Nellie reached up and pulled Opal’s arm down. “Don’t cover your mouth like that. I can hardly hear what you’re saying.”
A car door slammed in the driveway. Sounds of sobbing filled the air, growing louder as footfalls approached the door. Felix burst through the door carrying Jane, who had a trickle of blood running down her leg.
“What happened?” Opal grabbed a cloth towel, wet it and hurried over to blot the blood on the child’s knee.
“Oh, she fell on a rock and got a little cut on her knee, that’s all.” Felix handed the girl over. “She’ll be fine.”
Jane cried harder, gulping air and gripping her mother’s neck tightly. Opal set her down on the kitchen counter. She extracted herself from Jane’s chokehold and gently examined the wound.
“It’s just a little scrape. Calm down now.” Opal patted Jane’s shoulder, and the red-faced, teary-eyed girl’s heaves settled into snuffles.
“I’m going now.” Nellie stood up and pulled on her sweater.
Opal wiped the child’s tears away with her hand and reached for a tin of Band-Aids she kept ever at the ready. As Nellie passed by mother and child, she reached around Opal and patted Jane’s uninjured knee.
“Buck up there, little lady. You have to learn how to take the bumps in life. There will be a lot of them.”
Jane wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands and sniffed hard. She glared at her grandmother and jerked her knee away.
Nellie touched Opal’s shoulder lightly. “And you stop worrying. Leone is a smart, talented girl; she’s one tough cookie. She’ll write to us soon enough. And when she does, she’ll have stories to tell.”