The June sun bakes the sandstone building as I exit on the last day of class at Leland Stanford University. The school year has ended, and maybe the university, too. Earlier this week, Leland Stanford himself passed away after being ill some months. My studies last year in the sciences, and this year in English, have passed the time but not fired my passion. I toss my book satchel over my shoulder as I head for the train station.
A couple of women, dressed entirely in black, pass me and head down the wide sandstone steps. I know they attended Mr. Fluegel’s English composition class with me. They nod and I nod back. No one smiles. In light of recent events, a somber mood has fallen over all of us.
Sighing, I walk beneath the graceful arched entry for the last time, and descend the steps. Looking back at the building, I critically inspect the half-circle arches and rectangular stone building. The sandstone and red tiled roofs are classic Spanish colonial. It’s a style becoming common in California because it complements the bright blue sky. I appreciate a design element that takes into account the environment. I wonder if I will ever be given the opportunity to create something so grand.
I turn away and stroll past a scattering of other women and the family members who have come to collect them, crossing the road to a grassy oval. As the late morning breeze plays with the ribbon on my somber hat, I recognize my three-year-old niece racing to greet me, her face shining. “Eva, what a surprise!” I kneel down to hug her sturdy body, looking over her shoulder for my sister. Sure enough, Nina and Papa are walking over in a proper sedate manner. I stand and take Eva’s hand. She’s quiet now, her exuberance replaced by the realization that she really doesn’t know me well.
“Surprise!” Nina calls. “Henry, Eva and I came up to San Jose on the train to visit. Henry stayed at the house with Fannie and the boys, but Eva and I came on with Papa to collect you.”
“I needed collecting?” I ask. “I’ve ridden the train home from university alone these two years!”
“Oh, don’t get prickly, Emily!” Nina scolds. “It’s an adventure for Eva. We had lunch at the Stanford Inn.” Her eyes slide to Papa and her smile fades as she buries her face in her daughter’s hair.
Papa’s face is grim. “Are you ready to go, daughter?”
“Yes, Papa.”
He nods and turns to walk at a brisk pace in the direction I was heading, toward the train station.
“We had lunch with Mr. Jordan,” Nina reports in a low voice. “He asked Papa why you are not enrolled for next term.”
David Starr Jordan, the president of Stanford, has been a friend of my father’s since he arrived in California to take the helm of the new university. “Did they come to a decision about why I am leaving university?” I ask dryly.
Nina laughs. “Well, they couldn’t ask you! Papa thinks the university can’t survive without Mr. Stanford. He believes Mrs. Stanford will bankrupt it in a year, but it sounds like Mr. Jordan believes Papa is making you come home. Papa didn’t let on he knew nothing of your decision, even though I think he supports it.”
“At twenty-six years of age, I would hope I know my own mind.” Our eyes meet and we laugh. As modern as my father thinks he is, he still believes a woman’s place is in the home. “You say Papa supports me leaving Stanford? Then why is he angry?”
My sister shrugs. “He thinks the university is doomed and won’t waste good money. He’s angry because you didn’t discuss it with him and let him guide you to a decision. I had to hear all about it on the train.”
In Nina’s eyes, I see questions I don’t want to answer. I change the subject. “Eva is getting so big, Nina. I wish you could bring her to see me more often.”
“I was surprised when she ran ahead. She’s usually shy with people she doesn’t know well.” She flushed. “And she should know her aunt much better.”
“She will,” I reassured her.” Kneeling once more to child height, I tell Eva, “It’s wonderful to see you again, sweetheart.”
At first I think she doesn’t hear me, but then she glances at me and smiles. She pulls away, tucks her chin into her chest, and runs to Nina, but that brief smile thrills me.
I stand up and walk in the direction of University Avenue. “Papa will be impatient. And I need to talk to him about my schooling. I’ve left it too long as it is.” Nina follows, holding Eva’s hand, and I ask, “So how is the cattle ranching life?”
“Cholame is in the middle of nowhere, but it’s home,” my sister says. Her eyes light up as she continues, “Henry works hard but he’s doing well. We have a snug house where the three of us are happy. I am beginning to teach Eva her letters. Eva, sweetie, can you tell Aunt Emily the alphabet?”
The little girl looks up and obediently says, “A. B. C. E. D.”
I laugh. “That’s very good for three.”
“She’ll be four in August. I think we’ll bring her to San Jose to celebrate. Fannie will set out the croquet. Maybe Eva can kick the balls around.” She smiles indulgently at her daughter.
My heart twists at the sight of my sister and her child. It’s not jealousy, really. I love Eva and sometimes would like to have a child of my own, but I cannot imagine giving up my dreams to focus on building a home and family. Since Nina’s wedding five years ago, I’ve dabbled in college at University of the Pacific and later at Stanford, studying English. It’s not what I want to do. I don’t want to teach, either. I want to attend California School for Mechanical Arts and learn to build houses. Papa supports education of his daughters as long as they study something he approves. He does not approve of women studying men’s subjects. So I rant inside while my exterior remains calm, and I wait for some sort of divine intervention to offer me an opportunity.
Papa awaits his daughters and granddaughter before heading along University to the station. As I prepare to leave this campus for the last time, my eyes return to the building behind us. No, I will never design anything so grand and imposing. I want to build homes that are warm and inviting, that nurture the spirit of the family within them. But first I have to go to school. I’ll never be able to get an architect’s license without some training.
The biggest obstacle to my dreams walks beside me to the station. Nina walks behind, keeping Eva close by holding onto her hand. My young niece will not be repressed and chatters away. It relieves the need for me to talk to Papa, although I know I must. By the time we reach the Southern Pacific depot, my nerves are shattered.
I pretend an interest in the vast empty field that is Palo Alto. I read somewhere that less than 100 people live here. University students keep the railroad busy, though. The train station consists of a plain room, heated only in the winter. As we approach, the southbound train pulls up, steam hissing and rods clanking.
We board the train and take our seats on the polished wooden benches. I get the window seat, with Papa on the aisle. Eva is across from me, and Nina from Papa, whose grey eyes have darkened like storm clouds. It is three and half hours to San Jose. I know I will not be strong enough to stay quiet the entire time. I will have to talk to him or find a way to endure his implacable accusing gaze. And why should I? I am twenty-six years old and well able to run my own life. I do not need a man, husband or father, to decide if where and what I should study. I sit up straighter, infusing my backbone with courage.
The train pulls out of the station and settles into its ground-covering rhythm. Normally the rocking of the coach and clacking of the rails soothes me, but today I push serenity away. Nina softly sings the Alphabet Song to Eva, who chimes in for some of the letters. Normally I would be amused, but I am, in spite of myself, tense with anticipation of Papa’s words. Will he ask me straight out what my plans are? I don’t think he will disown me before I get a chance to speak. He has not done so to Ed, who also disappoints him. Poor Papa! His firstborn son died as an infant. Edith is yet unmarried and didn’t even graduate school. Ed and I are disappointments. Waldo is sickly and Paul is young. Nina is the only one who has made a success of her life by marrying and having a family. That may not be my measure of success, but it is surely his.
The silence suffocates us as we steam through the summer-dry California hills. Papa must have the window open even though he sits on the aisle. The air is dusty from the fields and smoky from the locomotive. My chest tightens with the asthma that all four of Mama’s children have. Nina looks at me, then at Papa, but focuses on Eva, who is too young to be affected. Finally I realize I must tell my father of my plans, not wait for him to ask.
“I am not returning to Stanford in the fall, Papa,” I say in a clear, confident voice. I don’t quite manage to hold his gaze.
Unsurprised, of course, he fixes steely eyes on me. “What are your plans, daughter?”
“I would like to attend the California School for Mechanical Arts in San Francisco.”
He doesn’t react for a minute, just looks into my eyes. Is he trying to see into my heart? I stiffen every muscle in my body to avoid twitching.
“Have you applied to that school?” he asks.
“No, sir. I waited to speak with you.” Even I am not foolish enough to go ahead without his permission, even if it is not enthusiastically given.
“What course of study would you be pursuing?”
“I want to be an architect.”
My father has not achieved his social position by letting a facial expression give away his thoughts. In business, he achieves success for the same reason. I strive to imitate his neutrality.
“An architect is it now? What happened to your dream of teaching? Weren’t you going back to that?” he doesn’t sound angry, just amused. That seems worse.
I shake my head and look down at my hands clasped in my lap. “That was Nina’s dream, not mine.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see my sister’s lips clench into a thin line. Was she worried that Papa’s scrutiny would now turn to her?
Eva squirms next to me, kicking her feet in the air and letting them thunk against the wooden seat when they come down. Nina makes no attempt to shush her as we wait for Papa’s reply.
He nods and narrows his eyes. “An architect is rather a child’s dream, Emily. You know, the kind that will never come true?” He turns to Eva and a bright smile lights his face. “Eva, sweetheart, what do you want to be when you grow up?”
The little girl beams back at him. “A ballerina and a teacher and a artist!” She dissolves into giggles.
Papa turns back to me. “Or architect,” he hisses. “You are old enough to step out of the dream world, Emily. Your stepmother could use your help around the house with the boys if you no longer want to pursue your education. You and Edith can also assist with the entertaining. Or you can return to University of the Pacific and complete your studies of literature. There will be no further discussion about this school in San Francisco.”
“Yes, Papa.”
Can he hear my heart breaking? I turn my face as far away from him as I can, watching the landscape rush by and pretending interest in the sight while I focus on keeping my emotions from showing on my face.
I can see reflections in the window glass of people moving up and down the aisle. Some conversations, too low to be more than a buzz of voices, erupt into laughter or exclamation. These are people on their way somewhere. Many are probably Stanford students who plan to return in the fall, to continue their studies. Summer stretches ahead of them, a time to spend with family, to travel, to read for pleasure. For a college student, summer is a hiatus, a temporary ceasing of the bustle to move ahead. Summer is for recreation. During this season, a student’s brain recharges and their soul flourishes, allowing them to return to school in the fall refreshed and ready to work hard again.
Odd, when I think of those I know in the business world, like my father, they seem to have lost that sense of summer. The job takes over their whole world as they strive to improve something, to make it bigger or better, to make more money or win more customers. Some work seven days a week and never take a vacation. Surely their souls wither and their brains tire. The entire country should declare Summer and require everyone to step back and assess their lives. I wonder how many of them would come to realize their heart lies in a different place than where their livelihood or society’s expectations place them.
The silence among us three adults lengthens. Before long, Eva senses it and crawls on Nina’s lap. She falls into the instant slumber of childhood, her rosy cheeks and soft eyelashes melting my heart.
When the train pulls into the San Jose station with a hiss of steam and screeching of brakes, it lurches enough to rouse Eva. Papa helps Nina into the aisle, Eva in her arms. He offers me his hand, but I ignore it and gracefully rise on my own. The passengers’ conversations increase, laced with excitement that we have arrived. We disembark, and Papa goes off to see about the carriage.
Eva, now fully awake, fusses to get down. Nina holds her tight. I try to distract her.
“Eva, did you enjoy the train ride?” I ask her.
She makes a face. I don’t know if this indicates confusion, disgust, or happiness. She nods. “It was noisy,” she says.
“Yes, it was,” I agree. “Trains seem like they are alive, don’t they? They hiss and chatter and rumble.”
“Trains are alive?” Now she looks frightened.
Nina breaks in. “No, sweetheart, trains are machines. Aunt Emily is just teasing.” She bounces the child on her hip, her eyes on me. “Speaking of just teasing, what were you thinking of, telling Papa you want to be an architect? Isn’t he angry enough that you aren’t going back to school?”
“Nina,” I begin, but she’s not ready to listen.
“You’re twenty-six years old. Men have jobs and wives and families by that age. Yet you want a man’s career. Men will block you because you are a woman, and because you are too old. What twenty-four year old architect will want an inexperienced apprentice that is a woman and older than he is? All you’ve done is anger Papa and push him away. Hasn’t he been distanced enough from his girls?”
I wonder if Nina realized how odd her words sound in the child-calming cadence she uses to soothe Eva. At the end of the platform, I spot our carriage. Ed stands next to it, listening to Papa. “Nina, I don’t want to argue about this. I know what I want. It has taken a long time for me to stand up and be firm about it, that’s all. And how would you know about Papa’s distance? You haven’t lived at home for five years.” My tone accuses even though I really don’t intend it to.
“Edith writes letters,” she says, rushing her words as Papa approaches. “You might try it sometime.”
Stung, I turn to smile serenely at Papa. I accept Ed’s warm hug, but my heart wraps itself around Nina’s words. I assumed my sisters would support me. They should understand, but it seems not all women want to break the mold society has locked them into. I watch my sister pointing and exclaiming at the birds perched on the station roof for Eva’s benefit. She is entirely caught up in her daughter and her husband. I always assumed that somewhere deep inside she longs for the teaching career that fired her passion. Could I be wrong? Or does my sister hide it even from herself?
“The carriage awaits,” Papa says with his usual economy of words. Never have I heard him say ‘Wonderful to see you’ or ‘Are you having a splendid day’ like some of the men of my acquaintance, and I don’t remember the last time he hugged me as my brother has just done.
We walk to the carriage. Ed picks up the crop and leaps into the driver’s seat. Papa frowns, but apparently he’s already had this conversation with his son. He and Nina, with Eva, get into the carriage. Impulsively, I gather my skirts and climb to the high driver’s seat next to Ed. I can’t face another minute enclosed with disapproval.
Ed laughs and tips his hat to me. “Home, milady?”
It feels good to laugh back at him. While my soft brown curls lay tight against my head, his are wild. They twist in every direction as if trying to leap from his head. His green eyes dance in reflection of my own, and my heart lightens.
The late afternoon sun smiles down on us as Ed calls to the horse and we begin the last part of our journey home. The carriage rocks and jangles, creating a breeze that teases the curls escaping from my hat. From the train station, it is not far to downtown proper, and to our home on Third and Reed Streets.
“So where’s Carlo?” I ask Ed. Our usual driver should have picked us up.
Ed laughs. “Papa is so angry! Can I help it if I wanted to see my favorite twin a bit sooner?”
“Of course not!” He always makes me smile.
We approach the white Victorian that has been our home since Papa and Fannie moved to San Jose twenty years ago. Many hot summer evenings have been spent on this front porch, perching on a step with a glass of lemonade, reading a book or chatting with family and friends. My thoughts have been heavy, though, and my smile fades into a sigh.
“Em? What’s wrong?”
“I told Papa I’m not going back to Stanford for the fall term.”
Ed whistles. “And I show up with the carriage. Papa’s not having a good day.” He winks at me and I grin. No one keeps Ed’s spirits down.
He pulls up in front of the house where Carlo hurries to take the horse. Ed dismounts and helps me down. Carlo pales even further when my father gets out of the carriage. I can’t see Papa’s face, but I empathize with the driver. Ed squeezes my arm and goes over to make it better.
“Papa, it’s all my fault. I insisted,” Ed says.
I leave the men and turn toward the house. Eva has already run up the steps and now jumps back down them. No doubt she’ll race up and down again before Nina and I can ascend. The heavy front door opens, and Edith appears on the porch wreathed in welcoming smiles. She scoops up Eva and covers her face with kisses as the little girl giggles. Nina and I both smile as we hug our oldest sister. Fannie comes out then, her face smiling but her eyes searching for Papa. His heavy footsteps move faster as he approaches, and he enfolds Fannie in a very uncharacteristic hug. He even kisses her forehead. Ed and I have made this a very difficult day for Papa.
My family goes inside, but I linger on the porch at the top of the steps and enjoy the quiet. The heat of the day begins to dissipate from the air. In mid-June there is still a welcome coolness to the evening. As the sun sets, the relief of the dark spreads across the valley. A couple of hours of dusky daylight remain, but the families have gone inside.
“Emily? Are you coming inside?” Edith has come back outside to find me.
“In a minute.”
She joins me at the porch railing. “You told Papa about not going back to school.” I nod. “Did Nina tell you he knew already?” I nod again. “I’m glad you told him before he could ask. That showed courage.”
Smiling, I say, “Thank you, Edith.”
“He just told Fannie you want to be an architect.” She pauses, possibly waiting for my admission I was joking.
“That’s true.”
“Oh, Emily, why would you choose such a difficult path? If by some miracle Papa allows it, and you manage to be admitted, the coursework will not be easy. Your classmates won’t want to work with you. Even if you graduate, wherever do will you be able to work?”
I am too tired to defend myself to another family member. “You, too, Edith?”
“Don’t mistake me, my sister. I completely support your choice. I just want to make sure you understand the obstacles.”
She supports me. For the first time today, the anxiety clenching my heart eases. I feel tears choking my throat and building up behind my eyes. “Oh, Edith.”
She enfolds me in her arms, and I bury my face in her shoulder. A sister’s embrace supports me like the pillars of a tall building. Our shared strength gives me the courage to go inside and face my family again.
Edward Williams