By the time my family leaves Santa Cruz in 1905, I have acquired a brother, a friend, and an appreciation of the seashore. My father hates the town of his birth and eagerly accepts an offer to work for one of the Howard-Shafter dairies in Inverness. Coming from Santa Cruz in a horse-drawn buggy laden with family and worldly goods, we cross the tree-covered Inverness Ridge and leave the forest behind. The grassland stretches before us, doted with cattle and scattered ranches, and the air holds the tang of the sea which surrounds the point on three sides. The area reminds me both of Cholame and Santa Cruz, and I instantly feel at home. We settle in the tiny town of Inverness, near Tomales Bay, where my father builds us a house and begins work as a superintendent of farms, responsible for collecting rent from the tenant farmers.
The trio of gnarled almond trees in back of the house remind me of Grandma Van’s tree. I love the almond trees in all seasons, but spring is my favorite. The trees are covered in new leaves and tight buds that will open to masses of white blossoms that later fall like a warm snowstorm. The soft shirring of the breeze plays with the leaves and my hair. It is the perfect place to read and to dream. Today, as usual, I am flat on my stomach on the ground, my face in magazine, The Dial, sent by Aunt Emily from Pacific Grove. It has enough literary bits to keep Mama happy and enough stories to entertain me. The ground under my stomach is lumpy, and I shift position.
“Eva! Eva! A letter for you!”
If I didn’t know better, I would think a herd of horses gallops down the back steps of the house, but no, it’s just my brother, Carl. I hunch my shoulders and drop my head into the pages of my magazine, closing my eyes for good measure.
“Eva!” he bellows, leaning over to push me on the shoulder.
Whatever restraint was born into me as a lady of quality goes completely missing when I must deal with my six-year-old sibling. “What?” I snap at him.
“The postman brought a letter for you.” He bends in half as he speaks, his face inches from mine. His too-big overalls, already worn thin at the knee, show layers of dirt. His hair is the color of wet straw, and his hat is missing.
“I’m coming,” I tell him. Slipping The Dial into a pocket, I stand up and brush the apron that tries so valiantly to keep my dress clean.
Carl races back to the house, shouting for Mama and slamming the door behind him. The boy never learned to walk. He went straight from crawling to running. I follow at a more sedate pace.
Although I am not unhappy, I feel a certain disquiet that prevents true happiness. Mama blames the novels I love. She says they give me dreams of unattainable adventure and romance, and I should put them away and focus on things a grown up young lady needs to know. Father dreams more himself, and while he doesn’t encourage me, he doesn’t scold either. Entranced by the visions of the future held by Aunt Emily and Grandma Van, I still don’t see myself spending my life alone. And that’s where the dreams of romance come in.
I enter the house through the back door, finding Mama in the kitchen. Her asthma makes her breath raspy and her eyes puffy with spring allergies. “I’ve sent Carl to get his books. Open your letter, then we will start the afternoon lessons,” she tells me as she wipes the kitchen table.
“Yes, Mama.” She has resumed schooling me at home and started Carl on his letters. So far it seems an impossible task to teach the boy anything and at nineteen I have mastered what she can teach me. I spend my lesson time reading and discuss what I’ve read with Mama later.
I take my letter and examine the address. Pacific Grove. That means Aunt Emily! I hurry into the parlor to savor the letter alone. I slit the envelope. A newspaper clipping falls out, and I retrieve it as I read the letter.
My darling Eva,
I hope this letter finds you and your family well. Lil and I have been busy building wonderful homes in San Jose, Santa Cruz, and Pacific Grove, where we’ve just finished a tiny Lookout shelter for the Women’s Civic Club. I have enclosed an article cut from the San Jose Mercury and Herald. It is about me, written by my dear Lil! How I delight at her description of our work!
I scan the article. It is an editorial titled “Women as Architects.” Aunt Emily has circled a passage that reads: Miss Williams's houses have won her an enviable reputation...They are not only beautiful and artistic, but convenient, livable and planned to save steps and with places to put things. I smile and return to my letter.
I am writing to tell you that we are coming to Inverness to see you. Lil and I will arrive on the train next Tuesday. We are looking forward to spending a few days with your family before returning to San Francisco and boarding ship for a year abroad. I will share the itinerary with you when we arrive. Such wonderful sights we will see!
Looking forward to our visit,
Emily Williams
The idea of a visit from Aunt Emily and Aunt Lil thrills me and promises to enliven days of redundant activity. Inverness consists mostly of summer homes for those who live in San Francisco or Oakland. The nearby town of Point Reyes includes a schoolhouse, a train station, and little else of interest to me. Two years ago the Great Earthquake created such excitement that local people still exclaim over how it knocked the schoolhouse completely off its foundation, tipped a locomotive at the station over on its side, and shifted the land so straight fences curved across pastures. It was a terribly scary time, but over and gone, and the days stretch on like the grass on the peninsula or the ocean to the horizon.
I know my unease means I am nearing the time in my life when I must make a decision about my future. Children can dream, but women must act. Mama waits for me to tell her which of the local ranchers’ sons I fancy. My mind knows that is a practical option, but my heart is not ready to wither from practicality. I still want a knight to sweep me off my feet and carry me away. In the distant future, I see myself raising a family and working alongside a husband I love to create a home. I have not yet met that man.
Mama, too, receives a letter from Aunt Emily and the next few days bustle with preparations for the visit. I do laundry until my hands wrinkle and seem permanently damp. I trim the garden, and Mama fills the pantry with delectable food. Carl runs from Mama to me and back, shrieking. I don’t know if he makes noise because he is excited, or because he is Carl.
On Tuesday, the four of us stand at the Point Reyes train station and listen for the far-off whistle of an approaching train. Actually, three of us stand. Carl runs the length of the platform and back, his feet thundering on the wooden planks. Mama and I have nearly identical hats and light traveling coats. It is spring, so the sun warms through a chilly breeze.
The train arrives with screeching brakes, puffs of steam, and a shrill whistle. It crouches on the tracks, hissing and growling like a caged animal. Searching the passengers, I spot Aunt Emily and wave madly until she waves back and walks toward us, followed by Aunt Lil.
Aunt Emily is slightly built like Mama, which means my solid frame is most likely from my father’s side of the family. My aunt’s conservative dark hat and coat most likely hide a dress of vibrant color or pattern that will make Mama’s head hurt. Aunt Lil, too, is conservative only on the outside. She takes my aunt’s arm and they arrive together in front of us.
Aunt Emily’s green eyes sparkle as she reaches to hug me. “Eva, it seems like forever since I’ve seen you!”
Mama embraces her sister and nods to Lil. “Welcome, Emily, Lil. I hope your trip up from the city was uneventful.”
Lil nods. “It was fine, Nina, thank you.”
Aunt Emily grins with delight and produces two Hershey bars from her bag. “Look! They make them with almonds now!” She hands one to Carl and one to me.
I slip the bar into my pocket to savor on the way home.
My father greets the two women, then collects their luggage while Carl runs around and between us all. I am relegated to the role of child, forced to sit in the wagon with Carl while the four adults sit on the benches behind the horses. It is not far to our house, but I am unable to hear any of the adults’ conversation, and unable to entice Carl to silence until I unwrap his chocolate bar. I crunch my nut-filled chocolate and watch my brother smear his all over his face and hands.
Once home, the travelers collapse in weary relief while Mama sets out dinner, including vermicelli soup and a stew of radishes, pickles, pork, and parsnip. I know there is almond cake for dessert, so I save room and listen to our visitors talk with my parents.
“We leave from San Francisco later this month,” my aunt says of the trip, “heading for the Far East and Europe, anywhere we can study art and relax.” She smiles and puts her hand lightly on Lil’s arm.
“When will you come home?” Mama asks.
“We plan to be gone a year,” Lil says.
“A year?” In my dismay, the words slip out. They don’t visit often, but knowing I absolutely won’t see my favorite aunt for a year stuns me.
Aunt Emily hugs me. “I will write, my darling. Time will pass quickly, I promise.”
Maybe if you are traveling around Europe. At my house, time crawls like a garden snail. I hug her back and keep my thoughts to myself.
After dinner, Mama serves coffee in the parlor, banishing Carl, and Father leaves the women alone. Aunt Emily turns the topic of conversation to me.
“Eva is nineteen now, Nina. Have you thought about her college?”
Mama frowns. “Eva does not need to attend college.”
“I really wouldn’t know what to do at one,” I put in quickly. It’s true. I have no desire to be an architect like my aunt, or a doctor like great-aunt L’Amie was. I suppose I could teach. My dreams have always been about loving a man and raising his children. Aunt Emily and Aunt Lil don’t understand that, however. Grandma Van does, I think. I know that should a career suggest itself I would be able to pursue it with their support, but the world needs mothers as well as architects and activists and teachers. I would love to be a mother like Mama, married to a man who mirrors my soul.
“You’ve always been artistic,” Lil suggests.
I frown at the same time Mama does. “I guess so,” I say, not at all sure, “but my paintings never turn out well and I haven’t the patience to sketch details.”
Aunt Lil and Aunt Emily share a smile. My aunt says, “Maybe you will enjoy the present we brought, then.” She pauses, her eyes sparkling. “Since we will be abroad in August, it is an early birthday present.”
“Oh, how wonderful!” I exclaim, ignoring Mama’s glare.
There’s no putting it off then; they must retrieve the present from their traveling case. Laughing, Aunt Emily places it on my lap. I turn it every which way, overcome. It’s a Kodak camera. The leather case opens to reveal a Brownie Box. I’ve seen pictures of them in magazines.
“That’s to record impressions that move your soul,” Aunt Emily tells me. “You can take portraits of your brother and your parents if you want, but photography is becoming an art form. Be creative and experiment! And be ready to show me every one of your photographs when we return!”
“Oh, Aunt Emily, thank you! Thank you, Aunt Lil! This will be an amazing summer!” I jump up and rush to kiss each of them on the cheek.
“Make sure you take care of it, Eva,” my mother says. She knows nothing about art.
“Women photographers are gaining a name for themselves, too,” Lil says. “A few years ago, American women put on an exhibition of photographs in Europe. I hope we can still see some of it when we get there.”
“Women are making great strides everywhere,” Aunt Emily says.
“When can we vote? Grandma Van says I’m old enough now,” I tease my aunt, knowing she cares more for career than the vote. I’m sure she’d be excited about voting if an election was held that helped women pursue their desired career.
“There is more to life than college and voting,” my mother says. “Lots of women have full lives with husbands and children.”
Lil and Aunt Emily stare at her for a moment. Mama seems to be defending herself, which embarrasses me, even though she is right. Then she continues, and humiliates me, too.
“Eva might marry a dairy rancher. A lot of eligible young men live around here, and she knows her way around a ranch.”
The idea dashes romantic dreams from my head like a winter storm off the Pacific whips across the grass. I’m not a child any more, but I do still dream of a knight in shining armor riding up to take me away. I’m practical enough to realize he won’t be wearing armor or serving a king, but surely he’ll have more romance in his soul than a dairy rancher. I clasp my hands in my lap to prevent a shudder.
“Nina,” my aunt begins.
“Em, she’s Nina’s daughter,” Lil says softly.
“She’s my niece,” Aunt Emily declares. “I don’t suggest she attend rallies or become a suffragist, I just offer her the choice. It’s a new century, and she should be able to choose.”
My mother retreats into the guise of perfect hostess. “That’s very true, Emily. Would you like another cup of coffee? More almond cake?”
I excuse myself and leave the room, moving through the back door and down the steps. Dusk softens the line between shadow and sunlight, and the almond trees blur together. I lean on a sturdy trunk, the rough bark against my back. Behind me, the screen door squeaks and a light tread descends the steps. Aunt Emily puts her arm around me.
“The world is open to you,” she says. She’s told me this before, so I wait. “You know my sister Edith, then your mother, then my twin brother Ed and I were all born in different mining towns as my father moved around selling drinking water to the miners.” She pauses, but I say nothing. I know her history, but I sense there is more she wants to say tonight.
“My mother died when Ed and I were three years old. Fannie was a good enough stepmother. It wasn’t until I was older that she couldn’t mother me any more. She was completely unable to envision the life I wanted to live, so I left. Eva, you have a lot of people who love you and will support whatever you decide to do. Promise me that you will keep your mind open to all possibilities.”
All possibilities includes growing old alone, marrying a rancher, going to college, pushing for women’s rights as well as being swept into the arms of a handsome knight. “I promise, Aunt Emily.”
Eva VanValkenburgh, reading under the almond trees