Chapter 11
“Now mind you,” Elsie said, “I’m not complaining, but how many showers can a person take before their skin is permanently pruned? And,” a worried wrinkle appearing between her eyes, “how long do you plan on holing up in this house, doors shut, and blinds pulled?”
“I’m sorry, Elsie. I’m abusing your hospitality.”
“Stop. You know darned good and well my house is yours for as long as you want it to be.”
“How does your husband feel about you giving refuge to a recent convict?”
“Bull tooey. Recent convict my foot. Do I need to remind you, you were exonerated?”
“No, but maybe you could remind the people interviewing me for a job. They take one look at my resume, get very interested and chatty, then say I sure have all the qualifications for the job. I’m just what they’ve been looking for. Uh, huh. Of course, they’ll have to check my references. I’m to call them in a couple days. But wait, there’s more. The polite response to my phone call—they’re sorry, but the position’s been filled. Seems they didn’t get the memo I was innocent.”
“Honey, the world’s full of narrow-minded bigots. Besides, one good thing came of it.”
“What’s that?” Hope asked with an incredulous look on her face. “What good could possibly come from having doors from job interviews and prospective landlords slammed in your face?”
“Brought you here, didn’t it?”
Hope gave a rueful smile. “Don’t think I’m not grateful, Elsie. I am. I just feel beaten down and kicked.”
“You should. You were.” She pushed a cup of steaming tea across the table to Hope. “Here, Mama always said a good cup of tea could cure most anything.”
“I miss her,” Hope said.
“Me, too. But, we’ve got each other. You’ve got me, Babe,” she sang in a waverly falsetto.
Hope laughed. “Don’t give up your day job.”
“Speaking of jobs,” Elsie motioned toward the classifieds section of the open paper in front of Hope, “anything interesting?”
“Nothing saying they’re looking for an over-qualified teacher with a criminal background.” She shrugged her shoulders and took a sip of tea. “My new specialty.”
“Oh, whaah, whaah. I didn’t know we’re having a whine and cheese pity party.”
“Now see what you’ve done?” Hope choked on the tea. “You’ve made me laugh, and I’d worked up a good head of steam. But all joking aside, Elsie, what am I going to do?”
“You’re going to go over that paper with a fine-toothed comb. Don’t look at the professional section. Even with you moving here, the background check will follow you. You know that. Instead, look through the general help wanted section. I don’t imagine they do background checks for housekeepers, waitresses, babysitters, etc. And one thing I know for sure, they’d be getting a mighty clean woman.”
“I’m stealing all the hot water, huh? I just can’t seem to wash that jail smell off me. I know it’s gone, but every now and then I get a whiff of myself, and I swear I can smell that small cell and my unwashed cellmate.”
“Then you’re off to the bathroom on a high lope.”
Hope nodded. “But, I’m improving. Only four showers yesterday. I’m aiming for three today, and my long-term goal is one a day.”
“Always nice to have goals. Hand me that paper.”
Hope handed the paper to her sister and thought again how different they were, from their looks to their personalities. She’d always been an over achiever. Elsie was content with what life handed her, especially her good natured, easy-going husband who adored her even after several years of marriage, and their small home. The fact it wasn’t filled with the patter of little feet was the only dark cloud on her horizon.
Elsie was pretty in a plump china doll way. She’d inherited their great-grandmother’s Dutch complexion and short, round body. Still, you couldn’t give her Dutch ancestry all the credit. A lot went to her love of cooking. Happiness to Elsie was whipping up a rich chocolate cake to accompany an equally delicious dinner. Usually the cake was topped with a generous scoop of ice cream.
Hope understood Elsie’s sweet tooth. She had one, maybe two, of her own. Chalk it up to a high metabolism or excess energy, the calories didn’t do the damage to her that they tended to do to Elsie. She’d taken after her petite mother, with her green eyes, raven dark hair, and perpetual tan complexion. There was a small amount of Sioux blood flowing through her veins, and it showed.
She and Elsie were a study in black and white. While they both were small-boned, Hope enjoyed the delicate frame topping out at five-foot two, weight hovering around one hundred five to one hundred ten—after a couple of Elsie’s rich desserts. And while Elsie was pleased with life, Hope was always searching for what had thus far been elusive contentment. It seemed her thoughts bounced from maybe I’d like to live there to I’d like to try that, or I want to vacation there, but maybe I should study that. They were thoughts that often left her unsettled and questioning.
Now she had this mess she’d made of her life to contend with. Hope sighed. Maybe Elsie’s right. Maybe the move to Dubois is just what I need. And, through no choice of my own, I’ll start a new career. I won’t miss teaching. I have little to no patience now. I might as well admit, I don’t think I was cut out to spend my days in an elementary classroom, looking longingly out a window, desperate to feel the sunshine on my face and smell something other than books and glue. And, I can’t see me pandering for tips. No, waitressing is out. Bar maid, too. While my bust is more than adequate for my frame, I’m not Hooter’s material. Maid? Yuck! Making beds, cleaning up after others who are vacationing in ‘Wide, Wonderful, Wyoming’? Not that there’s anything wrong with either profession. There isn’t. I’m just not maid or waitress material. Right now, I need isolation. I’ve been beaten down. And Elsie’s right. I can’t keep holed up in her home. I need the outdoors, fresh air, and a minimum of people to share it with.
“Elsie,” she interrupted her sister’s perusal of the classifieds.
“Any jobs in there for a sheepherder?”
“What? No. But there is one for a babysitter.”
“Wow. Let me snap that up,” Hope said sarcastically. “Why on that pay, I’ll be able to afford my own apartment when I’m,” she pursed her ripe lips, “sixty-seventy?”
“Oh contraire, my too-smart-for-her-britches baby sister. Your own apartment’s a part of the package deal with this job.”
“Huh?”
Elsie folded the paper in a small section and handed it to Hope. “Second ad under the general help wanted heading.”
Hope glanced at the written words, sucked in her breath, and read it aloud.
Looking for just the right person to assist in the care of a delightful little girl. Must like country life. References required. She stopped before reading the telephone number.
Tears pooling, she got up and started from the room. “They ask for references, Elsie. Maybe I could give the county jail as my last place of residence, and the judge that gave me such a scathing rebuke as a reference.”