Girtha Rising — Part 9 — Crowning Glory
This story is a narrative reconstruction inspired by family history, place, and imagination.
1952, 7220 SE 84th Ave Portland, Oregon,
The new machine was the best invention ever! Girtha marveled at the ease of setting the numbers, pulling the lever and cutting checks for her busy contracting business. Lately her fingers went numb then throbbed as she wrote out payments to subcontractors and suppliers. Her office was an efficient organized place for her to work. Looking out the window Girtha was often comforted by the fully grown cherry tree in bloom.
She had worked all day with Frankie wallpapering a new rental unit. They were a good team. The years together on the women’s welding crew at Oregon Shipbuilding Corporation had taught them to work smoothly together. Wallpapering, painting and cleaning were a stroll down easy street after shift work in the shipyards.
Frankie had finally divorced Jack. She wouldn’t talk about it, just sighed and smoked too many cigarettes. A hard look was settling around her daughter that troubled Girtha. She knew Frankie struggled to make ends meet, but she was often too proud to let Girtha help her out.
“Awww mama, you already do for me too much. You’d pay anyone else far less than you’re giving me.”
“Let me buy the girls saddle shoes anyway. Something good and sturdy that will last the school year.”
“Mama, they don’t want clunky old fashioned shoes. The girls want penny loafers.”
“Say, if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride!”
“Mama, we are not beggars!”
Frankie’s reluctance didn’t stop Girtha from taking her grandchildren to Meyer & Frank’s to dress them sensibly. The children knew she would give in and include a new frock or ribbon if they teased or sang silly songs. She would glimpse Edgar’s infectious twinkle through her grandchildren’s eyes and would have bought them the moon and stars to keep that shine going a little longer.
Twilight lingered outside of the office windows. She sorted her papers, tidied the desk, and made a work list for the upcoming week. The lot on Flavel Street was just outside the city limits, she wouldn’t need a Portland City permit to set out the trailer park or the laundry building she had in mind. With a few adjustments to the layout, each of the sites could have room for growing roses or a few tomatoes. Most of the filbert nut trees would be lost when the big trucks came to put in roads, but she could save a few to harvest for baking cookies.
Girtha was certain a laundry shop facing Falvel Street, anchoring the trailer park would be a money maker. Families always needed a place for washing up. She had carefully inspected the new self-cleaning washing and drying outfit on 82nd Ave. It was fine, but hers would have windows. Wash day was dreary enough, welcoming in the sunshine could lighten the weary task. Her mama had struggled with washboards and wringers. She could still smell the nasty lye soap Fannie used to clean work clothes. She would have loved walking to a laundry house, using fancy machines, spending her day with companions sharing a tedious chore together.
Dark settled in as she worked on the numbers and checked her time line. The operation would be paid and making money in three to five years. If her calculations were right, this could be a significant long term return on her initial investment. She set aside her figures to discuss with Louis in the morning.
Marrying Louis Zeida was a sound business decision. After a year on her own, Girtha realized she needed a partner who could match her resources and ideas with physical labor and hard driving ambition. Louis had worked with Edgar at the shipyard. He attended the funeral services and paid his respects to the young widow after a decent period of time had passed.
“Is there anything you need Mrs. Blanchard?”
“I need workers, Mr. Zeida and I need a man who can lead a team of labors to build and repair rental homes. Can you help with that?”
Louis had been married and divorced. He worked full time at the shipyard and lined up odd construction jobs with his boys on weekends. It wasn’t love they needed from each other. They were partners, consulting on business investments and planning financial moves to make more money for other investments.
Girtha shut the folding accordion door to the office, turned out the lights and began retiring for the evening. As she sat in front of her three way vanity mirror, she glanced at the hat boxes filling every available chair in the room. Fur coats and tailored dresses spill from her closets. She removed the hair combs holding a stern bun in place and her glorious hair tumbled down.
Her single bed waits in the next room. She brushes her own hair. Lately, Frankie or Marcie ask if they can help. They notice her hands cause her pain more often. She shuts her eyes and begins to count. One hundred strokes. She breathes in deeply and Edgar’s presence enters again behind her in the soft lit room. She feels his twinkling bright blue eyes gazing down at her– smiling, cheerfully humming a lighthearted tune. She blinks tears from her eyes, opens them, hoping, praying, to see Edgar beside her again. Gazing into the mirror, she can see he isn’t there.
The song he left rises in her heart.
“Keep on the sunny side always on the sunny side, keep on the sunny side of life.”
She hums along with her memories, smiles at the ghosts and keeps counting brush strokes until the coal black hair rolling down her back shines in the darkness.
Series Navigation
←Part 8 — Oil and Water Don’t Mix
