RUNAWAY ROSE
Chapter Seventy
May 19, 1917
Rose trudged slowly down the dusty road, her floppy
straw hat pulled low over her face to keep the noon sun away. Although it was
only mid-May, the Southern California weather was hot and dry, the brush and
grass along the road already seared yellow and brown by the late spring heat.
Rose paused in the shade of a tall cottonwood
tree, its fluffy white seeds still floating in the still air. Leaning back
against the tree, she pulled out her canteen and took a long drink.
It was only a few more miles to the next
town. The small towns of inland Southern California were a day or two apart,
built by people set on finding their own space but remaining close enough to
their neighbors to see them a few times a year. A few cars could be found in
the towns, but the chief mode of transportation was still horse and wagon. Most
of the streets of the towns were not yet paved, making them muddy in winter and
hard and dusty in the summer.
She had been drifting from town to town since
she had left the Henke ranch in late February, sometimes staying and taking a
job for a time, but always moving on again. She didn’t know why she felt she
had to keep moving, but it was as though something were calling her, making her
restless and dissatisfied wherever she was. Most likely, she thought, it’s
my own memories driving me on, not allowing me to stay in one place long enough
to settle in or to get to know anyone. No matter where she had gone, or
where she had settled, it had always turned out badly, and she invariably
succumbed to the urge to move on before anything could happen again.
She had first gone to San Diego, taking a job
as a waitress. It had lasted two weeks. Then the restlessness overcame her
again, and she had quit her job and traveled on, slowly making her way
northeast. Where she was going, she didn’t know. She knew what the next town
was, but she never knew if she would be inclined to stay for long. People
regarded her suspiciously when she came into town; she was a vagabond and a
woman alone. More than once, she had been encouraged to leave as soon as she had
arrived, and would stay only as long as she needed to buy the supplies
necessary for her to continue her idle wanderings. She had little money left,
but it didn’t really matter. Sooner or later, she would find another job, would
stay long enough to get the money she needed before departing.
Jobs were easier to find these days, since
the United States had entered the war in Europe and many of the men were being
called away. Someone had to take the jobs they were vacating, and women
suddenly found themselves the breadwinners for themselves and their families.
Rose had taken on several jobs that once would have been considered the
province of men, including bartending in Temecula and planting potatoes in San
Jacinto.
San Diego...El Cajon...Lakeside...Ramona...Warner
Springs...Anza...Temecula...San Jacinto...the list of towns she had passed
through went on and on. Some were nice, a few hostile, but none tempted her to
stay. She had bypassed some small towns, not wanting to face the residents’
suspicious looks and condemnation. The most recent town she had passed through
was Perris, where she had stayed for the duration of the alfalfa festival,
taking the opportunity to earn a little money by entertaining the revelers by
singing, dancing, and acting out short one-person skits and monologues. She had
earned enough money to continue on her way, having little desire to stay in the
small, dusty farming town where she was subject to suspicious looks and close
watching by the city police. Once the festival was over, she had continued on
her way, heading northwest now.
Rose tucked the canteen back into her
rucksack and straightened, slinging the pack over her back again. Just a few
more miles and she would be in Riverside, one of the larger towns in the region
and the county seat. Maybe there she would find work and be able to convince
herself to stay for more than a few days, more than a week or two. She had
heard that it was a beautiful town, and as civilized as many of the larger
towns and cities.
Sighing, she stepped out of the shade of the
cottonwood and continued down the rutted dirt road. She was tired of wandering,
tired of not knowing where her next meal was coming from. A part of her wanted
to take a job and settle down, to stay in one place for more than a little while.
But a bigger part pushed her to keep moving, to keep roaming. She didn’t know
what it was, or why she was so driven; she didn’t know when she would stop. She
had wanted to head out for the horizon, but the horizon kept stretching
endlessly before her, luring her on and yet leaving her dissatisfied.
But she didn’t know what else she could do.
She had been pushing on, seeking that elusive horizon, since the day she had
left Cal at the altar. She had run from danger, from her past, from a world
that seemed too small and yet too overwhelming. Most of all, she had run from
herself, from her fears and memories and guilt, from the things she could never
forget or overcome.
The next town would be like the last, and so
would the next, and the next...she would keep running, keep traveling, until
she found that elusive peace she had sought for so long, a peace that could
only come from within herself.
The rattle of a wagon and the sound of a horse’s
hooves interrupted Rose’s thoughts. Turning, she saw the cloud of dust that
announced the wagon’s location, moving slowly in her direction. Stopping, she
waited, waving when the wagon came into view in hopes of hitching a ride for a
ways.
The wagon came to a stop, the driver calling
to the horses and pulling on the reins. Rose stepped forward to ask for a ride—and
stopped, shocked, as she looked into a face that she had never thought she
would see again.