A Distant Journey Read online

  ‘Indians,’ said Babs quietly. ‘That’s something you don’t see in Portland.’

  As she stood there with Joey, watching the Indians, a car drove by, slowing as it passed, its occupants giving her a curious look, then a nod and a smile. The graceful woman with sad blue eyes smiled back, then, swinging her son’s arm, she turned and they walked back to their apartment. In the distance glittered the glamorous town of Palm Springs, waiting there for them to discover.

  *

  The next day, after Babs had unpacked their belongings, she and Joey made their first foray into the swimming pool. Joey was beside himself with excitement and Babs spent quite some time with him, splashing and playing. When she saw Deidre Kramer coming over to the pool, Babs stepped from the water, still keeping a watchful eye on Joey, who was under strict instructions to stay at the shallow end.

  Deidre greeted Babs warmly. ‘I see you’ve made it into the pool.’

  Babs shyly returned her smile. ‘It’s wonderful. I never thought I’d be able to swim in a private pool like this. Joey is in seventh heaven. I hope he learns to swim properly quickly.’

  ‘I’m sure he will, if you bring him here every day.’ The two women settled themselves on the plastic sun lounges and Babs mentioned the Indians she and Joey had seen the previous evening.

  ‘They’re the local Agua Calientes,’ Deidre explained. ‘They tend to keep to themselves on their missions, even though they pretty much own the joint.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ Babs asked, keeping Joey in sight as she glanced at Deidre.

  ‘The Indians own all the land around these parts. They just lease it to us whitefaces.’ Deidre laughed and adjusted her sunglasses. ‘Say, did you hear that the Rat Pack have moved into Palm Springs? Frank Sinatra has built a beautiful home over there. I’m told his pool is shaped like a piano!’ Babs sensed that Deidre liked nothing better than to talk about the film stars who lived and stayed in Palm Springs. She was somewhat relieved not to have to talk about her own situation.

  ‘Imagine that. I just love him, and Dean Martin, too. Deano is so funny with Jerry Lewis,’ said Babs. ‘I can’t wait to see Palm Springs properly. We’re getting settled in today, but we might go over there tomorrow and look around and maybe have a little lunch.’ She said it lightly, but going out to lunch was not something she would be doing very often. She thought again of her limited funds, but decided it would be worth the expense to see Palm Springs. Besides, she knew she needed to bite the bullet and start looking for work, which would more than justify the bus fare.

  ‘You do that, Babs. There’s a whole bunch of new stores in the plaza: I. Magnin, Bullock’s, and so many other pretty places for shopping. Beats LA and San Francisco, if you ask me.’

  Babs nodded. She wouldn’t be buying anything for herself there. She had spent a year saving hard for this move to California, carefully squirrelling money away until she had enough to afford the Greyhound bus fare as well as three months’ rent on the apartment in Palm Desert, which she had quietly been able to secure with the help of a trusted realtor friend back in Portland. She had sworn her friend to secrecy about her plans and she could only hope that he kept his word to stay silent. She fidgeted on the lounge chair and pushed away the scary thought that she and Joey might be found here in Palm Desert. She tried to focus on the here and now. She was eager to catch the bus into Palm Springs not just because it was famous as a playground for the stars, but because she yearned to see the place she had dreamed of for so long. The idea of Palm Springs had kept her going. She needed to see it with her own eyes.

  *

  The following day Babs was agog as she walked down Palm Canyon Drive holding Joey’s hand. She walked slowly so Joey could keep up and to give her time to take in everything: the stores, the sights, the people strolling in the sunshine. She noticed that the teenage girls mostly dressed in a uniform of colourful tops and tapered pants, some capri length, although she saw one or two in dungarees, carefully folded up at the hem. The boys wore shirts with tightly rolled-up sleeves, their hairdos slick and shiny. She noticed that a lot of older men sported checked shirts enhanced with embroidery, their outfits complemented by shoestring ties and fancy cowboy boots. It seemed to Babs that almost anything went in desert attire.

  ‘Mom, look at those cars!’ Joey pointed to the shiny cars of all colours with gleaming chrome grilles, elaborate trims and enormous tailfins that were parked on either side of the street. Then he stopped and stared in fascination as a convertible cruised down the block.

  ‘The car roof slides down so you can be in the sunshine,’ Babs explained. ‘It must be nice to have the wind in your face,’ she added, looking at a passenger wearing a scarf knotted under her chin and sunglasses that turned up at the corners like cats’ eyes.

  Babs was awed by the fancy stores they passed. Taking a deep breath, she squeezed Joey’s hand and steered him into a clothing shop. The saleswomen in the store were heavily made-up and expensively dressed, with lots of jangly gold jewellery, and looked rather unfriendly. Suddenly Babs felt self-conscious. She knew she must look out of place in a store like this, wearing just sandals and a simple cotton sundress she’d made herself. Maybe they are allowed to wear clothes from their shops, Babs told herself.

  Politely she asked if they needed a shop assistant. When she said that she’d had no experience at all in retail, she was given a withering look and her inquiry was dismissed out of hand. She tried a few more stores and received the same treatment. She and Joey continued to wander along the main street for a while, but by lunchtime Joey was tired, hot and hungry, and Babs was feeling dispirited.

  ‘These restaurants look too expensive. Let’s get a soda at that drugstore over there,’ she suggested. The pair sat in silence as they slowly drank their sodas, making them last. Eventually Babs spoke, trying to inject some light-heartedness into her voice.

  ‘So, do you think you’re going to like living in the desert, Joey?’ She forced a smile.

  Her son dragged his straw around the bottom of his glass, trying to suck up the last of the creamy bubbles. He nodded. ‘I guess.’

  ‘That’s good, honey, so do I. Shh, don’t slurp, that’s not nice.’ Joey stopped and then sat silently flicking his straw. Babs smoothed her son’s hair and gently turned down the collar on his shirt. She’d spent a couple of evenings embroidering the red and yellow train, which she’d copied from one of his picture books, on the pocket,

  and then she’d trimmed around the collar, the buttonholes and the edge of the short sleeves with the same red thread. His shorts were made from material the same dark red as the trim on the shirt. Babs loved sewing and she knew that she had a talent for it. Her grandmother had taught her as well as her sisters, and they rarely bought ready-made clothes. Grandma French had been a wonderful seamstress. She had made Grandad’s suits as well as overcoats and jackets for all of them. Babs smiled to herself when she thought of the formal portrait her grand­parents had always proudly displayed, a picture of herself with her teenaged sisters, Alice and Deborah, all wearing pretty dresses lovingly made by their grandmother. In the portrait Deborah had a serious expression while their older sister Alice looked poised and beautiful, as usual. But Babs, very much the baby of the family, wore a big fat bow in her hair and shiny Mary Jane shoes, and had one of her socks sliding down her calf. Babs had never been quite as elegant or as self-assured as her sisters, but she’d taken to sewing as if she’d been born to it, and was very grateful to her late grandmother for passing on her skills.

  Thinking of the well-dressed young people she’d seen out on the street, Babs recalled the way young women dating local boys and going to parties and dances hated wearing the same dress more than twice, and Babs was no exception. For very little money she could buy attractive fabric and create pretty outfits for all occasions. She had developed an eye for quality early on and had begun experi­menting with her own ideas a
nd patterns. She always felt confident with her skills. She sighed. That all seemed a long time ago now. She counted out some money from her purse to pay the bill and frowned at the number of notes and coins left. She was trying to be as frugal as possible, but her money wouldn’t last forever. She needed to find a job quickly. Taking Joey by the hand, she led him to the bus stop. Finding work would have to begin in earnest very soon.

  *

  A few days later, Babs enrolled Joey in the local elementary school. He was clingy and anxious about starting at a new school but his teacher seemed kind and distracted him with the promise of a cuddle with the class pet, a guinea pig, while Babs snuck out. She decided to go into Palm Springs and try again for a job, this time unencumbered by a small boy. She took the bus and began where she’d left off on Palm Canyon Drive, asking in several shops if there were any positions for shop assistants. No one was willing to employ an unskilled shop assistant. As she went from store to store, she became increasingly distressed. She had really thought that she would have no trouble finding a job, but no one seemed interested in her. She was not prepared to give up, however, so for the next week she continued to take the bus into Palm Springs while Joey was at school. But when asking for work, the answer was always the same. Finally, in one very up-market shop, where the response to her request was also negative, Babs asked pleadingly, ‘But how can I get experience if no one gives me a chance?’

  The woman shrugged. ‘I see your point. I’m sorry that I can’t be of more help.’

  ‘So am I,’ said Babs. She turned and began to walk towards the door. Passing a rack of children’s clothes, she picked up a little girl’s smocked dress and looked at the price. ‘Heavens, you could almost buy a car for that,’ she exclaimed.

  ‘People around here have plenty of money. They are quite prepared to pay for the best, and they do,’ said the sales assistant.

  Babs stood looking at the little dress and then said slowly, ‘How does the shop go about getting the best clothes?’

  The assistant sniffed. ‘Mrs Bourke is the buyer for our children’s range. She sources them through the big stores and manufacturers, but sometimes buys handmade one-offs. People bring her samples and she decides what to take. She’s a bit of a dragon, but she has excellent taste, and this place is well known for its exclusive babywear, although it’s only a very small part of our stock.’

  Babs looked closely at the children’s clothes and an idea bloomed in her mind. ‘I’m sure I can make clothes as good as these,’ said Babs as confidently as she could. ‘Can anyone bring in samples?’

  The assistant shrugged. ‘I don’t see why not.’

  ‘Great,’ said Babs, smiling broadly. How silly she had been. She would do something that she was good at, not something about which she knew nothing. She told the shop assistant that she would be back sometime soon to see Mrs Bourke, and, her head filled with ideas, she caught the bus back to Palm Desert. As soon as Joey went to bed that night, she began writing lists of what she would need to start her sewing enterprise.

  The next day, after Joey had gone to school, Deidre asked Babs in for a morning coffee and the younger woman shyly revealed her plans for making children’s clothes. ‘But the thing is, Deidre, I have no idea where to buy what I need. I hope you can help.’

  ‘That’s a wonderful scheme,’ said Deidre. ‘I noticed Joey was dressed beautifully, but I hadn’t realised you’d made the outfits. And your clothes … now I understand how you had the right kind of wardrobe for the desert after living in Portland! Clever you. Now, what do you need?’

  ‘I brought my grandmother’s sewing machine with me, but I had to leave most of my materials behind in Portland. I’ll need to source fabrics and threads and that sort of thing,’ Babs explained.

  ‘Sol can take you tomorrow. He knows everyone and everything around here, so you’ll be able to find what you need, I’m sure.’

  Sol was almost as round as he was tall, always cheerful and utterly in love with Palm Springs. Babs sometimes thought that the city had been founded just to make him happy. The following afternoon he drove her to places like Cathedral City, Bermuda Dunes, Indian Wells and Indio, where Babs bought fabrics, trims, needles and threads and a couple of new attachments for her old machine. In one of the shops, she was excited to find a small smocking pleater.

  ‘Wow, having one of these will save me so much time!’ Babs exclaimed. ‘It will be a wonderful investment. I’ll have to finish the smocking by hand, but having this will sure speed things up.’

  Although it was obvious that Sol didn’t understand a thing about the art of smocking, he smiled indulgently at her excitement.

  Babs was delighted to find that shopping with Sol meant that no one expected her to pay retail prices so, later that night, when she added up what she’d spent, she realised to her relief that, thanks to her kind neighbour, she had saved quite a bit.

  For the next three weeks, as soon as Joey had left for school, Babs set up her sewing machine on the dining room table and established a working routine. She drafted patterns, sewed and smocked and embroidered. Her dainty baby dresses were decorated with little animals and delicate flowers in lazy daisy, bullion and fly stitches, as well as neat French knots. She enjoyed the work and thought the outfits she’d created were adorable. She just hoped the buyer at the boutique liked them too. She didn’t want to think about what would happen if no one bought her stock.

  Then, just before Joey was due to arrive home from school, she would pack everything up and be ready to take her son for a swim in the kidney-shaped swimming pool. Joey was thriving in his new environment, no longer withdrawn and anxious, so Babs was reassured that she had done the right thing in moving them both to California. At night sometimes she still felt frightened, afraid that at any moment they would be dragged home, but as the weeks passed, her fear dimmed and she too began to enjoy their sunny new home.

  Most afternoons they were joined by Deidre and Sol. Sol had owned a string of laundromats in Sacramento and Santa Barbara, but had sold them when he retired. In his new-found free time he’d taken up painting as a hobby and, much to Deidre’s surprise, he was actually quite good. Sol had offered to teach Joey to paint. So one afternoon Babs and Joey went to Sol and Deidre’s apartment for Joey’s first lesson. Sol had somehow found a small easel and had set up a little canvas with several cans of bright paint and a paintbrush sitting on a stool nearby. He began patiently showing the boy a few painting techniques, encouraging Joey to try painting the desert scenery, while Deidre and Babs watched.

  ‘What else do you do now that you’ve retired, Sol?’ Babs asked, sipping some lemonade that Deidre had made for the four of them.

  ‘Oh, he’s quite the big cheese at the Historical Society,’ said Deidre, before Sol could speak. ‘Can’t stop him talking about the history of Palm Springs. He gives talks and tours, you know.’

  ‘We’ll have to do a tour with you sometime then,’ said Babs. She glanced at Joey’s canvas. He had painted a bright blue sky and a large sun, and was now attempting to add a four-legged blob that Babs guessed might be a horse.

  ‘You’re doing so well, Joey,’ she said. He beamed.

  ‘You know, Joey, many famous artists have been inspired by the desert and its beautiful landscape,’ said Sol. He disappeared into the back of the house and returned with a print. ‘This one is by one of my favourites, Carl Eytel.’ The artist had captured the dry, scrubby plains perfectly. Babs glanced around the room and her gaze fell upon a pile of large canvases leaning against a chair. She got up and went over to the paintings, tilting one forward to glance at the canvas behind.

  ‘These paintings are beautiful,’ said Babs. ‘Are they yours, Sol?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sol, looking pleased. ‘Actually, those paintings are a series about the founding of Palm Springs.’ He turned to Joey. ‘They tell a story. Would you like to hear it?’

  ‘Ye
s, please,’ said Joey, putting down his paintbrush.

  Sol pulled out the first painting and gestured at three figures, two larger and one smaller, travelling with a horse and burro through boulders, dunes, cacti, clumps of agave, mesquite trees and the tough, thorny plants growing amongst rocks and sand. ‘About seventy years ago, an Indian agent, that’s a man who’s supposed to look after the Indians, his son and a guide were travelling through the hot, dry desert. The boy was sick and Pablo, their Indian guide, had promised to show them some magic springs that would make the boy well again.’

  ‘What was wrong with the boy?’ asked Joey, frowning.

  ‘He had an illness called tuberculosis,’ said Sol. He pulled the second painting forward. ‘One evening, they made camp.’ He showed Joey a picture of the horse and the sturdy little burro tethered in the shade of an ancient fig tree. Beside them stood a buckboard and a wagon, both covered with a film of sand and desert dust. Everything was dwarfed by the arrow-straight palms that rose majestically overhead.

  Sol gestured to another figure on horseback in a corner of the painting. ‘On a nearby rise, Pablo halted his horse as he surveyed the valley below.’

  Joey was looking at the painting with interest. He pointed to the shadowy mountain ranges circled by sand dunes in the background.

  ‘I’ve seen these mountains,’ he said.

  ‘I’m sure you have,’ said Sol, smiling at the boy. He turned back to the painting. ‘To the south-east was an ancient lake and directly to the south rose the Santa Rosa ranges. In the south-west were canyons lined with palms, and towering eleven thousand feet above it all were the San Jacinto Mountains.’ Babs spied the jagged peaks of the mountain range ringing the edge of the picture.

  ‘Wow,’ said Joey.

  Sol pulled another painting from the pile. It depicted the ranges in a soft lavender colour, their outlines etched against the late afternoon sky. In the picture, the man and his son had removed their boots and clothes and were standing in a bubbling pool of water, while their guide was watching nearby. Babs could almost imagine what it would be like to be there: the air dry and fresh, a little breeze rustling the palms. Looking closely, she noticed the detail of the painting. The man was stocky but the boy, though smiling, looked frail and thin. The guide was squatting by the pool, smoking a roughly made