The Lilac Tunnel: My Journey with Samantha

Samantha breaks the silence that follows. She says that Uncle Gard’s new friend, Cornelia, says that women should have all the same opportunities as men. She looks at me. Cornelia thinks women should be able to vote in elections and earn their own money so they don’t have to depend on men for everything. Mrs. Ryland stares at Samantha, her mouth agape. Mrs. Ryland starts to say her own opinion, but Grandmary interjects and says that Cornelia says a great many things, but none of them should be Samantha’s concern. We should focus on our food and less on Cornelia’s newfangled notions. She stares at Samantha directly. I can tell this conversation is over.

Samantha stares down at the baked chicken and string beans on her plate. But Mrs. Ryland is fired up. She says that Mary is really raising a young suffragist. Mr. Ryland reaches for another piece of bread. With each word that comes out of his wife’s mouth, he puts another bite of food into his own. Something tells me he doesn’t get very many words in in the Ryland household either.

The food keeps coming. A green salad here, a dessert plate of fruits, nuts, and tarts there. I’m amazed at how much Mrs. Hawkins made in that old-fashioned kitchen without a microwave. I take a not-so-dainty bite of tart, and a chunk of crust falls in my lap. I wonder if Samantha noticed, but she’s staring at her own lap, playing with the edge of her napkin. She hasn’t said a word since Grandmary scolded her, and her tart rests on the dessert plate, untouched.

By the time Samantha and I go upstairs, it’s late. Two white nightgowns with pink ribbon trim are laid on the bed, and the corner of the bedspread is turned down. Did Elsa do this for us? How did she find the time between serving dinner and cleaning up?

Samantha offers me a spare toothbrush, and I watch her pour water from a pitcher into a bowl on her nightstand. The toothbrush looks normal, but instead of toothpaste, she pours black powder from a tin labeled “tooth powder” into a small bowl. I dip my wet toothbrush into the powder, which tastes salty and feels gritty on my teeth. After I quickly brush and rinse, I’m surprised to discover my teeth feel smooth and clean. As I inspect my teeth in the mirror, I scan my face and neck for red blisters. Ever since we left the doctor’s office, I’ve felt itchy. No sign of blisters yet. I breathe a sigh of relief.

When I’m nestled beside Samantha in bed, I ask her what’s wrong. She’s been so quiet. I can see her brooding eyes. She says she doesn’t understand Mrs. Ryland. Why shouldn’t women be able to do interesting work like my mom, or Dr. Ross? We should all try to help people whenever we can. I don’t know what to say. But Samantha doesn’t seem to be looking for an answer. Wistfully, she says she could have a job like that one day, too. Samantha sounds a little sad, as if she’s not sure if her dream will come true. I wish I could tell her that things will change. Women will be able to vote, and there will be more women doctors. But I wouldn’t know how to explain how I know this.

Instead, I joke that we can only imagine what it would be like having Mrs. Ryland as a mother. Samantha blurts out that even worse would be having Eddie for a brother. We burst into giggles. When Grandmary passes by our door, she has to remind us to settle down. Samantha reaches over to turn off the lamp on her bedside table. As we cozy down under the covers, she says that she can imagine something even better. When I ask her what, she responds by having me as a sister.

My heart swells. Samantha would make a good sister. I think of the way she took care of me at the doctor’s office. And then, I start worrying about chicken pox again. Will I come down with those horrible blisters? Will I bring it home to my family? I picture my little stepsister’s face covered with blisters, and I squeeze my eyes shut. When I open my eyes again, I stare at the ceiling. Will sleep ever come?