Crestmont (11 page)

Otto sidled up to her with a grin, twirling his black moustache. “They should pay you extra for this,
blondie
. How about a canoe ride sometime?”

“No thanks, I don’t really like the water,” Gracie stammered.

Undeterred, he managed to take her for ice cream at the Sweet Shoppe, hold her hand on the Laurel Path, and kiss her goodnight before lights out. Gracie finally had a man of her own to impress.

She was going to wear the green braid slink she had bought at the consignment shop. It took three hours for her to bathe, iron the dress, and tame her curly hair. She applied her new rouge and powder just like Dorothy had taught her, and added a touch of lipstick to be daring. Finally, she threw her pink shrug on the bed and transformed herself into a lady of style. A cloud of confidence enfolded her when she slipped the soft dress over her head. Safely buckled into her
St. Louis
heels, she did a few practice walks around her room and declared herself family-meeting material.

Meticulously pulling on the white gloves she had borrowed from Olivia, Gracie proudly floated down the center staircase of the big house as graceful as any guest. She crossed the lobby and waited at the screen door, trying not to bite her lips. When she saw the Model T Ford pull up out front, she took a deep breath, pushed open the screen door, and passed quickly through the cloud of stogie smoke on the porch. Otto jumped out of the car to greet her. Just as he offered her his arm, one of her heels caught between the boards of the step. Gracie landed hard on the lawn flat on her stomach. Scrambling to get up, she lost her balance for the want of her lost heel and tumbled down again. Otto helped her up. While he retrieved the broken heel, she brushed off grass and shame. He chuckled to his brother, “I told you she was a knockout.”

Mortified, she graciously declined his offer to wait while she changed. She had nothing else to wear anyway. More concerned about where the dry cleaning money would come from to redeem the green braid slink, she allowed Otto to fade into a distant memory.

VI

Margaret Woods stepped off the front steps of the
Crestmont
,
savoring a few quiet moments as she watched the lake sport with the late afternoon sun. The guests were indulging in either afternoon tea on the porch or clandestine cocktails in their rooms. Smiling, answering questions, solving problems and making small talk—all these obligations vanished during her hour of respite. Precious time alone was hers to roam the gardens she and her father had so lovingly planted. Flower picking was the first job he had given her when he built the
Crestmont
Inn. Because they had shared this gathering time together, Margaret often felt his presence, as strong as it had been before his death fourteen years ago.

Shadow, the cat that so annoyed William, sniffed its way through the herb garden as Margaret followed. They entered the colorful terraced beds that spilled over the hillside, bordered by picnic tables down near the water. Purple Echinacea petals surrounding golden centers, creamy daisies and the scent of sweet lavender helped center her. A hummingbird hovered over the border of red lobelia.

Margaret saw a flutter out of the corner of her eye. A familiar dark gray butterfly with iridescent blue markings on its wings swooped and dove, making continuous circles around her. It darted playfully away. Instinct told her to wait patiently until it fluttered back to her.

“Hello, Daddy,” she sighed. “I still miss you.” The butterfly alighted momentarily on the watch pin on her blouse. She remembered the touch of her father’s hand so many years ago as he tucked a flower behind her ear and smoothed her hair. Checking the time, she saw that it was 4:40 p.m.

Shadow rubbed against her leg and then scampered off, swatting at a teasing chickadee. Margaret put her basket down, got out her shears, and began cutting huge yellow rosebuds, just open and perfect for picking. Drinking in the fragrances that always lifted her spirits, she added daisies and pink larkspur to her basket for contrast. Reluctant to leave her time of replenishment, she searched for the butterfly. It returned to make one more circle around her, then vanished. “Time to get back to work, right, Daddy?” She fingered her watch pin lightly.

Rising, she straightened her skirt, tucked in her white lace blouse and prepared to return to the big house to arrange the bouquets. She would be done just in time to hostess dinner. A quick addition of a dress jacket and scarf would complete her evening attire. Tonight’s concert would be played by the Dolce Violin Trio from
New York City
. Anticipating the unusually high attendance the concert would draw; Margaret wanted to instruct Zeke as to how to set up the chairs. Then there was the music box Celeste Woodford had placed in the West Parlor for all to enjoy during her stay. As a thank you, Margaret wanted to have it playing while the guests took their seats.

****

Monday’s staff meeting went smoothly. William and Margaret Woods met with Sid Fox, the steward; Dorothy, head waitress; Magdalena, who ran the laundry; chefs Isaiah and Samuel; Zeke and PT. Mr. Woods commended Sam, the new assistant chef, for his well received Baked Alaska. Young Zeke, the new head bellhop, sat wide-eyed and uncharacteristically solemn. The need for an assistant for Mr. Woods for water activities was discussed and tabled. They reviewed the schedule for the upcoming week and hammered out details about Friday’s concert. PT reported on the progress of the staff talent show scheduled for the end of August. The last people to leave were Isaiah and Sid Fox, who reviewed the weekly acquisitions list, based on Margaret’s menu revisions.

“We are fortunate to have such a dedicated group of people, Margaret,” stated William, “but we definitely need to augment our staff for next year. Sid is up to his ears keeping the place supplied and manicured. I need more time to put into water activities and I just don’t know what day to carve it out of.”

“More staff means more paychecks,” Margaret reminded him. “Dorothy has impressed upon me the need for more waitresses, but at least those positions are funded largely by tips. William, there is something else on my mind. I would like to discuss Gracie.”

“She’s a go-getter for sure. Hard working and respectful. I like that.”

“As do I. She is responsible and determined to please. I have received a request from the daughter of an elderly Eagles Mere resident who needs a companion. In my opinion, Gracie would be perfect. She would be needed on Thursday, her day off. I’ll ask her if she feels this is too much for her.”

“She will probably want to discuss it with her family first.”

“I doubt it, William,” Margaret sighed. “I have watched closely and see no evidence of Gracie communicating with her family. She is evasive when I inquire and never otherwise mentions them. I don’t know what the problem is, but I feel it is our responsibility to nurture her and give her opportunities to grow.”

“Well, if I had a daughter like Gracie I would encourage her.”

“My point exactly. The
Crestmont
is as close to family as Gracie has, so that makes it our responsibility. I will talk with her about this opportunity tonight.”

****

Taking a deep breath for courage, Gracie knocked. Mrs. Woods ushered her into the office with an encouraging smile. A tall, severe-looking woman impatiently paced the floor. She turned suddenly as Gracie entered, dubiously flicking her eyes from Gracie’s uniform to her face. The woman’s short hair was combed close about her face in the new boyish manner and a single curl lay starkly on her right cheek.

“Gracie, I’d like you to meet Miss Madeleine Cunningham. She would like to interview you concerning care for her mother,” Mrs. Woods said.

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” Gracie smiled as they sat down.

Smoothing the burgundy silk skirt of her dress gracefully under her, Madeleine Cunningham pressed her back into the chair with an authoritative air. Gracie admired the stylish low draped bodice and loose cap sleeves of her dress.

“My mother needs a companion one day a week. I can’t possibly care for her needs every day as I need a day to attend to my own affairs. I understand you have Thursdays available.”

“Yes, I do,” Gracie offered, eager to supplement her income.

“She will require lunch, tea, and supper. You do cook, don’t you?”

Gracie shot an anxious glance at Mrs. Woods who nodded and pressed her lips together in a reassuring smile.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. My mother is legally blind and will need you to guide her about. She enjoys being read to and will keep you occupied with her chatter. I’ll fix her breakfast and will expect you by nine in the morning. The salary will be two dollars for the day. You appear to be responsible and come highly recommended by Mrs. Woods. Do you accept the position?”

“Yes, thank you, Miss Cunningham,” Gracie said, extending her hand. Embarrassed, she dropped it. Madeleine Cunningham had already risen and turned to shake Mrs. Woods’ hand.

“Thank you for your assistance. Please give her the details.”

“Indeed. I am confident Gracie will be a responsible and caring companion for your mother.”

“May I have a light?” Madeleine Cunningham asked as she pulled a cigarette and ladies’ holder from her purse.

“I’m sorry, no. Perhaps one of the gentlemen outside can help you. Let me show you out. Gracie, please wait here for me.” Sure she had fumbled something in the interview, she wiped her perspiring hands on her apron and anxiously waited for Mrs. Woods to return.

“Come with me,” Mrs. Woods crooked a finger for Gracie to follow. “We’re going to the kitchen. I’ll have Isaiah get you started on something simple like a roast, and then perhaps you can practice some other dishes from a cookbook. Remember, if you can read, you can cook.” Gracie had to quick step to keep up with Mrs. Woods’ brisk walk down the hall.

****

Later that morning Peg told her mother about Old Tim. “Eleanor and I were just playing a little in the lobby after breakfast. I didn’t let her run around. There weren’t many guests nearby because they had gone down to the lake to watch the canoe races. Honest, Mama, I’m sure we never bothered anyone.”

“Peg, darling, you are rambling. Get to the point.”

“Well, it’s Old Tim. He stopped.”

“Stopped? That clock hasn’t stopped since my father had it shipped from
Germany
twenty years ago.”

“Come see, Mama. He’s stopped for sure.”

Margaret walked to the lobby with her arm around her elder daughter. They studied the pendulum on the grandfather clock, hanging silent and motionless.

“Indeed, it seems Old Tim did stop, Peg. At twenty till five. It must have been early this morning, because I am sure I would have noticed this before dinner last night. Thank you, dear. Now, find Eleanor, and the two of you tell Isaiah I said you deserve some of those oatmeal cookies he is baking.”

“Thanks, Mama.” Peg called over her shoulder as she bounded out the door to find her sister.

Margaret stared at the clock. For some reason, the position of the hour hand on the four and the minute hand on the eight mystified her. Was that the time the butterfly came to her? Margaret suddenly remembered her father’s whispering just before he died. She was so numb about that time; it was hard to recall what he said. She closed her eyes and strained to remember. She could see his top teeth struggling over his bottom lip. Yes, she supposed, it was possible he was saying 440. But, why?

****

Eleanor Woods skipped into the huge kitchen, knocking over three empty pots, which clattered from the prep table to the floor. “Mama says you have oatmeal cookies for Peg and me,” she announced. Her eyes widened in anticipation, stretching the tiny strawberry beauty mark embedded in her right eyebrow.

“Whoa, there, girl!” Isaiah boomed, swooping her up into his arms. “No jump rope in my kitchen. You could’ve gotten a bad burn if there had been something in those pots.”

“Oh, Eleanor, what have you done now?” Peg picked up the pots and returned them to the huge wooden table.

“Now, Isaiah, don’t you be like Peg and spoil my fun.” Eleanor frowned and poked his stomach through his stained apron. “Hi, Gracie. What are you doing in here? I heard Mama gave you a bunch of new rooms. Are you chef’s assistant now too?” She watched as Gracie clumsily hacked a knife through some parsley.

Isaiah gently lifted Eleanor up to sit on the prep table and said, “If you’re quiet, maybe I’ll give you some bare naked bread.”

“Bare naked bread? I’m going to tell Mama you are saying improper things, as Papa would say,” Eleanor declared with as much authority in her voice as a nine-year-old could muster.

“It’s not improper, silly,” her older sister chided. “It just means Isaiah doesn’t like any butter on his bread.”

“You said it, Peg, my dear. You are wise beyond your fifteen years. Watch the magic, ladies.” Isaiah kept an eye on his audience as he pulled four large loaves out of the oven with a flourish. “Bare naked bread. A superior alternative to cookies.” He flipped one loaf out of the pan and started slicing. Aromas of oatmeal, yeast and salt hit their noses.

“Here, Peg, run this piece over to Gracie and let her have a taste of heaven.” Peg shook her head
no in a “don’t do it” warning as Gracie reached for the butter. “I am offended you might even think to cover up the taste of my oatmeal bread with butter,” Isaiah criticized. “None of that malarkey, girl.”

Eleanor took one bite out of her slice and set it down on the table. “Well, if there are no cookies, I’m off to find Dora for a game of marbles. Tell Mama I’ll be back in time for dinner, Peg.” Eleanor said.

“Okay, but less noise, Eleanor,” Peg warned. Turning to Gracie she said, “Getting cooking lessons? Isaiah’s a great teacher. He taught me how to mix the ice cream for the Wednesday picnics.”

“Gracie, you’re holding that knife like it’s your worst enemy. Courage, young woman; a utensil is your servant.” Isaiah closed his huge hand over hers and worked the knife expertly up and down through the parsley until Gracie’s head started to spin.