Crestmont (13 page)

The silver spoon chime clanked loudly in the wind. Annoyed, Gracie reached up to silence it. Wasn’t there anywhere she could go to think?

She watched a giggling little girl tumble out of a Model T Ford up on the driveway. Her mother caught her in a hug and they stood, watching the father. He reached into the back seat, picked a boy up into his arms and set him in the wheelchair which he had pulled out of the trunk.

“Well, that was a short ride,” announced Eleanor. She climbed onto the porch swing and pumped her legs to make it go. The skin on her sunburned nose was peeling and her brown hair stuck out in wayward wisps giving her a carefree rather than unkempt appearance. Squinting up at the family on the driveway she said, “There’s the
Brandon
family, Gracie. That girl with the pretty hair is only seven, but she’s my friend, Dora. We were having a swim when her mother told her to get out of the lake because they were taking her older brother Phillip out for a drive. He can’t walk anymore, you know, because he is sick or something, but when he gets better he’s going to marry me,” Eleanor said fanning her fingers breezily through her hair to dry it. “Bye.” She took off like a shot up the hill toward her friend.

“You finish all sheets today, not tomorrow!”
Magdalena
slammed the laundry door, muttering in German.

“Ach, you, new girl,”
Magdalena
said, noting Gracie’s presence. She plunked herself down into a chair, emitting a strong smell of laundry soap. Her feet bulged out of sturdy shoes she had planted directly under her. “You sang that song in talent show,
ja
?” Gracie nodded. “Gut. Pretty dress, too. Dorothy says you go Presbyterian Church. We go Episcopal church with
heilig
stones,”
Magdalena
proclaimed proudly, nodding her head.

The German woman seemed much nicer than the rest of the staff had implied. Gracie wanted to understand this church business, so she asked, “
Heilig
stones?”

“
Ja.Your
church built with stones from burnt down barn. My church with new holy stones. Better church. I be married in church with
heilig
stones.”

Squirming in her rocker, Gracie ventured, “I didn’t realize you were getting married.”

“
Ja
, I have boyfriend. His name Julius.
Allentown
. Das
ist
vere
he lives.”

“
Allentown
is a long ways away. Do you worry about him?” Gracie bit her lip, worried how this might be taken.

“Ach, you mean other women? Nein, Julius is good man. I trust him, he trust me. It’s about trust. You have boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Das
ist
okay. You pretty girl. You find someone.”
Magdalena
slapped Gracie on the back, set her jaw and tromped back into the laundry.

VII

Three characteristic quick raps on her office door signaled
Margaret her husband would momentarily enter. She pulled the last of the checkout bills from her typewriter and turned to face him. “Margaret,” he blurted between short puffs of breath, “we have a problem.”

“Tell me, William.”

“The
Swetts
are bringing four friends next year. The
Penningtons
—an extra driver and a personal nurse. Six more calls—large families who want to stay with us.”

“William, how wonderful.”

“No, certainly not. We don’t have enough available rooms.”

“Of course.” She sat down heavily.

“We could do it if we build that addition we have been talking about.”

“Yes, but there is the small matter of finding the necessary funds.”

“It is not so very far-fetched, my dear. We’ll find a way. This is what your father dreamed about. Speaking of your father and ‘no room at the inn’—we must find another place to store your father’s old ledgers.” he stated flatly. “There is simply no more room in my office. Your mother won’t know the difference, now that she has retired to
Germantown
.”

“I will take care of Daddy’s ledgers. Perhaps I’ll peruse them for my evening reading. I might find an idea on how to fund adding more guest rooms.”

“As you wish, my dear. I’m off to work out some ideas of my own on the baseball field.”

Pecking her on the cheek, he danced into the hall.

“Hello, Mr. Pennington. PT tells me you topped last year’s bowling score.” William said. Then Margaret heard a request she couldn’t quite make out to which William replied, “I am sure we can accommodate you.”

William was brilliant at keeping the guests happy. Why, he could even boomerang
Agnes
Swett’s
complaints swiftly back to her with hospitable satisfaction. Matters of money, however, seemed to escape him.

Sighing, Margaret removed her shoes, rubbed her swollen feet, and opened this summer’s ledger book. On Monday
she would motor to
Laporte
to check on their bank balance and to take care of the surprise she had in mind for Gracie. Her spirits were lifted by peals of laughter drifting up from the lake. Margaret went to the window, enjoying the children delighting in their Saturday morning water games. Most parents encouraged their families to pull every ounce of fun out of their last hours here before checking out. Putting her shoes back on, she went next door to William’s office.

Her father’s ledgers were in a neat pile on the floor of the closet. She blew the dust off the top one, curled her fingers under one-half of the pile and carried it, school-girl style, to her office. The sound of Celeste Woodford reprimanding Jimmy for leaving some of her luggage upstairs distracted her. If only they could afford to employ more than two bellhops. She hurried to begin checkout, the ledgers still in her arm. When she opened her office door, her foot caught on the doorjamb, sending her and the books flying. Getting to her feet, she pulled her skirt over the hole the fall had made in her hose, dusted off her navy blue suit, and checked her chignon in the mirror. She’d have to deal with the ledgers later.

Then she spied an envelope addressed to her. After picking it up, she hastily tucked it into her suit pocket and closed the door. Not wanting to invoke any of Miss Woodford’s wrath, she hurried into the lobby.

“Miss Woodford,” Margaret said warmly, handkerchief pressed discreetly against the abrasion on her knee, “I hope you have enjoyed your month with us. We are always so sorry to see you go. I hope everything has been to your liking.”

****

The attendance at the Saturday night dance would be light this week because the
Swetts
, the
Penningtons
and Miss Woodford had checked out after their four-week stay. Margaret loved the last two weeks in August because the demands on her were not as great as they were at the
high point
of the summer. Each year she anticipated spending time with John and Laura Brandon, guests from
West Caldwell
,
New Jersey
, who came with their frail son, Phillip, and doll-faced Dora, age seven. The
Brandons
were kind, genuine people without the airs many of the wealthier guests seemed unable to part with. Imbued with a courage that fed Margaret’s spirits, the
Brandons
had returned to the
Crestmont
for the second year since the sobering diagnosis of Phillip’s leukemia. John Brandon’s playfulness reminded her of her father. She overheard him reading to Dora earlier in the library. He balanced a big
Raggedy Ann
book on his knee.

Raising his voice up into a childlike sound, he read, “‘I can’t seem to think clearly today,’ said
Aggendy
Ran, ‘it feels as if my head were dripped.’”

“No, no, no, Daddy!” Dora squealed, “It’s Raggedy Ann, and she thought her head was all ripped, not dripped.” Her blue eyes scolded him and she tapped the page of the book as if to say “Do it right this time.”

“All right, let me try again.” Mr. Brandon sighed, looking at her shamefaced, his eyes dancing over her flaxen hair.

Margaret envied their time together. Her summer duties were a major impediment to the time she coveted with her own daughters.

Impatiently walking down to the Woodshed, she wondered when she would find time alone to read her father’s letter. Vacillating between worry and anticipation, she patted the envelope in her suit pocket. She would not have time to read it before the dance because William would already be home and would require more time than she to dress. Perhaps the music and the women’s beautiful gowns, dipping and swirling as they danced, would move the evening along swiftly.

Giving William a kiss of greeting when she reached the cottage, she feigned fatigue. He offered to supervise setting up the West Parlor after the dance for church the next morning. Happy to have a husband so willing to assist, she dressed, picked up the present and headed for the library.

****

Gracie sheltered herself in the library, assuming the guests would be getting ready for the dance. It was August 22
^nd
, the day after her twenty-third birthday. No birthday wishes had arrived from her family because they didn’t know her address, and the only person here who even knew her birthday was Otto. Funny, she had forgotten about him after their fiasco date as quickly as she had fallen for him. She had spent most of her off-duty time yesterday reading the poems she had found in the paper bag and longing for a man to cherish her.

Feeling particularly blue, Gracie dismissed all thoughts of the dictionary and pulled out the Sears Catalogue instead. She put off practical matters, like finding warmer clothes and a winter coat, since there was no money for them anyway. Even though she didn’t know where she would go in the fall, eventually she would have to place a real order, have it delivered a week before closing up the
Crestmont
, and use her bonus to pay for it Cash On Delivery.

Tonight, however, she itched to play the Sears Catalogue game that so often consoled her. She imagined an exorbitant amount to spend and then wild. Tonight’s allotment was thirty-five dollars. Her fantasy was to find all she needed to be a full-time companion to Mrs. Cunningham. Pretending to choose day dresses for work, a Sunday dress with a pretty pin to match, coat, gloves, hat, books, toiletries and sheet music was a welcome respite from reality. She carefully wrote down the articles she wanted, with page numbers and prices. After tallying up the imaginary purchases, she would refer back to the catalogue to finalize her selections.

“I was hoping to see you here.” Gracie quickly closed the catalogue with her list sticking out the top and turned toward the familiar voice. Mrs. Woods stood before her, looking fresh and elegant in an ankle-length burnt orange
charmeuse
gown. Soft gathers from the right hip billowed over her shoes and were repeated in long flowing sleeves, which lay loose at the wrists. Her hair was down and swept back over one ear, secured with a day lily. “I’m sorry I didn’t find you yesterday, Gracie. I know this is a day late, but Happy Birthday.” Mrs. Woods smiled, holding out a package wrapped in pink paper with a matching satin bow.

“How did you know…?” Gracie asked incredulously.

“Your birthday was on your application, dear. Go on, open it.”

Carefully undoing the paper so she could reuse it, Gracie found
Age of Innocence
by Edith Wharton in her hands.

“Oh, Mrs. Woods, one of the Pulitzers we talked about. And a female author! I can’t wait to read it.”

“Look, there’s an inscription inside.”

Opening the book, Gracie read, “Happy Birthday to a fellow reader. Fondly, Margaret Woods, 1925.”

Squeezing Gracie’s shoulder, Mrs. Woods said, “I hope you enjoy it, dear. I must run. Mr. Woods and I always start the first dance.”

“A fellow reader.” Mrs. Woods was kind enough to remember Gracie’s birthday. Gracie gulped, remembering her promise to keep the girl’s hideout a secret from their mother.

“It’s about trust.”
Magdalena
’s words came back to Gracie as she guiltily closed the book, swallowing the bile that crept up in her throat.

****

August 20, 1908

Dear Moppet,

How is my big girl doing today? I hope I remember to leave this letter where you will find it. My memory doesn’t seem to be what it was. I don’t mean to upset you, but if you are reading this, I am either incapacitated or up in heaven.

Margaret, now that you are married to William, I am confident the two of you can run the
Crestmont
with the high standard I attempted to put into place when I built it. To do that, however, you may need financial assistance for which I have made provision. Go to the back wing of the third sleeping floor. You will see a small trap door in the hall ceiling. It leads to my little private hideaway where I used to escape to catch a nap, or just to be alone. There’s a small safe in the room. I systematically saved a great deal of cash since we opened in 1900. I kept it secret from your mother, or she would have frittered it away. To access the room, use the ladder in the utility closet at the end of the hall.

I don’t want to dictate how the money might be used, as I trust your judgment, but I suspect the concept of a flush toilet in one’s own guest room will become increasingly popular. I regret not juicing the entire house when I built it, so you might want to electrify the upper sleeping floors. I am hoping the inn will become too small for the number of guests wanting to share our retreat, and that an addition might be helpful.