Crestmont (26 page)

“Oh, stop your bickering,” Dorothy said. “You know, PT is right, if you call them Mr. or Mrs. Woods, it is actually fewer syllables than Mr. or Mrs. W. I wonder if any of you have tickled your brains with that one.”

Zeke capered over to Mae. “Care to dance, milady?” They did a few turns and then she dropped her arms and turned away shyly. “Let’s get some air.” He guided her to the screened porch, winking at Otto as he closed the sliding door.

****

The morning was cool and clear. The early morning sun hadn’t quite found its way into the lobby. Instead of the overhead chandelier, a few of the table lamps had been turned on, creating a softer effect. They coaxed a gleam out of the cream stripe in the wallpaper. The carving in the wood of the staircase was more apparent. It was yet another reason why Gracie was amazed by the
Crestmont
public rooms. Their beauty was different at all times of the day.

Old Tim ticked away, competing with the clattering of dishes coming from the dining room. A fire had been lit in the main fireplace to take the chill off, but was dying fast. Finding no wood inside, Gracie went out to raid the wood pile next to the back porch. She put another log on, but the fire died down even more. Worried about the time, she was about to turn on the electric vacuum machine to do the carpets when a masculine voice behind her startled her.

“Want me to get that going for you?”
Eric Sturdy waved his cap at the fire and smiled.

“Yes, please.” With the tongs, he lifted the log Gracie had added and stashed a smaller log under it. Then he pushed the whole thing back until it started to glow.

“It just needed a little more air. You’re Gracie, aren’t you, the one who sang the solo on Christmas Eve. I’m Eric, remember?”

“Yes. Thank you. I mean about fixing the fire. I’m sorry; I have to get back to work. Mrs. Woods will want this room to be done before the guests come out from breakfast.”

“Sure. I need to fix a window upstairs anyway.”

Gracie watched his strong back disappear up the stairs as she pushed the vacuum on the carpet. A loud squall from the machine rebuked her for sucking up part of the rug. She quickly switched it off and forced her mind back onto her work.

II

After ensuring that the town of Eagles Mere was settled for
the day, the cat padded west to the
Crestmont
Inn. Shadow clawed its way up the stone pillars at the entrance, folded its legs under and settled in. The evening sun warmed its silky black coat as the cat surveyed its domain. A large blue convertible with matching blue on the wheels and deep gleaming running boards stopped momentarily. The driver stuck his head out the window and squinted at the
Crestmont
sign. Two fashionably dressed women in the back seat turned around to smile at the animal as the car chugged up the driveway.

****

The Woods had welcomed many musicians for their concerts before, but this particular interview was completely unexpected. Miss
Libbie
Miller, booking agent for opera singer, Rosa Ponselle, had insisted that her client be settled promptly in her room after their arrival at seven p.m. with dinner to be sent up shortly. William led Miss Miller to his office and dashed to Margaret’s office, quickly telephoning Isaiah to get back up to the kitchen immediately. He straightened his tie, returned and made chit-chat until Margaret returned from escorting Miss Ponselle to her room.

Once they were reassembled in his office, Miss Miller slid a typewritten list of instructions across the desk. Miss Ponselle was happy to accept their offer of two weeks of vacation in exchange for a one-hour concert on Friday, July 30
^th
. The owners would supply the following: Miss Ponselle was to be given a table for one at all meals. Her privacy was to be respected at all times. A maid to attend to tidying her room, her laundry, and other personal requirements would be furnished. An appointment with a hair dresser each Thursday would be arranged. The piano in the performance space was to be tuned immediately and once again the day of the concert. A rehearsal with Miss Ponselle’s accompanist, who would arrive on the 29
^th
, would be required. Miss Miller then handed them a sizable check to cover the cost of a formal gown to be designed by the
Crestmont
dressmaker, announced that she would be leaving in the morning, and asked to see the performance space.

Though surprised by these additional requests, the Woods agreed immediately, eager to heighten the image of the concert series. When they returned to the Woodshed for the night, Margaret made tea and they talked over the kitchen table.

“Olivia will do a beautiful job on the gown. We will arrange a fitting as soon as possible.”

William took off his jacket and vest, removed his cufflinks, and rolled up his shirt sleeves. “I assumed an opera singer would travel with her own maid. We don’t really have the personnel to furnish one ourselves. Thank goodness PT anticipated the piano tuning. He’s already called our man in
Dushore
.”

“Let’s tackle the other things first, William. Gracie loves that hairdresser, Zelda. Perhaps we could send Miss Ponselle to her.”

“And set up a single table in the dining room…”

“Done. Now the maid. Dorothy is the most mature person on the female staff, but there are no waitresses to spare right now. Bessie would be a disaster. Gracie is the only choice, but now that she is cleaning the common rooms she is quite overloaded. I will simply have to temporarily suspend that assignment and supervise Eunice and Martha on that cleaning. Mrs. Pennington, however, refuses any other housemaid than Gracie, so I cannot take her off that room.”

When they went to bed, Margaret listened to William’s snoring, saying a prayer of thanks that she had the foresight to give Miss Ponselle a quiet room at the end of the east wing away from the livelier guests.

****

The woman held herself erect and confident, but seemed lost in the empty lobby. Her eyeliner was applied in a heavy line and she wore her thick bangs parted in the middle like the rest of her long, dark hair. Deliberately making eye contact with Gracie as she walked by, she dipped her head with a slight smile. Gracie returned the greeting and continued past her toward the library.

“Excuse me,” the woman said. Feeling especially
unpresentable
after cleaning the
Penningtons
’ room, Gracie smoothed the wrinkles out of her apron and tried to fluff up her hair before she turned around. Out came the standard response to an inquiry from a guest. “Yes, may I help you?”

The woman extended her arm slowly. “My name is
Rosa
,” she said deliberately. She swept her eyes over the room dramatically. “Where am I?”

Happy for an easy request, Gracie relaxed. “This is the main lobby. Do you recall your room number? I’d be happy to take you there if you’re lost. There are a lot of rooms here and it can be confusing.”

“And what is your name, dear?”
Rosa
studied Gracie’s face.

The woman was about thirty years old and had a magnetic, sultry sounding voice. One lone gold bangle decorated her bare arms. She was immaculately dressed in a fashionably short emerald green dress held up by thin straps which made her seem vaguely out of place at the
Crestmont
.

“Gracie.” She picked up the sides of her uniform to do a little curtsy, then, feeling dowdy, tried to brush off a streak of dirt on her skirt.
Rosa
watched, faintly amused.

“I do hope you can help me, Gracie. I have no idea where I am. And I do not mean my room. Where am I in
Pennsylvania
? The ride here from
New York City
was beautiful, but my driver gave me no details at all.”

“Oh, sure, I can show you on a map. Would that help?”

Rosa
clasped her hands down into a bow and said appreciatively, “Yes.”

Gracie led her past Old Tim into the library. Showing
Rosa
a chair, she pulled the atlas off the shelf and set it on the roll top desk. She had just finished her shift and felt unusually grimy next to this impeccably dressed woman, but she reminded herself to be as helpful as possible. After locating the atlas, she carried the book over to the chair.

“See this tiny town with the lake?” Gracie pointed to a dot on the map. “You are right here in Eagles Mere, in the Allegheny Mountains of north central
Pennsylvania
.”

“And that charming little
footbridge that I saw on the way here, that goes across this lake?”

Gracie nodded.

“Thank you, gracious Gracie. I hope I will see you again soon.”

“Yes, ma’am. You’re welcome.”

****

Mae twirled her auburn hair around her index finger on Saturday night as she sat in the little chair by the door, wrapped in a pink seersucker bathrobe. They passed around a huge bowl of popcorn Gracie had brought up from the staff lounge.

Dorothy shook her head in disbelief. “Rosa Ponselle, the famous opera singer from the Metropolitan Opera. You met her in the lobby and didn’t know who she was? I can’t believe you haven’t seen her picture, the way your nose is always stuck in the newspaper. Gracie, I don’t understand how you can aspire to be a singer and not stay informed about internationally recognized…”

“She’s here to do a concert? I’ve been so busy I didn’t see her name on the bulletin board.”

Mae snuck a peek out the door. There was no sign of Mrs. Slagle, who was supposedly signing in and out the male staffers using the staff lounge. “She’s been known to let a boy slip by once or twice,” she giggled.

“Well, she doesn’t have to worry about any men slipping in here,” Gracie moaned.

“I’d like to stay awhile if you don’t mind. Zeke’s home with the horses and Bessie won’t be home till curfew. I try to go to bed before she comes in or stay out until she’s asleep. When she comes back at night she’s usually loaded and goes out like a light.”

Dorothy fished an
unpopped
kernel of corn out of her mouth and tossed it into the trash can. “I wonder where she gets the hooch.”

“She brings it back when she visits her father. I think Jimmy hides it for her.”

Dorothy rested her arm around Mae’s shoulder. “I am so sorry you have to room with her. I’d be beside myself if it were me.”

There was a sharp rap on the door. Gracie jumped up, tightened her pink shrug around her, and opened the door to an oddly standoffish Mrs. Woods.

“I have a matter of importance to discuss with you. Dorothy, would you and Mae excuse us, please?” Mrs. Woods was obviously distressed. Gracie apologized for not being dressed and for the messiness of the room. She babbled on until Mrs. Woods put up her hand for silence. “Gracie, I have just checked in on our concert guest, Miss Rosa Ponselle. She asked for some help sorting her clothing in the morning. Actually, she needs a personal assistant and I wondered if you would help us out by taking that on.”

“You want me to be a personal assistant for the opera singer?”

“She seems very down to earth. You might enjoy it. It will just be for two weeks and I’ll reassign some of your other jobs for that period. That is, if you would consent to do it,” she said wearily, tracing a zigzag along the back of the chair, anxious for a reply.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Woods. I’ll do it.”

Mrs. Woods undid the top button of her suit. Sinking into the chair, she pulled out her lace collar and used it to fan her face. Gracie brought her a glass of water from the bathroom. She drank gratefully. “Here, I just read this detective story and it took my mind right off all my worries.” Gracie handed her
The Woman in White
and walked her out to the entrance of the Evergreen Lodge.

****

Gracie missed church that Sunday. Miss Ponselle unpacked a small suitcase of essentials, but had left untouched two hat boxes and a steamer trunk, embossed with a large P and small letters C and R intertwined. Mrs. Woods gave her a choice corner room
with en suite bath and a large closet to accommodate her gowns. The three windows were crowned with valances of a royal blue and gold chevron fabric. Drapes fell to the sides, pulled back with gold tassels. In addition to a desk and chair, two chairs were placed to entertain guests. A small vanity for applying makeup sat in front of the window that overlooked
North
Mountain
, and a tall dresser stood in between the other two. The final touch was a five-foot adjustable oval mirror set into a self-standing wooden frame. Mrs. Woods hadn’t overlooked anything.

Gracie pulled out jewelry, vials of various colors and sizes, perfume atomizers, gloves and shoes, arranging them as Miss Ponselle instructed. The gowns were hung and several day dresses lay on top of one of the twin beds.

“Would you mind ironing my dresses while I will put my intimates away?”

“Of course not, Miss Ponselle. Is there anything else you need?”

“I need for you to call me Rosa as you did when we met on Friday.”

“Of course.
Rosa
.” Gracie closed the door softly behind her before rushing to do the ironing. She returned later with the dresses and a small vase of flowers.

“How thoughtful.” The opera singer smiled and placed the flowers on her dresser. “Tell me, Gracie, what would you have done this morning if you had not helped me?”

“I would have been in church, but it’s all right because I can sing any week and God would like it that I’m helping you settle in.”

“Hospitality. You have shown me hospitality and I thank you. So you are a singer.”

“Oh, honestly, no—I mean—not like you. I sing a little in church and I’m thinking about going on the road to do vaudeville. I’m interested in how you got started in your career, that is, if I’m not out of place in asking.”