Crestmont (31 page)

Wouldn’t it be better to convert the dining room into a bedroom for her?
The drop leaves on the dining room table could easily be collapsed and the table pushed against the back wall to make room for a bed. Granted, the sun streaming in from the octagonal tower of the second-floor bedroom would be missed, but the bay windows in the dining room flooded it with light. The only problem was that the bath was on the second floor.

Pushing Gracie’s arm away when they reached the bottom of the stairs, Mrs. Cunningham felt her way out to the front porch. Annie, the large black poodle who had evidently given her family the slip, sat at the foot of the steps, thumping her tail on the ground.

The old woman perked up. “Is that my little friend I hear?”

Annie answered with a friendly woof.

“Play with her, Grace,” she urged. “I know there are crab apples on our lawn because I can’t smell the blossoms from the tree anymore.”

Annie bounded back from each throw with an apple in her mouth. She dropped every fetch at Gracie’s feet and panted with her tongue hanging out of the side of her mouth waiting for more. When the delivery boy threw the newspaper onto the porch, the dog bolted toward the street.

“Annie, let’s play some more,” Mrs. Cunningham called, but the dog was gone.

Opening up the newspaper, Gracie read the headlines out loud, asking what article her charge wanted to hear. “The one about the Army Air Corps, I suppose,” she said distractedly. After a few articles, she waived the paper away and Gracie read to herself.

People strolled by. Mrs. Cunningham greeted each person by name, recognizing the sound of their voices. She frowned at a young couple who stopped to let their dog lift its leg on the oak tree at the curb while they heatedly discussed the future of the railroad that had brought vacationers to Eagles Mere for three decades.

“You know I can hear you turn those pages, Grace,” she said irritably when they left. “It is rude of you to read to yourself while I sit here.”

“Sorry. I was reading the Cultural and Arts section. You usually only want me to read the news to you.”

“Now don’t you start acting high and mighty with me, young lady, just because you’ve met some famous opera singer.”

“Do you want to hear about her?” Gracie asked eagerly.

“She’s all you’ve talked about all week, so no; I’ve heard enough. You may recall that I heard her sing as well. Mrs. Woods kindly arranged for a car and Peg to escort me. Peg described both gowns to me and,” her blank eyes bore into Gracie’s, “told me you sat with Eric Sturdy.”

“I didn’t sit with him. He sat with me.”

“Fine young man. He arranged for the young people from the church to keep our walk clear of snow all winter. Very considerate.”

Feebly trying to turn her attention to something else, Gracie mentioned a squirrel with a red crab apple in its mouth, scampering across the lawn.

“Yes, I hear him,” Mrs. Cunningham said. “You must need to be somewhere else because you keep checking your watch.” Not understanding the unusual crankiness, Gracie explained that she needed to post Madeleine’s letter before two p.m.

“I’d like for you to make us some tea and tell me more about that great-grandfather missionary of yours, the one who was in
Egypt
.”

Promising tea as soon as she returned, she grabbed the letter and headed off toward the village green. “I’ll be back in five minutes.” She couldn’t figure out why Mrs. Cunningham wanted to hear more about her great-grandfather Antes when she had politely stifled yawns the last two times Gracie had talked about him.

When she got back, the old woman was talking to herself, so she went inside to put the teakettle on to boil. Gracie placed two blueberry muffins onto the tray and took it out. They ate quietly, Mrs. Cunningham’s finger pressed onto her mouth as she chewed as if to keep it closed.

“It was addressed to a man in
England
, wasn’t it?” Not waiting for an answer, Mrs. Cunningham crumpled into her chair and turned her face away. She pulled her brown shawl tightly around her and spoke with a bitterness that broke Gracie’s heart. Madeleine had met a rich man who asked her to accompany him to
Europe
. She was to sail to
London
to meet him. They would be gone for eight months, starting the end of September.

“She hasn’t asked you yet, has she? I can’t believe it. She’s known for two weeks.”

****

“Mae’s father just shook Zeke’s hand, and now he’s smiling, so it must be going okay,” Peg said, peering with her cohorts out the back kitchen window. “I guess he doesn’t know that Zeke put her step-in’s up on the water tower,” she giggled.

Dorothy arrived singing off-key, carrying a hatbox and a grained leather suitcase. “I can’t believe the summer’s over. I’ll be teaching in a week.” Oblivious, Peg, Olivia,
Adelle
, Gracie and Jimmy continued staring curiously out the window. “What are you all doing?”

“Mae’s father just came to pick her up and she wanted Zeke to meet him.” Jimmy said, quickly wiping the foggy window clear as the sound of the harmonica came closer. In two minutes Zeke passed the kitchen window, wiggling his fingers in a playful hello with Shadow draped around the back of his neck.

The show was over, so they turned away from the window and hugged each other goodbye. Isaiah held a blue and yellow can of lemon oil in one massive hand and lovingly buffed the prep table with the other. He capped the can and spread his fingertips, barely touching the table. “Goodbye, my friend, till next year.”

“I hate to hurry off, but
Adelle
, if I am to drop you home on my way to
Wilkes-Barre
, we’d better get going.” Dorothy plopped a squishy kiss on everyone’s cheek and said, “Be good, my little chickens. I was just thinking ahead of myself that if you let me sing in the talent show next year, I just might come back.”

“Isaiah, remember you promised to give me recipes,” Gracie said. Everyone stayed put, awaiting some memorable entertainment.

“Ah, yes, Gracie, my dear. At the conventions I cater, my clients lift the silver chafing lids expecting something unique and different each morning on their buffet table.” He loosened his tie, pulled a long wooden recipe file off the shelf above the spice cabinet and stepped up on an overturned box, relishing the snickers and whistles from his audience.

“The king of the egg will now share some of the ideas I have stored up for years to be served for breakfast, lunch or supper.” Isaiah, well-turned-out in street clothes instead of his chef’s apron, cradled the maple box lovingly against his chest and waxed rhapsodic. “What you need are some end-of-the-week-no-meat-left-in-the-icebox-and-all-I-can-do-is-get-to-the-general-store-to-buy-eggs-milk-and-bread recipes. Poached, scrambled, fried, baked, coddled, hard or soft boiled eggs and toast. Fresh baked tomatoes stuffed with scrambled eggs. A bounty of recipes to tickle the tongue. Alpine Eggs, Deviled Eggs, Shirred Eggs and Ham, Eggs a la Goldenrod, Egg and Cheese Soufflé, Creamed Eggs, French Toast and Bread Pudding. And we don’t waste food, so take any leftover eggs, cook them till they are hard, chop them small and add to your soup for extra protein.”

Jumping off the box, he placed the recipe file in Gracie’s hands, drummed the fingers of his right hand on the lid and said, “Copy any recipe you want.” He extended his arm chivalrously to his wife.
“
Come away, dear Olivia; our little love nest in Philly awaits.”

“Isaiah, wait. You need this.” Gracie held the recipe box out to him.

“Nope. It’s all in here.” He knocked his head with his fist.

A horn blared and Olivia said, “Oh my, that’ll be PT with the car to the train station. Goodbye, everyone.”

“Not PT,” said Jimmy. “I saw him
leavin
’ yesterday. Mr. W’s got Otto
drivin
’ today.”

All heads silently turned toward Gracie, who stood frozen, holding the recipe box.

Eagles Mere,
Pennsylvania

1926

The robins were long gone when Gracie moved from the
Evergreen Lodge to be Mrs. Cunningham’s full-time companion. Her old friend seemed to have come to grips with her daughter’s European trip.

Madeleine had freshened up the spare room before she left in the middle of September. The room was right next to Mrs. Cunningham’s bedroom with one window over the front porch. It didn’t matter to Gracie that it was tiny, because it was private.

“Can you imagine a house with no closet in the front bedroom?” Mrs. Cunningham railed the day Gracie moved in. “I want you to put your good clothes like Miss Ponselle’s gown in Madeleine’s closet to keep them safe and clean. You can play my piano and sing anytime you want. Go visit the Woods. And I want you to go to church. Just because I can’t cook doesn’t mean I need to be babysat every minute. I am thrilled to have you here while Madeleine is off scampering all over with her gentleman friend, but I want you to have your own life too.”

Gracie quickly learned that although Mrs. Cunningham was blind, she could clearly see life. “My Madeleine is as she is,” she commented one evening over dinner. “I accept her and try not to expect more than she can give me. Funny how we trade losses for happiness. I know my daughter doesn’t want to be around me, but then again, she found you, Grace.”

The next morning, the smell of melted peanut butter from the breakfast toast lingered in the air as they sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee, talking through finances. Madeleine had arranged for all monthly payments to be made by the accountant who handled the trust fund from her father’s estate. She had left the icebox full and would send her mother money monthly for food, clothing, Gracie’s wages and other necessities. “Well, there is not going to be much left over, I can tell you that, Grace.”

Boisterous laughter tumbled through the open window of the Eagles Mere Inn kitchen next door. Ignoring it, she laid out some of her plans. “I can get a better price for you on ice from Zeke,” she told Mrs. Cunningham, pointing to the icebox with her pencil. “I’ve already asked Mrs. Woods if I can ride with her for groceries on Monday, but I’d like to give her a little for the gasoline, if it’s okay with you. I have some new recipes Isaiah gave me. I know we can save on food if you don’t mind me using leftovers. I’ve checked what’s in the icebox. How about pot roast and boiled potatoes tonight?” Gracie asked, scribbling a few items on her grocery list.

“Doesn’t your thinker ever get tired, child?”

Gracie said no, curled a lock of her hair behind her ear, and counted out the money Madeleine had left in the Fig Newton can.

The doorbell rang. Stuffing the money back into the can, she went to the front door to find Eric Sturdy holding a huge box. “Vegetables my mother canned,” he was saying as she brought him back to the kitchen through the small reception hall.

“I know that voice. Hello, Eric,” said Mrs. Cunningham as he set the box in front of her on the table.

“How are you doing?” Eric asked.

“Not bad for an old lady. How nice of your mother to send all of this. Please thank her for me.” And with that, she excused herself to the parlor to listen to the radio.

Grinning, Eric carefully lifted out an apple cranberry pie and placed it on the table. Then he handed Gracie jars of tomatoes, green beans, pickled cauliflower, beets and carrots, which she stacked on the shelves of the back pantry.

Inviting him to sit down, she said, “I’m afraid Mrs. Cunningham can’t eat that pie because of her diabetes.”

“We could eat it.” He winked. “My mother makes a great pie. It would be a shame to let it go to waste.”

Her blouse rode up as she reached to get the plates from the cupboard. Embarrassed, she quickly pulled it down while Eric helped himself to the forks. He talked about leaving tomorrow for the fall semester at
Princeton
. “I especially enjoy the train ride,” he said, “because I can read the whole way.”

Happy for some common ground, Gracie told him what she had read over the summer, then dropped silent, embarrassed to be discussing such things with a college man.

“Don’t stop. I haven’t gotten around to
The Great Gatsby
yet. I’d be interested to hear your comments on it.”

Words started to come, but Gracie wasn’t sure from where. And they came easily. When he said he had to go, she was disappointed. Mrs. Cunningham was still engrossed in her radio program when they walked to the front door.

He pulled a plaid cap over his chestnut hair.

“You know,” he hesitated, “After I started
bellhopping
, I was going to ask you if you wanted to take a ride down to the
Sonestown
Bridge
, but you seemed so busy I didn’t. Maybe we could do it when I come home for Christmas break?”

She felt her head nod yes and watched from the porch while his plaid cap disappeared down
Mary Avenue
.

****

Mrs. Sturdy kept tabs on them. She telephoned, asking if they needed anything and chatting about how Eric was doing at college. She stopped over one day with a casserole and package, shooing Gracie upstairs. After she was given permission to come down, she realized the older women were in cahoots.

When she went into the kitchen, Mrs. Sturdy immediately stopped kneading and wiped bread dough off her fingers. She ushered Gracie into the dining room. Mrs. Cunningham’s sewing machine was set up. A new pattern for a One Day Sack lay on top of some peach material.

“Open it up,” the older woman commanded. The pattern was a simple step-in dress with a scoop neck and cap sleeves. The neck was finished with a white and peach diamond patterned band that was mirrored on the hem. “Mrs. Sturdy ordered it from Montgomery Ward for me. They even supply the trimmings.”