Francesca of Lost Nation (23 page)

“What were you thinking, to put yourselves at such risk?” asked Fay Phillips.

“I like the way she showed those men what was what. I wish I’d a been there,” said Hunny.

“But weren’t you terrified?” asked Mary.

“Frances was never afraid of anything, not in all the years we grew up together,” explained Emily matter-of-factly. “Why, she rode astride, in pants, before the turn of the century. It was the most delicious scandal.”

“Sarah,” said Wilma, “you haven’t been in the shop lately, so Bill tells me. We’d like to reward your bravery with a free banana split. Well, actually, it was Bill’s idea. Bill, junior, that is. He’s dying to hear the real story.”

After a while, someone, it may have even been me, brought up the idea of a poker game.

“Poker? Oh, I don’t think I could,” said Mary.

“Nonsense,” said Francesca, finally managing to get a word in, edgewise. “If Maude can play, anyone can play. To be perfectly honest, she actually won. I admit I was miffed.”

Then, of course, we had to relate the story of Maude, hard cider and Black Mariah.

Hunny Clack hooted in delight. “I can just picture little feminine Maude suckering you all in mercilessly.”

This sent a general gale of laughter around the table.

“Sarah,” Francesca commanded with mock severity, “get the cards.”

The wine bottles were emptied one by one. Emily filled them each with different amounts of water and proceeded to favor us with an unusual rendition of “How Dry I Am,” by striking them with serving spoons. Babe seemed to enjoy this particularly and tore around the room, barking encouragement.

Fay Phillips didn’t play cards well. She would wager and lose and then bemoan her lost pennies as though they were dollars. She always complained that people weren’t dealing games she understood.

“Why can’t you play a normal game, something I know? Something like stud.”

This, of course, sent everyone into renewed gales of laughter.

Mary didn’t say much. She won some and lost some. Actually, she had just bluffed her way through two hi-lo split half-pots in a row when the unmistakable sound of a Duisenberg engine pulled to a stop outside.

The room suddenly hushed. Within seconds, the ladies of Lost Nation had tidied up the plates and glasses and gathered up their belongings. With heartfelt but hurried protestations of undying love, they flitted rapidly out the back door, piled into the Clack truck, and disappeared into the night.

Francesca seemed totally unaware of Babe and me as she stood outside the back door, her body taut with anticipation.

Chapter 34

Embers in the Ashes

B

abe ran to the car, wagging her tail in rapid-fire circles to display her joyful recognition of Matthew Mosley. She stood up on her hind legs and stuck her nose inside the open window on the driver’s side. I saw a hand scratch the top of her head. I looked up at Francesca, who still hadn’t moved.

Matt opened the car door gently. “You get down now, Babe. Good girl. Evening, Sarah,” he said to me, his eyes riveted on Francesca.

“Evening, Matt,” I said, my voice a whisper.

“You passing fine, young lady?” I could make out the glint of teeth when he smiled. It was a most beautiful smile.

“Passing fine, Matt.”

Francesca’s hand, which had been hanging stiff by her side, fluttered, as much of a communication as she was able to make.

Matt looked up at the moon, which was midway between wax and wane. “Only half a man up there tonight.” He dropped his gaze to Francesca’s face. “I believe I know exactly how that feels.”

I snapped my fingers for Babe. “Let’s go, girl,” I said softly.
 

I walked into the kitchen, and with Babe at my heels, took up my customary spying post on the back stairway. Matt and Francesca didn’t come inside, but there was a window that overlooked the back yard, giving me all the access I needed. I peeked out from behind chintz curtains.

“Fran ...” Matt’s voice was low and packed with feeling. “I can’t say I know exactly how you felt through all this. But I do know about pain, and I can imagine the size of yours, if ...” he straggled his hands through his hair, “... it was even a tenth of mine.”

I couldn’t see Francesca too well, so I got up on my tiptoes and craned my neck.

I could almost feel her body quivering. She looked electrified. They stood there like that, love and despair and hate and need and pain and joy crackling back and forth between them like lightening. When she opened her mouth to speak, no words came out. Matt took a small step in her direction.

“You saved my life. You scraped me up off the floor and blew feeling back into my heart, like some magnificent human bellows. And when I could finally stand on my own two feet again, you let me.”

He took a step closer. 

“I’d take it all back, the misery I caused you. I guess I was trying to open the door, let you go if you wanted.” He thought for a moment before continuing. “I was afraid you were going anyhow, and I wanted to make it easier for me to take. I can’t believe your greatness. I’m not sure I’m worthy of your greatness. But I’d like to try and learn.”

Francesca found her voice at last. “I’ve always known where the door was. I wasn’t looking to use it then. I’m not looking to use it now.”

Matt started to move toward her again, but she held up her hand to stop him.

“Not yet. There are things I’ve never told you, things you have a right to know. I couldn’t say them if you got one step closer.”

Francesca shrugged her shoulders and waggled her neck back and forth three times. She braided her fingers together and pushed her arms in front of her. She was limbering up.

“I feel something so ... compelling when I think of you.” She cocked her head to the side, choosing her words like Satchmo chooses a note. “A melody that sounds familiar to me. An echo that reaches out to my soul from my own antiquity.”

She placed her hand across her heart.

“I have waited and listened for this concerto all my life. The music I hear generated by your soul and my own composition have so many notes in common.”

She closed her eyes and bent her head.

“I will never again miss you the way I did these past few weeks. Whatever happens, I will not. Our … whatever it is … conquers distance and separation. Because after all that went on ... we are still here together. Don’t you find that strange?

“I want you in my life, because ... because us together is simply more interesting, more fun, more fulfilling, more curious, more complicated, more ... real ... than us apart.”

She stood very still then. Her eyes remained closed, and her head remained bent. She waited.

Matt gathered her up in a huge bear-like hug and swung her slowly around. I heard him start to cry. Then he said one last thing.

“Marry me.”

He drew Francesca close, and they sank together to the porch floor, nestling amongst the pillows. She began to cry, and he stroked her hair. I went to my room.

The slivers left of that eventful summer sped by in a blur. Matt moved back into Main House. The next day, he and Francesca and Babe and I drove over to
Clinton to Lenz Jewelers, because there wasn’t a proper jewelry store in Lost Nation at that time. 

Lenz’s wasn’t exactly Tiffany’s. The little shop didn’t boast alarm buttons or steel grillwork across the windows. But John Lenz, the proprietor and master designer, was innovative and had a reasonable selection of merchandise to choose from.

My grandmother had never worn, or owned, an engagement ring. Matt had never given one. They were like two kids with a whole dollar to spend at the five-and-dime.

“Diamonds are always a good investment,” said Mr. Lenz, by way of getting things started.

Francesca waved her hand.

“Oh, no. Too traditional, I think.” She turned to Matt and drank in his face. “What do you think?”

“Definitely too traditional,” he answered with a grin.

They looked PERFECT together. She was prettier than ever and maybe a touch softer. And so vibrant, the glory that poured out from her soul was practically blinding. She’d obviously reclaimed her life.

Matt had finally forgiven himself for the death of that little girl. His demeanor seemed less wary. Around Home Farm, he reached out for Francesca, for me, even for Babe, constantly. He’d scoop us up in his arms and give a great hug.

“As you can see, Mr. Lenz, we’re not a traditional couple,” Matt went on. “Have you got something ... unique?”

Mr. Lenz rolled this request over in his mind for a moment. I watched him start to shake his head, no. Then start to move. Then hesitate. Then disappear into his storeroom. He was gone for a good ten minutes. When he returned, he had in his hands a small box, covered with black velvet. Lenz set the box carefully down on the counter.

“Open it,” he said to Matt.

When Matt hesitated, Francesca snapped up the box and opened it. Her eyes popped.

“What is it?” I asked.

“A sapphire,” Francesca whispered, her smile glowing.

I didn’t know much about gems at that time. What I saw was a round stone, deep blue in color, which was about the size of the fingernail on my thumb.

Mr. Lenz instructed us about the unusual properties of the stone. “It’s a chameleon sapphire. That means it changes colors. It’s a one-in-a-million genuine collector’s item. Look,” he said and held the stone up to the sunlight that streamed through the window next to the counter. “Blue. Blue as blue can be.”

Next, he pulled the
window shade down and held the stone up to the overhead lamp. “See?” he said. “Purple. Isn’t that something? I’ve read about these off and on over my lifetime, but this is the first one I ever saw. I found it at an estate sale in Chicago more than twenty years ago.”

Francesca turned the marvel over in her hands. She kept raising and lowering the window shade to compare the coloring. She was mesmerized.

“Mr. Lenz, I think this is the stone for us,” Matt said.

The tall, pale man looked at Francesca and Matt for a long moment. “When I bought that,” he said, gazing at the sapphire with an emotion akin to love, “I bought it for me, because it was beautiful. I had no intention of ever letting it go.”

He took the stone from Francesca and began to polish it reverently. “But seeing you two ... the way you are ... I believe I just changed my mind.”

Chapter 35

New Journeys

“W

hat’s the weather like in
New York this time of year?” I whined. “I don’t have any idea what to pack.”

I was sitting on the floor of my bedroom. My clothes were draped across every square inch of displayable space. I’d started to pack sixteen different times in the past three days. Francesca often peeked in and offered to help, but I stubbornly refused.

“I want to take what I want to take,” I shouted and slammed the door. Of course, it wasn’t my clothes I was worrying about.

On the eve of our departure, hopelessly confused and frustrated, I swung the door back and howled down the hallway. “Francesca! HEEELLLP!”

Eventually, we got everything sorted out. Well, almost everything. I couldn’t understand why Matt kept insisting on my taking the smallest possible suitcase. It didn’t seem to me that it mattered how much luggage a person dragged along on a train. But by that time, I’d beaten the fight out of myself and was tired enough to do as I was asked.

The night before we were to leave, Joshua Teems and Lincoln dropped by for some last-minute instructions. Something had been gnawing at me, and it was getting to the time when I had to say something about it or hold my peace forever.

But how could I put it into words? I was moving away from Home Farm, my perfect bedroom, the swimming pond — everything I’d cherished my entire young life was about to disappear. What about Babe? I couldn’t leave her behind.

I watched the grown-ups, with their lists and notebooks and pieces of paper spread like a cloth across the entire length of the kitchen table. Everyone seemed to be making copious notes about everything. Finally, Abraham and Joshua left, with handshakes and congratulations all around on their way out.
 

Now was my time come.

I grabbed a ginger snap from a plate by the sink and began to munch nervously.

Francesca noticed. Her spiritual antenna had fully recovered since Matt’s return. If anything, it was sharper than ever.

“Sarah?” she said, looking at me intently.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Go ahead.” I knew exactly what she meant, but I didn’t know how to start.

Francesca glanced at Matt. “Should we tell her?” she asked.

Matt nodded his head once.

Francesca turned back to me. “Do you honestly suppose we’d even think of leaving Babe behind? On this, the greatest adventure of our summer?”

“You mean she’s going? To New York?” I shouted.

“Of course she’s going,” Matt said. “Mr. Toynbee has already made arrangements with the
Waldorf Astoria.”

“He
has? HOOORRAAAYYY!” I started to dance around the room. I grabbed Babe by the forelegs, and we jigged a few steps. “You’re going to New York, you lucky dog.”

I worried they wouldn’t allow Babe on the train, but Francesca assured me it would all work out, and I believed her.

The next morning, I awoke at the first cock crow, before daylight. I had actually set my alarm clock for four thirty, but I sprang from my little bed at 10 minutes past four full of piss and vinegar and ready to go.

Babe and I ran down the back stairway to the kitchen. While Babe was busy outside, I set about making coffee for Francesca. I set the fine
rosewood tray with its porcelain cups. I cut a square of cornbread and set it on a plate, next to a crock of fresh butter. The ritual was once more in place.

Carefully, I carried the tray up the stairs and down the hallway, especially careful to walk down the very center. I stopped in front of Francesca’s boudoir and set the tray on the carpet runner.

I thought about knocking but decided that surprise was the order of the day. I opened the door without making a sound, picked up the tray, and stepped into the darkened room. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the faint starlight glowing in through the windows.

That’s when it hit me. There were two forms lying in Francesca’s bed.

I was just about to turn around and run out of the room when Babe bounded through the doorway and pounced on Francesca’s bed.

Matt sat up immediately. “What the hell ...” he growled.

My feet were stuck to the floor like cement booties. I couldn’t have moved if my life depended on it.

In slow motion, I saw Francesca come fully awake. She raised up her arms to me and said, “Come, child. I have missed you all night long.”

I set the tray on the foot of their bed. Without letting myself think, I ran back to the kitchen and found another coffee cup. By the time I arrived back at the boudoir, Francesca and Matt were propped up with pillows and were wearing robes.

I stood at the doorway to her room, curling my toes under. My heart was pounding.

Suddenly, my fear melted away. It could have been the welcoming smiles I saw on both their faces or the cloud of love that enveloped them in that room. It had a magical feeling to it.

I went around to Francesca and kissed her, right on the top of her gray-brown head. Then, I crawled up onto the bed and sat beside Babe. We all had breakfast together.

By seven thirty, Abraham’s loaded-to-the-gills taxicab had pulled out of our driveway and onto Thunder Ridge Road. But at the turnoff heading toward town, we kept going.

“Isn't the train station that way?” I asked, pointing.

“Yes,” answered Francesca. 

Ten minutes later, Abraham stopped at the edge of a grassy field. I was about to ask what the heck was going on when I heard the distinct sound of an airplane coming in from the northeast. Matt got out of the cab and started toward the middle of the field. He took a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and began waving it over his head. I squinted up into the heavens and saw the airplane waggle its wings.

It began to circle the field. Lower and lower it sank until finally it touched down and taxied to a stop. The huge man who climbed out of the cockpit was Matt’s Canadian friend, Ian Emerson.

“
Northern Territories Express, at your service,” he boomed.

That’s how I came to make my first real trip by air.

The plane was a Twin Beech. Ian had borrowed it from Luke Ahern, another Canuck who had come to America after the war and begun a puddle jumper airline. The plane could seat up to eleven people. That meant there was plenty of room for three adults, one child, one dog and various suitcases.

The nearly 1,000-mile trip took three days. We stopped twice to refuel and spend the night.
 

During the trip, Ian and Matt took turns piloting, and Francesca even sat in on the controls for short spells. I felt very sophisticated.

When we touched down at La Guardia airport, a limousine awaited us on the tarmac. Since Ian had promised to return the Beachcraft ASAP, he was refueling again practically before we knew it. He and Matt hugged like two long-lost bears. 

“I can’t thank you enough, Ian," Matt said.

“Don't be silly,” Ian said. “It was a lark, a piece of cake.” He turned to Francesca. “You took to that flying business, ma’am. Like a duck to water. Matt and I do have some vague plans, you know. When you’re both back at Home Farm and settled down a bit, I’d like to come out for a visit. Examine a possible future together. Would that be okay?”

Francesca took his meaty hand in hers. “We’ll count on it.”

We checked into the Waldorf one day before Mommy and Daddyboys were due to arrive from London. What a posh and lush place that hotel was in those days. The smell of lemon polish wafted down richly carpeted hallways. Huge bouquets of fresh flowers decorated art deco tables nestled in corners on every floor. The bellboys (who hadn’t been boys for years and years) had snappy ways and good manners.

The usual routine of registration was waived by the General Manager,
George Petrie. 

“Mr. Toynbee and
World Travel
have seen to your accommodations and meals,” he said as he led us to our room. “Please feel free to make use of our restaurants, bars, and room service. We also have valet and laundry capabilities. Should you need any assistance with any part of your stay with us, contact me personally.”

He took a key from his pant pocket and opened a door on the top floor of the hotel.

Matt whistled long and low as soon as he stepped inside. I learned that our room was actually a “suite.” It had a little kitchen, three bedrooms, a sitting room and six telephones. The towel racks were heated, and the bathtubs were big enough to fit three grown people. A bottle of champagne stood in a silver ice bucket on a table in the foyer.

Babe and I ran around inspecting everything. There were gold-plated water faucets; velvet-covered couches; walk-in closets and silver cigarette cases filled with cigarettes that stood side-by-side with heavy crystal ashtrays.

Francesca took everything in stride. She somehow fit into this splendid place like a right hand in a right glove. She knew how much to tip the bellboy and how to make arrangements for our bags to be unpacked by somebody else. The bellman offered to walk Babe, but Matt and Francesca and I thought a turn around the city was in order.

It was muggy and hot that September day. I couldn’t get over the traffic. There were more cars on one block of
Fifth Avenue that afternoon than in the entire city of Lost Nation. Dozens of taxi cabs drove past us. I saw my first delicatessen and tasted my first bagel. The looming spire of the Empire State Building glinted gold in the late-afternoon sun.

I pointed to it and asked, “Isn’t that the tallest building in the world?”

Francesca nodded her head. “It would be quite a feat to climb to the top by stairs. Ninety-some stories, I hear.”

Matt closed one eye and began to run his finger up the expanse of the building.

“What on earth are you doing, Matt?” Francesca asked.

“Why, counting the stories, Fran. A lot easier from here than inside the building,” he drawled with a grin.

She kissed him full on the mouth then, right there in front of the whole of downtown Manhattan. There were hundreds of people hurrying past us, but no one stopped to gawk. I doubt if anyone even noticed.

New Yorkers are a whole different breed of people than those from Lost Nation.

That night, we ordered up room service.

“What a civilized invention,” I observed grandly. This made Matt and Francesca laugh.

And think … you could have just about anything your little heart desired: lobster, steak, lamb, Dover sole, wine, spirits, creamed spinach, spaghetti, baked potatoes, French fries, chocolate éclairs.

“Chocolate éclairs,” I said. “What are chocolate éclairs?”

“Order some,” said Matt.

In fact, we ordered twice. And the waiter brought a full cart both times. Babe particularly liked the steak tartare.

By bedtime, my eyelids were hanging heavy. Babe and I had a double bed all to ourselves. The spread was raw silk, and the pillows were heavenly soft. Just before I fell asleep, I got up and went over to the window. I sat on the window seat and looked out at the lights of the city for a moment, musing about the summer that was behind me and the rest of my life ahead. 

Babe jumped down off the bed and padded over to me. She rested her head in my lap. We’d come a long way together, that was sure. I scratched her head for a moment.

“I love you, Babe,” I whispered.

I reached out and opened the window. Then, I got back into bed and slept soundly, with the night sounds of that great city, the Lullaby of Broadway, washing gently over me.