Leeway Cottage (10 page)

Candace went to meet her guest of honor, who was in her late eighties and tonight dressed entirely in mint green, including a dirty feather boa. She was carrying a very small dachshund which she handed to Candace.

“How good of you to come, Mrs. Beedle.”

“Thank you for saying so. Now which of these ladies is my hostess?” Mrs. Beedle steamed past her and into the fray. “Good evening, so nice to see you, Amelia Smith Beedle.”

“It's Bess Maitland, Amelia, you remember we had lunch together yesterday.”

“We did?”

“Yes.”

“What did we have?”

“Lobster Newburg. You remember Gordon…”

Bess took her on around the circle helping her to greet the other guests. It was apparent that she had gone well beyond “artistic” into another state altogether and that her presence at the table was not likely to be quite the social coup Candace had planned.

The final guest arrived: Candace's Bachelor Beau, Norris Cummings.

“You're looking lovely as ever, dear lady,” he said to Candace. She thanked him, desperate to get this evening back on track, and hustled him toward the group. As he joined the others, Candace handed the dachshund to the waitress and said, “Will you please take this to the kitchen and feed it or something, and tell Cook we are ready to go in.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

The second waitress came forward with a small sherry glass on a tray, with a linen napkin.

“Your usual, Mr. Cummings.”

“Thank you, Brenda.”

He took a sip to make sure it was mostly gin, then gave her a wink. He went on toward the rest of the guests.

Elise came forward and greeted him. Dr. McClintock patted his shoulder and said, “That was a good match this afternoon. You gave me a run for my money.”

“Good evening, Colin. So nice to see you, Molly.”

Mrs. Beedle, who was sitting in a chair now and fretfully looking for something, looked up at Norris Cummings making toward her and exclaimed loudly, “Why, here's old Flannel Mouth!”

Norris stopped in his tracks, his hand extended. Candace whisked in. “Mrs. Beedle, I believe we are served, if you're ready. Dr. M., would you take Mrs. Beedle in?” She was suddenly very cross that she hadn't placed Mrs. Beedle beside Mr. Moss, but she hadn't and now it was too late. Very unfortunately, she now saw, she had put her at the foot of the table between Colin McClintock and Norris Cummings. Who was probably in for a very long evening.

 

Laurus talked over the vichyssoise to Candace. She inquired in tedious detail about the trip from New York: Was he fond of train travel? Yes. Was she? Not very much. Did he enjoy the scenery? It was very interesting. Was she fond of scenery? She felt it was better seen from an automobile. Did he drive? Yes.

When the fillet of sole was served, he was able to turn to Mrs. Maitland.

“You're from Denmark, Mr. Moss?”

“Please call me Laurus, Mrs. Maitland.”

“Thank you, I'd like to, and I am Bess. Now please tell me, I'm so distressed about Czechoslovakia. Do you know Prague?”

“Very well. I love it.”

“I do too, I think it's as beautiful as Paris. How can President Hacha have signed away his lovely country?”

“I'm told Hitler demanded they meet at one in the morning,” Laurus said.

“Not really.”

“Knowing Hacha is an old man, with a heart condition. They gave him the papers dissolving the country and told him they'd keep him there until he signed. If he didn't, they'd begin bombing Prague at dawn.”

Bess sat back in her chair. “Thugs.”

“Yes.”

“Howard—did you hear what Laurus is telling me?”

Howard Britton, on the other side of Candace, broke off his conversation with her to answer, which gave Candace no choice but to join in as well. Trying to find a way to be part of it, she found an opening in which to say, “You must be awfully glad you're over here just now, Mr. Moss. I've heard your people are having a terrible time in Austria.”

There was a pause. Your people. Well, there weren't any Danes, or pianists as a group, being stripped or beaten or otherwise abused in Austria at the moment, so it was hard to avoid inferring whom she considered “his people” to be. Finally he said, “No one likes to be far from home when home is in trouble, Mrs. Brant. I wish I were closer to my parents.”

“They are in Copenhagen?” Bess asked.

“Yes. I offered to go back but they wouldn't hear of it, and my father says there's no need for Danes to be frightened.”

“He thinks Hitler will respect the pact?”

“It is a hope. Denmark is his breadbasket after all. Well, his pork and butter basket.”

“Many believe,” said Candace, “that really, he just wants the traditional German peoples united again. And that's not unreasonable.”

“If you're right, Candace, we should be worried that he'll take Milwaukee,” said Howard Britton.

Laurus said, “There's a story told that before the pact, Hitler said to our king that the Danes and the Germans had always been such good friends, they should really be under one ruler. King Christian said, ‘You'll have to talk to my son about that, I am much too old to govern so many people.'”

Even Candace laughed. Privately Laurus doubted his king would have spoken to Herr Hitler on any subject, but when true in spirit, apocryphal stories have their uses.

 

There was no doubt that the dinner was a great success, at least at Laurus's end of the table. At the other end, Sydney and Elise struggled to aid Dr. McClintock while Mrs. McClintock chattered to Norris Cummings. But Mrs. Beedle grew more and more fretful, poor old lady, and finally burst out, “I had my reticule! I gave it to
her,
and I want it now, please!” What could be in it? Medicine? Toothpicks? Something important evidently.

The outburst even interrupted things at the far end of the table and Candace halted the conversation there to listen.

“Whom did you give it to, Mrs. Beedle? To Mrs. Brant?”

“Which one is she?”

“At the head of the table.”

“I can't see that far, I gave it to the one in the nightgown.”

Candace got up and walked to Mrs. Beedle. She bent over her and spoke softly.

“What did you give me, Mrs. Beedle? How can I help?”

“My reticule. I handed it over when I came in and I want it, please.”

There was a pause. “Mrs. Beedle, dear, I'm afraid you gave me your little dog.”

“But …I need my bag. Bring it, please,” she said.

“I'm afraid we don't have it. When you came in, you were carrying your little dog.”

Mrs. Beedle looked into Candace's eyes. Into her expression slowly began to leak fear and confusion.

“I was?” She looked suddenly a hundred years old, mortified and distressed.

“Is there something in the bag that you needed? That I might supply?”

“It doesn't matter,” said Mrs. Beedle, looking like an actor who had gone up in her lines and couldn't figure out how to get off the stage to safety.

Candace rang the silver bell standing on the sideboard and said, “Brenda, could you bring Mrs. Beedle's dog, please?”

“No, ma'am,” she said.

“Excuse me?” This was all Candace needed.

“It didn't like Velma, ma'am. It went under the stove and won't come out. It's growling.”

Laurus rose from the table and disappeared toward the kitchen. The dining room was silent and then everyone began talking at once.

“Is your driver here, Mrs. Beedle?” Gordon Maitland asked.

“I don't know.”

Sydney got up and hurried to the front door to see if a car and driver were waiting. Meanwhile Bess filled a lot of space with What a heavenly party, and Thank you so much, and So nice to meet, and We really must soon. Molly McClintock talked softly to Mrs. Beedle, and Norris Cummings the Bachelor Beau said sotto voce to Florence Britton that he loathed dachshunds and if
he
caught it he'd rip its little head off.

Laurus emerged from the kitchen with the dog cupped against his chest. Its eyes were popping out of its head and it shook with fright.

“Here we are, Mrs. Beedle. Safe and sound.” It began to keen and squirm with longing when it saw her. Laurus placed the dog in Mrs. Beedle's arms. Its nerves were shot by whatever it had been through in the kitchen.

“There,” said Mrs. Beedle, “there…” as confused as the dog.

“We'll take you home now, Mrs. Beedle. Are you ready?” said Bess. Gordon had gone for the car.

“Thank you so much,” said the McClintocks, when the first group had gone.

“But didn't you come with the Maitlands?” Candace asked.

“I'll take you home,” said Norris Cummings.

“Thank you, but we're glad to walk. It's a glorious night.”

“All right,” said the Bachelor Beau. “Good night, Candace.”

“I'm sorry about the dachshund,” she said, since she couldn't very well apologize that her guest of honor had kept calling him Old Flannel Mouth.

“Nasty little German beast,” he said, and went out. (And that was the end of that courtship.)

When the guests were gone, Laurus said, “Thank you for a memorable evening, Mrs. Brant.”

“They never even served the baked Alaska.”

“I love baked Alaska! Let's have it now!”

Candace looked at him, as if he were altogether a surprise to her.

“Yes, why not,” she said. She rang for Brenda and had the dessert served, with elaborate ceremony, to the three of them.

T
HE
L
EEWAY
C
OTTAGE
G
UEST
B
OOK

It was Labor Day weekend. The state fair had opened at the Union fairgrounds, and Sydney was showing Laurus the midway. They were strolling, eating fried potatoes with salt and vinegar, as the news began to spread. They heard it from Al Pease, a boy of the town who hailed them as they were heading for the 4-H tent. (This had been happening to Sydney all summer, town people whose faces she'd seen all her life and whose names she had never known hailing Laurus like old friends.)

“Oh, no,” said Laurus. “Oh, no.” His face looked pale around the lips and eyes, despite his suntan.

“What does it mean?”

“It's begun. It will be like the last time. Or worse.”

Around them colored lights blazed in the gray day. To Laurus they looked suddenly like the grins of a clown at the birthday party of an unhappy child. The music from the Ferris wheel and carousel burbled merrily. Sydney didn't know what to do, burst into tears or suggest a turn in the bumper cars.

“I have to get to a radio,” Laurus said. “Do you mind?”

“Of course not.” They were hurrying toward the gate when they met the Cochran girls coming in, laughing. Sydney cut their greetings short. “We have to get to a radio. Warsaw has been bombed, you know.”

“Oh,” said the Cochran girls, and watched as Sydney rushed Laurus off.

 

All during the weekend they listened to the news. They listened mostly at Leeway, as Candace was hosting a bridge tournament at The Elms. Gladdy McClintock was home at last, with an amazingly attractive beau from California. Laurus and Sydney sat with them and listened to the wireless in the big room where there had been so much music, so many games, so much fun. Dr. McClintock fed the fire in the big stone fireplace. Mrs. McClintock sat with her sewing basket in a pool of yellow lamplight, mending socks stretched over a smooth wooden darning egg. There was a tired crease between her eyes and she kept pursing her lips in an anxious tic she was unaware of.

Dr. McClintock watched his wife from behind his book. He knew she was thinking of Tommy. No mother with a son that age could help it, even if America didn't get into it.

Gladdy and her handsome friend sat on the window seats in the corner overlooking the fog-muffled lawn and played hearts. By Sunday morning it was midday in Europe, and France and England were both at war. Neville Chamberlain came on the air to say that everything he had believed in during his public life had crashed in ruins. Dr. McClintock stood up and walked around the room as if he couldn't listen to this sitting down, but Chamberlain's personal despair moved Sydney; she thought suddenly of her father. King George made a speech they heard at noon and President Roosevelt talked to them in the evening.

There were no more entries in the Leeway Guest Book that summer. By Tuesday they knew that Warsaw was in flames.

“My mother studied in Warsaw,” said Laurus, as they walked back to The Elms that evening. “She has lifelong friends there.”

“Call her,” said Sydney.

Laurus was shocked. It was insanely expensive, and the radio signal very hit-or-miss. No one called long-distance. They wrote letters or sent a telegram.

“Laurus, you have to hear her voice. She has to hear yours.”

“It's the middle of the night there.”

“So? What time do they get up?”

“Six-thirty. Seven o'clock.”

“We'll book a call for then.”

 

When they got home, they built a fire in the den where the telephone was, and settled down to play backgammon. “You're a very kind person, Sydney,” said Laurus a little after midnight.

“Thank you.” She liked compliments. She hadn't had all that many in her life.

“Are you sure you don't want to go to bed?”

“I'm sure.”

They played on.

“Unless you want to be alone?” she said at about one-thirty.

“No.”

When it was finally morning in Denmark, his call came through.