by Jane Peart
"Yes, of course, but before you go, I must say your ensemble is stunning; you look absolutely charming, and your bonnet is one of the prettiest I've seen in quite awhile."
"Coming from a gentleman who has just been to San Francisco that's quite a compliment. Thank you," Addie smiled. "I really must go now." She closed her parasol.
Intuitively, Addie knew Louis Montand found her attractive, and her old self-confidence, dampened daily by her ignominious position, re-emerged. She crossed the street aware that Louis Montand's eyes were following her.
Holding her skirt gracefully with one hand, she went up the church steps, knowing he was still watching her. For the first time since her arrival she felt like herself, Adelaide Pride of Oakleigh. As she reached the church door, she lifted her head.
Just as she entered the vestibule, one dainty heel of her new boots caught on the doorstep. She tripped and would have lost her balance, maybe fallen, had not a solicitous usher at the entrance caught her elbow and steadied her.
Blushing, she whispered a thank you. Hot with embarrassment, she was shown to a pew and seated. Trying to cover her confusion she opened the church bulletin she had been handed. When she saw the announcement of the text for today's sermon, Proverbs 16:18, "Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall." Addie had to suppress a giggle. How humorously the Lord sometimes admonishes.
Across the street Louis Montand stood watching as Addie mounted the church steps then disappeared through the church door. There was no question about it, Adelaide Pride had an air of quality about her. Something that, in his experience, was rare even in the well-bred young women to whom he had been exposed at the rounds of debutante parties when he was an undergraduate at Harvard. She possessed a natural refinement and understated elegance that he certainly had not met since coming to California. Friends had introduced him to any number of daughters of gold- and land-rich families, hopeful mamas hovering, aware of his enormous wealth and his background. However, none had appealed to him. And Louis was determined he would only marry on his own terms. He must feel something. If not passion, at least there must be real attraction. Anything less would only bore him. If he were going to fulfill his own vision of life here in this valley, he wanted to share it with a woman of whom he could feel proud and who would make other men envious of him, someone who could grace the kind of home that would establish him in this tight-knit community. A woman of beauty, breeding, some intelligence, and ability to understand and appreciate his plans.
Possibly Adelaide Pride could be the one. But what on earth was she doing here with that vulgar social climber? Louis's lip curled in contempt.
Well, he would wait until Estelle had a chance to meet Miss Pride. He valued his sister's opinions and advice although he did not always take them.
A few nights later, Addie wrote in her journal:
I have now been here and in the position of "paid
I have now been here and in the position of "paid companion" (as Mrs. A. never lets me forget!) a full month. I feel like a prisoner marking off the days of his sentence on the wall of his cell! Never have I met anyone who is so universally unpleasant and rude to anyone she considers inferior, which includes me, along with the hotel employees, the waiters in the dining room, the desk clerk, and maids. I wince inwardly whenever Mrs. A. addresses anyone. Only Brook Stanton and Louis Montand escape her razor-sharp tongue.
Mrs. A. is, in my opinion, interested only in people she thinks are superior in some way. Almost upon my arrival here, she pointed out Mr. Montand saying he and his sister, whom I have not met as yet, were the only guests worth "cultivating." "They're real bluebloods," she confided. "From Boston." As if I cared.
Besides, I have discovered that in California what is important is to claim you are descended from "pioneers," the earliest settlers. Just as in Virginia a family who could trace their ancestry to Jamestown was considered among the most prestigious F.F.V. In that case, Letty's, our cottage maid and bathhouse attendant poor mother who came out in 1849 by covered wagon, should be on top of Mrs. A.'s list to cultivate!
To my embarrassment, Mrs. A. pursues Montand and keeps asking him when his sister will be returning to the Springs. Mr. Montand is certainly polite and pleasant enough. I had a chance encounter with him Sunday morning on my way to church.
Dec. 27th
Christmas has come and gone, a more dreary one I have never spent. Well, maybe the ones during the war were worse—in some ways. But at least I was surrounded by family and friends and we all tried to make things as merry as possible under the circumstances.
Many people left to spend Christmas with relatives for a week. The Montands left to spend Christmas in southern California with friends at the famous Del Monte Hotel in San Diego and will not return until after the New Year.
So there were only a few of us left, the Misses Brunell, and several older people, invalids in wheelchairs or walking with canes.
I must give credit to Brook who made things as festive as possible for those guests who remained during the holidays. Brook had a seven-foot cedar tree put up in the lobby, decorated lavishly with glass balls, flittering tinsel, and gold garlands, and each evening tiny lighted candles made the gilt baubles and cornucopias filled with hard candies sparkle. He said it was a custom first started in Germany and brought to England by Queen Victoria's Prince Consort, Albert, and now was becoming a tradition in America. At each table in the dining hall he had placed red candles and a wreath of greens and holly. One evening a choir from one of the local churches came to sing carols, another evening a quartet gave a concert in the lounge. He told me he had planned to give a Christmas ball but with so many guests leaving, it had not worked out.
January 1, 1871
New Year's Day. I cannot believe it is six years since the war ended and my strange new life began. It has all passed so quickly and I don't remember as much about it as I remember about the five long years of the war.
Now I am in a whole new phase of my life and the future is a kind of blur. I cannot imagine what awaits me in this New Year.
I don't know why I even mention this, but a few days before Christmas I saw the man I now call my "mysterious stranger"—again. I was doing a little shopping and saw him coming directly toward me along the sidewalk. For some reason, I became so flustered, I simply ducked into the nearest store. My heart was like a wild bird beating its wings. So rattled, I bought a silk scarf and a pair of gloves I didn't need and couldn't afford.
January 23
My Christmas box arrived from Aunt Susan along with a letter from Emily filled with news of friends and events in Avondale—which now seems to me like another world. Sometimes I ask myself what I am doing here, so far from everything I knew in my life. Just this morning when I was reading my Bible I turned to Jeremiah 29:11 and read, "For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope."
How comforting that is; how I wish I could believe it.
One thing of which I'm sure is that what I'm earning is helping provide Aunt Susan and Uncle Myles with a few extra comforts. That thought is worth all I have to put up with in this ignominious position.
PART 2
SILVER SPRINGS
RESORT
Chapter 6
Upon her arrival Mrs. Amberly had outlined Addie' duties to her. Among them was to read aloud to her. Because of her own love of books Addie assumed this would be one of her easiest tasks. But although Mrs. Amberly sent her on weekly trips to the library to select books, it turned out that newspapers were what her employer most liked having read to her. She loved nothing more than hearing accounts of deaths and disasters; murder and mayhem were her special enjoyment. She eagerly relished the details of survivors' firsthand stories of excursion boat sinkings and train wrecks. Floods, fires, and tornadoes she savored vicariously.
Although her employer's tastes continued to dismay Addie, she constantly reminded herself of her purpose in taking
this job, of how important it was that Mrs. Amberly be satisfied with her. Addie determined to give Mrs. Amberly nothing to complain about—not her attitude, nor unwillingness, nor any failure to accommodate.
Addie even conquered her distaste for reminding Mrs. Amberly when her salary was due. This demeaning scene was repeated on the first and fifteenth of every month. It was an ordeal each time, but Addie faced it without flinching. She learned to stand impassively while Mrs. Amberly emitted a small grunt or two, frowned as she wrote out her check. It was for Aunt Susan and Uncle Myles' sake, and for them Addie would have gone through much worse.
Twice monthly Addie walked to the post office and sent off the money order. Knowing how gratefully it would be received made up for all the humiliation in earning it. Afterward she would walk to the library and check out several titles of her own choosing.
One such afternoon, as she arrived back on the resort grounds from town, Addie met Brook. He was smiling broadly and seemed in especially high spirits.
"Well, Addie, I've brought it off!" he greeted her. "Come sit down on one of the benches, and I'll tell you all about it."
Curious, Addie followed him over to one of the white iron-lace benches circling the arboretum and sat down, eager to hear at last what Brook's secret was.
"It's confirmed. She's coming. Delia DeSecia!" he announced triumphantly. "She's just finished a concert engagement in San Francisco, and I've persuaded her to come here for a rest and—" he paused significantly, "—and to give an informal concert for our guests."
"That's wonderful, Brook. I know how pleased you must be."
"I'm planning to send out invitations to people in town, as well—engraved ones. Make them feel they're singled out to attend." He smiled mischievously. "There's nothing people like more than feeling they're getting into something exclusive. And Madame DeSecia will get what she enjoys most—all the attention, not having to share curtain calls with a tenor she dislikes or a contralto who's jealous of her!" Brook rubbed his hands together gleefully. "Ah, it will be quite an occasion. I shall put on a reception like this town has never seen before—champagne, caviar ..."
His eyes shone with excitement, his voice buoyant. He was obviously elated by his accomplishment. It confirmed what Addie had intuitively felt about Brook: when he wanted something he went after it. He let no obstacle stand in his way. She couldn't help wondering what he had offered, what he had promised to get the famous opera star to come.
Brook's eyes took on a kind of glaze as he continued.
"You know, Addie, this means the beginning of a dream I've had for a long time for this town. To bring well-known theatrical figures, actors as well as opera stars and concert artists here to perform. It's the perfect place, and if we treat them like royalty—this will become as fashionable as any resort in the east!" He sighed. "I've always loved the theater even though I was brought up in a home that considered it a sin and I was forbidden to go." Brook gave a little laugh, shook his head as if at the futility of such a prohibition. "Of course, I used to sneak out and spend whatever change I could scrounge up—selling newspapers, shining shoes, running messages—yes, my dear, since you might never guess it to look at me now, but I was a little street urchin. And then I'd go to the Saturday matinees. Sit in the balcony; I bought the cheapest tickets, but I loved it all—sitting in that darkened cavern on uncomfortable, moth-eaten seats, with smells all around me—the smell of over-ripe fruit most of the audience brought with them to eat—or throw—along with the smell of the oil lamps along the side of the aisles dimly illuminating them. All that is mixed in with the thrill of theater—yes, I was conscious of all that and yet, the minute the curtains parted and the flickering stage lights came up, I was in another world.
"The stories and songs unfolded before me, even as I began to see the shoddy costumes, be aware of the bad acting, realize that the comedy and comics were second-rate—still—" Abruptly Brook broke off as if suddenly conscious of how much he had revealed about himself. Suddenly the shining little-boy look on his face vanished and his eyes hardened. He gave a short, harsh laugh.
"I assure you my taste has risen from that of a little lad. One of the joys I find in going to the city is seeing great performances—drama, opera. And that is what I hope to bring here to Calistoga. I want to make it so attractive to the leading stars of the stage, concert halls, and, yes, opera—that they will all be willing to come—even consider it an honor to perform here."
As if he realized she was looking at him sympathetically, Brook smiled, stood up, and said less intently, "That's my dream. And I'll do whatever it takes to make it happen."
There was a flurry of excitement the day Delia DeSecia was to arrive at Silver Springs. The rumor spread among the guests that she would come before lunch. An unusual number of bathhouse appointments were changed, and plans for drives and other activities were canceled so guests could be in the main lounge to catch a glimpse of the opera star. Although everyone tried to maintain an air of casual indifference, as though she were just any other guest arriving at the hotel, the electricity of anticipation was contagious. Mrs. Amberly was as bad if not worse than the rest, though still expressing negative opinions about the famous diva.
"She's past her prime, you know. Why else would she accept an invitation to come here, this out-of-the-way place, if she could go to some big city and have a huge audience?"
Addie said nothing. Besides, the question was rhetorical. Even so, Mrs. Amberly had no intention of missing Madame DeSecia's arrival. She positioned herself in a chair facing the entrance to be sure to have a good view. When Brook's carriage came up the driveway all conversation in the lounge stopped. All eyes turned toward the front door as Brook escorted Madame DeSecia inside. Her white gloved hand rested on Brook's arm, and she talked animatedly to him as they walked into the lobby.
Addie thought her the most beautiful woman she had ever seen in spite of Mrs. Amberly's stage-whispered comment, "That color can't be real!"
Under question was the mass of lustrous red-gold hair visible beneath a hat with a sweeping brim trimmed with lilac blossoms. A lavender suit, with wide satin reveres showed off her figure, voluptuously curved, as befitted an opera singer.
Behind them, scurrying with mincing steps, came a small, thin woman, drably dressed in gray, carrying two hat boxes and a velvet case—containing, one assumed, Madame's jewels. This must be her maid, speculated the whispers behind Addie.
After her was one of the hotel porters laden with tapestried luggage. It was, Addie thought, quite a parade. Impressed, Addie watched as Madame DeSecia, apparently unaware of her audience, swept up the stairway to the suite Addie knew Brook had prepared especially for the use of such celebrated guests.
During her sojourn at the Springs Hotel no one saw much of Madame DeSecia. She had her meals in her suite, and if she had any of the treatments they must have been taken at night or at dawn for no one encountered her coming or going to the bathhouse. However, they did hear her. Sometimes the sound of her vocalizing penetrated the lower floor of the hotel, and everyone stopped whatever they were doing to listen. Even when it was only scales, it seemed remarkable that such a talent was actually on the premises.
At last the date of her concert came. Early in the evening the hotel started filling up. Local people who had received Brook's fancy invitations came dressed in their finest. In the lounge, chairs had been set in two semi-circular rows. A grand piano brought from San Francisco was placed in shiny, black magnificence at one end of the room. Madame DeSecia's accompanist had arrived two days before, and the room was closed for hours at a time so he could practice.
Since Brook had made such a point that the evening would be the most elegant affair ever held at Silver Springs, Addie decided to wear a dress she had been saving—for what she wasn't sure. But now it seemed appropriate. Excitement flushed Addie's cheeks and brightened her eyes as she got dressed. The velvet basque was the color of a ripe persimmon. Tiny amber buttons marched from where t
he stand-up collar ended in a V, to the waist. The tafetta skirt was a deeper shade, drawn to the back with a velvet bow from which pleated ruffles cascaded down the back.
Addie spent more time than usual doing her hair, experimenting with a new style; swept up from her ears and held with tortoise-shell combs to a fall of curls in back. On impulse she took out her mother's opal jewelry. She held it, looking at it for a long moment, then after only a second's hesitation, she slipped in the earrings and fastened on the necklace. She then considered the effect in the mirror. Perfect!
When she went to see if Mrs. Amberly was ready, Addie's suspicions of Mrs. Amberly's envy of anyone younger or comelier were confirmed by the look of outrage on her employer's face. Obviously Mrs. Amberly felt it was not suitable for a "paid companion" to look so stylish.
But Addie refused to allow anything to spoil this evening for her. She deliberately complimented Mrs. Amberly on her own dress, a brilliant blue taffeta embroidered with black Brussels lace and jet beads. It had probably cost a fortune, although it would have been worn to better advantage by someone twenty years younger and forty pounds lighter.
For all her disparagement of the probable quality of the evening's entertainment, Mrs. Amberly insisted on their going over from their cottage nearly an hour before the concert was scheduled to begin. That way they could choose the best seats. Even though embarrassed by her employer's pushiness Addie was glad that they did get seats in the front row.
Mrs. Amberly settled herself fussily. "I hope this isn't like some of the ghastly musicale soirees I've attended. Not that I expect much. I think she's probably third-rate. I never heard of her myself."
That fact was not much of a criterion by which to judge the artist, Addie thought, but not commenting on Mrs. Amberly's many observations had become one of Addie's skills.
However, when Delia DeSecia entered, looking every inch a diva, no one could have failed to be impressed. She was a vision to behold. Gowned in apricot satin embroidered with crystal beads, the bodice draped to show off her white shoulders and rounded bosom. She held a fan edged in marabou. She glittered from the sparkling tiara nestled in the lustrous red-gold waves of her hair to the rhinestone butterflies that fluttered on her peach satin slippers. When she took her place in the curve of the piano the room hushed to awed silence.