The Proud Shall Stumble

by Gerald N. Lund

  He knew immediately what she meant. The memory of that Christmas day in 1923 and the clash between an eight-year-old boy and a grown woman had shocked everyone in the family. Benji had later apologized to Celeste for saying he hated her, and she had apologized to him for suggesting that his best friends in Germany were thieves and cretins.

  Since then, no one had brought up the incident again. Benji and Abby had sent Celeste a birthday card with a small Navajo turquoise necklace, and Benji’s note had been as warm and open as Abby’s. In response, for their birthdays, which had been just three weeks before, Celeste had sent Benji a six-inch pewter replica of a Minuteman soldier and Abby a pewter mug with her name on it. They had both called to thank her for the gifts—probably with their mother’s encouragement—but there was no question that Benji’s gratitude for the statue was genuine and unrestrained.

  “It’ll be fine,” Frank said. “Benji’s probably totally forgotten it by now.”

  “It may be fine,” Celeste replied, “but he hasn’t forgotten it. I can assure you of that.”

  Reginald was trying to wiggle out of his father’s arms. “Get down, Daddy!”

  “No you don’t,” Frank said. “Look, here comes the big choo-

  choo.”

  Celeste barely noticed. Her eyes were fixed on the approaching locomotive. But Frank’s thoughts were back at the ranch house on that Christmas afternoon when his father had announced they were starting the family “Oberammergau 1930” fund. Celeste’s reaction had stunned them all, but none more than Frank. And equally surprising was that Celeste was still concerned about it now.

  But three minutes later, she had her answer. Benji and Abby were the first ones off the train, and as soon as they spotted Frank and Celeste, they gave a whoop and came barreling toward them. And to Frank’s delight, Benji outran his sister by a few steps and threw himself into Celeste’s open arms. Seeing that, Abby changed direction mid-step and ran up to Frank, holding out her arms. “Reginald! Reginald! It’s Abby.”

  Reginald, of course, turned away from her, but Frank gave his sister a big hug with the arm that wasn’t holding Reginald. He then turned to Benji. “Hey, Mister Benjamin Westland,” Frank growled. “I’m the brother here. How come Celeste’s getting all the hugs?” And with that, Benji and Abby traded places as Mitch, Edie, and Tina came up to join them.

  “Wow,” Frank said, holding Tina at arm’s length. “Look at you. You’re all grown up, even since we last saw you.”

  She eyed him up and down too. “Are you dying your hair?”

  Frank hooted aloud. “Heavens no. Why would you ask that?”

  Christina turned to her parents. “Look. His hair is darker now, not as carrot red as it’s been before.”

  “It is darker,” Edie agreed, studying him as well. “And your freckles are fading a little too. What’s happening to you, son?” The last part was said with a smile.

  “He’s dying his hair,” Tina said firmly. “And I’ll bet he’s using some of Celeste’s face powder to hide his freckles.”

  Celeste laughed aloud as Frank yelped in dismay. “Not on your life!” he cried. “One more word and I’m going to take you over my knee and paddle your bottom right here for all to see.”

  “Actually,” Celeste said, still laughing, “freckles do fade a little over time, especially when you live in Boston and never see the sun.”

  Frank handed Reginald to Celeste and lunged for Tina. She jumped back, but not fast enough. He enveloped her in his arms and swung her off her feet, twirling her around and around. When he finally put her down, he drew her to him in a huge bear hug. “It’s good to see you again, little sister.”

  3:53 p.m.—Parking Lot, Main Terminal Building,

  South Station Train Terminal, Boston

  Benji was out ahead of the rest of the family, walking backwards so he could watch them and look around at the massive hall they were passing through. “Wow! I don’t remember this place being this big before. This is . . . uh. . . .”

  “Magnifique?” Celeste suggested with a smile.

  Benji stopped. “Man-ya-feek? What does that mean?”

  Celeste laughed. “It’s French for magnificent.”

  Benji tried pronouncing it again and grinned. “Yeah, I like it. Magnificent.” He turned to his father. “Hey, Dad, did we come to this station when we came home from Germany?”

  “Yes, we did. And that was only three years ago. I’m surprised you don’t remember.”

  “He was so glad to be back in America by that point,” Edie said, “I don’t think he was paying much attention to the station.”

  Once again Reginald was wiggling in his father’s arms. “Down, Papa. Down.”

  “No, Reginald. I have to hold you. There are too many people.”

  Tina moved over to them and held out her hands to her nephew. “Come to Aunt Tina, Reginald. I’ll walk with you.”

  Reginald turned away, totally ignoring her.

  “It’s going to take some time for him to warm up to you all,” Celeste said. “He’s very shy around strangers.”

  Snapping her fingers as she remembered something, Tina whirled and walked back to where a porter was following along with their luggage piled on a small cart. “Excuse me,” she said, “but could I get that small green bag down for a minute? I need to get something out of it.”

  “Of course,” the porter replied, and he moved out of the way of the main flow of traffic. The others in their group stepped aside too.

  “Ah,” Edie said. “I had forgotten that. Great idea.”

  When the porter handed Tina the bag, she opened it and quickly found what she was looking for. She withdrew it, keeping her back turned to the family, and closed the bag again. “Thank you,” she said to the porter.

  “Any time, lassie,” he said with a smile as he put the bag back on top of the pile.

  Tina turned around and walked to Frank and Reginald, holding something behind her back. Seeing her coming again, Reginald turned away. With a soft laugh, Tina held out a small wooden dump truck with wheels that turned. It was painted a brilliant yellow, like the trucks that hauled gravel to make roads. “Look, Reginald.”

  He half turned, and then his eyes widened. Tina dropped to one knee and rolled the truck back and forth across the marble floor. “Vroom! Vroom!”

  Instantly Reginald was squirming to get down. “See, Papa. See.” Frank lowered him to the ground. Without moving away from the protection of his father’s legs, he held out both hands. “Mine?”

  Edie leaned in closer to Celeste. “Tina found that in the train station in Chicago. She bought it with her own money.”

  Celeste was watching her son closely. “Look at his eyes,” she said with a chuckle.

  Frank gave his son a gentle push. “Go see Aunt Tina,” he said. “Then you can have it.”

  “Mine?” Reginald took a step toward her, his hand outstretched.

  “Yes, Reginald. This is for you. Come and see,” Tina said. She held the truck just far enough out that he couldn’t reach it. After a moment, he went to her and she gave it to him. Immediately he squatted down and started running the truck back and forth along the floor. “Rummm! Rummm! Rummm!” he growled.

  Edie clapped her hands. “He loves it!” she cried.

  Celeste was clearly taken aback. “I can’t believe he would take it from you!”

  “That’s our Tina,” Mitch said proudly. “She has a real gift with children. She’s thinking that she’d like to be a schoolteacher.”

  Frank watched them start walking together, Reginald’s small hand clasped in Tina’s. Reginald was running the truck back and forth across his stomach, making the motor sounds again. Frank then turned and looked at Celeste. “What did I tell you?” he said with a look toward Benji, who had gone forward and joined Tina and Reginald, talking to Reginald as they walked.
>
  Celeste nodded as something unspoken passed between them. “And you were right,” she said huskily. Then she said to the others, “Come, let’s catch up with them before our boy totally forgets that his parents and grandparents are here too.”

  As they left the terminal, Frank pointed to the left. “The parking lot is this way.”

  “Which reminds me,” Mitch said to Frank. “I hope you have more than one car. There are eight of us, plus all the baggage.”

  “No problem, Dad. Celeste’s father sent one of his chauffeurs with us. He’ll take the baggage to your hotel. And I’m driving his Cadillac, which seats seven comfortably. Celeste can hold Reginald on her lap.”

  “No way!” Tina exclaimed. “Reginald is sitting on my lap.”

  “And I’m sitting beside them,” Abby said.

  “You’re driving a Cadillac?” Benji cried. “Really?”

  “Not just any Cadillac, little brother. A Cadillac Phaeton. Top of the line. A V8 engine that generates eighty-three horsepower at three thousand rpm, an all-new body style, standard four-wheel brakes, tires with wooden spokes. The works.”

  Edie turned to Mitch. “Some little boys never grow up, do they?”

  “Can I ride up front with you, Frank?” Benji blurted. “Will you show me how you shift the gears? I can drive the pickup now. Dad lets me drive it on the ranch.”

  Celeste reached out and touched Benji’s shoulder. “You can ride between me and Frank, if you’d like.”

  He threw back his shoulders. “Really? Gee willikers, Celeste. That would be great. Thank you!”

  Frank turned to his parents as they moved toward the car. “I know you’re utterly exhausted after three days on the train, so we thought we’d drop you off at the hotel now and let you rest for a couple of hours. We’ll come back and have a quiet dinner there tonight. Then, tomorrow, if you’d like, I thought I’d take you around Boston. Celeste’s parents are putting on a big banquet tomorrow night to celebrate us graduating, so she’s going to stay home and help them. But I thought you might like to see what we call the ‘Freedom Walk’ here in Boston. There are over a dozen significant historical locations in the downtown area that we can see by taking a leisurely walk through the city.”

  “I would love that,” Edie said.

  “Me too,” Tina exclaimed.

  “Me three,” Abby and Benji said at the same moment.

  Mitch smiled. “Make it four.”

  Celeste reached out and took Benji’s hand. “Then, Benji, if you’d like, Frank will take you all out to Lexington and Concord, where the first shots of the Revolutionary War were fired.”

  Benji’s eyes grew wide. “No kidding?”

  “No kidding,” Frank replied. “And there’s a monument there at what they call the Old North Bridge. The monument is the original, life-size statue of a Minuteman getting ready to fight the British redcoats. It was the model for the statue Celeste sent you for your birthday.”

  “Really?!” Benji nearly shouted it out. “Wow–ee! That’s the bee’s knees.”

  Celeste turned to Edie. “After dinner, if you’re not too tired, Frank and I have something we’d like to talk with you about, if that’s all right.”

  “Of course. We’re here to celebrate what you two have accomplished. Our time is yours.”

  7:25 p.m.—Parker’s Restaurant,

  Parker House Hotel, 60 School Street, Boston

  Mitch wiped his mouth with the linen napkin and pushed his chair back from the table slightly. “All right, I surrender. Take me away. I am done for.”

  Frank laughed. “You’re not the first to succumb to this restaurant. Many a good man has perished here.”

  Abby was still hunched over her very generous plate of dessert. “Frank, how come they call it Boston cream pie? This isn’t pie. It’s a cake.”

  Celeste laughed. “That’s what everyone says. Actually, it was the creation of the hotel here shortly after they opened in 1856, and it was quite revolutionary for the time.” She chuckled. “Lots of revolutionary things have happened here in Boston.”

  Benji, who had been told by his mother not to wipe his dessert plate clean with his finger, was trying to get the last of the cream onto his fork without much success. He looked up. “I get it,” he said brightly. “Like the Revolutionary War, right?”

  “Way to go, Benj,” Frank drawled. “Looks like school’s paying off for you.”

  “Anyway,” Celeste went on, “you’re right, Abby. It is a cake. Not sure why they called it a pie.”

  Edie chimed in. “We make Parker House rolls all the time at home. Do they come from here too?”

  “Yes. Another of the hotel’s creations, first made in the 1870s.”

  “Wow!” Benji said as he speared the last trace of cream and popped it in his mouth. “So this place is really famous.”

  Tina spoke up. “Mama was born in 1870, weren’t you, Mama?”

  An impish grin stole across Benji’s face as Edie nodded. “Wow! So the rolls are as old as Mom? Does anyone still eat them?”

  The others chuckled, but Abby was disgusted. “The rolls aren’t that old, stupid. Just the recipe.”

  “Abigail Eliza!” Edie cried. “What did you just say?”

  “Sorry,” Abby said. “But he is such a Dummkopf.”

  Now it was Mitch who intervened. They had talked about this before they had ever left home—there was to be no German spoken around Celeste or her family. Mitch glanced at Celeste, but if she had noticed the German, it didn’t show on her face. He looked over at Tina. “Christina, will you take the twins up to their room, please? Your mother and I are going to talk with Frank and Celeste for a while, and the twins both need a bath. Benji can use our room, Abby yours.”

  Tina got to her feet. “Yes. Come on, you two. And Abby, you can’t take all the hot water like you usually do. I need a bath too.”

  Frank was amused. “I don’t think there’ll be a shortage of hot water, sis. Not in the Parker House.”

  As they left, Frank waved to the waiter. “Oh, no you don’t,” Mitch said, “not when Celeste’s father is paying for our rooms.” He quickly got out his billfold and took out enough money to cover the dinner. “Okay, what is it you would like to talk to us about?”

  Frank got to his feet. He took Celeste’s hand and pulled her up beside him. “Let’s go into the lounge area. It will be much quieter there.”

  Chapter Notes

  The Parker House Hotel, now the Omni Parker House, is still doing business in downtown Boston in the same building where it began and is considered one of Boston’s finer hotels. Boston cream pie and Parker House rolls are only two of their lasting contributions to America’s food traditions.

  June 3, 1925, 7:42 p.m.—

  Lounge Area, Parker House Hotel, Boston

  There were several couples in the lounge area of the ­hotel—some talking quietly, two of them reading. Two older couples were at a table playing bridge. Frank steered their group toward a small cluster of overstuffed chairs set in a circle in one corner.

  The lounge was a large room, tastefully furnished with classical artwork on the walls and rich wood paneling throughout. Celeste, who briefly majored in art and design, pointed out things to them about the art and the furniture. And to Edie’s surprise, the more Celeste talked, the more nervous she and Frank seemed to become. Once, when their heads were turned away, Edie gave Mitch a questioning look. He could only shrug.

  Finally, Celeste sat back and put her hands in her lap. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to prattle on so. I love this room. One of my design classes brought us here several times to study how all the elements of good design come together.”

  “Well,” Mitch said, “it certainly is beautiful.”

  “Yes,” Edie agreed. “We stayed in some nice hotels when we went to Europe, but nothing was more impressive
than this.”

  “I think so too,” Celeste said. But as she spoke, her hands were twisting nervously together. Frank reached across and took them in his hand and held them still. She flushed a little as she glanced to see if Mitch and Edie had noticed.

  “Do you want me to start, honey?” Frank asked.

  “Yes!” Celeste sighed in relief.

  Edie glanced at Mitch. Why so nervous? From Mitch’s expression, it was clear he was wondering the same thing.

  “We have some good news,” Frank finally began.

  Edie gave a little start and blurted out, “Really?”

  Seeing her expression, Frank suddenly panicked. “Oh no, Mom. It’s not that. We’re not having another baby.”

  Celeste’s head snapped up and her face went scarlet. “Oh my, no,” she said. “Not right now.” She gave her husband a pointed look. “Just tell them, Frank.”

  “Right.” He took a deep breath, looking at his father. “Remem­ber that day over Christmas when you and I were out in the barn and I told you about the Kaiser Wilhelm Institute for Physics in Berlin?”

  “Of course. I remember it well. Where Einstein is the director, right?”

  “Yes. And I told you how the Rockefeller Foundation is granting fellowships to promising physics students to help increase America’s commitment to the sciences?”

  “Oh, Frank!” Edie cried. “Did you get it?”

  The freckles across his face gleamed as his cheeks flamed red. “I did. I got a two-year fellowship, which means I can get my doctorate there.”

  “Marvelous!” Mitch exclaimed. “Our son studying with Albert Einstein!”

  “I’m so proud of him,” Celeste said. “His whole cohort is jealous.”

  “But. . . .” Edie hesitated. “You obviously have to live over there.” She looked at Celeste. “So will you be going with him?”

  Celeste ducked her head and her face colored again. “Well, I. . . .”

  “Tell them,” Frank cried. Then to his folks, he said, “Celeste has her own wonderful news.”