“He’s not listed, either.”
“So, both of our soldiers live to fight another day.” He folded up the paper and signaled for the check.
Schultz was waiting with the limousine at the Rhinecliff station. The Colonel was busy at Linwood, he said, but he’d been instructed to drive us to the cemetery in town. I was touched that Jake remembered me saying I’d never visited my father’s grave. At the entrance, we stopped by the flower cart so I could gather up an armload of chrysanthemums, for which Albert insisted on paying. Schultz stayed by the Packard as we wended our way past the hundred-year-old headstones of the town’s Dutch and German founders. We finally located the simple granite marker, the letters of my father’s name as crisp as the day they were chiseled, his dates of birth and death telling the story of a life cut short. The grass under our feet reached up to our ankles as we stood before the stone.
“Would you like to be alone, Helen?”
“No, Albert, please stay.” I held on to his hand to steady myself as I knelt to place the flowers. “Pretty soon I’ll have been alive longer without him than I was with him. It was such a stupid accident, too, that’s what’s so tragic about it.” I looked to him for commiseration, but his expression told me he didn’t know what had happened. “Daddy was racing a motorcycle against Jake’s Roadster when he hit a tree.”
Albert nodded as if finally piecing together a puzzle. “The Colonel told me your father died in his arms.”
“Really? I never knew that.” I took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “Oh, let’s not be maudlin. Come on, I’ll show you where I grew up.”
Schultz drove us to the center of town and parked while we strolled around the block, stepping carefully down the uneven slate sidewalk. I stopped in front of a modest house off Market Street with a rambling barn behind it. I’d wondered if I would still recognize the place, but of course I knew it right away. The sense of nostalgia was so strong I was afraid my sadness might overwhelm me if I got too near. My hand slipped into Albert’s again and held on tight. “That was my daddy’s garage back there. He could fix anything. I helped him whenever he let me. He used to call me his girl mechanic.”
“So you had your sights set on a career from childhood?”
“I suppose so. Mechanic, actress, manager—I guess I’ve had three careers already.”
“You’ve got me beat. All I’ve ever been is a secretary.”
I was lost in thought as we drove out of town, every street corner and storefront pricking at my memory. Childhood was a country from which I’d been forced to emigrate by the disaster of my father’s death. I couldn’t help but wonder what my life would have been like if we’d stayed. I’d be married by now, I supposed, with a little house and a couple of babies and a husband who worked at one of the estates. It was a pretty scene, but it seemed like a play in which no part was right for me. Instead of keeping house, I managed a theater. Instead of relying on one of the estates for an income, I was going to Linwood as a guest. Instead of a husband who laid bricks or trimmed trees, I was accompanied by a college graduate whose fingers had never been calloused from labor. I hadn’t realized I was still holding Albert’s hand until I thought about how soft it was.
The Packard swerved, knocking me from my reverie. We were traveling along a twisting road beneath an archway of overhanging trees. I wondered if this could be the road my father had been racing on. No one had ever told me exactly where he’d been killed. But who could I ask now? Not my mother; it would be cruel to stir up her grief. Not Jake, either—it would sound too much like an accusation. Besides, what would be the point? After seeing Daddy’s headstone and our old house, I didn’t need to stand on the spot where he died.
The road narrowed as we passed a series of iron gates set in stone pillars that discreetly hinted at the elegance of the hidden estates beyond. Schultz pulled through the gate for Linwood, the name of the property welded into the ironwork. The Packard crunched along a gravel drive hemmed by hemlocks for a full minute until a broad lawn opened out before us, revealing a turreted Queen Anne mansion wrapped by a wide porch, its cedar shakes painted bright yellow. Beyond the lawn and below the cliff was the river, as wide and enticing as the first time Henry Hudson’s schooner cleaved its deep channel.
“I guess the Colonel isn’t ready yet.” Schultz switched off the engine and came around to open the door. “You might as well have a walk while we wait.”
The lawn looked like an unpopulated public park. The family must have been gathered at the luncheon table inside, or dispersed to their various summer amusements. It seemed unfair for so much beauty to be set aside for the enjoyment of a single family, none of whom, at the moment, was appreciating it. I imagined how out of place my mother must have felt working at such a grand estate. My childhood had been confined to the town, my father’s hands slick with grease and my mother’s chapped from dishwater. But Jake had grown up here, barely noticing the people who prepared his food, cleaned his rooms, tended the grounds across which he ran. I wanted to resent him for it, but I didn’t have it in me. He couldn’t help his birth any more than I could.
“My mother would love it here,” Albert said. “She spent her summers at a place like this, on a lake outside Pittsburgh, when she was young.”
“Did you, too?”
“The money was all gone by the time I came along. The lake, too, come to think of it.” He pointed to a stone bench mottled with lichen overlooking the cliff and suggested we take in the view. The water below was the color of bluestone, its surface smooth save for the frothy wake of a ferry. On the opposite shore, hills draped in mist made way for the waters of Rondout Creek. A passing train blew a baleful whistle, casting a melancholy note over the scene that brought my thoughts back to the cemetery. My father’s accident had pried me away from everything I knew, while Jake had retreated to Linwood, a manicured world untouched by tragedy. But that wasn’t true, I reminded myself. His father was dead, and his sister Cornelia, too. No life was so charmed as a place like this made it seem.
An enormous Saint Bernard suddenly rounded the bench. It rested its head, heavy as a pony’s, on Albert’s lap. “Well, hello there. Where’s your master?”
“Here I am.” We turned to see Jake looking like a well-dressed ringmaster with a straw hat on his head and a Boston terrier in the crook of his arm. “Welcome to Linwood. This little bitch is Princess.” He lifted his arm to show off the dog, who licked his chin. “And you’ve met my champion, Oh Boy.” The Saint Bernard went to Ruppert’s side. He placed a hand on its shoulder without so much as bending his knees. “I’m on my way to the kennel. Come along?”
Oh Boy appointed himself our guide, leading us past the kitchen gardens until we reached a small barn, a sign above the wide entrance proclaiming it the DUCHESS KENNELS. The excited barking within was answered by the sharp yips of Princess, who squirmed out of Jake’s arm and bounded inside. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim light. Low walls sectioned the barn into generous pens. Oh Boy walked through the open gate of one of the pens and flopped down on a pile of straw, sending a cloud of motes into the air. Princess, meanwhile, was leaping and turning like a circus performer before another pen. “She wants to get to her pups,” Jake said to Albert, who lifted the wriggling dog over the gate and set her inside. A litter of puppies bounded up to greet their mother, clambering over one another and batting her with their paws. Though her teats were still distended from nursing, the pups had recently been weaned and Princess kept them at bay with a convincing snarl.
Jake stopped in front of a third pen. “And how are your pups, Bulgari?” A Saint Bernard nearly as big as Oh Boy came up to the gate. Rising on her hind legs, she placed her front paws on Jake’s shoulders, wilting him with her weight. Behind her in the straw, puppies the size of full-grown spaniels rolled and played.
I pointed to a tiny pup lurking in the corner of Princess’s pen. “What about that one over there?”
“That little pipsqueak?”
Jake looked over, his hands buried in Bulgari’s jowls. “That one’s the runt of the litter. Pick him up if you want to.”
I eased through the gate and approached the runt. Kneeling down, I extended my arms, and he scampered up to me. I lifted him to my shoulder as I stood, the pup’s flat face snuggled against my neck.
“You’ve found a friend,” Albert said.
“Jake called him a little pipsqueak.”
Albert scratched the pup’s round belly. “What do you say, Pip? Do you like your belly rubbed?” As if in answer, the pup reached its paws up to my nose.
“Bostons are such smart little dogs, aren’t they?” Jake joined us, wiping drool from his fingers with a monogrammed handkerchief. “Each of my nieces has claimed one of Princess’s pups, but this one’s still not spoken for. You can have him, Helen, if you like.”
“Me?” I pulled the pup from my shoulder and held him in front of my face. I had no experience with dogs and was about to decline the offer—an untrained puppy was sure to wreak havoc in our apartment—but Jake had offered me something valuable enough to be given to his own nieces. My mother was sure to appreciate that. “Well, Pip, what do you think, would you like to come live in the city with me?”
The pup yipped in seeming delight and Jake declared the matter settled. He had the zookeeper pack a basket with some kibble, a blanket, a jar of water, and a dish. Pip stretched his tiny mouth in a yawn and promptly fell asleep.
Provisioned by the cook with a picnic of sandwiches and beer, we piled into the Packard, leaving the yellow mansion and the green lawns of Linwood behind. Down the road, I spied an old mill through the trees, its wheel now still. Below the mill, a craggy waterfall spilled into a quiet cove, making a romantic scene. I leaned out the window, my hand securely on Pip’s sleeping head. “What a beautiful place.”
“That mill was worth a fortune, back when Rhinecliff was first settled,” Jake said. “It hasn’t been used in decades. I used to go swimming in the cove there when I was a younger man.”
“By yourself?” It seemed to me a lonely place.
“Yes, by myself, though sometimes I found another swimmer there.”
I placed the sleeping pup in his basket as we drove on. Passing through Hyde Park, Jake pointed out Astor’s place at Ferncliff, followed by the Vanderbilt mansion, its magnificent edifice imposing even from the road. Albert whistled. “That’s an impressive estate.”
“It was built to impress,” Jake said. “I never saw the point of it all myself. I want a home where a man can relax with his friends, not host galas meant to be written up in the social pages. Do you know, Helen, I own office buildings and a brewery and a baseball team, but in all my fifty-one years I’ve never owned my own house? When I heard about the property we’re going to see, I thought it was about time I built something for myself.”
“I’m glad we could accompany you,” I said, still unsure why Jake needed the two of us to come along.
“I want your opinion, Helen, and I’ll need Kramer to handle the details if I decide to buy it.”
“You won’t be going through Ruppert Realty?” Albert asked.
“No, Kramer, this purchase will be personal.” He leaned forward to tap Schultz on the shoulder. “Stop here—that must be the land agent.” We were joined by a gregarious man who pointed to yet another iron gate set in stone. “It’s here, turn here.” Schultz maneuvered the limousine down a rutted drive that skirted the base of a rocky outcropping to the right, while on the left a shallow creek tumbled haphazardly over boulders. We came to a clearing, more meadow than lawn, in the center of which stood a ramshackle house topped with a widow’s walk. Overgrown trees surrounded the clearing, blocking any view of the river. We might as well be in the forest, I thought, as on the banks of the Hudson.
“The house is very historic,” the land agent said as we piled out of the limousine. “Mostly Victorian, but parts of it go back to the eighteenth century. Shall we start there?”
“I don’t care about the house,” Jake said. “That would all come down. I’d rather walk the grounds.”
I stayed behind with Pip while Albert, a notepad and pencil in his hands, followed Jake and the land agent as they forged a path through the tall grass. Schultz came over, spread out a blanket, and set down the hamper of sandwiches and beer. “Here you are, Miss Winthrope. Might as well have your picnic while you wait.”
I invited him to join me and we spent an amiable half hour eating and playing with Pip, who would wander off the blanket then stop, whimper, and come bounding back, ecstatic each time he found me again. Finally, the pup and the chauffer both stretched out and fell asleep in the soporific September sun. I looked over at the house. It was woefully out-of-date, but it seemed a shame to simply tear it down. The shutters were pinned back and a few casements were raised, the land agent, I assumed, having aired it out in anticipation of Jake’s visit. Going up to the door I found it open and let myself in. The fireplaces were blackened by centuries of soot and the chandeliers held melted candles. I assumed the plumbing, whatever there was of it, would be just as primitive. No wonder Jake intended to replace it all.
Upstairs I explored the bedrooms, thinking of the generations of children who’d been rocked in the broken cradles or ridden the abandoned rocking horses. I climbed up to the third floor, where servants would have slept in unheated rooms under the eaves. Finally, I located a steep stair that led, as I’d hoped, to the widow’s walk. Spiderwebs were tangled in my hair by the time I emerged onto the small platform perched at the very top of the roof. The view snatched my breath away. Beyond the tops of the untrimmed trees, the Hudson sparkled wide and blue. Across the river, the crenellated fortifications of West Point clung to the cliff like a rookery.
Below, I spotted the land agent leaning on the hood of the Packard. Schultz had gone into the bushes beyond the lawn to relieve himself. I laughed and looked for Albert. There he was, emerging from the grass with Pip in his hands. The naughty puppy must have wandered off again. As if sensing my attention, Albert looked up. I waved. He picked up Pip’s little paw and made him wave back at me. My heart hitched at the sweetness of the gesture.
A thud of footfalls preceded Jake’s emergence onto the widow’s walk. “It’s quite a climb, isn’t it?” He joined me at the rail, swatting away the webs stuck to his hat. “I’ll have those trees cut down so we can see the river from the lawn.”
“You’ve decided to buy it, then?”
He nodded. “Once I see something I want, there’s no point in looking further.”
I swept my eyes again over the view. A moment ago, it had been mine to contemplate. Now, it belonged to him. As did we all, I realized, looking down at Albert and Schultz, all of us Jake’s employees. It made me feel sorry for him, a man without wife or children, forced to assemble a family from a bunch of purchased parts. “It’s a beautiful property, Jake.”
“It will be, once I’ve finished with it. I hope you’ll come here often, Helen, you and Kramer. I’ll feel more at home with the two of you around.”
“I’d like that,” I said, thinking my mother would be thrilled to hear it. Perhaps she’d be invited, too, as a guest this time instead of a servant. We stood side by side for a while, listening to the lonely sound of leaves rustling in the breeze. Impulsively, I asked the question that had been weighing on my mind all day. “My father, tell me—” Jake’s face went white, but he needn’t have worried. It wasn’t my intention to burden him with blame. “After the accident, did he suffer?”
Jake’s jaw, typically so stern, began to tremble. “No, Helen. It was all over in an instant. I was with him for his dying breath. He never felt a thing, I promise.”
I hadn’t realized how the unanswered question had burdened me until the weight of it was lifted. Tears of relief slipped down my cheeks. Jake brought my head to his shoulder and patted my hair as if I were a little girl.
A sharp cry split the air, driving us apart. I dragged the heel of my hand across my eyes. �
�What was that?”
“A golden eagle. They nest along the river.” Jake pointed to a great wheeling creature, its outstretched wings riding an invisible current of air. “I think I’ll name the estate Eagle’s Rest. What do you say to that, Helen?”
I didn’t associate birds of prey with the cozy retreat Jake claimed to want, but it wasn’t my place to say so. “I’d say that’s a fine name, Jake.”
The eagle plummeted toward the riverbank, searching for food. A moment later it rose up with a screech, slanting through the sky and disappearing among the treetops, the limp carcass of some hapless creature dangling from its talons.
1921
Chapter 22
“I didn’t realize how minuscule it was.” Helen looked skeptically at the narrow building on MacDougal Street that housed the Provincetown Playhouse.
“It used to be a stable, if you can believe that,” I said, stomping my feet to warm them.
She raised an eyebrow. “They must have been awfully small horses.”
I laughed and reached out to fold up her collar against the January cold. My gloved fingers touched the brooch I’d given her for Christmas, the cloisonné dragonfly shimmering richly against the threadbare fabric of her coat. I wasn’t sure what she spent her salary on, but it certainly wasn’t clothes. Whenever I’d complimented her on a new outfit it turned out to be on loan from the wardrobe mistress. When I’d chosen the brooch at Tiffany’s I knew it would outshine anything she could pin it on, but I’d wanted her to have something beautiful and fine for everything she’d done for me.
Back in the winter of 1918, when the influenza was so rampant in New York that my mother forbade me to travel to Pittsburgh for Christmas, Helen had come to my rescue, inviting me to her family’s cozy apartment. Felix, who never did understand my sentimental attachment to the holiday, scoffed at the stocking I hung for him from my mantel. But at Helen’s, there’d been a tinseled tree tucked into a corner of the living room and a supper of candied ham with sweet potato pie enjoyed around the kitchen table. It was all so delightful that I’d managed to invite myself again the next year, too, and this December it was simply assumed I’d be joining them for Christmas. For the third year in a row I gave Rex a season pass to the Yankees games at the Polo Grounds—in the bleachers, so he’d have his chance at catching a fly ball. I always chose a silk scarf for Mrs. Winthrope, who’d (thankfully) given up wearing her ratty mink stole. For Helen that first Christmas I’d gotten a lovely Parker pen and pencil set in a pearl finish. The next year I’d spent rather more on a ladies’ Rolex wristwatch. This Christmas, I couldn’t resist the brooch; the salesgirl assured me all the colors of the rainbow could be seen in its iridescent wings. Paul warned me Helen would be expecting a diamond ring next, but I told him she was so consumed with her career she had no time to think about matrimony.
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