Once Charlotte-Anne gave way to Dallas's swift, forceful yanks, the comforter slid to the foot of the bed like a rumpled, soft sculpture accordion. Charlotte-Anne shivered, but knew she would get no sympathy from Dallas, who was not one to coddle children and considered Charlotte-Anne, at seventeen, very much an adult in any case.
Elizabeth-Anne Hale had given Dallas carte blanche to run the apartment and she children as she saw fit. Dallas knew their mother trusted her implicitly, and took seriously her responsibility to see that the children became nicely behaved and dutiful adults. Mrs. Hale had become an extremely busy woman, and she didn't always have much time on her hands to see to the children herself. She had had to delegate a lot of authority, and Dallas wasn't about to let her down.
Charlotte-Anne lay there in her ecru lace nightgown, still huddled against the chill with her head buried under the pillow.
'Come on, Sleeping Beauty,' Dallas growled softly, giving the fluffy, down-filled pillow gentle but firm smacks with the palms of her hands. 'It's a lovely day out. Still a little on the dark side, mind you, but it's gonna be beautiful. Can't you just smell it?' She lifted her head, sniffed appreciatively and smiled. 'Spring is finally in the air.'
As Charlotte-Anne continued to refuse to respond, Dallas shook her head, gazing about her and wondering for what must have been the hundredth time why such a beautiful room was wasted on such a lazy girl. Of all the rooms Dallas had seen in all the years she had spent working in luxury hotels, this particular room was her favorite. The entire decor spoke of femininity and grace. The walls were covered in richly carved French Provincial paneling, but all the other furniture - the chairs, the curvaceous headboard, the bomb£ chests with their pregnant wooden bellies, the lady's dresser with mirror and settee, the sheer gauze curtains and heavier drapes - it was all done in soft, creamy ivory with just a hint of butter yellow for accent. On the dresser, chests, and nightstands stood potted, papery yellow daffodils. There was something intensely lady-like and yet sunny about the room; even on the dreariest of rainy days it seemed to Dallas that the sun was shining here.
It was a room fit for a princess, which was how Dallas looked upon Charlotte-Anne and her sisters. And little Zaccheus was a prince. Crown prince and princesses of an empire which was already comprised of seven hotels, three right here in New York City, along with one each in Baltimore, Philadelphia, Boston, and Washington, D.C. And that wasn't counting the Hale Tourist Court in Texas. Not to mention, Dallas reminded herself, something about shares in a very lucrative gold mine. And from what Dallas's small but alert ears had picked up, Elizabeth-Anne Hale would be off to buy another Tourist Court today, somewhere on Route One.
Elizabeth-Anne's success didn't fill Dallas with envy. It had just the opposite effect: it gave her hope for all womankind. Sometimes she still had trouble believing that the woman she had first met as a fellow maid was now the mistress of the growing Hale empire.
I'm glad she has what she does, Dallas thought to herself with a satisfied chuckle. She deserves it, and so do I. I'm paid handsomely now, and the working conditions are sure a lot better than any I've ever known elsewhere. She nodded to herself. No longer was there need for her to work two jobs, and she didn't have to spend a dime on food, either. Leftovers from the hotel kitchen were hers to lug home. Unbelievable as it seemed, she was even starting to tuck a little money away each week for her own children's future.
'C'mon, now, honey child,' Dallas warned Charlotte-Anne, grabbing hold of the creamy ivory pillow and tugging on that too.
'All right, all right,' Charlotte-Anne mumbled grumpily, her voice muffled by the pillow. She flung it aside angrily, then sat up, yawning. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes with her knuckles. Even disheveled, her beauty was startling.
Since the Hales had moved to the Madison Squire almost a year and a half before, Charlotte-Anne had matured considerably and now looked much older than her seventeen years. All of her youthfulness had been shed. Her gangliness was gone, and her body was tall and slender. Her hand span waist, coupled with the rich, solid swell of her breasts provided a voluptuous figure that was in tantalizing contrast to her pale complexion, which lent her a flawless, haunting porcelain beauty. Her hair was her mother's, the same rich, ripe shade of ready-to-harvest wheat, but her eyes, with their peculiar, unsettling shade of pale aquamarine were the slightly tilted, slanting eyes of a predatory cat. At the same time, small and defiant as her face was, she could appear deceptively frail and sweet looking, thanks to her tiny, pale pink lips and perfect, pearly small teeth. She gave off an air of flawless and enchanting doll-like beauty, but that was on the surface. Beneath the demureness she affected was a poorly concealed toughness, a stubborn will of iron, and a feisty, tiger's mind of her own. No one knew this better than Dallas, who was the first person to set eyes on her each morning before she could settle into the image of sweetness she tried so hard to project.
'Best you hurry,' Dallas warned her. 'You've got half an hour. Breakfast's at seven-thirty sharp. Your Mamma's expecting you to be on time.'
'I hear you, I hear you,' Charlotte-Anne answered testily.
Dallas eyed her suspiciously and then left, closing the door softly behind her.
Charlotte-Anne waited until the door closed, then stuck out her tongue. Without further ado, she swung her legs out over the bed, her feet doing a tip-toe dance as she felt for her slippers. Finally finding them and wiggling them on, she stood up and stretched lazily. Then she pulled on her rose silk robe, tied the pink sash around her miniscule waist, and walked over to the French windows. She looked out for a long moment. It was indeed a perfect, early spring day. As she watched, the city grew lighter and came into sharp, stony focus.
On an impulse, she opened the terrace doors wide and stepped outside. Briskly she massaged her forearms against the sudden chill and did a quick little dance. The terracotta tiles were cold, and the chill soaked right through her thin slippers. But for the moment, any discomfort was quickly forgotten. She leaned forward on the brick parapet wall and stared dreamily out over the city. Thirty-three stories below, the traffic on Madison Avenue was still light, waiting for the morning rush hour.
She shook her head. Considering all the traffic and bustling people, and the low vacancy rate of this hotel, she'd never have known that the country was plunged into the depths of the Depression. From up here, she couldn't see the pitiful look of hopelessness worn by so many walking on the street below her. The suites in the Madison Squire were filled, and so were most of the expensive rooms. It was the inexpensive rooms which went begging. Which only showed, she thought in bewilderment, who was really hurting.
She pushed herself away from the wall and turned to go back inside when something pinkish caught her eye. Could it be?
She stooped down in front of the redwood planter to investigate.
It was! The first of the season's crocuses was braving the weather, its tightly cocooned, wing-like petals peering out from beneath the dark soil. It was an omen, she decided.
Humming softly to herself, she went back inside. Today was special, and so far, everything was working out perfectly, much better than she'd hoped.
She danced through her bedroom, arms extended, and swooped toward the bathroom door.
Yes, everything was going much better than she'd anticipated. She could sense that. The fact that her mother was going to be gone all day proved it; the fact that she wouldn't be back until tomorrow reinforced it further.
Her hum turned into a song as she filled the ceramic washbasin with ice cold water. She slipped out of the robe and nightgown, and splashed handfuls of ice cold water into her face. As she dabbed herself dry with a huge, soft white bath towel, she eyed herself critically in the mirror. She was pleased with what she saw.
She ran the big, tortoise shell comb through her hair. Suddenly she froze, the corners of her lips drooping into a distressed frown. Maybe everything wasn't as perfect as she thought. Perhaps her mother had gotten wind of her pl
ans. Why else would she have insisted on them all having breakfast together this, of all mornings?
Charlotte-Anne ran down the gracefully curving, carpeted stairs of the duplex, her fingers nervously tying her hair back with the silk, navy blue ribbon. She could hear muted voices in the living room.
Damn, she thought to herself, her lips tightening in frustration. She was late again, and they were probably waiting for her to start eating.
She knew that with each passing day she was taking longer to dress, but it was all because of her despised school uniform. Each morning, she was determined to somehow make it look more stylish and she would experiment in front of the mirror. It wasn't her fault, it was the Brearley School's. The elegant building on East Eighty-Third Street might house one of the finest girls' schools in the country, but she hated going there. Even more she hated dressing sedately in plain white blouses and dark blue skirts like some child. She considered herself much too sophisticated for the schoolgirl look, with the short white gloves and her hair tied back with a ribbon. Worse yet, the school was for girls only. How she yearned to throw off the shackles of that school! She would have liked nothing more than to burn her uniform and have her hair styled nicely for a change.
Well, she would do that soon now, she promised herself. Very, very soon. If everything went well. And if it didn't, she would make sure another opportunity presented itself.
She stopped running before she reached the living room doors, and entered the room with a slow, gracious walk.
The rest of the family was already seated around the table at the far end of the room, just as she had feared, waiting for her. Elizabeth-Anne, Regina, Rebecca, Zaccheus, and Larry Hochstetter turned to gaze at her.
Seeing Larry startled her. She hadn't expected him. Family breakfasts were rare enough, due to her mother's grueling schedule, but breakfasts with guests were rarer still. She wondered what had prompted this unusual turn of events.
'Morning,' she said in what she hoped was a light, cheerful voice. Her mother held up her cheek and she kissed it. Charlotte-Anne favored Larry with the best smile she could muster, ignored her sisters and brother, and slipped into her seat.
'Now that we're all here,' Elizabeth-Anne began, without so much as a disapproving glance at her errant daughter, 'we can have our little discussion. As you all know, I've never made a serious decision which might affect you without consulting all of you first.' There was a radiant smile on her fact and her cheeks were tinged with a pinkish color that made her look much younger than her thirty-six years. But, from her fidgeting hands, Charlotte-Anne saw that her mother was unusually nervous.
Charlotte-Anne instantly felt the heavy load slipping off her shoulders. She had been fretting for nothing. This breakfast discussion had nothing to do with what she had feared. Gratefully, she tried to concentrate on what her mother was saying.
'As you all know, it's been nearly a year and a half since your father . . . died.' Elizabeth-Anne had carefully planned her speech, but her voice trembled nevertheless.
The children nodded, their faces suddenly solemn. Elizabeth-Anne glanced quickly at Larry, who sat beside her and held her hand in silent encouragement, his face carefully expressionless.
'There comes a time,' Elizabeth-Anne said slowly, 'when each of us must take a good, hard look at our lives. We must look behind us, to the past, to promises made. We must consider the present, in which we live now. And we must look forward to the future, to what it might hold for us. As you all know, I loved your father very much, as did all of you. And I still love him. However, the fact remains that he is gone. We've all mourned him for a long time. We were alone for years before he died. But, now, while we will always hold him dear to our hearts, we must look toward the future. This was his last request.' She paused, letting her words sink in. Then she smiled and looked hopefully around the table. 'I think you all like Larry?'
Her children nodded.
'As you all know, Larry and I are leaving for New Jersey this morning to buy a new property. But we have other, more important plans in addition. As soon as the papers are signed, we're planning to go on to Elkton, Maryland. It isn't much further, and civil marriages are performed there with a minimum of fuss and delay.' She paused and added softly, 'Larry and I decided we'd like to get married.'
The mention of marriage was totally unexpected, a shocking bolt of lightning out of the blue. Regina's hand slipped, and she knocked over her glass of orange juice, which spread across the white linen tablecloth. Charlotte-Anne sat still as a statue, her slice of toast in one hand, her butter knife in the other. Only her pale eyes moved, and they swept around the table at the silent tableau.
Her mother and Larry were facing each other, exchanging encouraging, hopeful smiles.
Regina's mouth was hanging open as she stared in horror at the yellow stain of the juice.
Rebecca still held a cup of hot chocolate poised at her lips.
The silence was broken by eleven-year-old Zaccheus. 'Are you going to be our new Daddy?' he asked Larry in his clear voice.
The spell was broken and everyone began to move at once. Rebecca lowered her cup, while Regina righted the glass and dabbed at the stain with her napkin.
'I like to think so,' Larry told Zaccheus. He glanced around. 'It all depends on you and your sisters.'
'I told Larry long ago,' Elizabeth-Anne said hesitantly, 'that we always discuss an important decision which affects us all. We'd like to hear all your opinions.'
'Yes!' Zaccheus cried excitedly. 'I think yes!'
'Regina?'
Regina stopped dabbing the stain and looked across the table at her mother. Now eighteen, she spent her days, and a good portion of her nights, at Columbia University, where she was immersed in her studies. She hoped eventually to become a pediatrician. Regina realized only too well that with each passing day, her own life was just unfolding, and her mother's, which until now had been an intrinsic part of it, no longer revolved around her. Both mother and daughter needed separate lives, and she understood this. Eventually, all birds flew off to make their own nests, and she was certain she would soon too. She had been hoping for a long time that her mother would have a second, luckier chance at love, and the news of her impending marriage had startled her because it seemed too good to be true. It was everything she had prayed would happen.
Regina nodded solemnly, her brow wrinkling as she sought the correct words. 'You both have my blessings,' she said huskily. Then she jumped up, hugged her mother, and kissed Larry.
The tears sparkled in Elizabeth-Anne's eyes as she said, 'Thank you, dear. Both Larry and I appreciate it.' She switched her gaze. ' 'Becca?'
'I miss Daddy, of course,' fourteen-year-old Rebecca said slowly, biting down on her under lip. 'But I know nothing will ever bring him back.' She stared down into her hot chocolate, as though the answer lay somewhere in her murky cup. 'And you're right, Mamma. Life goes on.' She nodded and looked up, meeting her mother's gaze. 'It's okay by me.'
Elizabeth-Anne let out a breath of relief and smiled warmly at her youngest daughter. Then she leaned further across the table and asked, 'Charlotte-Anne?'
Hearing her name, Charlotte-Anne jerked her chin up. Throughout the conversation, her mind had been swirling with the unexpected news as she quickly tried to evaluate how it might affect her own plans for her brilliantly plotted future. Like Regina, she was just realizing that her own life was beginning; unlike her sister, she saw ahead of her a life which was far removed from what she considered the pedestrian orbit of her mother's world. As long as the marriage didn't interfere with what she wanted, and she knew it wouldn't, then it was fine with her. In fact, upon second thought it was one of the best things that could have happened. Her mother led an extremely busy life, and had little enough time left over for the family as it was. Now with a husband, she'd be more occupied than ever, and that, Charlotte-Anne observed with a twinge of hope, meant that her plans would come to fruition even faster. She'd have to account for eve
n less of her time.
She nodded and gave a brief hint of an assenting smile.
'That's settled, then.' Elizabeth-Anne sat back with obvious relief while Larry quickly got to his feet, leaned down, and kissed her happily.
'Watch it,' she said with a good-humored laugh. 'You'll muss my hair.' Elizabeth-Anne then watched joyfully as Larry rushed from chair to chair, kissing and hugging the entire family.
'Mamma could do a lot worse,' Regina told him. 'A lot worse.'
He laughed, pleased. And then everyone began talking at once - everyone except for Charlotte-Anne, and nobody noticed her thoughtful silence. When Larry sat back down, he tapped his coffee cup with a teaspoon.
They all fell silent and looked at him expectantly.
'First of all, on behalf of your mother and myself, thank you. Second, I want you to know that I'm not going to try to take your father's place. No one can do that. You won't have to call me 'Dad' or anything like that, unless you want to. 'Larry' will do just fine. And third, your mother and I would be honored if you would all come along to Elkton with us and attend our wedding. I should warn you, though, we won't be back for a week. From Elkton, we're going on a working honeymoon of sorts, to see what the staffs of the Calvert Hale in Baltimore, the L'Enfant Hale in Washington, and the Penn Hale in Philadelphia have been up to. If that interferes with your schoolwork or other plans, you could always head straight back here from Elkton. If you even want to come that far, that is. We'll leave it all up to you.'
Zaccheus clapped his hands, and Rebecca cried out, 'Oh, I'd love to come!' She giggled. 'Especially if I get to miss school.'
Regina frowned thoughtfully. 'Speaking of school, I've got an exam today but. . .'
'Then you stay, dear,' Elizabeth-Anne said quickly, reaching across the table and patting her hand. 'Larry and I understand perfectly. I know you've been studying like crazy for this exam. It would kill us if it were all wasted now.' She smiled. 'Charlotte-Anne?'
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