The next setting featured Santa’s Workshop, where seemingly every toy a girl or boy could ever want had been placed on display: Tiny Tears and Madame Alexander dolls, Howdy Doody puppets, Kukla, Fran and Ollie records, Ant Farms, Mr. Potato Head, Hopalong Cassidy pistol sets, Dale Evans cow girl outfits, Captain Kangaroo storybooks, board games, crayons and coloring books, building blocks, paper dolls, Erector sets, and Lincoln Logs.
There wasn’t one piece of clothing. This was, as the piped music merrily declared, Toy land, toy land, wonderful girl and boy land.
Bobby had his eye on electric trains, Bob had his eye on Bobby, and on December 24th, Santa left an entire railroad under the Donnellys’ tree. Ruth Ann spotted a golden-haired doll with a pink tulle dress and told Santa where he could find it. “She’s next to the teddy bears.” Catherine wanted the Tiny Tears doll “now” and cried real tears when told she’d have to wait until Christmas. “I don’t want to,” she said with a pout.
The last scenario featured a loaded sleigh with Santa and his reindeer prepared for takeoff, Rudolph’s “very shiny nose” ready to lead the way. The Donnelly children knew some of those gifts would be under their tree because Rudolph winked at them.
Toy Land, evergreens, and red ribbons, along with thousands of twinkling lights throughout the city meant Christmas was near. And every child on that snowy sidewalk knew the real Santa was upstairs at the Jordan Marsh department store, his ample knee poised to seat them and ear inclined to hear exactly what they wanted. It was wonderland!
This was one of Rita’s favorite days of the year, being in town with Bob and the kids and enjoying the freedom of “What wonderful thing should we do next?” Although getting her family there—well-dressed, well-groomed, and well-fed—was quite an undertaking.
Beginning the night before, she gave the girls baths, set their hair with pink foam curlers, set her own in pin curls and ironed everyone’s clothing. Bob took the whisk broom to whatever garment needed a “little brushing up,” bathed his son, and polished scuffed shoes. In the morning Rita prepared a huge breakfast. “I want you kids to eat everything on your plates. Hear me? Everything.” That way they’d only need to eat out once, with a late lunch. By that time the family was usually ravenous, and in an attempt to fend off all-around crankiness, Bob would hurry his brood along, like a policeman managing crowd control, as they headed to the same eatery year after year. “Let’s step it up, ladies and gentleman.”
Window tables at the Adams House Restaurant were always in high demand. Diners enjoyed looking out at the bustling crowds on Washington Street, and passersby could seldom resist glancing in at the delectable food. The restaurant was on Bob’s former beat and had required nothing more from the patrolman than assistance with a medical emergency or rare minor offence, such as someone skipping out on the check. Whatever the situation, Bob made it right with the least amount of disturbance and maximum amount of kibitzing and kidding.
The Donnellys seldom had to wait for a table. “The next one that opens up is yours, Bob.” That’s how it was; people looked after each other and showed their gratitude with hospitality, generosity, and favor.
Walking into the Adams House Restaurant always felt special to Rita, with its cloth-covered tables and fresh flowers, delicious menu choices, and impeccable service from waitresses in black uniforms with white organdy aprons, matching caps, and ruffled, pinned on hankies. This was the place of happy memories. “Table for five,” is what Bob said every time. “Table for five, and the children will need phone books to sit on, please.”
The Adams House Restaurant
533-535 WASHINGTON STREET
BOSTON, MASS.
The family’s arrival was a three-ring circus. First there was a big, back-slapping welcome for Bob from Leonard, the gregarious, mustached Lithuanian manager.
“In for the day?” He shook Bob’s hand. “Hello, Mrs. Donnelly,” he said with a slight bow. “Kids.” He shook each of their hands in turn.
Then there was the job of getting outerwear checked in, no small feat with three children and Rita’s hesitance to leave her treasured red coat behind. She’d grown accustomed to turning heads when she wore it and disliked giving up the adulation. “What do you think, honey? Should I leave it here?”
Bob rolled his eyes at the nubile coat-check girl and handed her some of the children’s things. “I don’t know, Rit. Do what you want.”
“I’ll wear it in.” Then there’s always the possibility some idiot will step on it when I sit down. “No, we better leave it here.”
Bob checked the coat and received a reciprocal roll of eyes, and Rita didn’t miss a thing. “Come on honey, they’re waiting for our family.”
Her ability to find the best for the least continued to defy their modest means. When the Donnellys walked into the dining room, they looked like a million dollars.
Rita led the way, prompted by Bob with a fingertip touch to her elbow. He was proud as punch when his attractive wife entered the bustling room in her fitted gray dress adorned with a rhinestone Christmas tree pin. A small black hat held her cap-cut hairdo in place, and a Longine wristwatch, purchased on time by Bob, circled her left wrist. She held her gloves like a scepter. Holding gloves while making an entrance was, in her sense of propriety, absolutely essential.
Bobby and Ruth Ann vied for the best chair while Rita and Bob turned this way and that, every move a parental dance of care and attention as they got everyone settled in. “Please” and “thank you” were sprinkled amid “sit up straight” and “put your napkin on your lap.” Waitresses chanted, “Lovely family, lovely manners.” Their singsong phrases a hoped-for reward, coveted by the earnest couple, who always tried their best to make a good impression.
The children’s Filene’s Basement outfits would be captured in a Jordan Marsh, sitting on Santa’s lap, professional photo, taken later that day.
Ruth Ann’s good coat was getting small, but Rita said it would pass. She got her lanky daughter’s mind off the too short fit with the ten-year-old’s first Christmas corsage of frosted bells, foil leaves, tiny glass balls, and red ribbon. “You’re a young lady now.”
Bobby appeared “to the manor born” in an imitation-fur collared topcoat, and his confident “my handsome boy” smile cinched it.
Four-year-old “my baby” Catherine’s princess-styled coat suited her to a tee. Its matching bonnet was off. “Let’s not hide those pretty curls.”
Rita looked around the festively decorated dining room and was surprised to see her in-town friend, sitting alone at a window table for two. “Honey, look, Cordelia Parker. I’m going to invite her to join us, okay?” Where’s that doctor boyfriend of hers?
“Sure, if she doesn’t mind sharing a meal with three active children.” He pushed a full water glass away from Catherine’s reach.
“She loves the kids. Better watch Bobby’s too. I’ll be right back.”
Rita wove her way toward Cordelia through tables of high-spirited shoppers, darting waitresses, and busy busboys. The pleasant pitch of lilting conversations, tinkling silverware, dishes, and glassware, against a background of “Jingle Bells” provided a lively accompaniment to her deft steps and recall of the day Cordelia announced her engagement.
It was a while ago and Rita had been in town alone for what was supposed to be a turnaround trip to Filene’s Basement for a few needed items, including new school shoes for Bobby. Absolute necessities only, remember that. And though it was a good walk, she couldn’t resist stopping by Chandler’s too, where a beaming Cordelia said straightaway, “I have something exciting to tell you.” She suggested they go up the street for “a quick cup of tea and pastries” at the Brittany Coffee Shop & Garden where she filled a rapt Rita in on her recent betrothal.
“I’m so happy for you, Cordelia.” Thank God she won’t be alone.
Today Cordelia looked especially pretty in a French-blue suit and ever Brahmin with her aristocratic nose a bit in the air as she perused the room
for a waitress. She saw Rita right away, put a bookmark in place, and rose from the table. What a lovely surprise.
They hadn’t seen each other for a while with Bob’s visit to California and all that ensued. Rita noted her friend’s radiance and was happy for her all over again. You can tell she’s in love. They greeted one another with a light ladylike squeeze. “Merry Christmas.”
Rita couldn’t help but admire Cordelia’s striking suit and her pearl Christmas wreath brooch, inherited from her aunties. “I love your pin.” She was sorry she hadn’t worn her red coat in the dining room after all.
“I hate to see you eating alone, Cordelia. Please, join us.” Rita turned in the direction of her family.
The girls daintily waved, Bobby wildly sported his napkin, and Bob pushed it down. “Keep that on your lap where it belongs.” He raised his other hand in a friendly half-salute.
Cordelia was tempted to accept Rita’s invitation but declined. “David’s meeting me. He’s doing rounds at the hospital, and it could be sooner or later. It’s best if we have our own table. I know he’ll be exhausted.” There was a respectful yet sparkling inclination in Cordelia’s voice when she spoke of David Miller. Rita never considered the single woman anything other than pleasant, but since her engagement she was definitely different: sweetly, serenely, lightheartedly different.
“I hope I get to meet your mystery man soon.”
“Absolutely. Let’s hope it’s today. Meanwhile I’m sure you’d like to return to your family. I’ll walk back with you and say hello.”
Without quibbling or question, everyone in the Donnelly family knew exactly what they wanted to order. For Bob it would be a steak sandwich, Rita looked forward to Lobster Newburg en Casserole, Bobby wanted a “hamburgler,” Catherine asked for “mac-roni,” and Ruth Ann’s order customarily involved an amendment. This year she asked, “Can I please have a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich without the bacon on it.” Bob insisted, “As is or find something else, I’m tired of this nonsense.” His protest to his daughter’s preference and Rita’s protest to his protest, “Let her have what she wants, Bob,” found their children quiet as church mice, scared they’d get caught somewhere in the middle of the escalating disagreement. “It’s just a sandwich for God’s sake.”
Truth be known, Ruth Ann would have asked permission to go to the “ladies room,” even if it was completely unnecessary–and pretended, as she always did, to be Cinderella on the way up and Mummy’s favorite TV lady, Loretta Young, on the way down.
The Donnelly family was ready to leave before David arrived, and Bob said, “Just as well, hon. We’ve got a lot of territory to cover—not the least of which is getting these kids in line to see Santa. Who knows how long that’s going to take?” All three children were sent to the LADIES ROOM & MENS ROOM ONE FLIGHT UP ⇑ via the restaurant’s elegant sweeping staircase with the eldest put in charge while their parents remained at the table and mapped out the rest of the day.
Bob tipped the cheeky coat check girl generously, buckled Bobby’s flopping galoshes, zipped Catherine’s tiny boots, and placed Ruth Ann’s pull-on pair in front of her. “There you go, big girl.” Rita located mittens and hats, buttoned what needed to be buttoned, and one by one, held a Kleenex beneath her children’s noses. “Blow.” Lastly, Bob helped his wife into her red coat and slipped his own overcoat on as he shepherded everyone out the door. “God Almighty, Rita, it would’ve taken less time to clothe a damn army.”
CHAPTER 42
THE MEANING OF DAVID IN HEBREW IS BELOVED.
CORDELIA PUT HER BOOK DOWN and stared dreamily out the window as she sipped coffee and slowly ate a first course cup of lobster-bisque and warm rolls with butter while waiting for David. The city scene before her was reminiscent of a charming snow globe village; flurries fell, Christmas decorations twinkled and an endless parade of bundled-up pedestrians moved along the sidewalk. Lately her daydreams went to the same place, forthcoming married life with David Miller at home on Mount Vernon and cold winter nights with fireplaces aglow downstairs and up. Once the holidays are over, I’ll change everything out in the master bedroom and make it our own. She envisioned a creamy white, duvet-covered down comforter over luscious same-color sheets and pillowcases, with an ecru matelassé coverlet she’d recently put aside at Chandler’s. The two of them nestled in each other’s arms, their bodies bare and entwined.
Cordelia smoldered at the thought and winced at the wait, but loved David all the more for his moral restraint. It occurred to the smitten affianced she would be marrying a man very like her late father, honorable, and very unlike her long-absent brother, intemperate. She worried for Pip’s welfare. Where in the world has Pip taken himself? Please God that he’s prudent.
The Adams House management didn’t at all mind how long the lovely lady in the blue suit sat at one of their best window tables. Her well-to-do appearance and obvious enjoyment of the lobster bisque served as a pretty, priceless endorsement to passersby.
“More coffee, Miss?”
Cordelia was vaguely aware of her surroundings and now realized the twice-repeated question had been directed at her. “Yes please.”
She’d lifted the fresh cup to her lips and continued to enjoy the snowy view when an echo from her parents’ love story drifted in. Preposterous as it may seem, Cappy dear, your father is the only man I’ve ever kissed. Along with the memory came a fleeting vision of the last time she ever saw them. Her father had opened the sedan door, held her mother’s hand as she slid in and kissed it before letting go.
Oh how I wish you could see that Providence has at last sent me love. And to think—
Suddenly a peripheral column of crimson pulled Cordelia away from her musings, and Rita Donnelly came into focus. Everything paled next to her coat, and she stood out like a red rose in winter, unexpected yet familiar, unbelievable but very present. Cordelia slowly lowered her cup and almost missed the saucer. That looks exactly like the coat I once had.
Rita waved goodbye from the sidewalk, having just thought to do so, and couldn’t understand why her usually attentive friend was so aloof and absent of a wave in return. Cordelia looks like she’s seen a ghost.
Bob was growing impatient. “Honey, come on, we have to get going.” The children pulled on his hands in agreement.
“Just a sec.” Rita waved again, slower this time, with her head slightly tilted.
Cordelia was incredulous, frozen in thought at the absurdity of it all. Rita Donnelly couldn’t possibly be wearing my red coat. She finally waved back, in a queenly fashion, stiff and formal. Could she?
David Miller darted into her frame of vision from the opposite direction, tapped on the window, gleamed that “I’m crazy about you” smile of his, pointed to the Adams House’s double doors, and took long, fast strides to get there. Cordelia’s ambiguous expression concerned David, and he’d already decided to order her favorite dessert, a hot fudge sundae.
Rita had no doubt who the dark-haired, nice-looking man must be, but Bob called, “Rita, we need to leave, now!” She promptly gave Cordelia a heartfelt okay sign, turned on a dime and joined her family.
In that moment, Cordelia knew. She quietly gasped and jumped to her feet. It is my coat!
The one thing that distinguished Cordelia Parker’s cherished red coat from others of the same time, place, make, and style was its custom tailoring. As an energetic coed, she’d felt constricted by the too-short kick pleat and heeded Hilda’s advice. “Jordan’s excellent alterations department could lengthen that opening in no time.” They did so quite nicely and with a bit of added flair at the top, a same-fabric, topstitched, horizontal tab “for chic reinforcement, Miss Parker.”
Cordelia’s eyes never left the Donnellys, and soon the family of five faded away into the snowfall, save the red coat, every thread vivid and lovely as ever, until the very last glimpse. My red coat. Rita Donnelly is wearing my red coat.
Although the shock of finding her missing coat on the most unlike
ly person still resonated, Cordelia couldn’t imagine how she’d begin to tell David about the significance of it all without revealing her unrequited love for Norman Prescott and subsequent lament for the coat’s return.
David, despite her scintillating “I’m so glad you’re here” and gentle hand squeeze, sensed an underlying preoccupation from the moment he arrived, leading him to ask toward the end of the meal, “Are you sure everything’s okay, Cordelia?” “Absolutely.” She looked away briefly. “Well, there is something.”
“Yes.” I knew it.
“I’ve been in this restaurant far too long. Would you be open to a walk on the Common and a cup of hot cocoa afterwards?”
“Of course. Let’s get out of here.”
Cordelia and David’s close footsteps left side-by-side sweetheart impressions on the glistening snow-covered paths of Boston Common, while sheltering overhead branches, sublime silence, and a golden day’s end glow, so like that in Childe Hassam’s Boston Common at Twilight, provided a feeling of peaceful sanctuary. But Cordelia still couldn’t stop thinking of Rita Donnelly and her red coat. How could that possibly be?
And then it hit her, hard and fast, a vortex of loss and emotion, past and present, and in her own mother’s words no less. That Irish woman didn’t ask for herself—simply wanted the coat for her daughter, Rosemary. Isn’t that a lovely name, Rosemary?
Cordelia and David were at the frozen Frog Pond, and a trio of happy, wobbly college coeds held on to each other for dear life while attempting to ice-skate. Their gaiety was contagious and onlookers, including David, joined in the laughter each time one of them screeched or slipped. Cordelia was smiling, but her mind was elsewhere as she frantically culled through past conversations with Rita and soon found what she was looking for. Yes, yes, Rita mentioned her older sister Rosemary had moved to Arizona. Cordelia simply couldn’t believe how close the coat had been all this time, and yet so far, just like Norman Prescott, so near and yet completely out of reach.
The Red Coat Page 45