Margo pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head. “Some of my neighbors at home in Quebec would appreciate the French language tape. Though I’ll wager most Canadians take the English tape just as I will, thank you.”
Sonja grabbed a headset and stuffed it in her alligator bag. “Probably won’t need it, but better safe than sorry.” She turned to Bridgy. “I have a perfect memory. I won’t forget anything. No ‘refresher’ on tape for me.”
Bridgy nudged Sonja to follow along in the direction Ivy and I were leading the group.
“How big is this place, anyway?” Ophie swiveled her head, looking for clear boundaries.
Ivy gave an expansive smile as she turned to be sure the entire group heard her answer. “The museum covers twenty acres on both sides of McGregor Boulevard. We’ll be crossing to the west side so we can visit Seminole Lodge—that’s the Edison home—then we’ll walk a few feet next door to The Mangoes, the Henry Ford estate.”
“How many years was Edison here before Ford came along?” Blondie Quinlin was a woman who liked her facts to be as exact as possible.
“Well, Edison came to Punta Rassa by boat from Cedar Key in 1885. Then he traveled upriver. Liked what he saw and bought this land from one of the Summerlins—you know, the cattle barons.”
Sonja interrupted. “You mean like Summerlin Road? Where the outlets are?”
Bridgy and I exchanged a smile. If Sonja had such a great memory, how could she have forgotten that the Summerlins were a founding family of the area? And the story of the sale of the house was right in the beginning of the book the clubbies read for today’s outing.
Ivy continued as if Sonja hadn’t spoken. “It was well after 1900 when Henry Ford came for his first visit, and right before America entered the first World War he bought The Mangoes and began wintering here with his family.”
Augusta Maddox poked Blondie with her elbow. “That’s about what the book told us.” Ivy never missed her stride when Sonja spoke, but Augusta’s booming voice startled her for a few seconds. She recovered quickly.
“I have arranged for a table and chairs to be set up under the banyan tree for a small refreshment break after we visit the houses and before our trip to the laboratory. Now, are we all set? Any questions?”
Ivy gave me a tight smile. “Seems like an interested group. Let’s go.” And she led the Cool Reads/Warm Climate Book Club across McGregor Boulevard.
A while later we were standing on the porch of Seminole Lodge. Augusta pointed to the long, narrow swimming pool near the riverbank and thundered, “Who would be so foolish? There’s the pool.” She swung her arm a few degrees. “And there’s the Caloosahatchee. Where’d you rather swim? I’d take the river any day.”
Ivy moved quickly as if to block the staircase before she realized that Augusta wasn’t planning on rushing off to dive in for an immediate swim. She grabbed my arm. “Er, perhaps while I show The Mangoes to the ladies, you could walk back to pick up the refreshments. We can meet at the banyan.”
Bridgy and I went off to the parking lot to get the sweet tea and pastries. Along the way we bantered about how uptight Ivy seemed to be. I thought she took her job very seriously, but Bridgy was of the opinion that Ivy was bossy.
“She’s one of those people who thinks that whatever she’s saying is much more important than what anyone else has to say.”
The door to the van was open, and Oscar was sitting on the steps. He stood, rolled the battered magazine he’d been reading and thrust it into his back pocket. Judging by the red trim, it was an issue of Time.
“Snack time, is it? Good thing. I was getting a mite peckish. Let me help you carry the provisions. Then I’ll help you eat them.”
“Sure, we could use the extra hands.” Bridgy handed him a box of pastries and a jug of tea and then divided the rest of the packages with me.
Oscar set his jug on the ground so he could close and lock the van door. Then he followed along behind us. “Where did you stash the ladies?”
“Ivy took them to Seminole Lodge. We’re meeting them under the banyan tree.”
“I suppose the tourists will be having their pictures taken with Edison’s statue so that they can go home and brag about how they hung out with old Tom under the largest banyan tree in North America.” Oscar shook his head. “It’s amazing what some people think is important.”
“Well, you have to admit that the man himself was important. Think how much he and his friends contributed to Fort Myers and the surrounding area. They brought money and visitors, who in turn brought money, and some even became settlers.” I thought it best to encourage Oscar to get all his complaining out of the way before we joined the book club members.
“Edison did his most famous work in New Jersey, but around here folks act like he invented the lightbulb while fishing off that old pier that juts out into the Caloosahatchee. You know, the one right behind the house.”
Bridgy ducked under one of the outer reaches of the banyan tree. “At least he planted this tree giving us a lovely shady spot to rest while we nosh.”
A life-sized statue of Thomas Edison was nestled amidst the hundreds of prop roots that had grown into sturdy trunks and continued to increase the size of the original banyan. Ivy was describing how the tree had expanded over the years and now covered the better part of an acre. Margo and Tammy ignored her and were taking turns standing next to Edison and snapping selfies with their phones.
Oscar nudged me. “See, I told you. Pictures. Watch me rile ’em.”
He stepped closer to the statue. “Ah, Edison groupies, are ye? Must be Jersey girls.”
Tammy laughed. “I wish. Jersey has gorgeous beaches. I always seem to live inland. Insert exaggerated sigh here. Guess that’s why I vacation in places as lovely as Fort Myers Beach. Trying to enjoy the water while I can.”
Bridgy waved them over to a long wooden table. “Time to eat.”
Oscar double-timed it and sat in the nearest chair.
“Where are your manners, Oscar? Make sure them women have a seat,” Augusta Maddox ordered.
Oscar turned to Margo and Tammy, who were walking behind him. “Come along you Jersey girls. Grab a seat.”
Margo practically stamped her foot. “I’m from Canada. Westmount. Near Montreal. I only come to America in the winter. I fly to the beaches in Florida.” She shook her head and shrugged her shoulders as if asserting her French Canadian roots. “I don’t think I would care for the American northeast.”
Oscar stood. He pulled out chairs for Margo and Tammy and then moved and stood near the center of the table, where he could be sure to be seen and heard.
“Like Frankie Valli, I’m a Jersey boy through and through. Born in New Brunswick, not far from Edison’s compound in Menlo Park. I’d like to stand up for my home state and say that Thomas Edison is more closely identified with New Jersey than he’ll ever be with Florida, Seminole Lodge or no Seminole Lodge.” And he gave Ivy a wide, slightly evil grin as he walked to take a seat.
Watching Ivy turn purple, I grabbed the topic and gave it a quick detour. “How many of you saw Jersey Boys? Bridgy and I saw it at the Barbara B. Mann Performing Arts Hall in Fort Myers a few years ago. What a terrific show.”
Ivy relaxed and raised her hand, as did Angeline.
Sonja said, “People were dancing in the aisles when I saw it. That’s one show I’d love to see again.”
“Of course it was outstanding. Who made better music than the Four Seasons?” Angeline Drefke crossed her arms and nodded her head. There was no need for her to say, “That settles that.” Her body language told all. But she was alone in her opinion.
“The Beatles!”
“The Eagles!”
“Bon Jovi!”
“Wait one minute now. Y’all are ignoring our fine southern music. Don’t be forgetting Lynyrd Skynyrd.” Aunt Ophie stood up half sing
ing, half humming “Sweet Home Alabama.” Then she began clapping. In less than a minute, most of the group was swaying and clapping along with her.
Bridgy decided to begin serving tea while everyone was in a festive mood. I followed along, putting out plates of snacks. I centered a plate piled high with Miss Marple Scones and put two bowls of orange icing on either side, with deep scooping spoons alongside the bowls.
Very gingerly, I set Miguel’s famous Question Mark Cookies on a plate. He’d packed the cookies so carefully that the chocolate frosting trimmed with white icing hadn’t smeared at all.
Unpacking the Robert Frost fruit tartlets, I toyed with the idea of putting them as far away from Oscar as possible, but there was no sense agitating him. If we were lucky, he’d be busy eating until Ivy started the tour again. I divided the tartlets onto two plates, placing one at each end of the table.
I didn’t realize how parched I’d become until I pulled out the chair next to Bridgy and sat down. I took a big gulp of sweet tea and felt refreshed with the first swallow.
Ophie fanned a fly away from her scone, took a bite and blotted her mouth with a napkin. No lipstick was disturbed by the dabbing. “I didn’t read the book y’all read, but I am sure Miss Ivy here can tell me how this land came to be owned by, who, exactly? The City of Fort Myers? The Edison heirs?”
Ivy gave a sly glance at Oscar. While brushing imaginary specks from her fingertips, she preened silently until she had everyone’s attention. Her smile said she was happy to be back in charge.
“Well, having read Ms. Albion’s book, I know you are all aware that Thomas Edison died in 1931. However, his second wife and then widow, Mina Edison, remained very active in the Fort Myers community even after she remarried.”
It was amazing how much noise Oscar could make getting out of his chair.
“I’ll see you all back at the van.” Then he looked directly at Ivy. “How long would you say, an hour?”
Ivy sucked in her cheeks looking more and more like an angry fish. “Maybe a bit longer.”
I got the impression she would make the second half of our tour last as long as she could in the hopes it would annoy Oscar.
Ivy slipped back into her tour guide demeanor. “Let me see . . . The question was about the ownership of the estates. Shortly before her death in 1947, Mina Edison turned her Fort Myers property over to the City of Fort Myers, which immediately opened it for community tours. Two decades later the town purchased The Mangoes and added it to the public grounds.”
Ophie raised her hand. “So our tax dollars support this entire place?”
Ivy shook her head. “No. There was a planned renovation, but as the project grew and grew, it seemed wisest to create a nonprofit corporation to run the estates. More than a dozen years ago the Thomas Edison and Henry Ford Winter Estates, Inc., came to be. And I’m sure you would agree, they’ve done a superb job of what I like to call renovation without modernization.”
She looked around, expecting agreement, and everyone nodded and smiled. Well, nearly everyone. Augusta was captivated by a large white butterfly as it danced from one branch to another of the old banyan tree.
Ivy pursed her lips. “Well, I guess we’re done here.” She caught my eye and pointed to Bridgy. “You two can clean up. I’ll lead the tour on to our next venture. We’ll meet you in the laboratory.”
She double clapped her hands in a rhythm that sounded eerily like the clicker that Sister Mairéad used to demand immediate silence and obedience when I was in second grade. The clubbies recognized the sound of a directive. They stood.
Ivy walked purposefully and signaled with a wave for the ladies to fall in behind her. As we watched them head off to the laboratory, I was grateful she didn’t make them march to the cadence of hup two three four, hup two three four.
I had a feeling my day would greatly improve as soon as this outing was finished.
Chapter Three
Bridgy and I piled all the trash in a sturdy bag. I ate the last Question Mark Cookie, and we were able to fit all the remaining scones and tartlets in one box. Two of the tea jugs were empty, and the third was only half full. All in all, our bundles were much lighter as we walked back to the van. I was grateful that the clubbies’ appetites and our food estimates were in sync. I suppose that’s one of the perks of being in the restaurant business. I was mentally patting myself on the back for guesstimating so accurately when Bridgy said, “Sassy, did you hear me? I asked how long you think the book club meeting will last once we get back to the Read ’Em and Eat.”
“Oh, I don’t think the ladies will want to chitchat too long. After all, we’ve been together for hours. They probably won’t be up for an in-depth conversation. Think third grade book report: I like this book. Mr. Edison was a smart man. He didn’t like the cold winter so he came to Fort Myers. That was when the cowboys lived here. The End.”
We were still laughing when we got to the van. Oscar was nowhere to be seen. We were deciding whether or not to leave the bags and jugs when he came up behind us.
“Took a little stroll to walk off those fruit thingies. Wouldn’t you know, I ran into an old fishing buddy and got to gabbing. Reminded me of some stories I’d like to tell the ladies on the drive home.” He unlocked the van and took the pastry box out of Bridgy’s hand. “Now that I got my exercise, I believe I have room for more fruit.” He shook the box. “Have any extras?”
We left him to eat another tartlet or two and went off to find Ivy and her charges. The clubbies were remarkably chipper, filled with enthusiasm.
Sonja positively bubbled. “I had no idea Edison’s lab was so . . . so scientific. I mean, they call it a botanic research laboratory, so I thought it would be, well, all about making flowers prettier. You know, stuff like that.”
Angeline picked up the thought. “Ivy told us this place was designated by the American Chemical Society as a National Historic Chemical Landmark only a few years ago. It’s not only about flowers. It’s really systematic. Wait ’til you see.”
And see we did. Even though I’d carefully read The Florida Life of Thomas Edison, I still didn’t get how Edison’s mind worked. Where did his wisdom come from? What prompted him to decide America needed to find a way to grow its own rubber for tires and such? How did he have the gumption to plow ahead and try to accomplish it? I guess for a man with more than a thousand patents, it all came naturally.
I followed the presentation carefully, but even after Ivy explained Edison’s ideas and the process he followed, I couldn’t fathom how he picked the goldenrod as the most likely plant to produce rubber. The conversation got more and more animated. And I had never seen the Cool Read/Warm Climate Club members so energized.
As soon as we’d taken leave of Ivy and were walking back to the van, Tammy Rushing said, “I’m so glad that we took this tour. It really brought the book to life. Don’t you think?”
Everyone had a lot to say. Even the usually unsocial Augusta Maddox contributed, “Old as I am, I’m not old enough to have been alive when Mr. Edison lived hereabouts. Wish I had met him. Would have been an honor.”
I think she was pleased to see much younger heads nod all around her.
We were still chatting away as everyone climbed into the van. Oscar interrupted with a loud whistle followed by his “buckle up” speech, and he smiled broadly at the resounding clicks of latch plates locking into latches.
He nodded. “Now we can get under way. I’ll have you ladies back on the island quicker than young Edison could telegraph the Gettysburg Address.”
He pulled smoothly out of the parking lot and turned south on McGregor Boulevard.
Angeline guffawed. “You weren’t on the tour. You didn’t read the book. How do you know that as a teenager Thomas Edison started out as a telegraph operator?”
“Everyone in these parts acts like Thomas Edison is as much a product of Florida as b
ig, ripe oranges. Well, I’ll tell you, he was rich and famous long before he ever set foot in Fort Myers. Bothers me no end that this town places such a claim on him.”
I could see that this was a touchy subject for Oscar, but before I could think of a way to steer the conversation in another direction, Sonja and Angeline exchanged a glance, and Sonja asked, “What’s got you so riled? You should be honored that you live in a place where such a famous man, and his famous friends, for that matter, spent a lot of time and did some magical things.”
“Missy, I told you, I’m a Jersey boy from the start, and that is where Edison did his finest work. Menlo Park, West Orange, Newark. Those are the places where the real magic happened.”
Bridgy flashed me her round-eyed look. The look that said, “Fix this now before there’s a fight and our day is ruined.”
Oscar continued. “Not only born there. I spent a good part of my working life there, too.”
I jumped in. “Oscar, I don’t remember you ever saying. What did you do for a living up north? Drive a bus, maybe, or a cab?”
“Nothing so boring. Oh, not that driving you nice ladies is in any way boring. Accept my apologies. It’s that I was younger in my Jersey days, and I craved action. Headed for the bright lights.”
“Broadway?” Bridgy asked.
“No, princess, the real bright lights. Atlantic City. Once the casinos opened, I knew that was where I had to be.”
Happy to have the conversation off Edison and onto anything else, I decided to push Oscar further into his past. “What did you do in Atlantic City?”
A broad smile, steeped in memory, crossed his face. “I started as a busboy at the Brighton. Real classy place. Always treated their staff well. While I was going to school they let me work around my classes. Even promoted me to waiter. I can’t say nothing bad about the Brighton. ’Course when I was done with my schooling they had no room for me as a croupier, so I had to move along.”
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