by Gwen Mayo
Uncle Percival was his usual dapper self in a black evening suit that cost more than she made in a month. White shirt with his silver Wildcat cufflinks, white silk tie and vest, and a silk handkerchief in his breast pocket that folded into points as sharp as those on the lapels of his suit. Cornelia couldn’t help noticing he had his hearing device discreetly tucked behind the handkerchief. The idea of her uncle listening to modern music was a little surprising.
The Paul Whiteman Orchestra was taking the stage in the Palm Room when the three of them arrived. It was a full house. Luckily, the professor had reserved a table at the edge of the dance floor with a great view of the bandstand.
“I do hope they play ‘The Japanese Sandman.’ It always reminds me of that evening in the desert when our shoes were filled with sand from dancing under the stars,” Teddy said.
“You are such a romantic,” Cornelia said. “My feet were just fine in sensible footwear. As I recall, you paid five dollars for those fancy heels you ruined. The next day your feet were blistered, and you limped for a week.”
Teddy stuck her tongue out at Cornelia as they took their seats. There was no malice in the exchange. Teddy was smiling across the table in a way that made Cornelia’s face turn a darker shade of pink. Soon, the first strains of a Gershwin tune had Teddy tapping her toes.
The music was lively, as were the dancers. Professor Pettijohn seemed taken aback by the acrobatics. Cornelia didn’t want to know what he would think if she attempted the gyrations herself. Teddy, on the other hand, looked ready to jump into the fray at any moment.
He smiled at her. “Perhaps, Theodora, you’ll favor me with a waltz if it isn’t too old-fashioned for this crowd. That is, if they ever play a ballad.”
“I’d be delighted,” she said. “And don’t worry, every band has an arsenal of ballads. Couples of any age want to hear something romantic.”
A short time later the band played “Make Believe” and both Teddy and the professor left their canes at the table for a spin around the dancefloor.
Cornelia was distracted from watching her uncle and Teddy by an angry voice behind her. She turned to see Ansel’s daughters: the tall elegant blonde, and the sweet-faced one with the dark curls.
“Daddy is being ridiculous about this, and you know it,” the younger daughter said. “He has no right to choose whom we marry.”
Evelyn’s voice was softer, but the background music forced all conversations to be loud. “You don’t see it the way he does. He’s trying to look out for your future.” She toyed with the marquise diamond on her finger.
Violet noted the gesture. “Just like he was looking out for yours, choosing your husband for you?”
Evelyn released the ring and clasped her hands together. “Daddy suggested that he was a good match, but the choice was mine.”
“He’s a good match for the family business,” Violet retorted. Cornelia thought the girl’s expression was too cynical for someone so young. “A nursery owner goes swimmingly with new development.”
“It may,” the older sister said coolly, “but so would a builder. He’s trying to save you a lot of grief. You’d see it too, if you weren’t stuck on the guy. He can’t even join a club or stay in a nice hotel.”
“I’d rather sleep under the stars on Harry’s boat than be imprisoned by a comfortable life.”
“Watch out. You may get your wish.”
The sisters fell into what must have been an uncomfortable silence then, and Cornelia was abashed to realize that she had been eavesdropping. How many times had she scolded Teddy for that?
Chapter seven
Valentine’s Day dawned bright and full of promise. The ladies exchanged gifts before dressing for breakfast. Cornelia, straightening her new hat in the mirror, watched Teddy slip into her new stockings.
Cornelia’s uncle was waiting for them when the pair entered the sitting room. His smile beamed out from his snowy beard. On the table beside him were two large vases of flowers: one filled with pale pink camellias, the other with bright pink roses. Between them sat a lacy heart-shaped box of chocolates.
“How beautiful!” Teddy said, immediately going over to sniff the roses. “You remembered it was Valentine’s Day.”
“I rarely forget dates,” the professor said. “I’m afraid chrysanthemums are out of season, even here, Corny. I know they’re your favorites.”
“These are marvelous. I don’t remember the last time I got flowers and chocolates on Valentine’s Day. Thank you,” Cornelia replied. She hadn’t expected such a lavish gesture on his part.
After appropriate oohs and aahs were made over the flowers, the three went downstairs for breakfast. The entire dining room was abuzz with excitement over an impromptu regatta planned for the afternoon. The hoopla centered on the public wager between Ansel Stevens and Harry Brockman. Their race would determine which man left St. Petersburg—and young love was in the balance.
Looking around the room, Cornelia could see the worried expressions on the faces of parents with daughters of marriageable age. One red-faced father slammed his paper on the table. “Alice, I won’t listen to another word of your romantic nonsense. That girl is from a good Christian family. Heaven knows what she’s in for if she marries that man.”
Alice started to say something, but her father was in no mood to listen. “The presumption of that young man is appalling. If you ever acted like that, I would lock you in your room until you came to your senses.”
The girl burst into tears and ran from the room.
Cornelia balanced a sharp retort on the tip of her tongue. She had no right to intrude, but it was difficult to remain silent. Anti-Semitic sentiment was entrenched in the world and this man was part of the reason. If confronted, he would insist that he had no ill will toward the Jews; the world simply wasn’t ready for mixed-faith couples. On some level, he was right. If Violet wasn’t aware of the depth of prejudice in America, she was in for a rude awakening. Still, she couldn’t meet his eyes when they walked past the table.
For the first day since they’d come to the Vinoy, Teddy did not have a headache or diminished appetite. The professor could choose a table near the windows, which afforded lovely views. He was also able to have his favorite breakfast, Eggs Benedict, which was a specialty of the hotel. Cornelia chose steak and eggs with a side of hash browned potatoes.
While Teddy pondered her choices, the professor brought out the real estate ads. “I looked at the paper while I was waiting for you to wake up,” he began. “There are a couple of rental options that piqued my interest. What do you think, Cornelia?”
He handed her the Times. One of the properties was nearby. The other was near the golf course. She didn’t know that much about that part of town, but the houses were all new and looked expensive.
“Which one do you want to see first?” Cornelia asked as she passed the paper to Teddy.
The professor beamed. “I would have bought flowers before if I’d known they would make you so agreeable.”
Cornelia turned the corner onto Mirror Lake Drive and was pleased to see the small lake lived up to its name. Sunlight reflected on glassy water, and the right side of the street had an unobstructed view of the waterfront. She was apprehensive of the small walkways that ran along the steep banks of the lake, though; neither Teddy nor her uncle would have an easy time on that path. One slip of the foot, and her elderly uncle could slide into the lake.
Uncle Percy hadn’t said a word since leaving the dining room. He obviously didn’t want to talk. The earpiece to his hearing device still dangled from his suit pocket.
Cornelia stopped in front of the house and looked at her uncle. She made sure he had a full view of her face, since he was still being childish about the hearing device.
“This is it,” she said. “I don’t see any sign of the rental agent.”
Professor Pettijohn put the earpiece back in place and turned the tiny knob on top of the device. “Neither do I.”
He pulle
d his watch from its pocket and checked it against the one he wore on his wrist. “We’re six minutes early. He should already be here.”
Cornelia hoped so; she didn’t need to be lectured again on the importance of punctuality.
“We could look at the outside,” Teddy suggested.
The professor contented himself with examining the roof tiles, shaded porches, and exterior conditions for the first quarter of an hour. His frown deepened each time he stopped to check either the watch in his pocket or the one on his wrist. For the next quarter, he paced the walk, looked down the street, and grumbled each time he looked at his watches.
Teddy and Cornelia retreated to the back of the house on the pretext of viewing the condition of the garden.
Five minutes later, the garden gate banged closed. Professor Pettijohn tromped through the grass to where the two ladies stood admiring a gardenia bush. “It’s time to go,” he announced. “I have no interest in renting a property from a man who can’t be bothered to show up for an appointment.”
Teddy sighed. “They’ve painted the stucco such a pretty shade of blue. I would have liked to see the inside.”
Uncle Percival turned and marched away without another word.
He was a stubborn old mule whose pace belied his years. Cornelia was obliged to trot, as she had as a youngster following him down the streets of Lexington. She caught him by the arm as they neared her automobile. “Where are we going next?”
“To do a little investigating. Please take us on a tour of the neighborhood, Corny.”
She complied, turning at the next street and making a large loop around the house they’d been looking at.
“Stop,” Professor Pettijohn shouted.
Cornelia slammed on the brakes.
“What’s wrong?” Teddy asked as she looked for some cause of alarm.
The professor pointed to a large black car with “Hale Developing Co.” painted on the door. “That’s the fellow who was supposed to meet us at the house.”
“Really, Uncle,” Cornelia groused. “You nearly gave me a heart attack. There could be a dozen cars painted with that sign.”
He opened the door. “There’s one way to find out.”
She caught his sleeve. “You are not going over there and make a fool of yourself.”
“Certainly not.” Indignation dripped from his voice. “I am going to find out if our rental agent ignored our appointment for a more lucrative one.”
“In that case, I’ll go.”
“I don’t need to be protected,” he snapped.
“Of course not,” she replied, in a more conciliatory tone. “I was trying to keep us on time for your next appointment. Surely I can climb those steps much faster than either of you.”
The mention of his next appointment sent him scurrying for his pocket watch.
Cornelia was out of the car before he could recover from his distraction.
Within minutes of entering the house, Cornelia reappeared. Her rigid spine and the set of her square jaw confirmed his suspicions. The bounder had stood him up. These land agents had the character of lemmings, blindly following each other off a cliff in pursuit of another sale.
“I was right,” the professor said, when Cornelia opened the door.
She nodded.
He checked his watch. “Much as I would enjoy instructing Mr. Hale in proper business manners, we no longer have the time. We need to set up the camera so I can film the yacht race, and we’d better be early if we want a good view.”
St. Petersburg had transformed Cornelia’s ancient uncle into an excited five-year-old with free reign in an ice-cream parlor. Mechanical novelties were spread out before him and he wanted to taste them all. The park would have been excellent for birding, but she hadn’t been able to pry her field glasses away from him once since they’d arrived in town.
Today, he’d found a new reason for “borrowing” them. Delight danced in Professor Pettijohn’s eyes. “The mezzanine is a great place to set up the camera. We’ll get the start and finish of the race on film. If you angle the camera correctly, we can also have some excellent footage of the pier construction.”
By the time they reached their suite, it was obvious that Cornelia was the “we” who would be behind the camera. On the first part of the trip, he handled his precious camera while she lugged his tripod from place to place. Somewhere between Citrus and Pinellas County, he became the director as she filmed his masterpiece. She didn’t mind cranking the moving picture camera, but it was irksome to be taken for granted.
The professor sat at the edge of his chair watching hired boats set up the racecourse. “I’ve never watched a regatta with sailing vessels before. The ones held on the Ohio River were between magnificent paddle-wheeled steamboats. I’ll be interested to see how this race is conducted.”
Cornelia relented and smiled at her uncle. Despite his antics, she was glad they had this time together. Even though it had started as a ruse, wintering in Florida was a good idea. The sunlight and sea air were putting some color back in his face. She would have told him so, but the black earpiece of his hearing device dangled from his breast pocket. He’d had it in his ear when they left the room. The race chatter around them must have made it difficult for him to distinguish what was being said.
She settled into the tall-backed rocking chair beside him. His excitement was contagious. She leaned back in her seat, enjoying the clear blue skies and soaking in the warmth. It was a perfect day for watching boats speed across the bay, their motors leaving a trail of white-capped waves in the deep blue water. There was irony in using motorboats to set up the racecourse for sailing.
In the yacht basin, young Harry was ready to cast off. His mate didn’t look like much of a sailor. He was a wisp of a boy. Something in the lad’s stance pricked a memory. “Uncle, may I have my field glasses for a moment?”
“You will give them back before the race starts.” It was a statement, not a question.
Cornelia pretended not to notice. She looked into his deep blue eyes and enunciated each word to make it easier for him to read her lips. “Of course, Uncle. I want a better look at the yachts.” What she really wanted was a better look at the first mate.
One glance confirmed her suspicions. Violet had joined Harry against her father and Mac. Her face softened as she watched the young couple get underway. The determination in Violet’s face reminded her of Teddy as a young woman. Her father might not know it yet, but he had lost something far more precious than a race today.
Cornelia handed the glasses back to her uncle and took her place behind the camera. The yachtsmen had a calm day for racing sailing vessels. No speed records were in danger of falling. The wind was light and fluky over dead calm water. At least Harry had the good sense to take advantage of the tidal flow. When the yacht club horn blasted a signal for the race to start, he tacked starboard and gracefully brought the bow of the Silver Breeze leeward of the tidal stream. Wind filled white sails as the youngsters sailed past the new pier, gaining an early advantage over Ansel. The older man pulled his hat low over his brow and copied the move.
Professor Pettijohn cheered as the distance between the boats widened. “That was superb. You did capture that on film, didn’t you, Corny?”
Cornelia bristled at the nickname. He looked so excited that she resisted her usual retort. “You should have some good footage of the construction crew applauding the maneuver.”
He winked at her. “That’s my girl.”
In that moment he so reminded Cornelia of her father that she had to look away to get her emotions under control. A wink was such a silly thing to get all teary-eyed about.
She glanced over to where Teddy stood clinging to the railing, giggling with young Shirley. Teddy was such a romantic. Cornelia wasn’t sure if her hatred of Ansel or her sympathy for Violet was at the forefront of her mind. Either way, she would be inconsolable if the pompous bully managed to win.
Ansel was closing the gap, but Harry was
still in the lead when they rounded the point. Once they reached the gulf side, their speed would pick up. Still, it was going to take the boats a while to get to Saint Petersburg Beach and make the turn. She filmed a moment longer before returning to her seat and picking up the copy of Willa Cather’s My Mortal Enemy that she’d discovered in the hotel library.
She was still absorbed in her book when her uncle nudged her. “Here they come.”
The boats were barely visible on the horizon. It was pointless to try filming them at this distance. There was no arguing with her uncle, though. She stood up and took her place behind his camera. As they came into range, Harry appeared to be in the lead, but neither boat moved at more than three knots. The distance tightened, then Ansel made an egregious error. His boat turned sharply into the path of the Silver Breeze. Harry barely managed to avoid crashing into the broadside of the Nittany Nob. Ansel neither acknowledged the penalty flag, nor righted his boat. His sailing became more and more erratic as they approached the finish line.
There were no cheers when Harry glided across to the finish. Hotel guest were on their feet craning to get a better look at the Nittany Nob. The boat was in trouble. Neither Ansel nor his son had the wheel. Cornelia watched in horror as Ansel’s boat drifted out of the channel.
The vessel edged closer to the pier with each slight gust of wind.
Workmen scurried to get out of the way.
Judges’ motorboats sprang to life.
Harry turned the Silver Breeze and followed in their wake.
The workmen realized that the sailboat was going to crash. One of the laborers grabbed a piece of lumber and tried to push Ansel’s craft away from the construction.
He was too late.
The Nittany Nob collided with one of the floating construction cranes.
A steel beam broke free of its chains and hit the water, creating a wave that swamped the boat as it pushed hard against the crane. Both vessels began to list.