Delicious!

by Ruth Reichl

  Mr. Beard, I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again. I hope so. But if that is not to be, I hope we’ll continue to be friends. You’ve given me so much.

  Many, many thanks

  from your friend,

  Lulu

  P.S. When I gave Mrs. Cappuzzelli the aged Parmesan, she acted as if her hands were filled with diamonds. Then she made some fettuccine—rolling it out so thin you could see right through it—and we sat down and ate it with nothing but butter and grated cheese. It will always be my favorite kind of pasta.

  P.P.S. You were absolutely right about Mrs. Stroh; Tommy and I have been going out for three years, but I think she smiled at me—really smiled—for the first time when I gave her that leberkäse from Schaller & Weber.

  That was it. Lulu was gone. Would I ever hear that voice again? I sat for a long time, holding the letter in my lap, trying to imagine this new Lulu. I conjured up the picture in my mind and let it age, watching her face growing lined, her hair turning white, until she was an old lady. I half-closed my eyes, almost dozing as I pictured her. Then a chair crashed in the library, and the sound shot through me, an arrow of adrenaline. What was that?

  Only my imagination. It was late, and I was alone in an empty old building, walled up in this tiny room. The blood rushing in my ears was so loud, I could barely hear anything else. And then I did hear it, a slow sound, like an animal bumping clumsily about in the library. I cringed back against the wall, trying to figure out what to do. There was nowhere to go. My skin went hot, then cold, and I could feel the goose bumps come up on my arms. The sounds were coming closer. It was not my imagination.

  But no one except Sammy knew about the secret room; I was safe in here. Had I left my purse in the library? My coat? Pulse racing, I looked down at the floor, relieved when I saw the purse at my side and the jacket beneath it. I was safe! They’d take whatever it was that they’d come for and leave. I could stay in here all night if I had to, hidden away.

  But the sounds had become methodical; whatever was out there was searching for something. Bumps turned into thumps and then deliberate knocks against the wall. They were coming closer. Terrified, I rose very slowly, dizzily reaching for the string on the swinging bulb. It went out, and I huddled in the thick darkness, heart banging against my ribs.

  Be logical, I told myself, stay calm, try to think who it might be. Sammy wouldn’t be searching like that, and Mitch had to be safely home in bed. Had Anne Milton told somebody about the room? The knocks were nearer, so close I could feel them echoing through my body. I heard books being moved, and now the creature out there had reached the wall behind me. There was a scraping noise as the shelf moved, and then footsteps approached the door. I crouched in the dark, petrified as the first crack of light appeared. It grew slowly wider, and then a terrible scream began to bounce off the walls, so loud that I covered my ears.

  It must have been a full ten seconds before I realized that the scream was coming out of my own mouth.

  At first I registered only size: The man was huge. Then my eyes focused and the apparition turned into … Mitch?

  He bent and gathered me into his arms. “Shh, shh, shh,” he crooned, smoothing my hair away from my face. “It’s all right, it’s only me.” He rocked me against his solid body, and as my terror subsided, my muscles began to ache from the adrenaline that had gone shooting through them.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Mitch looked down at me. “I might ask the same of you.” He settled against the wall and pulled me toward him, so that my back was resting against his chest and his arms were cradling me. “I thought you had an important commitment. What’re you doing here so late? And how could you have found this hidden room when you’d never been inside the library?”

  “You first.” Relief was thrumming through my body. I relaxed against him, finally feeling safe.

  “When you refused to have dinner with me, I felt kind of rejected. I was worried I’d read you wrong. I walked home, and when I got there I was so restless I didn’t know what to do with myself, so I decided to come back and try finding the secret room; I knew it had to be here.” He paused, then said, “I certainly wasn’t expecting to find you. I think you scared me as much as I scared you.”

  “Good.” I leaned into him. “Serves you right for nosing around. But how’d you know about Anzio?”

  “Anzio?”

  “It’s what Sammy and I call this room. Long story.”

  “Mine too.” I felt a muscle jump in his arm.

  “So you were saying …”

  “There were so many strange things about the library, and as I found one anomaly after another, I was sure they would add up to the Underground Railroad.”

  He’d gotten it so much faster than I had. “What strange things?”

  “For one thing, the library being up here on the fourth floor; it made no sense. Then there were those carved initials inside the lock. I’ve only seen that once before, in a hidden room designed by an abolitionist architect. When I discovered there’d been three locks on the door, I was almost positive. And then I saw the oyster shells.…”

  “What do they have to do with it?”

  “The most famous stop on New York’s Underground Railroad was Thomas Downing’s Oyster House at the corner of Wall and Broad Street. Apparently, when Mr. Downing rowed out to collect oysters, he also collected runaway slaves and stowed them in his basement. It made everything fall into place, and I began to think the Timbers Mansion was more than just a stop on the Underground Railroad. I thought it must have been another house built specially to help the abolitionist cause. That would explain a lot.”

  “Like what?”

  “For starters, why we couldn’t find any documentation about the building of the Timbers Mansion. There were fierce riots over abolition for many years, even in the north, and if you were going to build a house to harbor runaway slaves, you’d want to keep it secret. I went online looking for documentation.”

  “Find anything?”

  “Not at first. The Timbers family was extremely private, and they left very little in the way of letters or diaries. But I stumbled onto something else, almost by accident.”

  “What?”

  “A notice in the social pages of the Boston Daily Advertiser in 1824. It wasn’t much—just ‘Mr. and Mrs. Charles Timbers attended a ball given by Mrs. Timbers’s sister in their honor, blah, blah, blah.’ But there was a guest list, so I researched all the guests. You never know when you’ll hit pay dirt. And I did. Mr. and Mrs. David Lee Child were at that party. He was a lawyer; she was Lydia Maria Child. Ring any bells?”

  “Never heard of her.”

  “But you’ve undoubtedly heard her most famous poem. Everyone has. ‘Over the River and Through the Woods’? She was not only a poet, though; she was also a prominent abolitionist and a founder of the Female Anti-Slavery Society. It wasn’t much, but, with everything else, it made me feel pretty sure that there would be a secret room here. So I made copies of all the documentation and—” He stopped, looking down at me. “What?”

  I’d just remembered that Sammy and I hadn’t copied Lulu’s letters. We kept putting it off, wanting to find them all first. Now it might be too late.

  “Nothing important. Go on.”

  “There is nothing else. I was going to start searching tomorrow, but I was so restless, I thought, what the hell, no time like the present. I thought I’d surprise you with my marvelous find. And then”—his eyes twinkled—“you’d have to have dinner with me.”

  “You almost scared me to death.”

  “I’m sorry. That was not part of my plan. How long have you known about this room? And why didn’t you tell me?” He glanced at the shelves above us, as if noticing them for the first time. “And what the hell is in here that’s so damn important you had to blow me off?”

  I told him about Sammy’s discovery of the room four months ago, and when I got to Lulu’s letters he began to ask questions. How many wer
e there? Were Beard’s letters here too? When I explained to him that Sammy and I had wanted to locate the last letter before he found the secret room, he understood.

  “Of course. You were afraid I’d go running to the Landmarks people and you’d lose your last chance. And, I’m sorry to say, you’re not wrong. I have no choice. Have you found it?”

  I handed him the letter. The paper rustled as he read, and when he was done he looked up and recited, “ ‘They weren’t buying food: They were finding their way home.’ It’s lovely, Billie.… And so are you.”

  Then he reached out and gathered me to him, and we were kissing. This time it was nothing like the gentle kisses of the afternoon. He kissed me roughly, hungrily, and I could feel my lips begin to swell as my body arched toward him. The floor was hard beneath me, his entire weight pressing me down, and I felt relief and joy in equal measure. All the voices in my head quieted, and I allowed myself to drift along on pure sensation.

  When he let me go, I felt drained and pliant, ready for whatever happened next. Mitch whispered, “Wait, wait.” He removed first his jacket and then mine, fluffing them into a little nest.

  “I’ve got a better idea.” I disentangled myself, went into the library, gathered all the chair cushions, and dropped them on the floor of the secret room.

  Mitch sank onto the pillows, pulling me down on top of him as he began to kiss me, this time with infinite gentleness, running his hands softly across my breasts, my ribs, my hips. “If only I had a few rose petals,” he murmured.

  We didn’t need them. We took our clothes off slowly, watching each other as we did. He was beautifully made—large but graceful—and my own body felt lithe and light. I hadn’t been with a man in nearly two years, and I was surprised that I was not embarrassed.

  “You’re perfect,” he said, running his hands down my body.

  “I’m not.”

  “Shh,” he whispered, barely audible. “Come here.” His body was so warm, his skin so soft, and as my flesh met his, I felt, for the first time since I could remember, that I was exactly where I wanted to be.

  “Don’t go to sleep,” I begged later, and he gathered me to him and murmured into my hair, “Wouldn’t dream of it. I have so many questions. What will you do now that you’ve found the last letter?”

  I rolled over onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. I could feel the files in the room, gathered around me like old friends. I wanted this night to never end. I wanted to stay here forever, feeling his arm beneath my neck and his leg across my thigh. I felt anchored.

  “I’ve found the last letter,” I said. “But now I have to find Lulu.”

  Member of the Club

  SOMEONE WAS SHAKING ME, FORCING ME TO SURFACE RELUCTANTLY from my dream. “Let me sleep,” I murmured, pushing the hands away, trying to remain submerged.

  But the voice was in my ear, soft, insistent. “Billie, wake up; it’s morning.”

  I opened my eyes and saw the files of Anzio above me. My heart did a little leap as I awoke and remembered where I was. Then I looked at Mitch, watchful. What now?

  As if he knew what I was thinking, he reached out and lightly tousled my hair. “We okay?” I rubbed my head against him like a cat, and he drew me to him, murmuring, “First mornings can be so awkward, and I don’t want to blow this.”

  “But what about the blonde?” I had no idea I was going to say that until the words were out of my mouth. I hadn’t even known that I was thinking it.

  “What blonde?” He was wearing a bewildered expression.

  “Your girlfriend.”

  “I don’t have a girlfriend. At least, not at the moment.”

  “So you broke up with her when you were up in Cambridge?”

  The mystified look hadn’t left his face. “I honestly don’t know who you’re talking about. I haven’t had a serious relationship in a while.”

  “What about that beautiful blonde you brought into Fontanari’s?”

  “Amy?”

  “Yes, Amy.”

  “You think she’s beautiful?” He was laughing now.

  “Everybody in the shop thought she was gorgeous.” I gave his chest a little thump.

  Mitch caught my hands and pinned them behind me, pulling me forward until our chests were touching. “I think I’m insulted.” He kissed me, very hard. “How could you possibly think I’d be with someone like Amy? Did you hear her? As I recall, she refused anything with garlic, complained that prosciutto smelled funny, and was horrified to discover that mozzarella’s made with water-buffalo milk. I was so embarrassed.”

  “So why were you throwing a party with her?”

  “It was my parents’ fiftieth anniversary. I had to come home for it, although if I’d known my idiot sister-in-law was going to insist on shopping with me, I would have stayed away. I’m beyond offended that you could think I’d have any interest in a woman like that.”

  “Sorry.” But I was singing inside. Then his watch caught my eye and I sat up: It was after eight. “Mitch! We’ve got to get out of here! Eric and Alex are coming to stage the art department.”

  “Don’t they know it’s Saturday?” He pulled me back down, and I felt his laugh, a low rumble in his chest. “Joan-Mary’s undoubtedly coming too. Realtors never rest, and she’ll want to see the oven. I bet she’s already on her way.” But he didn’t move, just lay there, lazily running his hands down my arms, my spine, across my breasts.

  I strained away, reaching for the string on the lightbulb. “They’ll be here any minute!” I began looking around, trying to find my clothes. “Hurry! We’ve got to get out of here before anyone else arrives.”

  “Or”—he ignored my frantic mood—“we could just hide in here all day. They’d never find us. I can imagine worse fates.” His arms reached for me, but I kept my muscles tense, and he gradually released his hold. He sighed almost imperceptibly and hitched himself up to look at me. I watched his face grow serious. “You do know I’m going to have to tell her about the hidden room?”

  I punched him lightly in the shoulder. “That’s why I’m in such a hurry! The Landmarks Commission too, right?”

  “I have no choice.”

  “So get up and help me. I’ve got to get Lulu’s letters out of here! We haven’t copied them yet.… ” I jammed my legs into the leggings, pulled on the chiffon dress, and reached behind me for the zipper.

  “Let me help.” Mitch was watching me, a smile flickering across his face. Still lying down, he reached for the zipper.

  “Get up!” I started to gather files from the shelves, dumping them onto our makeshift bed. “Hurry!” I was trying to remember which files held the letters. “Could you please get dressed?”

  “It’s okay! It won’t be the end of the world. It’s not like you’ll never get in here again.” But he obligingly began to get dressed as I tried to visualize each file, muttering, “ ‘Commonsense,’ ‘Exotica,’ ‘Farming,’ ‘Beekeeping’.… ” Why hadn’t we copied them as we read? Or at least kept them in one place?

  We made eight trips to my office, and each time I expected to hear the front door opening. But we were on our final trip before Joan-Mary called a “Hello?” from the lobby. Mitch executed an abrupt U-turn and ambled unhurriedly up the stairs. I heard him go into the library, hoping he’d find some safe place to stash the folders in his hands. I dashed to my office, heaved my folders into a drawer, and slid into my chair. Flushed and breathing hard, I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to smooth it down.

  Chic as usual, Joan-Mary entered my office, unfurling an aqua scarf from her neck. “What are you doing here on Saturday?” Even now, her breathy voice surprised me.

  “I took the day off from my other job,” I improvised quickly, “so I could come in to catch up. Taking the afternoon off the other day put me behind.”

  “How conscientious!” Joan-Mary came closer to the desk, regarding me with curiosity. “You had your hair cut. It’s wonderful. Who did it?”

  “I went to a plac
e called Eva.”

  “On Bond Street? I’ve heard of her. She’s very good.”

  “Thanks. Have you heard about the oven?”

  “Yes.” She grimaced. “And wouldn’t you know it’s the only one in the city? I’m told it’s historically significant.”

  “That’s great!”

  “Oh, yes, just fabulous.”

  “Thought I heard your voice.” Mitch strolled into my office, looking rumpled and adorable.

  “You’re here too?” she said. “Doesn’t anyone believe in weekends anymore?”

  To my relief, Mitch ignored her remark. “Forget about the oven. I’ve found something far more interesting.”

  “When did you have time to find something interesting? Are you spending your nights here now?”

  “I had a hunch and came over early to check it out.”

  “Wonderful.” She raised her eyebrows. “What have you found? A secret room, perhaps, hidden behind a panel?”

  “How’d you know?”

  Her eyes flew to his face, startled. “I was kidding.”

  He gave her one of his mischievous smiles. “I’m not.”

  “Where?” Her face now combined fascination and irritation. The left side of her brain was busily spinning a plan to work this to her advantage, while her right brain was thrilling to the notion of a secret room.

  “Behind a false wall at the back of the library.” Mitch didn’t try to hide his excitement. “I’m pretty sure the mansion was a stop on the Underground Railroad. But here’s the interesting thing: The secret room’s not a later addition. It’s original; members of the Timbers family were abolitionists. They designed the library specifically for that purpose; that’s why it’s so oddly situated.”

  “Oh, dear.” Joan-Mary sat down abruptly; the right brain was losing. “I wasn’t expecting this. I suppose you have to call the Landmarks folks?” Her eyes were pleading, but when he nodded, she accepted reality. “Will you hold off until I talk to Mr. Pickwick? I want to walk him through this, make him understand the implications.”