by Terrie Todd
“My clothes aren’t dry yet. And you said you were caught up on your assignments.”
“I am, but exams are next month. I should study.” I held out my hand to take the notebook and pencil from her.
She reluctantly handed them over and started putting on her damp clothes. I felt guilty, but Maxine’s royalty talk had made me squirmy. I sat at my table and randomly opened my history book, but it seemed there was no escape. Spread out before me—of all things—lay a chart depicting the kings and queens who’d ruled England over the years. I slammed it shut.
“You don’t need to walk me to the bus,” Maxine said, her hand on the doorknob. “But thank you for today. I’ll never forget the day I saw the king and queen, and I’ll never forget who I was with. Princess Bridget. You’re like a sister to me. Even when I’d like to wring your neck, and especially when you’d like to wring mine.”
I stared at her shoes. “You say the weirdest things.”
“One day, you’ll discover who you really are, Bridge. And it won’t seem weird at all. ’Bye. Call me next week?”
I nodded and she left, closing the door firmly behind her.
I looked down at the sketch of Queen Elizabeth’s hat and saw that Maxine had added the words “I’m a child of the King” in a fancy cursive across the bottom of the page. Below that, she’d signed her name and added the date: May 24, 1939. I tacked the drawing to the wall over my desk and stared at it for the longest time.
Chapter 17
Summer 1939
I hurried past a sidewalk newsstand, giving the Winnipeg Free Press only a cursory glance. The headlines about Europe were ominous. British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain was saying that Britain would intervene on behalf of Poland if hostilities broke out with Germany. Just that week, I’d overheard Mr. Weinberger telling Stevenson that he’d managed to bring his entire family to North America years before, except for one brother who stubbornly remained in Poland.
Not that any of it mattered to me. I welcomed the brilliant sunshine on my face and relished the blue sky as I marched away from the Department of Education offices with a thick package under my arm. I’d already completed Grade Ten correspondence courses and was now registered for Grade Eleven. All of this was done with the Weinbergers’ approval, along with their stipulation that I must continue to perform my duties and not disturb my roommate. They didn’t realize my roommate slept like a corpse and I could study late into the night. I had determined that I would finish high school “by hook or by crook,” as Pa used to say.
The thought of my father made my stomach queasy. More than two years had passed since I left Bleak Landing. Had Pa bothered to look for me? Given me up for dead? Had Mr. Nilsen gone back and told him where I was, only to be met with the words “Good riddance”? Part of me longed to know, but I couldn’t risk the cost of making contact. I was moving up in a world Patrick O’Sullivan played no role in, and I would not allow him to stop me. Soon I’d be lady’s maid to the rich and sophisticated Caroline Weinberger. And in a couple of years, thanks to the miracle of correspondence courses, I would become a high school graduate. Who could say? I might go on to study even further than that. One thing was certain: I was never returning to Bleak Landing, and if I ever so much as passed through it on my way to somewhere else, nobody there would recognize me as the skinny, bedraggled woodpecker I used to be.
I caught the bus back to the Weinbergers’ home and carried my course materials up to my room. Both my room and my duties were about to change. The next day would be Edith’s last, and after a brief interview, Miss Caroline had agreed to take me on as her lady’s maid on a trial basis—six weeks, she said. If things didn’t work out, I was welcome to stay on as a housemaid, no hard feelings. It was difficult to imagine that there’d be no hard feelings in that case, at least on my part, and I suspected I wouldn’t be the one to decide whether things were “working out.” But I’d already found Miss Caroline to be a lovely person, and I had every intention of giving my best effort.
“Between you and me, ladies’ maids are on their way out,” Evelyn said as she demonstrated proper use of a curling iron on Edith’s hair. She and Edith were the real deal, trained in Britain and brought over by Mr. Weinberger to serve his wife and daughter. “He hired us because he has something to prove,” she said, “having worked his way out of the gutter. Word has it his own parents served in a wealthy home and he saw so little of them, he vowed to make a better life for himself and his family, whatever it took.” She handed me the curling iron and nodded for me to make the next curl. “But Edith and I are the last of our breed, mark my word. I hope this isn’t a profession you hope to practice for a lifetime.”
Of course it wasn’t. But for now, it was perfect. Having this job meant that most mornings I could sleep later than the rest of the staff, as long as I was up before Miss Caroline. Once I’d helped her with her hair, makeup, and outfit, I might not see her again until late afternoon. After I finished tidying and airing out her room and taking care of her clothes, my time would be my own until she needed me to help her dress again for dinner—new attire and usually a new hairdo, too. My last duties of the day would be to help her prepare for bed and, one last time, to tidy her room.
“There shouldn’t be so much as a stray thread on the carpet or a trace of soap scum left in her tub,” Evelyn instructed. “And if she’s in the mood to chat, you listen. But never share.” If she needed me to accompany her on an outing, whether for an afternoon or a week, that, too, is what I was to do. Who knew what adventures I might have or where I might get to travel? Why, just last month Miss Caroline had taken the train all the way to Minneapolis to visit her brother Carlton. Edith went along and, in her free time, shopped for her own wedding dress!
On Edith’s last day, I shadowed her in order to learn the ropes, even though she and Evelyn had already been coaching me and letting me practice on their hair. Miss Caroline insisted that I do her hair this day, under Edith’s supervision.
“All of this just seems silly, doesn’t it?” she said as I arranged curls around her face. “None of my friends have lady’s maids except for Irene Beauregard, and she’s the biggest snob. She’s not even my friend, really. Our fathers are friends.”
I took my cue from Edith and listened without comment. Agree with the positive; ignore the negative was the rule. Don’t volunteer anything from your personal life, and never express a political opinion, even if asked.
Miss Caroline dabbed some perfume onto her wrists. “It’s Katherine and Olivia I adore and would rather spend time with any day.”
“And I’m sure they adore you as well, Miss,” I said. Edith gave a slight nod, and I knew I’d responded appropriately.
“They think I’m the luckiest girl alive to have all this help. I suppose they’re right, but at least they know how to do their own hair. Father says it’s our duty to provide employment for as many as we can.”
“And we appreciate it, Miss,” Edith replied from where she stood by the closet. “How do you feel about this green dress for today?”
“It’s perfect. You always make the right choice. Thank you, Edith. I’m going to miss you. You must be so excited about your wedding!”
I laid the hairbrush down, and Miss Caroline fluffed her hair with one hand. “Thank you, Bridget. Well done.” She moved toward the closet to dress. I began cleaning brushes and combs and tidying the vanity while Edith answered Miss Caroline’s questions about the plans for her simple wedding, taking place in only a few days’ time. When Edith abruptly stopped talking, I looked up to see her looking at me, her eyes as round as the hubcaps on Mr. Weinberger’s Cadillac. She shook her head at me and glanced at Miss Caroline, whose back was to me. Suddenly, I realized my error.
How could I have forgotten a cardinal rule? All cleaning and tidying must wait until your lady is out of the room. Timing is everything.
I quickly laid the brush back on the vanity and stood still, awaiting my next instruction. I’d been doing
so well, but now I felt nervous.
“I can’t remember how we accessorized this dress last time, Edith. Can you?” Miss Caroline was admiring her reflection in a full-length mirror. “The locket?”
“The white pearls, Miss. But the locket would look beautiful with this dress.” She straightened the seams on the back of Miss Caroline’s stockings. “Bridget, in the bottom right drawer of the vanity you’ll find a black Birks-Dingwall box.”
I opened the drawer to see a variety of small jewelry boxes, most covered with velvet. Only one was from the prestigious Winnipeg jeweler Birks-Dingwall. I lifted it out and closed the drawer with care. When I pulled the hinged lid open, I gasped. The Celtic locket inside was so similar to my own, my hands felt frozen in place. Miss Caroline’s, of course, was new. Mine had been in my family for two generations, at least.
“You can put it on Miss Caroline,” Edith said. But I stood frozen, staring at the locket. “Bridget?”
I gave my head a little shake. I hadn’t thought of my locket in weeks, and this was not a good time to be reminded. I lifted this one from its satiny bed with shaking hands, but when I undid the clasp, it slipped through my fingers and dropped to the floor.
“Bridget!” Edith charged over to where I stood and bent to retrieve the necklace.
“I’m so sorry!” I knelt as well. “I can do it, Edith.”
“What’s the matter with you?” she whispered angrily.
“It’s all right.” Miss Caroline came back and sat on her vanity stool, holding her hair up so I could fasten the necklace. “It’s not as fragile as all that. And neither am I. Really. Go ahead, Bridget.”
With my shaking fingers, it took three attempts to fasten the clasp. I was immensely relieved when I finally centered it on the back of Miss Caroline’s neck and saw the reflection of the locket resting on her breastbone. It did, indeed, look beautiful with the green dress, and I found myself once again longing to be reunited with my own.
Miss Caroline went down for breakfast, and Edith scolded me as we threw open windows, hung clothes, and made the bed together. “I recommended you for this job, Bridget, but you are not making a good first impression. Cleaning her brushes is excusable, but dropping her locket?” She picked up a wicker laundry basket and rested it on one hip. “Care to explain?”
I merely shook my head.
Chapter 18
Spring 1940
The snow outside my window was melting as I flung open the curtain to welcome a new day. Another winter had passed, and I’d spent another Christmas with Maxine’s family. This time, they had presented me with my own Bible and I’d given each of them a warm crocheted scarf. I’d also survived my trial period as Miss Caroline’s lady’s maid and completed two modules each of English and math. None of this left much time for letter writing, though I longed to fill Maxine in on my progress and learn of hers. When I reread her most recent letter, I could almost hear her voice:
Only half a year left, Bridget! In six months, a new course starts at the Beauty Academy and I plan to be one of their students. I intend to be their top graduate at the end of ten months of study, and to start working at my dream job the very next week. In time—my own shop! Maybe then you’ll finally let me do your hair?
Are you reading the Bible my parents gave you for Christmas? Want to come home with me for Easter? I was home last weekend and Arnie and Billy were most infuriating. All they can talk about is the war.
War had officially broken out in Europe on September third, and Canada had declared war on Germany just a week later. The occupants of the Weinberger household, both family and staff, talked about it constantly. I tried to tune the news out, but it was everywhere. Even in Maxine’s letters.
My brothers insist they’re going to sign up and it scares me, Bridge. If they go off to war and come home maimed—or not at all—well, I just don’t see how our family could survive. I know it’s selfish to think about it this way—and you know I love those two knuckleheads—but I don’t want to be the only surviving child! The only reason I’ve had the freedom to go off and earn money for school is because Billy and Arnie have stayed behind to help with the farmwork. Does that make me terrible?
Dad says the Lord is in control. I hope he’s right. It’s hard to look at what’s going on overseas right now and see anything as being under control, except for all the places where the Nazis are controlling things.
I need to see you, Bridge. I’m proud of you for the way you’ve applied yourself to your studies and for how quickly you’re working your way up in the world. But I miss you!
I missed her, too. But it was increasingly difficult to make time for socializing. The Weinbergers had recently announced their plan to host a house party, and I’d been asked to help serve along with the housemaids. Evelyn assured me this was an honor and that I’d be rubbing shoulders with Winnipeg’s most elite. It seemed to me a strange time to be throwing a party, but perhaps it was the Weinbergers’ way of staying optimistic and showing their patriotism.
Sure enough, a box of Union Jacks arrived the day of the party. Evelyn and I strung the flags around the ballroom while the kitchen staff bustled about preparing hors d’oeuvres and the housemaids polished silver. A local band showed up midafternoon to set up on the small stage, and a florist delivered two massive arrangements of red and white carnations garnished with navy-blue ribbons and more Union Jacks. I’d never been part of such festivities and found myself energized by the excitement.
When it was time to help Miss Caroline dress for the party, I pulled out the new dress she’d brought home from “The Bay.” I had accompanied her on that shopping trip, and it had taken great effort for me to keep my composure when I got my first glimpse of the massive store’s interior. A dozen elevators were arranged in two banks of six, each door facing another in a concave arrangement. Immense murals depicting historical scenes of the Hudson’s Bay Company decorated the lobbies. When we walked into the ladies’ fashion section, I did my best to act nonchalant, though I was squealing with glee on the inside. After she’d tried on several dresses, Miss Caroline chose an appropriately patriotic red one with matching red shoes. I watched in awe as the salesgirl wrapped the dress in fine tissue paper and placed it in a special box.
Now I ran my fingers over the silky fabric. The dress seemed to shimmer and change shades in the glow of the bedroom’s lamplight. I’d heard that ladies sometimes gave clothes to their ladies’ maids after they were through with them. This hadn’t happened to me yet, even though Miss Caroline and I wore the same size. It was hard to imagine myself in this magnificent dress, but I can’t say I didn’t try.
Not my color, anyway. I shrugged the idea off. Redheads shouldn’t wear red. Everyone knows that. And where would I ever wear it?
The anticipation in the air was palpable as I helped Miss Caroline dress. From her room, we could hear the band tuning up. My untrained ear tried to discern the sounds of the saxophone, clarinet, and trombone I’d seen being hauled in along with drums and a big bass. Spicy aromas wafted up from the kitchen. I wished Maxine were with me. I could just imagine the running commentary she’d provide, the thrill she’d derive from the hustle and bustle of the household in which I was fortunate enough to find myself.
I spent the evening in the black-and-white uniform I’d moved to the back of my closet when I graduated to lady’s maid, knowing I’d still need it on occasions such as this. There wasn’t a moment that night when I didn’t have a tray in my hands, laden with fine flutes of champagne or dainty tidbits Mrs. Cohen created. She’d made us memorize their names so we’d know if guests asked. I found it a challenge to keep the “angels on horseback” and the “devils on horseback” straight, especially since neither of them looked particularly appetizing to me. Stevenson made sure the staff ate a substantial supper before the party so there’d be no growing faint and little temptation to sneak treats off the party trays. We kept the food and drinks flowing all evening, remaining available to the guests yet keepi
ng ourselves virtually invisible, as we’d been taught, and taking our laughs in the kitchen when we returned to restock our trays.
We were all caught up in the gaiety. Even Reg and Rob were recruited to help inside after they finished parking cars. They added a fun dynamic to the household staff, and their humor was contagious. Several of us had gone to see Judy Garland in The Wizard of Oz together. Now we joked that everything in the Weinberger kitchen was black and white, but when we crossed the threshold into the ballroom, it was like stepping into the Technicolor of Oz. The room sparkled in the light of two massive chandeliers. The band’s repertoire of upbeat tunes seemed endless, and the dancers were draped in a glorious array of bright fabrics and glittery jewelry.
Mayor and Mrs. John Queen attended, along with several prominent businesspeople, a university president, and loads of friends from the Weinbergers’ synagogue and social circle. Miss Caroline was constantly surrounded by a gaggle of chums, both male and female. Her brother Carlton, who’d come home for the affair, arrived fashionably late, descending the magnificent staircase dressed in a black tuxedo with a red carnation tucked into his lapel. He seemed to have no shortage of friends and followers of his own, and he mingled with confident ease and danced with oodles of pretty partners.
But it was also Carlton who brought the celebratory mood to a halt. At ten o’clock, he walked over and spoke to the bandleader, who promptly directed the music to an unsatisfying resolution. Carlton stepped to the microphone, cleared his throat, and called for everyone’s attention. I looked at his parents to gauge their reaction. They appeared surprised. As did Miss Caroline.
“I’d like to make an announcement,” Carlton said.
From those few words, I gathered that the heir to the Weinberger throne had consumed a few too many glasses of champagne. Not that I’d had much opportunity to hear him speak before. The slight slurring of words was simply a sound I recognized from my childhood.