by Renee Yancy
On the second day, the clatter of china woke her. Sun streamed through the window. Aunt Gertrude bustled in, followed by Claudine carrying a tray.
“Morning coffee in bed,” said Aunt Gertrude. “And then up! It’s a beautiful day.”
Claudine placed the bed tray in front of her and poured a cup of coffee for her. It did taste delicious.
“I want to show you the city this morning, and then I have a meeting to attend. Perhaps you’d like to come with me.”
It didn’t sound like a question. Claudine winked at her behind Aunt Gertrude and went into the dressing room.
“The snow’s nearly gone.” Gertrude nodded at the tray in front of Lindy. “Drink up now. We’ll have dinner out.”
“The snow is gone? But there was so much of it.”
“The last gasp of winter. It’s nearly April, although there have been several springs where snow covered my tulips. You never know in Buffalo, with Lake Erie so close. But I think this is it. Spring is here.” She rose. “I’ll see you downstairs when you’re ready.”
***
It was warm enough for an open carriage. Green grass poked out through the melting snow, and the tulip beds lining the gravel drive of the house were full of glossy green leaves and green buds ready to pop.
“The grass is so green already.”
Aunt Gertrude nodded. “Poor man’s fertilizer.”
“Excuse me?”
“Late snow,” said Aunt Gertrude. “It’s called poor man’s fertilizer here.”
“I suppose that makes sense.”
Spring had arrived overnight. The trees all wore a hazy veil of green, robins sang, and the smell of wet earth permeated the air. Lindy’s heart lightened. Perhaps all would be well, as Papa had said.
The carriage headed south of Delaware Avenue into the heart of the city. The skyline wasn’t as impressive as New York City, but the buildings her aunt pointed out to her were individual works of art. The Guaranty building. The Buffalo State Asylum for the Insane with its soaring towers.
“I’ve saved the best for last.” Aunt Gertrude smiled as the carriage turned off into a sloping park of green lawns, tree-shaded walking paths, interspersed with ponds and fountains and beds of yellow and white daffodils and blue hyacinth. The noise of the city gave way to birdsong as they drove deeper. “It’s called, simply, the Park.”
“Hmm. Something about the layout seems familiar—the sweep of the lawns and the placements of the ponds and the stone walls.”
“I wondered if you’d notice. The same architect designed Central Park. Frederic Law Olmsted. I think this park is every bit as beautiful as Central Park.”
“I must agree with you. It’s lovely.”
Aunt Gertrude pointed to a lake on their right, where a magnificent wooden structure three stories tall with a double row of enclosed balconies stood. A wide staircase of stone steps led to the edge of the lake. Pennants fluttered gaily from its turrets. “That’s the boathouse. In the summertime, we can rent a canoe there and paddle ourselves around the lake.”
All sorts of people were out walking the shaded paths in the park. Mothers pushing prams, young boys on their way to school with their books strapped together over their shoulders, and young ladies strolling arm in arm.
“We’ll come back on Sunday,” said Aunt Gertrude. “We’ll get an ice cream, and walk for miles. That’s the sort of thing I love to do.”
“I can see why.” How delightful it would be to ramble through these verdant grounds without worrying about her mother. “The day you and I walked in Central Park last October? That’s the first time I’d ever visited it.”
“No!” Aunt Gertrude’s jaw dropped. “Your mother kept you that immured?”
“You don’t even know the half of it.”
“Actually, I do.” Her aunt stared down her long nose at Lindy. “How she could have locked you in your room for weeks on end... Well, it’s insufferable, is what it is. If I had known, I would have come in a flash.” Her pince-nez bounced indignantly on the end of her long nose.
“It’s even worse than that.” Lindy’s heart beat faster at the memory of Vera finding Jack’s letter. “She threatened to shoot Jack.”
Gertrude gasped. “No, Lindy...”
“I couldn’t believe it either. But if you could have seen her eyes, Auntie. Cold as a snake.” Lindy shivered. “How could she say such a thing?”
Gertrude shrugged and adjusted the gold pince-nez on her nose. “It’s no secret there’s no love lost between your mother and me, dear. But she is your parent, so I will not speak evil of her. You’re here now, and we must make the best of it.” She leaned forward. “Drive on to Statler’s, Cooper.” She turned to Lindy and smiled. “It’s a new restaurant in Buffalo I want you to see. I admire its proprietor greatly.
The carriage reentered the main part of the city, where streetcars ran the length of the avenue. Horse and carriages occupied the lanes next to sidewalks full of women shopping and businessmen carrying briefcases. Storefront shops, some with colorful awnings stretched over their display windows, did a hearty business.
“That’s the Ellicott Square building.” Gertrude pointed to a massive structure of pearl-gray granite and iron. “Statler’s is on the lower level.”
“My goodness, it’s huge.”
“The largest office building in the world, so they say.”
James helped Gertrude, then Lindy, from the carriage. Lion heads adorned the top of the projecting cornice, staring at the sidewalk below. Marble steps led to an imposing facade, with banded columns and elegant sculpture. The glass and iron doors opened into a sunny, interior central courtyard, with a mosaic floor and a soaring, curved skylight of glass and iron.
“The walls are Italian marble, and the floor also, all imported.”
“It’s very grand.”
At each end of the main floor, two grand staircases rose to a balcony that circled the second floor.
“The second floor is reserved for banking, this floor for shops, and the rest are offices. There’s even a new gentlemen’s club on the top floor.”
“And the restaurant?”
“In the basement. This way.”
A long flight of marble steps led downward and opened up into a spacious room filled with octagonal tables covered with white linen. A pleasant buzz of conversation rose above the tables.
Lindy’s stomach rumbled, and Aunt Gertrude laughed. “My sentiments exactly.”
Soon they were seated in a snug corner examining the menus.
“We’ll have our dinner here,” said Gertrude. “I’ve given the cook the night off to visit her family in East Aurora.” She lowered the menu. “Another fascinating village. I’ll take you there soon.”
A waiter in an immaculate white apron appeared to take their order.
“I’ll have a dozen blue point oysters, please, and the broiled lobster. Lindy?”
“The porterhouse, please, with mushrooms. And coffee.”
“Very good.”
“It looks to be a successful enterprise, Auntie.”
“It does, doesn’t it? But actually, Mr. Statler’s first restaurant here failed almost immediately.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, he was advised to go into bankruptcy. To give up. Instead, he convinced his creditors to wait a year for their payments. And he began to advertise. And this is the result.” She waved her hand at the bustling restaurant. “Ah, there he is now, at the next table.”
A slim man with a thick mustache stood in conversation with two of his customers. He wore impeccable black broadcloth, had straight-backed posture, and a grave manner. He ended his conversation, turned, and caught sight of them.
The serious expression dropped from his face, and he came immediately to their table, beaming. “Miss Lindenmayer! How lovely to see you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Statler. May I introduce my niece, Miss Evangeline Lindenmayer?”
He bowed low. “Very nice indeed to meet a relative o
f Miss Lindenmayer’s. Are you in town for a visit?”
“I’ll be residing with my aunt for a season. She’s been telling me of your business success.”
He laughed, his smile lighting up his face. “Only after much trial and travail.”
“Tell me about these odd-shaped tables.” Lindy patted the wood under her fingers.
“Oh, the octagon shape? They ensure easy conversation, and allow me to fill the room to capacity without sacrificing privacy.”
“You have put much thought into your establishment, sir.”
“Thank you. I hope to see you both again soon.” He bowed and left.
When they had finished their dinner and left the restaurant, Aunt Gertrude paused at the carriage. “Do let’s walk for a bit.” She linked her arm through Lindy’s. “The oysters have positively given me some extra energy.”
Stores filled every space on Main St. A millinery shop, a florist, and then a store with windows that reached to the second story, filled with all manner of items for sale. A brightly painted sign hung from chains over the door. “Woolworth & Knox 5 & 10 cent store.”
“Oh my.” Lindy couldn’t resist pressing her nose against the glass to peer into the store.
“Can we go in here, Aunt Gertrude?”
Her aunt nodded, and an obliging young man opened the door and ushered them in.
“I know you’ve never been in a store like this, Lindy. Look around. I’ll meet you in the notions department.”
Lindy didn’t know where to start. Kitchenware and sewing supplies filled the shelves. She had shopped with her mother in New York and Paris, but those elegant shops had nothing in common with this amazing spectacle of a store. As she wandered around examining the merchandise, another interesting thought occurred to Lindy—no shopkeeper had approached her. Clerks in neat uniforms stood behind counters and display tables, but no one followed her, pointing out expensive items, as they did in the exclusive shops her mother visited. How refreshing.
In the middle of the long main aisle stood a table covered with bright red cloth. Above it hung a sign that announced “5 Cent Table” in bold black letters. It had everything from baby bibs to button hooks, pencils to harmonicas. Everything on this table was five cents? Before this, she had had no idea what five cents could buy.
She lingered longest in the toy aisle, where she marveled at the displays of dolls in lacy dresses and tiny brooms and dustpans. There were bags of marbles, small sets of dolly dishes, and miniature feather dusters perfect for a little girl’s hand. She couldn’t resist buying a set of white china dishes covered with pink rosebuds, and a little dustpan and broom.
She met her aunt in the notions department, where Gertrude had finished selecting thread from a rainbow of colors on a revolving stand. Carrying their purchases, they left the store, and her aunt hesitated on the sidewalk.
“What is it, Auntie?”
“Well—I thought I’d sworn it off but... oh, let’s go back in. It’s my one vice.”
Mystified, Lindy followed her aunt into the store and across the main aisle to a glass-fronted cabinet where two young ladies dressed all in white stood. The warm scent of sugar wafted over them.
“Sweets,” sighed Aunt Gertrude. She gazed longingly at the display trays. “My downfall.”
“My goodness,” said Lindy, “There’s so many!”
She chose Tootsie Rolls and caramels while Aunt Gertrude bought several pounds worth. She pulled a chocolate-covered cube out of one white paper bag. “Try one.”
Lindy took the candy and cautiously bit into it. Inside was a honeycomb filling that melted with the chocolate in her mouth into a luscious concoction of sticky sweetness.
“Mmm,” she said when she could speak again. “What is it?”
“Sponge candy. A Buffalo invention. My absolute favorite.”
***
Aunt Gertrude kept Lindy busy the next few days, continuing the tour of Buffalo and introducing her to some of her friends. By the end of the week, Lindy had settled into a new routine. But it didn’t stop the whiplash-sharp dart of pain that crushed her heart when she least expected it. Out walking with Aunt Gertrude, memories of Jack would intrude on her conversation, an ache of her heart so intense, she had to steel herself not to wince. Each night alone in her bed, she would see him in her mind, his brown eyes gazing at her, that lock of blond hair she always wanted to tenderly brush off his forehead. In her dreams, she would hear his voice and wake with her heart thudding, only to realize it was a dream, and Jack was gone.
“Help me, Lord,” she prayed. “Make for me the way of escape, that I might be able to move ahead in faith that You know what You are doing in my life.”
At the end of the week, the weather had continued fine, and on Sunday after church, restless in the quiet house, Lindy put on some sturdy boots and went to investigate her aunt’s garden at the rear of the house.
It spread over several acres and included a tiny apple orchard. Espaliered pear trees grew against a sunny stone wall, and beyond this, a graveled path split into two lanes. The one to her left led into a copse of beech trees. The path turned sharply, and she gasped. Underneath the feathery green foliage of the beech trees, a carpet of nodding blue flowers stretched to the far end of the path. Bluebells. In every shade of lavender blue clustered so thickly under the trees, she could see only the barest trace of green grass. Enchanted, she walked on, inhaling their delicate scent. Stooping, she picked a cluster, bound them with a blade of grass, and tucked them into the neck of her jacket.
An old German hymn her grandmother used to sing rose up within her at this little bit of unexpected heaven.
Jesu, deine tiefen Wunden,
Deine Qual und bittern Tod
Laß mir geben alle Stunden
Trost in Leib's- und Seelennot.
“Oh, Lord,” she whispered. “How can I be sad among the beauty You’ve placed before me?” She hummed the old tune, and the words came.
Jesus, grant that balm and healing
In Thy holy wounds I find,
Every hour that I am feeling,
Pains of body and of mind.
“Amen.”
Chapter 42
May 1898, Chautauqua, New York
Jack Winthrop strode through the wooded grounds of the Chautauqua Society camp on the shores of Chautauqua Lake. The sharp scent of pine and cedar refreshed his rumpled mind, and he stopped to take another bracing lungful of the fragrant air.
“Camp” was a misleading word. The buildings of the Chautauqua Society were impressive rather than rustic. The amphitheater, for instance. He stopped in front of it, admiring the circular wooden structure that, according to Bishop Vincent, could comfortably seat five thousand people. The camp itself was huge, bordered on one side by the blue waters of Chautauqua Lake, and on the other by streets of quaint Victorian cottages. Threaded among the bungalows and cottages stood great buildings dedicated to the study of various religions, arts, and sciences. A few steps from the amphitheater stood the Hall of Philosophy, modeled on the Parthenon of Athens.
But void of people and with only a skeleton staff present at the moment, it seemed empty. As empty as he felt. He’d been here for three months. His position as assistant to the camp director was moderately interesting, and perhaps after a while he would settle in, but—he closed his eyes, fighting the ever-present ache in his heart for Lindy.
“Are you quite alright, Mr. Winthrop?”
A pert young lady stood a few feet away, dressed in a cornflower blue walking outfit that perfectly matched her eyes. He’d seen her at a distance the night before in the communal dining hall, surrounded by a bevy of clearly besotted male staffers.
“Ahh... yes, thank you, I’m fine, Miss...?”
She smiled, revealing rows of perfect teeth. “Miss Vincent. I’m the niece of the camp founder, Bishop Vincent.”
“Yes, of course.” He’d been introduced to all the staff and their families when he’d first arrived, but hadn’t ye
t committed their faces and names to memory. “Forgive me.”
“Nothing to forgive, sir. You’re new here. We’ve only to learn one new name while you must learn fifty, at least.”
Jack smiled back. “You’re very gracious, Miss Vincent.”
“Are you on your way to dinner?”
“Actually, I was.”
“May I join you?” She smiled again. “Please don’t think me too forward. We are quite informal here at Chautauqua.”
He offered his arm, and she laid her gloved fingers on it, the touch as light as a butterfly.
“How do you find Chautauqua so far, Mr. Winthrop?”
“Everyone has been extremely welcoming.”
“Yes, we’re good at that. We’ll kill you with kindness until you never want to leave.”
Startled, Jack burst out laughing. “Very droll, Miss Vincent.”
“Call me Gillian. Remember, we’re not formal here. I think you’ll find it a pleasant refuge from the city.”
The old Athenaeum Hotel at the center of the grounds served dinner. A fire roared in the great stone fireplace, and wood-beamed ceilings, overstuffed chairs, and plump sofas made the space cozy.
Gillian asked for a table in the corner. Once they were seated, she fluffed her napkin out and laid it in her lap. “I’m ready now,” she said.
“Ready, Miss Vincent?”
She leaned in closer. “Gillian, please. To hear your life story. Or at least the part about why you came to Chautauqua, John.”
Jack winced. “Call me Jack.” He had said the same words to Lindy. I couldn’t possibly, sir. He smiled at the thought.
“John is much more impressive a name. What’s so funny?”
Jack sighed. “Nothing. What do you wish to know?”
“Why you chose to come to Chautauqua and leave New York City.”
It wasn’t my choice. “My uncle arranged the position for me.”
“Indeed.”
“He’s experienced a temporary reversal of his fortunes, so I had to leave seminary for the time being.”
“He was putting you through school?”
Jack nodded. “He took my mother and me in after my father died. Now, what about you?”