Cakewalk

by Rita Mae Brown

  Herbert also rolled barrels. Not the strongest of men, he slipped and slid until finally Francis rolled with him.

  By one in the morning they’d saved the last barrel they could touch. Two rows of stacked barrels burned below in the basement but the fire was abating.

  Celeste, Carlotta, Ben, Paul, Yashew, and Francis returned to the chapel. They opened the side door and slipped in to examine the damage under the pulpit and lectern.

  The heat had caused the glass to crack; the floorboards, while not burning, were buckling.

  “Can we throw snow on this?” Carlotta, exhausted, asked.

  “We can try.” Ben motioned for the men to follow and they went outside to pick up the buckets the girls had abandoned in the snow.

  Francis stayed in the chapel to touch walls, check what he could.

  Yashew ran, finding those reserves of energy he’d found in the war, as did Ben and Paul. They covered the floor with snow, then the pulpit and lectern with snow, which were farthest away from what had been in flames.

  Carlotta, Celeste, and Francis moved the flags, took off altar clothes, anything that would burn fast.

  By two thirty the little group was done.

  Carlotta and Celeste, leaning on one another, reached out and Ben and Yashew came to them, each man helping to hold up a lady.

  “Let’s go to the Rectory. Yashew, you take them. I’ll get Cora, Louise, and Fairy from the dormitories.”

  “If they’re asleep, let them be,” Celeste advised.

  Pushing open the door to her sister’s house, the Rectory, Celeste was surprised to find Herbert, face streaked with soot.

  “Men,” Herbert said in a quivering voice, “the baths are drawn. I’ll show you where to clean up. You’ll have to make do with my clothing.” He looked at Ben and Paul. “Two of you can fit into one shirt. Francis, come on.”

  Carlotta came in. “Asleep,” she said to Celeste, who filled her in on Herbert’s orders.

  “Come on. We can take a bath in my room. We’re slender enough to both fit into a tub. I can’t stand feeling like this for another minute and my eyes burn.”

  Once clean, Ben, Paul, and Yashew fell asleep on the guest bedroom bed. Yashew took up half the bed but the men were so tired, they didn’t really notice until they woke up the next morning, covers and pillows in disarray. Francis fell asleep in a chair.

  After Celeste lay across her sister’s bed to stretch after her bath, Carlotta couldn’t rouse her so she instead pulled a blanket over her, put a pillow under her head, then retired to her husband’s bedroom. He sat, head in hands, at his small desk.

  Eyes bloodshot, he looked up at her. “Angel, I estimate we’ve lost fifteen thousand dollars. I have no idea of the damages to the chapel.”

  “Go to sleep, Herbert. We’ll figure this out tomorrow. There’s nothing more to be done.”

  “I have to pay these people. I—”

  “My sister won’t take a penny. Don’t belittle them by offering cash, Herbert. We will find ways to show our gratitude. Now let’s go to bed. I’ve never been so tired in my life. No matter what happens, this is God’s will and we must submit.”

  Herbert didn’t know about God’s will but he knew about Carlotta’s.

  Sunday 10:00 A.M.

  Ben, dwarfed by Herbert’s shirt, sat up rubbing his stubble. He rocked Paul awake. Yashew snored like a freight train.

  “Pearlie, listen.”

  Eyes now open, the wiry painter sat up. “Are we dead?”

  “No.”

  “Sometimes in the trenches I thought I was dead. But those are angels.”

  “Put your clothes on. And we’d better get Yashew in something.”

  “We can wrap a blanket around him.” Paul put his hand on the big man’s shoulders. “Yashew. Yashew. Come on, Brother, the angels are singing.”

  “Huh.” Hearing the voices, Yashew sat bolt upright.

  “Come on now,” Paul gently urged, handed him a shirt, which fit although he couldn’t button it.

  Grabbing a towel, the big fellow headed for the hall, as did the other two, tripping over the pants; too big for them, too small for Yashew.

  Standing on the stairway were Celeste, Carlotta, Francis, and Herbert. Below, squeezed into every corner, all the girls of the Academy were singing, with Louise at the piano. Cora and Fairy had found tambourines.

  They sang “Amazing Grace,” then they hopped to “All God’s Children Got Shoes.” The spirituals, sweet, strong, promised victory over adversity. They clapped, they sang, a solo would rise up from time to time. Carlotta joined in.

  Ben edged down to Celeste, putting his hands on her shoulders. She turned, lifted up her head, and tears flooded down her face. He started to cry and he turned around to see Paul, Yashew, and Francis wiping their eyes. Within minutes, everyone was crying, laughing.

  The concert stopped. Louise played a dramatic chord on the piano which asked for attention, then she spoke. “Mrs. Van Dusen, we are all safe and sound. The good Lord has protected us.”

  Lifting her chin, Carlotta spoke, her voice lyrical. “Jubilate Deo. Psalm One Hundred. Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands; Serve the Lord with gladness, come before His presence with singing.” She paused, smiling at the girls. “Know ye that the Lord He is God: it is He that hath made us, and not we ourselves, we are His people, and the sheep of His pasture.

  “Enter into His gates with thanksgiving, and into his courts with praise: be thankful unto Him, and bless His name.

  “For the Lord is good. His mercy is everlasting: and His truth endureth to all generations.”

  She stepped down to the first floor, walked among the girls, hugged them, kissed them. She especially thanked Cora, Louise, and Fairy. Then she went to the front door, opened it, and called out, “Off with you now. And thank you for the loveliest choir I have ever heard.”

  As each girl filed out, Carlotta took her hand, thanking her by name. The cold air slipped in like a wedge, a few desultory flakes lazing down. As the last girl stepped outside, Cora called out from the kitchen, “Come on!”

  Cora, Fairy, and Louise had hurried in and thrown together whatever they could find. A large pot of coffee filled the air with fragrance, a pot of tea whistled.

  Yashew needed no encouragement. Herbert guided him to the big dining room, where unbidden he actually set the table.

  Carlotta sat at one end of the table, Herbert at another. All formality tossed aside, they pulled out chairs and passed the food left to right.

  “Mr. Trumbull, Mr. Battle, what a dramatic way to become acquainted.” Carlotta, never adverse to admiring a handsome man, was quite pleased to have one on each side of her.

  Herbert smiled at Ben. “This will surprise you as you swim in my shirt, but once I was as fit as you are.”

  “Ah, time works its will,” mused Carlotta, a bit overweight but not much. “Cora, this is the best spoon bread I have ever eaten and each time I have the pleasure of eating your cooking I forget to ask for the recipe.”

  “The cook’s hand.” Fairy tipped her hand and they laughed.

  Noticing how Carlotta beamed at Paul, Louise thought this the time. “Mrs. Van Dusen. Paul and I are engaged.”

  A moment’s silence followed this, as even Fairy didn’t know.

  “A toast. Herbert.” Carlotta tilted her head slightly.

  He rose, disappeared to the pantry, and returned with a bottle of prewar champagne.

  Celeste, seeing the year, raised her eyebrows.

  Carlotta, noticing, opened her hands as if in benediction. “We should celebrate. Make a joyful noise unto the Lord.”

  —

  Driving the four miles back to Runnymede even in the light proved arduous but the little band finally made it to Celeste’s. Yashew had stayed at Immaculata. The Van Dusens kept a small apartment there which he could use coming back after late deliveries; the rest of the time he lived with his mother. Once his sister, a scholarship student, graduated, she’d re
turn to Runnymede to be with Mrs. Gregorivitch, whose eyesight was failing.

  “I knew it!” Cora announced when she opened the kitchen door.

  General Pershing wagged his tail. Hungry, he had opened the cabinets and pulled out whatever might be edible. The General, Felicity, and Glue celebrated their own breakfasts.

  Laughing, Cora opened the door so the dog could go outside and relieve himself.

  Francis stepped inside. “Miss Chalfonte, will you be needing me?”

  “No, but allow me to give you a little something for your pains.” She winked to Cora, who went to the pantry, returning with another bottle of champagne.

  “You and the missus can sit by the fire and toast one another’s good health.”

  The chauffeur left quite happy and Celeste made a mental note to call Asa Grumbacher to give Francis’s wife a spring outfit. She’d send a blank check with Louise. That would mean more to the good fellow than anything for himself. He doted on his wife. Named Prissy, she was anything but.

  Still tired and sore, Celeste, Ben, Fairy, Louise, Paul, and Cora slumped in the library, all still dressed in clothing that didn’t fit, colors that clashed.

  Celeste pulled at her blouse. “I had no idea there was so much of Carlotta.” She giggled.

  “Oh, now, Celeste, she has a shelf, and a touch of fat hides the wrinkles.” Fairy smiled.

  “There is that,” Celeste ruefully agreed.

  “Miss Chalfonte, what do you think happened?” Louise asked.

  “The fire?” Celeste swung her feet onto the hassock, she really was bone tired. “I have no idea.”

  Paul quietly opined, “If someone left a lantern and it turned over, that could have started it. The other choice is that the fire was deliberate.”

  “Deliberate?” Cora was aghast. “Why burn a chapel?”

  “To remove the competition,” Ben said.

  “What competition?” Fairy and Cora echoed one another.

  Louise, silent, was as baffled as they were.

  “You-all didn’t go down into the basement.” Paul held out his fingers, which hurt a bit. “Did you see us rolling the barrels?”

  “The weather was so filthy we couldn’t see much once we left the kitchen,” Fairy replied. “What is going on?”

  “Underneath the chapel, hundreds of barrels of liquor were stacked,” Paul replied. “Good scotch, I think.”

  “Christ Lutheran.” Louise put it together. “That’s why you told me not to ask too many questions when Yashew was over there, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” He smiled at her. “Again, the fire could have been an accident, but if not, those who intend to sell alcohol are playing rough.”

  “This early in the game?” Celeste wondered.

  “I believe so, Miss Chalfonte. If they establish dominance, they’ll have at least the rural western Maryland and southern Pennsylvania market to themselves, for hard liquor anyway. No one will ever stop the Pennsylvanians from making beer.”

  “Pabst closed down. So did Natty Boh.” Ben named two breweries in Baltimore—National Bohemian by its nickname.

  “A fortune,” Celeste whispered. “Corner the market and you’ve made millions.”

  “Upon millions,” Ben added.

  Fairy waved her hand. “Oh, it will all blow over.”

  “Fairy, when a politician takes a stand always based on his constituency, he doesn’t back down, no matter how wrong he is,” stated Celeste. “Carrie Nation and her troops built a convincing case about ending the production and sale of liquor.”

  “This isn’t going to stop anyone.” Cora stated the obvious. “But she does have something, I mean, men drinking up their paychecks, leaving the wives and children destitute. It happens.”

  “But this won’t stop it. It will just drive it all underground,” Paul said. “I don’t know Mr. Van Dusen, but it seems to me when a man of that stature, with that much money, salts away all those barrels, he believes the profits will be huge.”

  “I wonder if my sister knew?” Celeste thought a moment. “No matter. There’s still plenty left.”

  “Well, he has to hide those barrels, because eventually old man Tangerman and John Gassner will be out there,” Cora noted, then added for Ben and Paul’s benefit, “As well as the two fire chiefs—both younger brothers of our two mayors, obviously more Tangerman and Gassners. Plus Herbert has to get rid of the burned barrels.”

  “Why do both fire chiefs have to go? Isn’t Immaculata just this side of the Line?” Ben asked.

  “Oh, it’s just the way we do things. If one mayor, fire chief, or police chief goes, the other side has to go too. Everybody’s afraid they’ll miss something. Last night, they certainly did.” Celeste smiled when Glue came in, clawed up the side of the chair to sit in her lap.

  Fairy, working this over in her mind, raised her voice slightly. “If this is about competition—I mean, if someone set that fire, how will anyone know? I suppose if there’s a second one…”

  Louise surprised everyone by speaking out. “Herbert will hide what’s left and there’s a lot left. Yashew can help. The trick is to keep this away from the girls.”

  “You’ll know if someone goes to whoever has been buying liquor to see if they want to order more.” Paul, of a practical mind, had part of the answer.

  Ben added to Paul’s sentiments. “Whoever did this, if anyone did, probably knows Herbert’s customers. First they might try to hire Yashew.”

  Louise defended her classmate. “He’ll never do it. He’s loyal. Even if he is dating Lottie.”

  “Oh, no!” Fairy exclaimed. “Celeste, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t know.” She turned toward Ben. “You don’t think Yashew’s in danger, do you?”

  “Not if he plays dumb,” Ben forthrightly answered. “How tough is Herbert?”

  No one said a word until Cora did. “He has a gift for making money.”

  “And he’s discreet,” Celeste added. “If he engages in sharp business practices, he keeps it to himself.”

  “People talk. You’d know,” Fairy said. “Herbert might not be a match for someone who would burn a chapel.”

  “I suppose we’ll find out over time.” Celeste rubbed Glue’s little ears.

  The front door opened and closed. Two pairs of feet stamped. They could hear two coats being removed and hung up.

  Fannie Jump trailed by Juts, who had spent the night at Ev’s, books under her arm, entered the library, studied the motley attire.

  “What in God’s name have you-all been doing?”

  The sun melted most of the snow and sleet bits, although strips of white shone in the western crevices of pastures and woods.

  Celeste and Ben drove out to Immaculata. He didn’t need to be in Baltimore until Tuesday, which pleased them both.

  One mile east of Immaculata, Francis pointed out the side of a tree. “Look at that. Had to be lightning.”

  Blackened and scorched, one side of the tree bore witness to a strike. Sometimes lightning would hit, burn part of a tree, then lashing rains would save it. Buildings burned faster if they got hit, although they, too, were sometimes saved by rain.

  “I never thought of a lightning strike at Immaculata,” Celeste remarked. “Well, I didn’t see any lightning on the way there. Odd, we’ve had thunder and lightning during two snows this year—although the weekend wasn’t much of a snow.”

  “It was enough.” Ben smiled. “Took half the night and the next day to warm up.”

  “Got that right.” Francis nodded. “Here we are and there she is.”

  Thanks to Celeste’s call, Carlotta awaited them on the steps of the chapel.

  The four entered the chapel through the main doors to stand quietly in the wide center aisle. Shards of glass from the windows near the pulpit and the lectern glittered everywhere, on pews, on the floor, on the altar, the pulpit, the lectern. Some glass had even blown back near to where they stood.

  Holding out her arm, Carlotta
simply stated, “It could have been far worse. Charlie Ischatta is coming out tomorrow with his men to inspect the support beams under the front. If they’re firm, this won’t be as expensive as I fear.”

  There was an abundance of Ischattas in the neighborhood and Gene managed the Orioles.

  “You’ll need to replace the floor near the front doors, what’s left of them,” Celeste noticed.

  “If I’m going to do it then I’ll do the entire floor. This was a beautiful chapel and will be so again.”

  Ben nodded in agreement. “Do you mind if I go up to the pulpit?”

  “No, of course not. We should all go.”

  Standing under the pulpit, Francis knelt down and knocked the hollow raised floor. “Has anyone crawled under here?”

  “Yashew did. He said it was charred but not terribly damaged. The sleet and snow saved us. If you-all hadn’t carried buckets of snow to cover the floor, it would be far worse.” Carlotta walked to the door beside the raised floor. Steps led up to the lectern on one side, same on the other. There was a door by the pulpit, steps behind that led to the cellar.

  Descending the stairs with no light, they held the rail, pitted but also intact. Once down in the cellar, the small windows, also blown out, admitted light.

  “What’d you do with the burning kegs?” Francis was curious as they had been too hot to even touch.

  “They finally burned down, the contents also, most of which leaked out,” said Carlotta. “The wind blew sleet and snow in here, which helped. Sunday afternoon, both fire departments showed up with hoses. Increase Martin brought the Old Dixie fire engine, so he used that water, Lawrence Villcher brought huge long hoses with pumps, broke the ice, and dropped them into our pond. That did the trick. Both men brought their sons and those boys worked as good as any men, I can tell you.”

  “Did they say anything about the kegs?” Francis asked.

  Carlotta folded her hands as they walked outside from the basement, a walk they would always remember, since that had been the only way to roll out the barrels. “Herbert took care of all that.”

  Celeste started to say something then didn’t.

  Noticing, Carlotta continued, “We all felt it imperative to keep both police chiefs out of this. Increase and Lawrence promised to report it as a spontaneous fire started by lightning.” She paused, smiling slightly. “Herbert gave each man two barrels from the Infirmary. He also offered to help in any way if new equipment was needed.”