The River to Glory Land

by Janie DeVos

  “You should have seen her,” she continued, smiling broadly at me across the table. “She looked like she should be keeping company with the likes of Clara Bow and Rudolph Valentino – may he rest in peace,” she added, looking heavenward. Every female in America had sobbed into her pillow over the passing of the Italian-born silent film god the year before. “And if that didn’t put Lil in the spotlight enough,” she excitedly continued, “Ann Marie shouted out that it was Lily’s birthday, and Ben’s band played “Happy Birthday” to her! Can you imagine it? What a night! And Lily had her picture taken by a reporter from the Herald after she won, and he said it’ll be in next week’s society section.”

  “We have talented children,” Mama said, smiling at Daddy as I reached across the table for the pitcher of maple syrup and happened to notice an upside down picture of a very familiar building on the front page of the newspaper. “You mind?” I asked my father, sliding the paper over to me and spinning it around before he had a chance to answer. “They sold the Boulevard Bakery?” I asked.

  “According to Mama, it was sold a couple of weeks ago,” my mother replied, “to some company, though the paper doesn’t list who. It’s all there in the article,” she said as she set a hot plate of pancakes down in the center of the table.

  I noticed that my grandmother’s name was in the byline, which surprised me. She was writing less and less for the paper as she worked longer hours at the hotel. I quickly perused the article and saw that the bakery received several offers, and finally accepted one. The new owners preferred to remain anonymous until they were closer to reopening. According to the article, the new owners were renovating the building completely.

  “Whoever got it sure got it for a steal,” I said, noting the selling price. “I mean, two businesses for the price of one and they’re—” I stopped as I realized what I was saying.

  My father lowered the sports section he’d started reading and, looking over the top of it, asked, “What do you know about that, Lily?”

  Darn! “Uh, nothing…not much, really.” He was looking at me hard. “People talk, Daddy. You hear things, that’s all.” I glanced over at Olivia for some help but saw that she had suddenly become engrossed in the obituaries.

  “And you’re sure that’s all?” my father pushed; looking every bit as skeptical as I was sure I looked guilty.

  “Lily, you did see the box in your room, didn’t you? It arrived this morning while you were still asleep. I sneaked in and put it on your dresser.”

  I could have kissed my mother for her well-timed attempt at bailing me out.

  I immediately jumped up from the table. “No, I didn’t.” And I truly hadn’t. “Who’s it from?” I asked, quickly exiting the kitchen and heading down the hallway toward my room.

  “Don’t know,” my mother said as she stood in the kitchen doorway. “Some delivery boy brought it over, and I signed for it, but other than to say that it had come from Desmond’s Jewelers, he didn’t know, and there wasn’t a card with it.”

  “It’s probably from one of those millionaires that takes dancing lessons from her,” I heard Olivia say. “They’re all in love with her, ya know.”

  I shut my bedroom door behind me and hurried over to my dresser to find a small brown-paper-wrapped box. My hands were shaking, but not enough to prevent me from quickly pulling away the twine and wrapping to reveal a black velvet box within. I quickly looked at the discarded paper to see if I’d missed a note, but seeing none, slowly opened the hinged lid. There, sitting atop a cushion of white satin, was a small, delicately carved gold brooch in the shape of a lily. The petals were made of white peach-veined agate, and in the center was a tiny sparkling diamond. Still searching for a note or card, I lifted the small satin cushion and there, folded up beneath it, was a small piece of paper. Carefully pulling it out and unfolding it, I saw that it was a typewritten copy of the short poem, The Lily, by William Blake:

  The modest Rose puts forth a thorn,

  The humble sheep a threat’ning horn:

  While the Lily white shall in love delight,

  Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright.

  Beneath the poem were typed the words, “Happy birthday, Lily.

  Taking the pin from the box, I made a fist around the tiny lily and held it to my pounding heart as I sat down at my vanity to re-read the poem. There wasn’t a signature, but it wasn’t necessary. I knew who had sent it. Moving my fist from my chest to my mouth, I tried to smother the sound of my crying.

  Chapter 11

  The Power of Grace

  “They’ve done a fine job decorating it,” Mama said, admiring the efforts made by the staff in decorating the Helm for New Year’s Eve dinner. Our entire family had enjoyed a splendidly cooked meal of roast pork with fingerling potatoes, creamed onions, spinach soufflé, and brandied carrots, topped off with cherries jubilee, all compliments of Chef Nathan. Looking around, I was pleased to see that there wasn’t an empty table in the place. I knew we had reservations all the way through the evening. If the staff was lucky, they’d be done by three in the morning. Undoubtedly, diners would linger after ringing in the new year of 1928. No matter, they were being paid well for working over the holidays, and I knew that they had received generous bonuses earlier that day – bonuses my grandparents could ill afford to give.

  “They worked long and hard,” Grandma said in response to my mother’s compliment on the festive-looking restaurant. “They’ve been stringing streamers and banners, and those whirly thing-a-ma-jigs across the room since early this morning. If you ask me, there’s not a more festive place to celebrate the end of one year and the beginning of another anywhere in Miami.” It was good to hear her enthusiasm.

  As nonchalantly as I could, I glanced over to my left where Neil and Laura Aldrich were seated. I had known they were coming. I had been the one who answered the phone in the restaurant when Neil had called to make their reservation.

  “If you’d rather we eat elsewhere, I’ll tell Laura you’re booked solid,” he said, sounding uncomfortable. I understood. I knew I’d be a little ill-at-ease and distracted having them there while I was trying to enjoy the celebration with my family.

  “No, no, Neil. We’ll be glad to have y’all,” I lied. “And we appreciate the business,” which was the truth.

  “Neil…” I hesitantly started, unsure as to whether I should bring up the subject of the brooch. But since I had him on the phone…“The brooch is lov—”

  Suddenly, I heard someone else come on the line. “Hello? Neil? Are you on the phone?” It was Laura. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I was just starting to call Mother and—”

  “It’s fine, Laura,” Neil evenly replied. “I have Lily on the phone. I was just making our reservations for New Year’s Eve at the Spinnaker, but we’re through here. I’ll hang up and you can have the phone.”

  “Oh…okay,” she said. “Lily? You still there?”

  “Yes, Laura. I’m here.” I suddenly felt too warm even though it had been a chilly morning and we’d turned down the restaurant’s heat overnight.

  “We’ll look forward to seeing you and your family,” she said kindly.

  “And we’ll be happy to see y’all, too, Laura,” I lied again. “See you then,” I said before quickly hanging up.

  Now, at 10:30 p.m. on New Year’s Eve, as the Aldriches rose from their table to dance to the popular, romantic tune, “Babette’s Waltz,” the brooch holding together the plum and cream-colored Asian silk scarf draped across my shoulders seemed to prick me.

  Round and round the floor, Neil guided Laura, holding her to him as he slowed their pace or increased it in a musical form of lovemaking. Try as I might, I couldn’t take my eyes off them for more than a few seconds before my focus shifted back again. I looked around the table and was relieved to see everyone caught up in conversations with each other. No
one noticed how absorbed I was with the beautiful couple whirling around the dance floor. I needed some air, so I got up from the table, said I was going to the ladies’ room and hurried out of the restaurant as quickly as I could. I made my way down the long hall to another restroom much further from the restaurant than the one just outside its main door. I hoped it would be quieter, and it was. There was only one elderly lady who was just pinning on her gigantic hat. Within seconds, she was gone, so I sat down in a chintz-covered chair conveniently tucked away in a corner, then laid my head back so that I was looking up at the ceiling. Another water stain, I thought. This one looked like an eagle – the kind at the top of a flagpole, with its wings spread wide, looking off to one side. Frustrated with the endless amount of repairs the hotel needed, I closed my eyes to the stain and sat there quietly for a moment or two until I heard the bathroom door open. When I lifted my head, I was looking into the beautiful dark eyes of Laura Aldrich.

  “Oh…Laura. Hello,” I stammered as I stood up.

  “I thought I saw you heading this way,” she said, smiling softly.

  “You know, there’s a restroom just outside the Helm’s main door. You didn’t ha—”

  “Yes, I know,” she said, bending down to look under the two stalls, apparently checking to see if they were occupied. As soon as she confirmed they were empty, she turned the deadbolt lock on the restroom door, and then leaned back against it and looked at me. It was absolutely silent in the room. I couldn’t even hear my own breathing because I wasn’t at the moment. Finally, Laura broke the heavy silence.

  “I’m going back home to Illinois for a time, Lily. That’s where I was born and Mother’s still there, but she’s very sick.”

  “I’m sorry, Laura. I didn’t know.”

  She nodded in response as her eyes remained on me. Then, “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but I’ll stay as long as she needs me.”

  “What ails her?” I wasn’t sure it was the appropriate thing to ask, but, I wasn’t quite sure what else to say.

  “Cancer. It’s all over her.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, and I truly was.

  “I am, too,” she replied as she smiled softly again.

  For a moment, she just watched me, almost as though she was measuring me up, or bolstering her courage enough to say what was on her mind. Finally, she did.

  “I want you to stay away from my husband, Lily.”

  I was absolutely stunned. “Laura, I…we’re not—”

  She immediately cut me off. “Please, Lily, don’t make me hate you. Don’t say anything if you can’t tell me the truth. At least give me that much.”

  She said no more and looked exhausted. Even so, she tried to give me a small smile before unlocking the door and leaving. In her face was no venom, or anger, or threat of retribution. None at all. In fact, she had done something few people could accomplish when standing nose to nose with an adversary: Laura Aldrich remained a lady of grace. That was the most powerful weapon she could have wielded.

  Chapter 12

  Rock Bottom

  The first half of January was dreary and cold, and the rain was relentless, making the Chamber of Commerce wonder if we needed a new moniker to replace “The Sunshine State.” I continued to dance daily with our hotel’s bored and antsy guests, and as we whirled and dipped and shimmied around the ballroom, my mind constantly replayed the five minutes I’d spent alone with Laura on New Year’s Eve. Her soft-spoken words had shaken me to the core. I slept poorly most nights, and preferred to spend the evenings in my room rather than listen to a favorite radio show with my parents, spend time with friends, or even go out for a ride in the bay in one of Daddy’s runabouts. It was one of my favorite things to do, especially if guests who grated on my nerves for one reason or another filled my day. Somehow, the feel of the wind washed the smell and feel of them off me, and improved my mood so that I was ready for the next would-be-Arthur Murrays the following day.

  I danced past the arched windows in the ballroom on the third Monday morning of January, and looked out at the empty gray beach beyond. I racked my brain for the hundredth time and tried to figure out who would have told Laura that Neil and I were involved. For the hundredth time, I came to the same conclusion: It had to be Scott Monroe. Like a reel of film playing the same scene over and over, I pictured him telling Laura that he saw Neil and me through the door of the doctor’s lounge, in the throes of a heated embrace. Making matters worse, he probably embellished what he knew. Obviously, Laura thought Neil and I were involved in a full-blown affair, though I doubted that telling her we only shared a couple of kisses would be a great relief to her.

  I needed to talk to Scott, and as quickly as possible, in order to set the record straight with him before he did any more damage. I had asked around about how I could find him and discovered that he ran his business, Island Air, out of Watson Island; a man-made isle in the middle of Biscayne Bay, near downtown Miami. He rented space in a hanger there and shared the runway with the other island-hopping charter service, Chalk’s Ocean Airways. I also learned that he’d flown out right before the end of the year, and no one had any idea where he’d gone or when he’d be back. Being a one-man operation meant that he answered to no one but himself.

  At noon, the sun finally poked its face through the light gray clouds, and then fully overpowered them. As soon as I was done with the lunch crowd, I changed out of my dress and into a pair of trousers, then went down to the beach and started walking. I’d gotten as far the Belvedere when I heard the drone of a plane approaching from behind me. Turning around, I watched the seaplane as it flew overhead, and could easily make out the familiar name of Island Air scrawled across its side. The I in Island was painted to look like a palm tree with its fronds blown over to the left. Immediately, I hurried to the Spinnaker’s parking lot, climbed into my car, reached under my seat for the keys, and then tore out of there and onto Collins Avenue. Fifteen minutes later, I jammed my clutch and brakes down hard, and came to a screeching halt in front of Island Air’s open hanger on Watson Island. Taking a moment to calm myself, I checked my face in the rearview mirror before getting out and walking over to the plane that was visible inside. As I got nearer to the craft, I could see a man’s feet sticking out from beneath it.

  “Hello?” I said, bending over to see who was under there.

  Suddenly, Scott Monroe came sliding out on a creeper. Lying prostrate on the flat wooden dolly, he looked up at me for a few seconds before sitting up and wiping his grease-coated hands on an equally greasy towel. His eyes ran the length of me, starting with my brown and white saddle shoes, to my rather masculine pair of tan cuffed linen trousers, and then up to my white silk blouse. Finally, his eyes stopped on mine, and his mouth turned up in what I considered an arrogant smirk.

  “And to what do I owe the great honor of having Lily Strickland in my company?”

  “Your mouth, that’s what!” I snapped before I had a chance to censor myself.

  Taking a deep breath, Scott tossed his rag aside and pushed himself up from the dolly. Standing about six feet tall, he made me feel small, even though I was 5’7”.

  “You want to tell me what you’re talking about?” he said, a touch of anger tainting his tone.

  “What you’ve been talking about!” I spat.

  “I don’t have time for games, Miss Strickland. Get to the point,” Scott said, making me feel like I was about six years-old.

  “Why did you tell Laura Aldrich that Neil and I were involved?”

  “Well, aren’t you?” he asked, his eyebrows lifting.

  “No, not really,” I replied, but my response sounded weak, even to my own ears.

  “Oh, I see.” Scott nodded, looking thoughtful, as though he was beginning to understand he’d been mistaken. “So, you’re saying that when I happened to see you and the good doctor in the lounge, involved in…a very privat
e conversation, I just misread the situation? Is that right?”

  “Yes, that’s completely correct!” I smiled, relieved that he was starting to see the light.

  “I really don’t know you, Miss Strickland so I shouldn’t judge you.”

  “I couldn’t agree more, Mr. Monroe. You might consider mentioning to Laura that you were terribly mistaken when—”

  “But there are two things I do know about you,” he interrupted, as though he hadn’t heard a word I’d just said. “You’re beautiful, and you’re a liar. In my book that is one very, very bad combination, and one that’s as poisonous as a water moccasin. So I steer clear of both.

  “Unfortunately, that’s all the play time I have for today.” He smiled before lying back down on the dolly and planting his foot on the cement floor as he prepared to push himself beneath his plane again. But before he could slide back under, I stepped down hard on the edge of the creeper, using all my weight to keep him in place.

  “You listen to me, Mr. Monroe: There’s no affair going on. What you saw was just a kiss, and there have only been a couple—”

  “So far,” Scott said, cutting me off and sitting up again.

  “Well, I can assure you,” I said firmly as I crossed my arms, “it’s not going to come to any more than that becau—”

  “Because you got caught,” he laughed.

  “No! Because I don’t want to hurt Laura Al—”

  “Only because you got caught,” he repeated again.

  “Do you ever let anyone finish a sentence?” I cried, my voice rising in both volume and pitch as I uncrossed my arms and balled my hands into fists by my thighs.

  “I do when they’re not tryin’ to feed me a whole lot of bushwa.”