What wasteful dreams.
She determined not to spend her time entertaining such fanciful ideas. A man of means and notoriety having anything to do with a servant girl? And an orphan to boot. That would never happen.
Selma jumped out of bed and dressed. Chores had to be done early, for the day was Thanksgiving. She and the other upstairs servants would dine at two in the servants’ dining room.
Before rushing to breakfast, Selma knelt by her bed to say a brief prayer of thanksgiving. She looked upward. “I promise, Lord, I’ll thank You more later.”
Breakfast consisted of scones and jelly and delicious-smelling cinnamon rolls that tasted a lot like her older sister’s. Peggy had started making them with Mama when she was just tall enough to see over the kitchen counter. Thinking of her sister brought nostalgia that unsettled Selma’s heart. She missed spending the days with her sisters.
After breakfast the servants went their own ways to fit a day’s work in one morning. They had been told they could have the rest of the day off after their Thanksgiving meal.
When the time for the feast came, Selma was hungry. She freshened up in her room, removing her maid’s attire and donning one of her two gowns.
When she entered the dining room, all seats were filled but one Rosie had saved for her.
Maggie noisily cleared her throat.
Selma rushed to take her seat.
“Miss Bradford, would you please say the blessing?”
Astonished, Selma opened her mouth to speak, but Maggie interjected, “Please.”
“Yes, ma’am, I would be glad to.” She bowed her head. “Dear Father, we come to You today in thanksgiving for all the blessings You have bestowed on us. We especially thank You for Your love and grace and Your Son, Jesus. We thank You for His life here among us and for what He did for us on the cross. And for His resurrection and the assurance we have of everlasting life. Thank You, Lord, for the food we are about to eat. Bless it, please, so we will be healthy and strong and able to do service for You. Amen.”
Selma looked toward Maggie, who stared at her with an expression of wonder. Then Maggie smiled, and Selma felt a sense of peace. Maybe her prayer had been used by God to open Maggie’s heart.
Rosie took her hand and squeezed it. Selma saw a tear running down her friend’s cheek. She felt honored that Maggie had asked her to pray, but honored more that she could exalt her Lord doing it.
Purple salvia greeted Selma as she entered one of the many gardens that surrounded the house. She had been unableto rest, so she had donned her coat and tattered gloves and headed outside for her first stroll through the talked-about gardens.
She had heard that the famous Frederick Law Olmstead, designer of major parks in New York, Boston, and other large cities, was responsible for the landscaping project that turned two hundred fifty acres into a wonderland. The gardens near the house were based on Vaux le Vicomte near Paris. The librarian in the village had kept her abreast of all the news surrounding the building of the Biltmore estate. She had been hungry for details.
It amazed Selma so many flowers bloomed in the cool fall of the year. She recognized only a few, such as the salvia, goldenrod, and yellow mums, and wondered if any grew during the snowy winter.
Hearing footsteps, she turned around and bumped into Jacob Sinclair. The shock of touching him made her quickly withdraw. “I’m sorry. You were there before I knew it.”
He removed his hat and bowed, teasing her with his eyes. “You didn’t have to jump back so far. It was a mere brush.”
She straightened. “I am not in the habit of brushing up to men.” She felt that sounded foolish and added, “I mean, I wouldn’t have purposefully touched you.” She lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry. I can’t seem to properly state what I mean.”
“Oh Selma, we are friends. Remember? You don’t have to do or say all the right things with me. I like you as you are. And, by the way, you are a delight in my eyes.”
Selma looked into those dark eyes, eyes that sparkled. With what? What was it she saw? Was he being condescending, or did he truly like her? “I am not sure, sir, that delight is a thing I want to be in a man’s eyes. It doesn’t sound proper.”
“Selma, you sure are stuck on the word ‘proper.’ I myself am not always aware of what is proper. I do not mean you any unkindness. I think you are a wonderful person. That’s all.”
Selma and Jacob both turned at the footsteps behind them. Selma thought she heard Jacob groan. But he said, “Betsy! What a nice surprise.”
“Hello, Jacob.” Betsy looked at Selma and grabbed Jacob by the arm as if to whisk him away. “I’ve been trying to find you, dear. I am leaving tomorrow. Remember? Let’s see if we can arrange to sit together at dinner this evening. And guess what? Good news. I will return for Christmas.”
As they strolled away, Jacob glanced over his shoulder and mouthed, “See you.”
Selma felt dismay and uncertainty. He did say he would see her. But was he only being nice? She knew better than to encourage the feelings that struggled to occupy her heart.
She clenched her fist and looked down to see that her finger had just poked another hole in her worn glove. Of course, she thought. This is where I am and who I am. “And that’s not a bad thing,” she said aloud to anyone who could hear.
Chapter 4
Selma peered out a guest’s window at the light gray clouds and wondered if it might snow. The Monday after Thanksgiving had brought a cold air mass to the mountain area. Everyone was abuzz about Christmas and the decorating that would begin later in the week. Memories of decorating with her sisters and Mama Elsie flooded her mind. Theirs was a simple Christmas but centered on Jesus’ birth. This one would be extravagant, and she could only hope the true meaning would prevail. She shivered, since the fire in the room had died. Escaping her thoughts and letting the drape fall back, she turned to lay a new fire. She had yet to air out the bed. Her stomach tingled. The next room she would clean would be Mr. Sinclair’s.
As she left the finished guest room, she glanced back to make sure it met the proper standards. Maggie had told her that Mrs. Emily King, the housekeeper, made rounds daily, and if the guest rooms were not up to par, she would be the one to suffer. What that meant was that Maggie would, in turn, make the chambermaids suffer.
Rosie had told her at breakfast that morning that Maggie thought she would get the housekeeper’s job after the previous one left. But Mrs. King, who moved to North Carolina from England just this year, had been hired. Selma now felt sorry for Maggie.
When Selma reached Mr. Sinclair’s door, she knocked hardily. Never again would she be so quick to enter a gentleman’s room. However, she knew most of the guests left early for breakfast and spent much of the morning in the library or smoking room, reading or talking. Many times she had been told they lingered over the breakfast table with coffee and conversation.
When she made sure the room was vacant, she entered and began her chores. After emptying the ashes, laying the fire, and airing the bed, Selma dusted the furniture.
Finding a bookmark on top of the nightstand, she opened the drawer slightly to put it away. She saw the edge of a Bible and pulled the drawer out farther. Curiosity grabbed her, and she flipped the leather cover back. She quickly shut the drawer and looked around to make sure no one had entered and caught her. Her heart pounded with pride.
Mr. Sinclair’s family Bible. I do believe he is a Christian.
Since finding the Bible in his room the day before, Selma found Mr. Sinclair’s room untouched. He had not slept there. Distressed, she wondered if he had gone. She walked to the nightstand and opened the drawer.
It’s still here. Why would he leave it?
Maybe she labeled him too quickly. She would not think of leaving her Bible, even overnight. She was puzzled but put it behind her and continued her chores.
At lunch Rosie asked with that irritating grin, “Did you know Mr. Sinclair is gone for a few days?”
Selma
looked at her friend with what she hoped wasa straight face. “I only know that his room was as I left it yesterday.”
“I heard him tell Maggie Saturday he would be leaving Sunday morning. He didn’t say where he would be going. It’s funny. That Betsy woman is gone, too.”
“I don’t see any reason to connect the two. He probably has business to attend.”
“Well, they seemed pretty close to me.”
Selma didn’t want to believe it, but she had no right to the feelings she harbored for the man. She changed the subject. “I hear we will be working our two hours off every afternoon to help decorate. What does that involve?”
Rosie’s nose wrinkled. “The gardeners bring in fresh cedar and pine, and we decorate the mantels in every room. Many of the guest rooms will have their own Christmas trees. And there is the living hall. That tree is usually huge. Last year we even helped decorate the one in the entrance hall. I tell you, we will work ourselves to death. Most of the time we have to replace all the greenery before Christmas so it will be fresh.”
“Sounds like fun to me. We only had one Christmas tree in the orphanage, and each of us hung only one special ornament.”
“When it’s added to all our other work and the number of guests here, it becomes very tiring.”
Selma thought about that. “Yes, I suppose it would.”
“And I am so sad this season. I know I won’t enjoy a minute of it.”
Selma saw the moisture in her friend’s eyes. “What’s the matter?”
“My mother. I have received word she is not doing well. My sister wrote and said she is very ill and may not recover. She lives in Virginia, so I won’t be able to go to her.” Rosie looked questioningly at Selma. “Do you think she will go to heaven?”
Selma’s heart sank. How to answer? “Rosie, do you know if she believes in Jesus?”
“Like I told you, we didn’t go to church very often.” Rosie hesitated. “But she did sing a few church songs to me. I truly want her to go to heaven. I want to go, too, and be with her.”
“Rosie, it is very simple. The Bible says if you believe in the Lord Jesus Christ and confess your sins, you will be saved. Do you believe that Jesus is God’s Son and that He died for your sins?”
“I don’t believe otherwise, so I guess I do.” “Pray to Him, Rosie. Ask Him into your heart. When you retire tonight, talk to Him. He loves to hear from us.” Selma looked around the table and noticed others were listening. She smiled and nodded, hoping that anyone who heard and didn’t believe would receive the message. After standing to leave, she hugged Rosie and whispered in her ear, “I will pray for your mother. And you.”
“When Scrooge awoke, it was so dark, that looking out of bed, he could scarcely distinguish the transparent window from the opaque walls of his chamber. He was endeavoring to pierce the darkness with his ferret eyes, when the chimes of a neighboring church struck the four quarters. So he listened for the hour—”
The shrill bell made Selma jump and drop the Charles Dickens novel. Having found A Christmas Carol in the servants’ hall bookcase, she had devoured it daily during her afternoon break, losing all sense of reality. But when the bell sounded, so did duty. She picked up the book and shelved it quickly as she hurried to the call box.
Mr. Sinclair’s room. He must have returned.
Selma adjusted her cap, sticking the rebellious curls under it, and smoothed her apron. Her heart beat rapidly as she hurried to his room downstairs. She knocked and disappointment overtook her when she heard Maggie’s voice.
“Come in.”
Selma opened the door and faced her superior. “Yes, ma’am?”
We just received word that Mr. Sinclair is on his way back. I think you need to air his bed and lay a fire.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And do it quickly. The message may have been slow.”
Yes, ma’am.”
Maggie left and Selma began by arranging the kindling. Because the fire had not been built for a few days, the room was cold. She shivered and hoped it would heat before his arrival.
As the fire popped and crackled from the fresh wood, Selma set about airing the bed and dusting the furniture. She was bent over wiping the bottom of the nightstand when the door opened. She stood and turned, finding Jacob Sinclair smiling mischievously.
“Do all the guests have the opportunity to catch the charming Selma at work? Or am I just lucky?”
Selma felt her cheeks burn. “Sir, I am so sorry. I never meant it to happen again. Miss McAllister just rang me from this room a short time ago to ready it for you. We didn’t really know when you would return.”
As he walked toward her, she stepped back and bumped into the nightstand.
“There you go again, injuring yourself to get away from me. I won’t hurt you. I promise.”
Selma looked down. “I know that, sir. It was just a reaction.” She glanced up and her heart flipped as he took another step toward her.
“Selma, you and I are friends. What is it that causes you such alarm?”
“Sir, it is just not proper for us to be friends.”
“There you go with the ‘proper’ word again. Tell me, why is it so wrong?”
Selma looked into his eyes and saw nothing but warmth. “I think the two of us are so very different. In our stations in life, in our experiences, and, I guess, in everything. I do not know your world, nor do you know mine.”
“I see.” He stepped closer. “So you think as God’s children, we are so different? That I don’t have the same feelings, the same desires as you? That I’m not human?”
“I truly do not know. I guess so. Jesus was a servant. He loved everyone. So I am sure it’s possible.”
“That I am human?” He laughed.
Selma smiled. “Yes, I believe you are a good man. You helped me when my sister was ill. You have been nothing but kind.”
“So, sweet Selma, what’s the problem?”
I could never tell you that. “I suppose there is no problem.”
He reached for her hand and pulled it to his lips. “To friendship. You are more a lady than any woman I’ve met. Don’t forget it.” He looked around. “The room is perfect, Selma. If you wish, you may go.”
Selma brushed past him, her pulse racing as their arms touched when she left the room.
Selma awoke to a cold room … but a warm heart. The decorating would begin that day, and she looked forward to it. She remembered how the evergreen smelled when it was delivered to the orphanage. The tree and branches of cedar were donated by Mr. Vanderbilt himself. She couldn’t begin to imagine the aromas that would fill his large home. She jumped up, made her bed, and quickly dressed for breakfast.
Rosie was seated when she arrived.
Selma patted her shoulder as she sat by her friend. “Good morning.”
The returned salutation rang dull. “Good morning.”
“Dear me.” Selma grinned. “What is wrong with Rosie today?”
“I just can’t get excited about an afternoon of decorating.” Rosie’s lips pouted as she looked at Selma. “I was so tired last night. I’m still exhausted.”
“May I suggest as soon as you return upstairs you do some stretching and toe-touching?” Selma was serious but kept the laugh inward as she thought of her friend’s possible response.
“You’re joking.”
“No, Rosie, not a bit. You can work it in with your chores.”
“Selma, dear, I do quite a bit of bending and stretching just doing my chores. As do you.”
“But it is different when you really stretch and use all your muscles. Please try it.” Selma paused. “We all feel better when we get excited about Christmas, too.”
“And how will you manage to get me excited about all the decorating?”
“Rosie, think of Jesus. His birth and lying in a manger. He is our Savior. Think of the bright star and the shepherds. We celebrate Him, Rosie. Every mantel you decorate, every tree you adorn, every gift you gi
ve … think of how we are celebrating our Lord.”
“It does give me gooseflesh now. I did pray, Selma. I asked Jesus to come into my heart.”
“Then see.” Selma felt her eyes water. “This is reason to celebrate. It is all about Him.”
“You’re right. But there is something else. You mentioned gifts. We have so little money to buy them for everyone we love. What are you going to do?”
“I plan to find a ride into the village my next afternoon off and look around. I would like to buy my sisters a small present. And Mama Elsie. I also want to buy you something.”
Rosie’s smile revealed such happiness that Selma hugged her friend. “You see, we are going to have a wonderful Christmas.”
They discovered their duties coincided that afternoon, asthey both were to decorate the entrance hall. Rosie told her it always came first. They decided to meet and walk down together. But first the chores had to be done.
Selma found all the rooms empty. Except one. Mr. McAdams answered the door when she knocked. She begged his pardon and said she would return.
He grinned broadly. “What is your hurry, young lady? If you can wait a minute, I am about to leave.”
“I’ll come back.”
“You can’t tell me George works you that hard. I’ll have a word with him.”
She ignored his teasing smile. “Oh no, please, sir. It’s just that I’m trying to finish so I can help decorate the entrance hall. He is certainly not to blame.” Selma cringed at the thought of being mentioned to Mr. Vanderbilt.
“Very well, then. I won’t say anything. You have a good day, miss, and enjoy the Christmas merriment. By the way, could I have your name?”
Selma was aghast. She thought he would surely say something to Mr. Vanderbilt. “It is Selma, sir. But you won’t reveal my name?”
“Of course not. I just wanted to know for myself. Please continue, Selma.” He eased his door shut.
Selma backed away and hurried to the next room. Unease gripped her as she considered their conversation, in spite of his promise.
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