by Holly Weiss
Grace could hardly believe her eyes when, ten days later, she opened a response on official Crestmont Inn letterhead.
Dear Miss Antes,
We regret to inform you that we cannot put you on our waitress staff because of your lack of experience. We would, however, be happy to interview you for the cleaning staff of the inn. Please present yourself to our office no later than Tuesday, June 15th for an interview. If you require transportation, our car (labeled clearly The Crestmont Inn) provides a shuttle service from the Wilkes-Barre train station every Tuesday and Thursday beginning June 1st. You may meet the car at the east entrance of the station between 11 a.m. and noon. Please reply to inform us of the day of your arrival.
Yours truly,
Mr. William Woods, President
She formulated a plan and quickly wrote back, confirming her interview on June 7th, a week before the deadline. She would stay for Lily and George’s wedding in May, and then make preparations to leave. The three months before the wedding would drag by and she dreaded the wait. Avoiding George was one thing, but pretending nothing was awry around Lily would be next to impossible.
****
Had three months really passed so quickly? Mother was busy in the kitchen, humming the wedding march as the guests mingled in the parlor. The wedding had been beautiful and George was careful never once to glance Grace’s way.
Lily hugged her before she left for her honeymoon and said, “I love you, Grace. You’ll be the first to hear all about it when we get back.”
“I love you too, Lily.” Under her breath she said, “Don’t judge me too harshly.” Lily shot her a quizzical glance before George swept her away into his Model T Ford with a “Just Married” sign above the spare tire on the back.
****
Grace quickly finished ironing Mrs. Wright’s blouses and flew down the stairs and out the door to deliver them. After pocketing her dollar, she calculated that she had $20 saved and hurried to the Bethlehem Public Library.
“I need a map of the part of the state that shows places near Wilkes-Barre, please.” The librarian pushed a huge atlas across the counter.
Grace was ready to ask for a magnifying glass when she finally found it. Eagles Mere was about sixty miles northwest of Wilkes-Barre. If the Crestmont Inn’s car left the train station at noon, she might arrive in Eagles Mere before 4 p.m. She hoped that wasn’t too late for an interview, because she didn’t have the money to stay overnight anywhere. She checked the train schedule from Allentown to Wilkes-Barre and found an early morning train. The problem was getting to Allentown before eight in the morning. Returning to the counter, she asked for an Allentown telephone book. Finding just what she wanted, she went to the public phone booth, dropped in her coins, and dialed the number.
“Allentown Young Woman’s Christian Association. May I help you?”
“How much is it to stay one night, please?”
“Fifty cents for supper and a cot in the dormitory. Biscuits and coffee are available for breakfast.”
“I’d like to make a reservation, ma’am.”
“It’s not necessary. We always have extra cots. Please check in by four.”
“Thank you.” Grace knew that Rev. Herbst went to Allentown on Tuesdays for a clergy meeting. Perhaps he would drive her to Allentown and she could take the Wednesday train to Wilkes-Barre. Cheered now that she had a plan, Grace perked up.
After church two weeks later, she pulled Rev. Herbst aside. He agreed to give Grace a ride to Allentown for a shopping trip, but frowned when she asked him not to tell her parents. Explaining that she also had a few things to pawn the family no longer needed, she figured she could take a sack with her things in it without him becoming suspicious.
Composing the letter to give him after they got to Allentown was difficult, but she was sure that after Rev. Herbst read it, he would understand what she was really doing without feeling responsible for participating in it.
Dear Rev. Herbst,
I want you to know that I won’t be in front of the library at 3 p.m. as I promised you this morning. I’m going to leave home and find my own way in the world. Don’t worry about me, since I have a definite plan and a place to go. You know from our conversations about some of the problems I have at home. I know that you’ll respect my privacy and won’t try to stop me. Please tell my parents I’ll write when I get settled. They would never let me go if they knew about this, so I had to do it this way. I hope you will forgive me. You and Mrs. Herbst have always been so kind to me. I wish God’s blessings on you both.
Sincerely,
Grace Antes
On Tuesday, Grace hopped out of his car. She ran around to the driver’s side to say thank you and hand him the letter, then dashed off without looking back. That was the last time she would use the name “Grace.” From now on she would be “Gracie,” setting out to find her place in the world.
She flew down the street, blinking back tears because she had lied to someone she cared for and respected. She would miss the Herbsts and the warmth and love she felt at church. And the hymns—oh, how she would miss the hymns.
Fanning her face with her straw hat worked off some nervous energy, but did nothing to stop the trickle of perspiration trailing down her chest under the double layer of underclothing she had squeezed inside her blouse and skirt early that morning. Her sack held her Bible, the Song of the Lark, a nightgown, the bathrobe she fondly called her pink shrug, more underclothing, an extra blouse, sweater, writing pad, toiletries, and a small lunch. Not only was the sack cumbersome, but worse, she was sure it would also attract attention.
As she turned down Broad Street, she saw a sign, “Second Hand Shoppe, Goods Bought and Sold.” She stepped inside and breathed a sigh of relief when she spied a small red suitcase with tan leather trim. The tag said $2.00. Gracie bought the suitcase, some pencils, a brush and comb. A bright yellow jewelry box with a poem drew her in:
It’s the song ye sing
And the smiles ye wear
That’s a makin’ the sun
Shine everywhere.
—James Whitecomb Riley
The poem was perfect. It would greet her every morning and remind her of her mission. She didn’t own any jewelry except her watch, the choker around her neck and her fake drop pearl earrings, but she had to have it.
A new life demands a significant marker, right?
After bargaining with the sour faced man behind the counter, Gracie got it for a reduced price, and then asked the man for directions to the library and the YWCA. He sighed, narrowed his bushy eyebrows, and wrote down the directions for her.
As she was leaving, a beat up alarm clock in the window caught her eye. The idea of reporting for work promptly was new to her. If she was going to have a job, she wanted to be sure to awaken in time. She slipped back in the store, gave the man her sweetest smile and asked to see it. Made in 1915, it was nickel plated with Roman numerals on the face. Dents covered the sides, but for a quarter, maybe it would do. Firmly making the shopkeeper wind it up and check the alarm, she handed him the money and left.
Allentown loomed over her five-foot-three-inch frame more than Bethlehem ever had. The buildings were imposing and the city itself more crowded. People obviously knew exactly where they were going. She walked by a diner and smelled pot roast. Her stomach churned. Then she passed a beauty parlor with a sign in the window “Bobs, 35 cents. Tuesday only.” Grant’s Hardware offered a special on shovels. Juggling the suitcase and her pack made her feel conspicuous and uneasy.
She turned right on Court Street and found the Municipal Building. The big clock outside chimed eleven times. Needing to take stock, Gracie went inside. Relieved to find the ladies’ washroom empty, she quickly repacked her belongings into the red suitcase.
Returning to the building plaza, she settled down next to one of the two huge stone lions out front for security, pulled out her sandwich and munched on it while she watched the people go by. The women here were very stylish with
skirts and hair shorter than Gracie’s mother allowed. Feeling dowdy, she did a mental inventory of her money, afraid to take it out of her purse. She had spent $3.25 at the second hand store. She had only $12 left and she knew her ticket would be about half that.
She craved a fresh image for her new life. Should she do it? She tucked that decision away for a few minutes.
An hour later, unruly blonde curls lay on the floor. Gracie peered at her new image from the beauty shop chair. Green eyes, wider and more open to receive the world, gazed back at her. A fashionable bob cut just below her ears, not straight or crimped but bouncy, framed her face.
“It’s the best I could do for the price. Crimping is another 15 cents,” apologized the salon girl as she dusted stray hairs off the back of Gracie’s neck with a big powder brush.
Gracie leaned into the mirror and tipped her head from one side to the other watching her hair bounce. She flashed a delighted smile. “It’s perfect.”
She felt younger and definitely more self-assured.
En route to Eagles Mere
1925
People buzzed around the Allentown train station the next day, stopping only to check departure times or to collect their children and suitcases. Gracie bought her ticket, hurriedly counting the rest of the money in her purse. Selecting a magazine called Time from the newsstand next to the ticket counter, she leafed through it, lingering over an article about President Coolidge.
“Watch it, Missy,” growled a man pushing a huge steamer trunk on a dolly. She jumped out of the way and hastily handed the vendor the money for the magazine and a Milky Way candy bar. Thinking she might feel less overwhelmed outside the station, she checked the board for the departing platform for the Wilkes-Barre train and dodged her way out of the terminal.
On the platform, people were crammed into each available seat, but quickly rose to board when the train to Philadelphia was announced. Gracie sat down alone, set her red suitcase between her legs, and wolfed down the candy bar. She glanced distractedly at the cover of the magazine, realizing she hated the news and politics, but instructed herself to read it on the train to Wilkes-Barre so she could be better informed.
Ducking her head nervously when people filtered in to catch the next train, Gracie spied a book someone had abandoned called Sister Carrie. Quickly, she snatched if off the bench and browsed through it. The main character was a girl who wanted to go to Chicago and be a famous actress. Excited now that she had a friend with a similar goal to keep her company; she put it in her suitcase just as the conductor called “All aboard!” Nervously climbing the steep steps onto the train, she settled into a brown leather seat and opened the Time magazine. She tried to read, but remorse gnawed at her concentration like a woodpecker hammering her skull.
“Ne-e-xt stop, Wilkes Ba-a-are.” Clutching her red suitcase, Gracie stepped off the train with an unsettling combination of anticipation and fear. After consulting a man in a maroon uniform with a name tag on his breast pocket, she found the east entrance of the train station where she was to meet the Crestmont car. The clock on the wall said 10:45. Sitting on a bench in the sun, she nervously paged through her magazine while she waited.
A huge black Buick Touring Car pulled up to the curb with “The Crestmont Inn” painted on the side in yellow letters. A spindly man in his mid-twenties climbed out. He was impeccably dressed in gray and black pinstriped trousers and a gray jacket. Gracie guessed the yellow of his tie had been chosen to match the lettering on the car. He was so skinny that she giggled, imagining herself pushing him over with one finger. He had a very prominent Adam’s apple, a broad forehead and a face that narrowed into a pointy chin.
Waving to someone behind her on the tracks, he shouted, “Dorothy, still keeping those students of yours in line?” His wide smile made Gracie relax a bit.
Shyly, she stepped forward. “Hello, my name is Gracie Antes. Is this the shuttle to the Crestmont Inn?”
“You must be the new girl.” He stuck out a bony hand. “I’m PT, driver, bowling alley attendant and gofer for Mr. Woods, Crestmont’s owner. Hop in.”
“Well, I don’t know. I mean, my interview is this afternoon. Will we make it on time?”
“Yup.” Feeling like she had been given an order, Gracie slid into the middle seat of the car.
The generously proportioned middle-aged woman he had called Dorothy ran from the platform to the car, straw hat flopping, struggling with a suitcase and hatbox. She threw her free arm around PT and kissed him loudly on the cheek. “Oh, my word, if it isn’t PT. Isn’t it a long time between summers?” He stashed her suitcase in the trunk along with Gracie’s, and Dorothy slid into the passenger seat in the front.
A sickeningly sweet odor of roses filled the car. Gracie discretely wound her window down a few inches to let in some air.
“I nearly missed my trolley to the station. Dear me, I am just neither here nor there without my car. I need to pick it up next week, PT, so I’ll be shuttling back here with you. Hello, there, dear,” she said, extending a hand back to Gracie. “I’m Dorothy, one of the antique waitresses.”
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am. I’m Gracie Antes.”
“Oh, please don’t ma’am me. My students do it all year and it makes me feel old. I need my Crestmont summers to liven up these forty-five-year-old bones. Call me Dorothy. Whew, it certainly is hot enough. Oh look, there’s Isaiah and Olivia. Yoohoo!” She beckoned to them from the car window. “All aboard the Crestmont shuttle.”
A burly man with skin like coal and big apple cheeks protectively ushered a dainty woman with copper skin into the car. The woman’s elegance and quiet nature made Gracie like her immediately.
“Guess that’s it for this run,” PT said, starting the engine.
After they introduced themselves, Isaiah pounded Gracie on the back and said, “One big happy family, right, Olivia?” He drew the palm of his wife’s tiny hand to his lips and kissed it. Sniffing suspiciously, he wrinkled his nose. “Lord Almighty, Dorothy, I hate that roses stink stuff you wear. Don’t you bring that smell into my kitchen, hear?”
“It’s imported Ashes of Roses eau de cologne, Isaiah,” she corrected him. “It was Lawrence’s favorite, bless my dear husband’s soul, and as long as Sears carries it, I will continue to wear it. And as far as your kitchen goes, there are so many aromas floating about no one will notice a little perfume. Besides, Mrs. Swett loves it and says so each summer when she hands me a fine tip.”
“I don’t know how you can be so hotsy-totsy to those old biddies in the dining room. They act like they run the place instead of Mr. Woods. You are crazy to take those tables near the lakeside windows, Dorothy. Why, you have to deal with all three of them at once, plus two husbands. Who’s that one always feeling like she’s sick—Mrs. Pennyswoon?”
“Mrs. Pennington, Isaiah. Be kind, now,” Olivia said softly, with a slight accent Gracie couldn’t identify.
“First of all, Isaiah,” Dorothy instructed, “if you ever stepped out of your kitchen you would see that the west window tables afford a commanding view of the lake and are therefore reserved for our, shall we say, more faithful, well-to-do guests. Secondly, Mrs. Woods has graciously assigned them to me because she feels I have the maturity and skills to mitigate some of their outlandish behavior.”
“Hey, PT,” Isaiah chuckled, “translate, please.”
“Dorothy is good at keeping the Rude Regals in line, so Mrs. Woods gives her the tables where she gets really great tips.”
“Thanks, pal,” said Isaiah.
“Oh, my word, I simply am beside myself when I hear people call them the Rude Regals. They are people with problems, just like you and me. Mrs. Pennington’s ailments are an indication that she needs some attention. Miss Woodford simply feels she is of a higher station than anyone else. If I can show some special attention or give deference to make someone happy, then I will do it. Besides, I find it a challenge to use my people skills on a higher level with the adults at the Crestmont t
han with my elementary students.”
The more everyone else talked, the more Gracie knew it would take some doing to feel like she fit in. Her stomach grumbled, and she wished she had bought more than a candy bar for lunch. The clouds she watched from her window glided like wavy streamers in the sky. As they motored toward the Crestmont, her eyes got heavy. Realizing that she would need a lot more energy before the day was over; she turned her head toward the window and tried to sleep. “Dear God,” she prayed, “Please make this be all right. If I was wrong to do it, then turn it for good.”
After a long drive, PT slowed the car when they passed through stone pillars on either side of the Crestmont driveway. They ascended a steep hill to an immense three-story brown building with yellow awnings. PT parked the car. Gracie stood nervously by while the others grabbed their luggage and dashed off in a flash, saying, “See you soon!”
“Come on, I’ll show you to Mr. Woods’ office,” PT said, lifting Gracie’s suitcase out of the trunk. Gracie took in the immensity of the porch as they walked up the center steps. Once they were inside the striking lobby area, PT pointed to a huge grandfather clock. “That’s my favorite. Name’s Old Tim,” he explained. “Mrs. Woods’ father had it shipped from England when he built the place.”
Gracie’s heart started to flutter. Oh, honestly, what had she gotten herself into? She tried not to trip over her own feet.
PT knocked on an office door, flicked his eyes toward it and said, “They’re swell people. Good luck.”
“Come in!” called a high-pitched, authoritative male voice.