Crestmont

by Holly Weiss

  The Crestmont Inn

  Summer 1925

  I

  She stepped into the office. A short man with blond hair parted in the middle sprang nimbly to his feet and shook Gracie’s hand. “I am Mr. William Woods, and this is my wife, Margaret. We are the owners of the Crestmont Inn.” He sat down as quickly as he had risen, adjusted his tie, and aligned his cufflinks perfectly. Mrs. Woods, with dark hair and large brown eyes, stood calmly next to his desk. Her serenity was a comforting contrast to Mr. Woods’ energy.

  “Mrs. Woods, we have before us a Miss Grace Antes, applying for a housemaid position.

  “It’s An-tees, sir,” Gracie blushed, afraid of Mr. Woods’ reaction to the correction. “And, if you please, I like to be called Gracie.”

  “Antes. That’s a German name, is it not?”

  “Yes sir. It’s Moravian, sir.”

  “I know of the Moravians. Persecuted religious order from Bohemia. After a great spiritual renewal in the eighteenth century, they emigrated to this country as missionaries. Many settled here in Pennsylvania. I am sure I have sung some of the music they composed.”

  “William.” Margaret Woods guided her eyes over to Gracie.

  “Ah, yes. Gracie. Where are you from?”

  She lowered her eyes, intent on taking advantage of the musical connection, and blurted out, “My great-great grandfather was John Antes. He made musical instruments and composed music when he was a missionary in Egypt. He was tortured there by the locals, then he came back to this country and his music has been sung in Moravian churches all over ever since the 18th century. Oh…I’m from Bethlehem, sir.”

  “And how did you hear about the Crestmont Inn, young lady?”

  “I saw an ad in the Philadelphia Inquirer, sir.”

  “Have you ever worked in an inn or hotel before?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Have you been employed as a housekeeper before?”

  “No, but I know what clean should be and I am a fast learner. At home I took in laundry for some of the older folks at church and made some money that way.”

  “What brings you all the way over here to Eagles Mere?”

  She nervously studied the floor under his immense desk. Buffalo, the stage, singing, finding a new life in the big city—all flew through her mind. Diagnosing these as inappropriate responses, Gracie replied, “The ad brought me here, sir, and now that I am here, I know I will like it.” She lifted her head with a hopeful smile.

  William Woods rocked back and forth, heel to toe, studying her. Winking at his wife, he said, “There are three kinds of people at The Crestmont Inn, Gracie. Tell me who they might be.”

  “Why, there’s you, Mr. Woods, and Mrs. Woods of course, then people like myself hoping to be staff…then there’s the staff.” Counting as she talked, she realized she hadn’t gotten to the most important people. “Mr. Woods, I’d say there are the guests, you and Mrs. Woods, and the staff.”

  “Who are the bosses at The Crestmont Inn?” he probed.

  Suspecting this was the key question, Gracie broke out of her habit of saying what she knew Mother and Father wanted to hear, and spoke her mind. “I think actually, sir, the guests would be the bosses, in that you want to make them as happy as possible while they are here.” A flash of pride for her newfound clarity of thought coursed through her.

  He clicked the roof of his mouth with his tongue, shot a glance at his wife and asked, “Mrs. Woods, do you suppose we have found a new housemaid here in Miss Gracie An-tes?”

  “I do, dear.” Mrs. Woods smiled warmly. Gracie straightened her shoulders.

  “Well then, Gracie, your salary will be $15.00 per month, with an extra $15.00 in September if you complete the season, which ends on Labor Day. The rest of your salary will come from tips and you will receive free room and board here at the hotel. Please accompany my wife, who will explain your duties and answer any further questions.”

  “You have come at a good time,” explained Mrs. Woods, leading her down the hall away from the main lobby where Gracie had entered with PT. “We are not yet at the height of the season, so you will have a chance to ease into the July rush.” Gracie paused, gawking at two immense portraits on the wall. “That is my mother,” Mrs. Woods said. “And this one,” she touched the frame, “is my father. He envisioned and built the Crestmont twenty-five years ago.” When Mrs. Woods smiled, her dark brown eyes drooped down at the corners. She hesitated, then patted her chignon of shiny brown hair and pointed out three ladies’ parlors on the left. A painting of a young girl dressed in yellow satin, holding a baby in a lace christening gown flowing with pink ribbons, was mounted on the wall across the hall. “These are my children, Peg and Eleanor.”

  “Such beautiful little girls,” Gracie said, admiring the painting.

  “Oh,” Mrs. Woods laughed. “The painting is several years old. Peg is fifteen now and Eleanor nine. I am sure the girls will make themselves known to you. They love it when a new staffer comes in. Come along, then, Gracie. I will show you the staff dining room and Room 109 where you will live this summer.”

  The hall ended at what Mrs. Woods called the West Parlor directly opposite French doors that led into the dining room fitted with perfectly aligned white linen covered tables. Gracie gasped at the huge glass windows on the left of the room. “Ah, you haven’t seen the lake yet, have you? It is what makes Eagles Mere special.” Mrs. Woods beckoned her to the window. “Come here.” Gracie’s breath caught when she saw the striking view of water twinkling in the afternoon sun.

  “Well, now that you have met my family, let me show you what you will be doing this summer. You are our only new housemaid so far.” They passed through swinging doors into an immense kitchen, filled with aromas of pork, rosemary, and apples. Isaiah was leaning over a steaming huge pot, pumping a potato masher up and down.

  “Evenin’, Mrs. Woods.”

  “Hello, Isaiah. I’d like you to meet Gracie, our new housemaid.”

  “Yes, ma’am, we met on the drive from Wilkes-Barre. Hey there, Gracie.”

  “I am sure Gracie is tired from all her traveling. Will you have someone send a dinner tray up to 109 for her?”

  “Sure thing, Mrs. Woods.”

  Gracie’s stomach grumbled as they passed through the fragrant kitchen past a small door into a tiny dining room. “This is the staff dining room. Breakfast is at 6:15 in the morning so we can begin serving the guests at 7:30. Staff lunch and dinner are after the main dining room empties. We expect a quiet and respectful attitude from our staff, and a diligence to anticipate the needs of our guests. Mr. Woods and I strive for fairness with our staff, but we also demand your best effort. If you have any questions, my office is readily accessible. Come now, it is five o’clock and I must hostess dinner at six. You shall need to sign your contract and then we must fit you for a uniform and give you some linens.”

  Mrs. Woods carried Gracie’s uniform on a hanger up the back staircase next to the dining room. Gracie followed with linens in one hand and her red suitcase in the other. Indicating small glass burners about eye level when they reached the second sleeping floor, Mrs. Woods said, “These glow night lamps are lit by the night watchman before sundown and stay on all night.” She opened a door at the end of the hall, revealing another section with five rooms on each side and two bathrooms. “Female staff sleeps in the back west wing of the hotel or what we fondly call the big house. Here you are. Room 109. Your dinner will be up shortly. Surely you wouldn’t mind a quiet evening in your room after all your excitement today. You will take the rest of your meals in the staff dining room. Goodnight, Gracie. Welcome to the Crestmont family.”

  “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Woods. You have been so kind.”

  ****

  “Oh, honestly, Gracie, what have you gotten yourself into?” she hammered herself after she was safely ensconced in her room and had devoured the pork dinner delivered by a round-faced waitress named Mae. She carefully reviewed her notes of Mrs. Woods’ dire
ctions. Gracie understood how to clean the rooms, but would not know until tomorrow exactly where they were. Being the newest housemaid on staff, she knew she would get the worst assignment.

  Her room was tiny, but clean and adequate. The window next to the small bed was covered with a simple lace curtain. In addition, there was a wardrobe, a dresser and a nightstand with a kerosene lamp. Gracie breathed a sigh of relief to know that she could comfortably read before retiring. Dusting off her red suitcase before laying it on the bed, she began unpacking. Her Bible and Sister Carrie went on the nightstand. She hung her everyday skirt, two blouses, and the crisp new size eight green uniform with its removable white collar and white apron in the wardrobe, along with her pink shrug. Mrs. Woods had measured her, stating kindly but firmly that Crestmont girls couldn’t order uniforms from the Sears catalogue because the hemlines were too high. Washing the detachable collar by hand would help her keep the uniform neat and clean until Olivia had finished sewing the second one. Gracie was relieved to learn that the inn provided the uniforms as long as they were turned back in at the end of the summer season.

  Analyzing what she had not yet unpacked, she mulled over the two dresser drawers and decided to put clothes in one, paper in the other. She placed her nightgown, sweater and underclothing in the top drawer and into the second, her writing tablets, pencils, magazine and copy of Song of the Lark.

  Lovingly lifting the yellow jewelry box out of her suitcase, Gracie set it on the newly starched dresser scarf, mouthing the words of the poem. She fluffed her new bobbed curls in the mirror and felt more cheerful. Opening the window, she leaned out and drew in the scent of the pine trees. Yeasty, cinnamon smells from the kitchen met her nose. Isaiah must be making rolls for tomorrow’s breakfast. Glad to have met some people during the drive, she decided she liked Isaiah immediately and wished she had been able to get to know his wife, Olivia, the dressmaker.

  She emptied her purse onto the bed. Carefully unfolding the bills she had stashed in her coin purse, she counted. Six dollars. When she added to that the salary spelled out in the contract she had just signed, her shoulders rounded with worry. She needed really good tips to afford a decent dress and travel expenses to Buffalo.

  Her sister’s face kept appearing in her mind. She tried to erase it, only to see Rev. Herbst, hat in hand, explaining to her family the circumstances of her disappearance. The old feelings burned in Gracie’s throat. She couldn’t help her attraction to George, and she couldn’t stop being jealous of Lily for having him. At the same time, she felt sorry for Lily, the innocent one, who had no idea of the complexity of the situation. What recourse did Gracie have but to leave? She told herself she should write so Lily wouldn’t wonder why her sister had vanished for no good reason.

  Instead, Gracie pulled around her a protective wall and put off writing the letter for another day. She needed to feel good about herself. Here at the Crestmont, she felt hopeful that might happen.

  Pulling a writing tablet out of the dresser, she figured she should write down things to work on to better herself. She listed “Clothes, Singing, and Vocabulary” and left spaces to fill in details later. After much consideration, she added, “Save money” and “Read.”

  Books always brought her solace, so she dove into Sister Carrie. She couldn’t get past the first page without writing down words she didn’t know. Tearing a small piece of paper off her tablet, she wrote “waif,” and “susceptible.” Maybe she could work up her courage to make a perusal of the Crestmont library and sneak a peek at a dictionary sometime after her shift.

  Gracie padded down the hall, wanting to wash up before bed. When she opened the bathroom door, she bumped into the waitress who had brought up her dinner. They smiled at each other and the girl left. A needling voice from behind a screen gave Gracie an uneasy welcome.

  “Yep, first week check in with the Rude Regals has to be the best entertainment of the summer. Don’t ya agree, girlie? Did ya see Mrs. Pennington wipin’ her eyes while her poor husband’s draggin’ her through the main lobby? She wants the whole world to know she’s miserable. It was the spider bite last summer, right? And sunstroke the one before? This summer she’ll probably claim some jellyfish bit her, like she was swimmin’ in the sea or somethin’. Don’t know how her husband takes all that mopin’ and moanin’. And those other two…. All I can remember is Sweaty and Miss Drama. Never actually get their names till I hear Mrs. Woods greet ‘em. They have to be three of the….Whew, it’s gettin’ hot in this bath! Slammin’ Jack, am I glad Mrs. W didn’t give me their rooms, although I hear the tips are great, them havin’ all that money and all. Do ya know who has ‘em this summer?”

  Gracie, unsure of who this girl was talking to or about, washed up quietly. Behind the screen, water sucked noisily down the tub drain. Out stepped a naked, compact woman, maybe eighteen or so. She lovingly toweled her curly red hair, while water dripped from her freckled body. The shiny gold bracelet around her right ankle caught Gracie’s eye.

  Tipping her foot out to display it, the redhead giggled. “Like it, huh? It’s the bee’s knees all right.”

  A pool of water around the girl’s feet began snaking toward Gracie.

  “You must be the new one. I heard you were older. Listen, girlie, don’t think just because you’re new Mrs. W’ll cut you any slack,” she carped. “She expects perfection from all of us; it’s just that those of us who are experienced know how to deliver. This is my third summer, ya know. I started when I was sixteen.”

  There was a split second to slip in “My name’s Gracie.”

  “Bessie.”

  Later on, two loud raps startled her out of her reading. Padding tentatively to open the door, Gracie was greeted with a towel in her face. After she took it, she got a better look at the curly red bob and thin nose. Pouty lips snapped, “It’s called a communal bath, which means ya leave there what was there when ya went in, and take with ya what wasn’t. That means this towel of yours goes with ya when ya go. Got it?”

  “Oh, sorry.” A hot flush crept up Gracie’s neck at the angry outburst.

  “See ya on the floor.” And with that, Bessie was gone.

  The girl’s abrupt exit stirred feelings in Gracie she couldn’t identify. Hopes of making new friends dwindled as she climbed into bed, carefully set her new alarm clock and tried to sleep. The last two days ran over and over in her head. She had walked out of Lily’s life as quickly as Bessie had stamped down the hall. How must Lily feel? Turning that over in her mind, she decided she couldn’t settle it for herself right now. She had a new job and she needed to focus on not making any mistakes with that.

  ****

  The next morning, Gracie awoke to the smell of bacon drifting up from the kitchen. She stuck her head out and realized her view was the parking lot, but no matter, the morning sky was gloriously clear. She was halfway done dressing when her new alarm clock clanged. Shutting it off, she dressed and hastened down to meet Mrs. Woods who explained that, as the newest housemaid, Gracie would be cleaning Rooms 62 through 73 and the four bathrooms in the west wing of the second sleeping floor.

  “Gracie, these rooms are around the corner from your staff rooms. They are occupied by servants of the more well-to-do guests.”

  Feeling more centered now that she understood her duties, Gracie stepped into the staff lounge for breakfast. There were two long tables, one completely filled with younger people laughing and chatting, totally oblivious to her. She timidly went to the buffet and poured herself coffee, then filled her plate with scrambled eggs and a cinnamon bun. At the other table, Bessie was stuffing bacon into her mouth, jabbering to three men. Gracie recognized Dorothy, the lady from the car, but she was deep in conversation with a stern-looking woman in her forties. There was no sign of PT. The only empty seat was next to Isaiah, the chef, but he was bobbing his head emphatically while he talked to Olivia and another dark-skinned man at the end of the table. Gracie didn’t want to bother them, so she sat down and ate alone.

>   A handsome man with pomaded black hair and a moustache yelled from the buffet. “What happened to that last cinnamon bun, Isaiah? It’s been driving my smeller bonkers.”

  Gracie assumed she should apologize for taking it, but before she could work up her courage, Isaiah piped up, “Only one for each staffer, Otto. The main dining room gets the rest. I don’t care if you are a crackerjack mechanic; you still only get one of my fabulous cinnamon buns.”

  She got a whiff of Ashes of Roses as she stuffed the last of her cinnamon bun into her mouth. She craned her head around to see Dorothy standing behind her.

  “Good morning. Have you gotten yourself all together and ready for your first day?” Gracie nodded, trying to think of something nice to say when Dorothy patted her shoulder and said, “Well, I’m off to fill fifty cream pitchers.”

  People seemed to take that as a signal to get up. They carried their dishes to a wooden cart on wheels, scraped their plates clean into a trash can, and deposited their silverware into a big bowl of water. Gracie did the same and bumped into Bessie.

  “No, don’t dump it all into one. Food scraps go in this can and napkins in that one. Hey, name’s Gracie, right? A little advice, girlie, make sure ya finish your stayin’ guest’s rooms before ten.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Woods explained how the cleaning schedule is different for guests who are staying and those checking out,” Gracie said, trying to be civil to the freckle-faced spitfire. “But people don’t check out until Saturday, right?”

  Bessie rolled her eyes as if to say “What an idiot,” stuffed Tutti Frutti gum into her mouth, and turned on her heel.

  II

  Zeke breezed around the driveway on Saturday, blue and white streamers flying from the handlebars of his bike. With one deft move he hopped off and stashed the bike under the back of the hotel porch. Smoothing his unruly black hair, he brushed off his maroon bellhop jacket. “Afternoon, Mrs. Woods. Here in lickety split time for 3 p.m. check in.”