by Holly Weiss
She rushed up to him the minute Otto was gone. “I wanted to thank you for playing for me at the talent show.”
“Sure. It was nothing.”
“I hope we can do it again. Oh, and your jazz solo was amazing.” Trying to draw out their time together, she continued, “PT, remember when we talked about me leaving home?”
“Yup.”
“Well, you were going to tell me your story and you never did.”
“Listen, Gracie, I have to hit the road,” he said evasively. “A bowling alley in Philly needs me.” He stepped away uncomfortably, pushing his hair back out of his eyes.
“But how can you leave? The season’s not over. What about the bowling alley here? Oh, now I know why you were talking to Otto. He’s going to run it while you’re gone. You are coming back, aren’t you?” she cried, willing him to stay.
“Yup,” he replied, stubbed out his cigarette, and ambled away.
****
William Woods sat at his desk, chin cradled in his hand, tapping his pencil pensively.
“Come in,” he said, after four soft raps sounded on the door.
“Oh, Mr. Woods, I was just beside myself when I heard about your wife breaking her arm.” Dorothy bustled in, straw hat and suitcase in hand. “I have already asked Adelle to hostess meals because I must leave to start my fall term at school. Mae will assume my role as head waitress. Is there anything else I can do?”
“No, thank you, we’ll be fine—I think. Dorothy, can a woman cook with one hand?” he asked innocently.
“I believe that would be difficult, sir.”
“So I assumed. A piece of your advice, Dorothy. We’ll need some help around the Woodshed until my wife recovers. I was contemplating hiring Gracie. Margaret told me Isaiah taught her some things about cooking. I know she can clean and has a good rapport with my daughters. What do you think?”
“Gracie’s a good girl. I’m certain she would do a fine job. She did have some travel plans for the fall, but I don’t think she has decided definitely.”
“Then I will ask her. Please don’t mention it, Dorothy. I’d like to make it a surprise for my wife. I know I can depend on your discretion. I am so worried about her. She seems so down since this happened.”
“Don’t you have any qualms about Mrs. Woods, sir. I have seen her get behind herself and push time and time again. She will weather this as well.”
“Indeed, Dorothy,” he said warmly, shaking her hand. “You don’t know what it means to us to have loyal, superlative employees such as yourself. We will see you next summer, won’t we?”
“Absolutely.” She dropped her suitcase to the floor with a thud and gave him an impulsive hug. “I love my summer family.”
****
Flabbergasted, Gracie stared Mr. Woods full in the face.
“You mean to live with your family all winter?”
“Yes. What’s wrong, child? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Ah, that’s right,” he said knowingly. “Dorothy told me you had some travel plans.”
“No, sir, it’s not that.”
“It’s Eleanor, then. I understand. She can be so rambunctious. Don’t worry. It won’t be too difficult. I’ll be home in the evening. All you’ll need to do is tend to the girls and do a little cooking and cleaning until Mrs. Woods’ arm heals. We have a spare room and will pay you well. You can continue to work for Mrs. Cunningham. Please say yes, Gracie. My wife thinks the world of you and this will be a marvelous surprise for her.”
Woodshed on Crestmont Hill
September 1925
I
Setting her red suitcase down on the bed, Gracie unpacked with one ear on the conversation she could almost hear in the living room. After eating an uncommonly quiet dinner with the five remaining staffers and packing her belongings, she followed Mr. Woods over to the Woodshed, where she was to help out for the winter. She felt guilty that Peg had so willingly given up her room for Gracie to sleep in, but she was cheered by the youthful red and white gingham curtains and shelves piled with puzzles, books and board games.
“Margaret, because you kept this discord from me, it was impossible for me to properly assess the situation before I asked her. I was trying to help you,” William said, exasperated. “Have you two talked yet?”
“Hush, William, Gracie might hear you. I will sort this out with her when the time is right.”
Checking his pocket watch, he said, “I must be off. Tonight is the first choir rehearsal of the season. I will be home around ten.”
“Eleanor keeps asking me about riding down the driveway to the pillars. Have you talked with her yet about her bicycle rules?”
“No, I shall have to remember to do that tomorrow. Margaret, you know Wednesdays are difficult for me. I am only nine days into the new academic year at Westlawn, and then I go directly to church choir in Laporte and home to fall into bed. It takes me awhile to adjust to the commute. I only stopped home today to get Gracie settled and check on you.”
“I will be fine, William. I will kiss the girls goodnight for you.” He leaned in to peck her on the cheek, but Margaret turned away to stoke the fire with her good arm. William slipped his raincoat off the coat tree and left.
Weary of creating new ways to remind her husband of what he needed to do, Margaret sank listlessly into the caned rocker in front of the hearth. This September felt so different. Normally, after closing the inn for the summer, the family would enjoy a celebratory dinner in their cottage with a fire to take off the September chill and tumble into bed without a care.
It wasn’t the broken arm. She had learned to compensate for that in the three weeks since her accident. It was that her spirit also felt broken.
Margaret gazed apathetically around their living room. She had decorated it with casual blue and tan plaid upholstered chairs, a necessary change from the green, cream and yellow hues with floral themes permeating the Crestmont lobby. An untapped goldmine stared at her from its place next to the hearth—her father’s safe. William had placed it there as a jabbing reminder for them to execute a huge building project before next summer’s season. The money her father had left them brought with it decisions about what renovations would best serve the future of the Crestmont. The jaunty tone of his letter, however, was miles away from her current state of mind and her energy was too sapped to do any planning.
Then there was the young woman in the front bedroom. William had invited Gracie into their home without consulting her. Although she had come to regard Gracie with fondness and respect over the summer, the trust between them had been threatened since the hideout incident. Still, Gracie had kept her promise to Peg and Eleanor to keep it a secret. There was character in that, Margaret supposed.
“Mama,” Peg called as she rushed in, banging the screen door, “We finished season close-up. It was so much fun. Zeke and I took down all the screens. Otto did the things PT usually does. He is acting all important now that Papa made him boss of the year-round garage. Oh, and Julius, Magdalena’s boyfriend, came from Allentown and worked as hard as the rest of us. Mr. Fox seemed sad not to be able to say goodbye to you and Daddy. Everyone else is gone and…”
“I have asked you countless times not to slam that door, Peg.”
“Sorry, Mama.” Peg hastened on with the optimism of an adolescent. “Are you happy Gracie is here? I know you’re mad about our secret hideout, but she will be a big help now that you broke your arm. I’ll help too. I can cook on Thursdays when Gracie is at Mrs. Cunningham’s.” Peg kept a wary eye on her mother’s face as she closed the blinds behind the blue and white ruffled curtains on both living room windows.
Margaret beckoned her eldest daughter over to her. Cradling Peg’s waist with her good arm she said, “I’m sorry to be cross. Mr. Fox understands after all these summers that sometimes we are just too worn out for emotional goodbyes. You have wonderful ideas and help in so many ways. One day, you will make an amazing administrator for the Crestmont…if that is what you want.”<
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“I do, but I have to find a husband that wants to help me. Papa has been teaching me how to run the water sports and Mr. Fox explained how he figures out what supplies to order. You and Papa aren’t going to stop running the Crestmont, are you? I know you get so tired.”
“Now, don’t you worry, darling. I can’t conceive of not running the Crestmont. What would your grandfather Warner say about that if he were alive? Why don’t you go see if Gracie is settled in and then go on to bed.” Peg kissed her mother’s forehead and rapped on the bedroom door. Murmurs of easy conversation between the girls melted through the wall.
First, Margaret resolved, she would have to forgive William. The concern he had displayed for her by arranging household assistance was commendable. Next, she would make it right with Gracie. For now, she drooped into the chair. Tucking one pillow under the cast on her right arm and another under her head, she tried to draw strength from the warmth of the fire. She drifted off, enveloped not just by the stifling fog of fatigue that always plagued her in September but also with a pervasive sense of ennui, which she did not understand.
The next morning Margaret awoke, ragged and peevish, to the sound of Eleanor’s snoring. Her favorite shawl was wrapped around her shoulders. William must have covered her up when he came home last night. Relieved to have a few quiet moments before the rest of the family bustled into the kitchen, she prayed for rejuvenation. That she would not feel used up inside. That she would have something to give to someone else. That they would know best how to use the money from the safe.
She got up stiffly, shrugging off the shawl and wishing she had moved into one of the easy chairs before she fell asleep. When she opened the blinds on the living room windows, she watched the shaft of morning sunlight make faint fireflies out of the dead ash suspended in the air. “Why don’t you take what is dead in me too, God, and bring it to life?” she asked bitterly as she made her way into the bathroom. As she rinsed her face with warm water, it occurred to Margaret the accident with her arm may have been a blessed gift for replenishment.
“Mama, let’s do the exercise where you walk your fingers up the wall.” Eleanor tumbled out of her bedroom, trying to catch the ties of her yellow bathrobe.
Blessing her younger daughter’s eagerness to help, Margaret squeezed her close, kissing her unruly locks of brown hair. “Get some milk for your cereal,” she said, combing out some of the tangles with her fingers. “We’ll walk the wall when you get home from school.”
“Must you be happy so loudly first thing in the morning, Eleanor?” Peg emerged from her sister’s bedroom stretching unseen kinks out of her tall, athletic body. “Mama, she’s got so many dolls and teddy bears, there’s barely room for me. I’m boxing some up until I get my room back when Gracie leaves.”
Gracie, who had quietly closed the bedroom door behind her, stole into the kitchen where the hub of family life was already humming. “You don’t mind me going today, Mrs. Woods?” she asked, eager to escape to her job at Mrs. Cunningham’s.
Margaret stiffened a little and said over her shoulder, “No, we agreed you would continue your Thursday job. Peg will cook tonight.”
“All right, but I can cook tomorrow.” She was dismissed by Mrs. Woods’ silent nod.
****
Woodshed Cottage sat east of the Crestmont, tucked back and a bit down the hill from the bowling alley, on the big driveway that led down to the pillars and into Eagles Mere. The front door faced the lake rather than the drive, Peg had explained last night, to give the family some privacy. Relieved to get away from Mrs. Woods’ uncharacteristic remoteness, Gracie went through the porch and down the front steps, which were flanked by blue hydrangeas reluctant to give up their summer color. An eerie pull drew her attention back up toward the Crestmont. The building stood against the foggy morning—a brown, silent sentinel, lonely in its immensity. Two adolescent fawns, sensing the newfound calm on the Crestmont side of the lake, took a morning drink. A trio of squawking crows sent them scampering back up the hill between the bowling alley and the Woodshed.
Gracie wanted a peek at Mrs. Woods’ famous gardens. She checked over her shoulder to see if anyone was looking and hurried down toward the lake. Wondering why this was her first waterside visit all summer, Gracie realized that other than her trip to church and an occasional rest on the laundry porch, she felt more comfortable staying inside. Well she had a different life now. Maybe she should mark it by going outside more often.
The flower beds were set over on the Woodshed side of the hill. The picnic tables that normally graced the water’s edge at the base of the gardens had been put away for the winter. Some late summer roses were still blooming as well as begonias perched atop brick red stems. A bush replete with flowers, whose deep rosy centers bled spidery veins out into six voluminous white petals, caught her eye. Surely Mrs. Woods wouldn’t mind if she picked a flower for the dinner table on her way home. Surely she would agree that was a nice thing to do.
****
Peg helped her mother dress and replaced the sling on her arm after breakfast. “You are such a help. Are you sure you can cook dinner and do your homework, too?”
Peg pulled her sister’s coat off the coat tree near the door and held it out for her to put on. “Absolutely, Mama. I finish a lot of my school work while the teacher gives extra help to other students. Come on, Eleanor, we’re going to be late,” she said fondly to her younger sister.
Margaret sighed with relief. She was finally alone. Opening her Bible to the eleventh chapter of Matthew, she read “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden and I will give you rest.”
Rest. Exactly what I need. I need not to have to think.
Knowing the Laurel Path she loved would be quiet this time of day, she wandered down to follow it around the lake. The spring blossoms were gone, a myriad of brown leaves padded the path, and the scarcity of leaves on the bushes gave her a clearer view of the lake. She paused to listen to the birds and begged the comforting, lapping water to rejuvenate her. She gave the tangled rhododendron branches a doleful tap with her toe, feeling a kinship with how they twisted on the ground. When the Woods said goodbye to the last guest at season’s end, she felt like a rumpled mess on the floor.
William, on the other hand, seemed to draw energy from the guests. Normally, his happy-go-lucky, it-will-all-work-out air made her feel stronger. Today, she resented that he interacted on the baseball field and in the smoking room while she worked out problems alone in her office. She knew she was being unfair. William, with his keen business sense and charm with people, certainly bore his share of the responsibility during hotel season. Neither one of them alone could have continued what her father had started.
She was confounded by her father’s advice to replenish herself. The Crestmont was a much larger operation now than it was when he climbed up to nap on a hidden mattress.
****
“Dinner smells delicious, Peg,” her father exclaimed, rubbing his palms together in anticipation when he returned home from teaching. “Not only do you have your mother’s huge limpid eyes, but also her knack in the kitchen.”
“And her big feet, too.” She clucked her tongue against her cheek playfully. “I’m making chicken croquettes, baked potatoes, and I opened a jar of Isaiah’s pickled peaches.”
“Margaret, you grow the most beautiful hibiscus in Sullivan County.” William touched the huge blossom on the table, hugged his wife and whispered, “We’ll talk later, my dear.”
“Actually, Gracie picked it for us to enjoy while we have dinner,” Margaret said blandly. Unsettled by the strange tone, Gracie paused from setting the table to examine Mrs. Woods’ taut expression. She noticed Mr. Woods doing the same.
“Well, if you can put up with what I serve, ladies, I will cook on Saturday,” he offered, breaking the tension. They sat down to a quiet meal accompanied by silverware clacking against dishes.
****
It riddled Gracie that since the hideout in
cident Mrs. Woods had moved from red-in-the-tooth-and-claw mad at her to detached politeness. She missed the Mrs. Woods she had come to love and wondered what she ought to do to make things right between them. Today she was grateful she could remove herself from that by going to church. In the big house when she had a problem with someone like Bessie, she retreated to the reassuring safety of her room after her shift. Granted, the Woods had given her Peg’s room, but it wasn’t as private. She feared for the light shining out from under the door late at night when she read, and she had to temper her habit of talking out loud to make herself do things.
Gracie strolled around town a bit after the service, humming the last hymn. She turned down Lake Street and descended the steep hill, which she had learned was part of the famous Eagles Mere toboggan slide. Her heels hit so hard on the pavement that the balls of her feet made slapping sounds as she walked down to the lake.
She found she liked being alone outdoors, and felt especially peaceful standing back a little bit from the water. Perhaps next week she would come back and find a place where she could sit awhile.
The walk back up was a challenge. Even though the chilly breeze swirled playfully in the skirt of her green braid slink, she had to rest periodically to stop the burning in her thighs. Relieved when she reached the Sweet Shoppe porch, she sat down amidst the hastily placed pumpkins to catch her breath. The smell of apple pie drove her crazy while she waited for the Woods’ car.
****
“Why was it necessary for everyone to make a fuss about my arm? Honestly, half the women of the Laporte Lutheran Fellowship offered to send dinner over to us.”
“They were being gracious, Margaret,” William said patiently. “You would have been the first to offer had you been in their place. I find it inconceivable that you resent their help.”