Crestmont

by Holly Weiss

  Gracie jumped when Shadow rubbed against her leg. Sniffing the water suspiciously from the edge of the dock, the cat returned and jumped up on the bench.

  The cat purred when she stroked its coal-colored fur. “You act as if you own the whole town. Come on, you can share.” Gracie spread the orange and brown afghan out so it covered the seat and back of the bench. The cat curled its tail around itself and nestled next to her.

  “The Woods needed some privacy, so I’ve come to do some money figuring. If you want to stay, you’ll have to be still.”

  Studying the money page in her writing tablet, Gracie was amazed to find that even after buying the maroon slash, she had $72 saved from season close-up and her two jobs. The winter coat, shoes, hat and gloves she needed cost more than she had ever spent at one time in her life. Sending the money order to Sears was scary, but she decided to be bold and add some sheet music. She would sneak up to the library in the big house tonight and write up the order.

  Shadow stopped purring the minute Gracie started humming. “Oh, sorry.” She scratched the cat’s silky place behind its ears. “It’s Mrs. Sturdy’s favorite hymn and I’m going to sing it soon. Rev. Sturdy said I could practice on the church piano Saturday mornings. I don’t think Mrs. Woods will mind, do you?” Shadow bolted after a squirrel, leaving Gracie feeling foolish for talking to a cat.

  Turning to the page where she wrote down her friends, she added Rev. and Mrs. Sturdy and wondered if PT would ever make the list. She hoped so.

  ****

  “Do you feel better today, Mrs. Woods?” Gracie asked anxiously from the passenger seat as they drove to Laporte Monday morning. “I can do more around the house, even help you with your bookwork.”

  Mrs. Woods dismissed her with a wave of her hand. “Today I feel good and I want to enjoy it. First we’ll go to the bank. I am hoping you will open a savings account, Gracie.” Mrs. Woods advised. “Then you make what is called ‘interest,’ you see. Keeping your money in the hotel safe does keep it secure, but doesn’t help it grow, and when the snow starts, we can’t guarantee you’ll be able to get into the big house any time you want.”

  The Sullivan Bank of Laporte was a solid brick structure with a thick carved oak door. Gracie smelled lemon oil as they entered. Funny gray fingers wiggled on the glowing marble floor from the light coming through the bars on the windows. Desks in the rear where typewriters clacked were separated from the main teller area by heavy wooden railings.

  A bank officer opened a gate in the railing and ushered Mrs. Woods into a green leather chair in front of his desk. Gracie stepped up to the teller booth and spoke to a bald man in a navy blue suit with glasses threatening to come off the tip of his nose. “I’d like to open a savings account, please.”

  “Oh, good. I am glad you did it.” Mrs. Woods said later, eyeing the little gray book Gracie was examining.

  “Please excuse me, Mrs. Woods. I have another little transaction to make.”

  When the teller handed her the money order, she tucked it in her purse, promising herself to save the next three weeks salary.

  They motored in silence until Mrs. Woods stopped the car in front of the Penn Economy Self-Serve. “I can get the groceries.” Gracie asked. “You can rest in the car if you’re tired. I’ve got a list of everything I need for my dinners.”

  “Oh, no, my head is much better today. Besides, shopping for food relaxes me. These new stores are wonderful. We can browse the shelves and make our own selections without having to go to the counter and hand the clerk a list. Let’s do it together, shall we?”

  They stood, considering the canned vegetables. Mrs. Woods had Gracie pull cans of beets, green beans and corn off the shelves.

  “I’ll show you how to make the scalloped corn my husband loves.” Mrs. Woods checked her watch pin and threw a box of Shredded Wheat in the cart. “Oh, my dear, how the time has flown. Gracie, go see if the butcher has our order ready, and don’t forget the newspaper. We must get home. A contractor is coming to consult about the addition plans and my husband won’t be home from school in time to meet him.”

  Gracie’s eyes didn’t focus well on the newspaper because the car was jostling so much as they rode back to Eagles Mere. “May I borrow this tomorrow, Mrs. Woods?”

  “Of course, but tomorrow it will be old news.”

  “That’s okay. I have a lot to catch up on.”

  ****

  On Wednesday evening, William excused himself from the dinner table to dress for choir practice. Margaret wiped her mouth on her napkin and followed him. “You’re going to have to be a little late for choir tonight, William. I have something on my mind, which we need to discuss.”

  “Margaret, I can’t be late. The tenor section…”

  She closed their bedroom door and he reluctantly put down his comb.

  “I’m concerned that Peg and Eleanor feel the guests are more important to us than they are.”

  He regarded her with incredulity. “Well, this certainly came out of the blue. We give our girls a lot of love. And so does the Crestmont. Why, the staff is like a second family to them. Goodness, when Peg isn’t off playing with her summer friends, she’s right there helping me with all kinds of things at the inn. She is genuinely interested in learning the business.”

  She cut him off. “That’s not the point; we never have family time to spend with them away from work in the summer. And I have been so handicapped, first by my broken arm and now this fatigue; I haven’t been caring for them as I should.”

  “But you are home with them from September to May, for all intensive purposes. You do most of your Crestmont work while they are at school—you are a wonderful mother—Margaret, where has all this come from?”

  “It’s not just me, William; it is you. You are busy entertaining the guests in the summer; mind you, I know that is necessary. During the school year you have your teaching, church choir, Eagles Mere Association meetings. My point, dear, is that they need more of you, especially Eleanor. I am convinced of it since that fishing incident. The child is just crying for attention. William, do you realize she will be ten this year? I think you should plan something special for her birthday, just you and Eleanor.”

  “What on earth would we do?”

  “Ask Eleanor. I know she’s been dying to explore all the covered bridges around here.” She sat down on the blue chenille bedspread and buried her face in her hands, then dropped her weak arm into her lap. He sat down beside her.

  “All right, I’ll plan something for just Eleanor and me. Anything she wants.”

  “Good.” Margaret patted his thigh, went to the dresser and concentrated on the mirror. “Let’s plan a family surprise for her birthday next Saturday.”

  “But that’s the third game of the World Series. The Pittsburgh Pirates against the Washington Senators. I promised Peg we’d listen together,” he said desperately.

  “Then we’ll plan it for the evening. They can’t play baseball in the dark, can they?” Determined eyes bore into him from her reflection.

  ****

  William sat on the edge of the bed on Saturday, tracing circles with his finger on his wife’s forehead. “You’ll feel much better if you get out, my love. The sun is shining and the morning air is crisp. Take a walk with me, Margaret.”

  “I’m tired of being tired, William. I have Eleanor’s birthday to plan and we have so much work to do on the addition.” She dragged herself out of bed and wrapped herself in the blue bathrobe he had bought her last year for Christmas.

  “Come on, I’ve made you one of my egg sandwiches. Gracie is at church practicing and the girls are off on their bicycles already.” He led her into the kitchen, ushered her into a chair and poured her some juice.

  “William, I must be very ill, because this tastes delicious and your egg sandwiches are usually terrible. Or did you remember to add salt this time?” Margaret teased.

  “It’s the catsup, my dear. It makes all the difference.”

 
Margaret left him polishing the pine table and wiping the dishes. She heard him singing from the other side of the wall while she dressed.

  “You’ll need your hat and gloves, too, now that your pretty hand is out of the cast,” he said, holding her coat for her.

  They strolled, arm in arm, admiring the inn they loved on their left.

  “We won’t believe how much larger it will look next season. I’m already working on a new brochure advertising our improvements. Peg and I are planning more water sports to appeal to the young people. Otto says he has plenty of customers now that we’ve opened the garage year round.” He prattled on until Margaret unexpectantly stopped walking.

  The rippled clouds in the early morning threatened to steal the sun’s glow from the yellow oak in front of the laundry. The tree stood with its partner, a blue spruce, the only survivors of the 1882 cyclone.

  Margaret admired the tenacity of the leaves, which clung to the branches longer than any of the younger trees. She felt if she could just hold on like that her spirit would rejuvenate. Grateful for a husband who tried to help her through this difficult time, she caught a lone golden leaf that drifted down and held it out for William to see.

  “Daddy used to call it our official accent color. The awnings, the lettering on the car…”

  “My ties,” he winked, taking the leaf. “I always entertained the notion that your father used the yellow as a symbol of fun under the summer sun.”

  “No. Daddy loved autumn in Eagles Mere. He said if this oak could survive the cyclone then we should take the special strength of its fall color and put it into the Crestmont so it would survive too.” He handed her the leaf and she secreted it into her pocket.

  William took her elbow and turned her toward the hill. He swept his arm over the expanse of the big house. “I rather like how your father designed the west wing as a kind of embrace of the hill. In my estimation our addition will enhance that effect. Now, for my surprise.”

  He grasped her firmly by the shoulders and pivoted her so she faced the muddy slope to the left of the laundry building. “Tell me what you see,” he said eagerly.

  “Besides the mud?” Margaret was cautious, knowing that her husband, the ambitious dreamer, was full of creative ideas about what would improve the Crestmont. Even though she firmly believed it was only in the details that their dream could be kept alive, she had to admit that he always saw the larger picture. “William, tell me what you see.”

  “I see a three-story staff dormitory right here next to the laundry—a matching white Victorian porch—a way to hide the steam room and maintain the symmetry of the area.” He strode onto the open ground, oblivious to his shoes sinking into the muck. “The women can have the top two floors, and we’ll put the senior male staff on the ground floor. Think of the rooms that will free up in the big house. Part of the basement could be a staff lounge with a ping pong table, a piano, and a big fireplace.”

  “We could put a white picket fence here along the drive, keeping the staff buildings at the bottom of the hill set apart from the rest of the campus.” Margaret traced the path, careful to stay off the mud. “And plant some trees for privacy. Then the staff would truly have their own space and perhaps relax a bit more off duty. Oh, William, it’s a brilliant idea.”

  “The contractors assured me the shell of the addition on the big house would be completed before the snow comes. We can finish the inside over the winter. Then the dormitory will have to go up quickly in the spring.”

  “William, slow down. Father only left us so much money. First you were talking tennis courts, and now this dormitory…”

  “My love,” he said, dancing her around in a waltz step, “your father is not the only one who saved money.”

  “You?” she laughed incredulously.

  “There. You are laughing. Now we both feel better.”

  “How did you hide it from me?”

  “That, my dear, remains a mystery even to me.”

  II

  “With vanilla frosting?”

  “Yes, Eleanor, chocolate cake with vanilla frosting.”

  “And ten candles, all lit up.”

  “Ten candles, most definitely.”

  “Can we eat it now?”

  “After dinner, darling. I’m making roast lamb, your favorite. You can wait that long.”

  “No I can’t. It smells like cake in here and it’s driving me bananas. When did you bake it, Mama?”

  “Gracie and I made it after you went to bed last night.”

  Three teddy bears and a book dropped to the floor as Eleanor threw aside her blankets and bounded out of bed. “Papa is taking me to Loyalsock Creek Park to find the covered bridges today. Then cake after dinner. That’s a pretty good birthday.”

  Margaret pulled black woolen leggings and a heavy blue sweater out of Eleanor’s dresser. “What a cold day today. I don’t care what other clothes you wear, but put these on too. I have some errands to run. Have fun with Papa. And don’t grow up too fast, darling. I love you.”

  Eleanor threw her arms around her mother’s waist. “I love you too, Mama.”

  Margaret marched into their bedroom, annoyed with William for planning the trip the same day as the birthday surprise. She worried Eleanor would be overtired.

  “William, time to get up,” she said, opening the curtains. “Gracie and I are going food shopping at the Penn Economy. Make sure you have Eleanor home by four. I want her to take a nap before dinner.”

  William lifted his head off the pillow, shielding his eyes from the light. “Mm? Yes, home by four, dear.”

  ****

  Peg lounged shoeless, her legs propped up on the arm of the couch. William crouched in front of the radio, turning the dial back and forth to tune the station in clearly. They could barely hear the announcer say, “This is Westinghouse Radio Network,” over the static. The radio, with its little legs and huge black dial on the front, had been returned to its prominent place next to the fireplace, now that the empty safe had been removed to Margaret’s office closet.

  “Papa, I smell your egg burning. You don’t want to miss the game,” Peg warned.

  Running into the kitchen, William slapped the crusty egg onto the bread, elected to forego the catsup, and thrust the sizzling cast iron skillet into the sink. Eleanor sat stony-faced at the kitchen table. He gave her a distracted pat on the head and scurried back into the living room, balancing his plate.

  “Graham McAfee, broadcasting to you from Forbes Field in Pittsburgh. Here we are, the third game in the best of seven series between the Pittsburgh Pirates and the Washington Senators. Over forty-three thousand people here in the stadium have their eyes peeled on Johnson, the star pitcher for the Senator’s. He’s grinding his heel on the mound. He’s winding up.”

  “You promised.” Eleanor scolded, snapping off the radio.

  “Honey, Pittsburg is about to stomp out the Washington Senators—promised what?”

  “You said we could go up to Loyalsock Creek for my birthday.”

  “Well, of course I did.” He put his plate down on the coffee table and crouched down in front of her. “But I thought we said we’d go tomorrow. We’ll see the waterfall, the covered bridge and stop at the Forksville General store for a hotdog afterwards. What do you think?”

  Eleanor flopped down, cross-legged on the floor, and pushed her fists into her chin. “You said today. And you said all five covered bridges,” she grumbled.

  “What are you doing here? You don’t even like baseball,” Peg asked her sister.

  “I’ve got nothing else to do.”

  “They should have let Aldridge pitch the whole thing.” Peg shut off the radio after the game was over and flounced off the sofa.

  “Well, it’s only the third game,” her father said “and they won the first two. Peg, you’re going to have to listen to tomorrow’s for me.”

  “Yes, because Papa and I are going to find covered bridges. Sunday!” Eleanor slammed her bedroom door behind h
er.

  ****

  “Where is Eleanor?” Margaret asked later when she and Gracie bustled in loaded with groceries.

  “In her room,” William said sheepishly, taking their coats.

  “Peg, here are some birthday decorations. Please hide them. I’ll put them up quickly when she dresses for dinner.”

  “Well, you’re home early.” Margaret gave William a kiss. “Did you find all the covered bridges?”

  “No, I was under the impression it was tomorrow and I had promised Peg we would listen to the ball game together.”

  “You didn’t go? William, you promised her, and you promised me. I would think an intelligent man like you would stop trusting his memory and write things down.”

  “Margaret, we are going tomorrow.”

  “Well, that’s something, I suppose.” She whipped her apron off the hook. “I have a roast to put in the oven.”

  Gracie went into Eleanor’s room to cheer her up and escape the tension. Within fifteen minutes the two of them were on the living room floor playing Hearts. Gracie’s curiosity was perked about the birthday surprise. She had heard Mrs. Woods telling someone on the telephone, “not until five minutes after six.”

  At precisely six o’clock, Margaret pushed Eleanor gently toward her room. “Go look in your closet for a new birthday dress and get all gussied up. I want everything to be perfect, so do not come out until I call you.”

  “William, take this bow and put it on her new sled on the porch and then keep watch for a car on the driveway.”

  “What car, Margaret?”

  “I have a nice surprise for all of us.” Margaret said. “Peg, you have to keep Eleanor in her room for at least fifteen minutes.”

  “How am I supposed to do that when she never stops moving?”

  “Make up some game or something. Gracie and I have taken care of everything else.”