by Holly Weiss
“She’s sweet and easily persuaded, if you know what I mean.”
Isaiah pinned him against the table and wagged a warning finger in his face. “You knock her up and I’ll slap you upside the head. Hear, boy?”
****
“Olivia!” Gracie jumped up from the rocker and embraced her friend.
“Hello, Gracie. My, you look fine.” Olivia gracefully settled her petite body into the laundry porch swing and draped the shimmering powder blue skirt she was hemming over her lap. She had tucked a tiny white blossom with red markings into her tightly pinned-back hair. “I wanted Isaiah to have something pretty to look at on his break,” she said. Her tiny chin indicated the next building. “I thought you’d be over there on the Evergreen Lodge porch. My, a new addition and a new dormitory, too. How exciting. Why, we’re neighbors now.”
“This laundry porch feels more like home. And it’s more private. Besides, the younger staff monopolizes the dorm porch. How was your winter?”
“A little lonely,” Olivia sighed. “Isaiah is in great demand now. He was away a lot on weekends, catering conferences in different cities.”
“You must have really missed him.”
“Let’s just say that I love our Crestmont summers because we are together every evening after he’s done cooking dinner. He’s so playful. An apartment can be eerie without all of his singing and whistling. Mind you, I love my dressmaking business, and I am with people all the time, but life without my man, it’s just not the same.” Gracie focused on the porch floor.
“Oh, Gracie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“No matter,” She flipped her hand airily. “I just haven’t found the right one yet, although it seems like I’m pretty behind schedule.”
“I was certain something would happen with PT. He’s an odd one, though. Very friendly, but hard to get to know. Why, come to think of it, the little he said to me last summer was about you.”
Gracie stopped rocking, squirmed in her chair, and changed the subject.
“It was really nice working for the Woods all winter. Now Bessie’s on a rampage because I got a promotion. She’s sure it’s because Mrs. Woods favors me.”
“Bessie always has to be the big cheese. I feel sorry for her. A person that nasty must have something hurtful in her life.”
Gracie leaned over and ran her fingertips lightly over the blue fabric. “It’s amazing they can make it so shiny.”
“A silver thread is run through every second warp.” Olivia held the blue material up to the sun. “See? Like little tiny stars.” All of a sudden, she collapsed the material onto her lap and bit her lip. “I have exciting news. A famous opera singer is coming to the Crestmont to do a concert and she wants me to make her a gown. Can you imagine? Me designing for a celebrity.”
Gracie could hear the sewing machine whirring as Olivia’s tiny foot pumped away and her delicate hands guided vivid fabrics into elegant gowns the women fancied for the dances and concerts. Her beautiful friend would finally get some of the recognition she deserved.
“Absolutely.”
****
Mrs. Slagle was snoring loudly when Gracie tiptoed out the front door. The waitresses were already up in the big house setting up for breakfast, so she could easily slip unnoticed out of the Evergreen Lodge. A chorus of bird calls kept her company as she went past Peg’s goldfish pond and the laundry around the steam room into the woods. An ideal place for hiking, she decided, if one was so inclined. She yearned for solitude. Thinking about the Paperbag poems she had tucked under her mattress, she moped about PT, sure she had squelched anything they might have had.
She found a private rock blushed by the morning sun, sat down and peeled the banana she had taken from the fruit display in the dining room. To perk herself up, she pored over her notebooks. She wrote “Learn to swim” on her list of things to do. Realizing she was still afraid of the water she crossed that out and scribbled, “Buy bathing suit anyway.” She turned the page to where she listed her friends and rested her hand over their names, imagining each face smiling back at her from the shifting hues of green in the trees. When murky images of Lily and her parents threatened to ruin her reverie, she slammed the notebook shut. A crow squawked in protest, landing to add a piece of dead squirrel to its breakfast.
She checked her watch. 8:30. Walking around the back of the garage, she started down the hill toward Mrs. Cunningham’s and tried to enjoy the little patches of sun, which played like haloes on the tall trees.
****
Late afternoon storm clouds threatened overhead and the sound of the piano music was obscured by the howling of the wind. Shadow, smelling rain in the air, dashed in front of her into the garage for shelter. Gracie risked the downpour to follow the song that sounded like what PT called “blues.” It led her to the old staff lounge above the garage.
PT was so absorbed in his playing; he didn’t hear her come in. He had every right to be angry after their meeting on the lawn, but she prayed she might have a chance with him if she apologized.
“I don’t know what came over me, PT. I was nasty to you and I’m sorry.”
She knew he heard her, but he ducked his head down and switched to a huffy, rhythmic piece designed, she was certain, to drown her out. Sometimes she wished she could reach into his brain and pull out words, but she knew he’d rather communicate through the piano. It was a pretty safe bet that right now he was saying he was mad.
She took another step toward the piano. “I should have apologized last week, but I was scared.”
“Oh.” PT’s eyes never left the keyboard.
She stamped her foot. “Honestly, PT, how hard are you going to make this for me?”
He swung his lanky legs around the piano bench to face her. His chest was caved and he looked miserably past her. “I’m not good at this.”
She choked. “At what?”
“This.” He wagged his finger back and forth between them.
Before she knew it, his arms were wrapped around her and he was kissing her hair, and then her ear. Then his mouth found hers as the rain thrummed on the roof.
****
The oars sloshed through the water until they reached the foot of the lake, far from the inn. “Let’s stop here.” Margaret Woods buttoned her sweater, smiled at her husband and reached out to pick blueberries from the bushes growing at the water’s edge. Cicadas and bullfrogs said goodbye to the day. Orange, pink and lavender clouds played tag with the setting sun. The water, clear to the bottom during the day, snaked in huge black and purple waves toward the shore.
“I love Thursdays.” Margaret said dropping berries lazily into her basket. “You were brilliant to let Sid take care of game night. We are free to escape and enjoy the lake. I never realized how much I need time to myself, William.”
“Mm.” William hummed a hymn, happy that his wife had accepted this tiny recess in her work week. He leaned over the boat to pick a pink water lily and waived it teasingly around her jaw before tucking it in her hair.
“I need to pocket this moment so I can pull it out to center me in July.”
“Mm.”
“William, I think we are ready for the surge.”
“What surge, Margaret?” he asked absentmindedly.
“The Swetts, the Penningtons, Celeste Woodford. The opera singer.”
“Margaret, of course we are ready. You have taken care of everything. You always do. Now stop troubling yourself and enjoy our time off.”
They ducked their heads as he rowed under the footbridge into the outlet pond. A thorn hanging precariously in a huge spider web under the bridge nearly grazed Margaret’s head and a family of ducks that had been trailing them turned back to the main part of the lake.
“No talk of running the Crestmont while in the outlet pond, dear.” He switched to another hymn.
“Yes, you are right. Sing it out loud, William. I never hear you sing except at the hymn sings.”
“No, no, Margaret. Please
don’t remind me of hymn sings at the Crestmont because now we are in the outlet pond where we are supposed to be on vacation.” Margaret gave him a chagrined smile, rested her arms behind her on the side of the boat and lifted her face to smell the evening air. William pulled the oars in and they drifted in temporal, peaceful silence. A white deer watched them from his hiding place behind some bull pines, then scampered away to find its mate.
****
Moving the piano was no small feat. Mr. Woods, Sid Fox, Otto and Zeke carried it down the stairs from the old staff lounge above the garage and loaded it onto Sid’s truck. After driving over to the Evergreen Lounge, they took it down the railroad-tie steps, setting it down twice to catch their breath. They balanced it on a dolly and wheeled it into the basement lounge.
The snap of ping pong balls stopped as did the chatter around the fireplace. Dorothy and Magdalena looked up from their euchre game. A saxophone from Paul Whiteman’s band blared from the radio. Gracie and Mae turned to watch silently.
“Right here on the wall opposite the fireplace.” Mr. Woods took his breath in big gulps and rested his hands on his knees. Slapping Sid on the back as Otto and Zeke moved the piano against the wall he said, “Care to join me in the Woodshed for some chess?”
“PT is going to be beside himself,” Dorothy noted. “He wanted to supervise that.”
“Mr. W wanted to surprise him,” Zeke said.
Bessie lay on the couch, throwing popcorn kernels in the air from a bowl on her stomach. She caught them in her mouth while Jimmy massaged her feet. “Yeah, he and Mr. W are like bosom buddies, both wearin’ those stupid yellow ties.”
“His name is Mr. Woods,” PT said, slamming the door. Everyone froze. Gracie ducked her head into her newspaper. He had avoided her since that night when they kissed.
He diddled a bit on the piano and muttered, “Oh, baby, do you need to be tuned.”
Jimmy made a feeble attempt to break the tension. “Didya see Agnes Swett cannonball into the lake? Peg was lifeguardin’ and even though the woman is twice her size, she went in to make sure she was okay. Every towel on the dock chairs got soaked.”
“Yeah, snookie, and Mrs. W sent me to wring ‘em out and take ‘em to the laundry. What the Sam Hill was that about? I ain’t no dock maid, just a housemaid.”
“Ach, Bessie, complaints, all the time, complaints.” Magdalena said. “My girls had to dry out towels.”
Bessie bolted upright and spat, “Yer precious laundry girls ain’t the only ones workin’ hard in this place.” Seeing a moment to send a dart, she pelted popcorn at Gracie’s newspaper.” If I were you, Miss I-Get-to-Clean-the-Common-Rooms, I’d get my nose outa there and up where it can be seen.” She thumbed at PT. “He’s gonna make a pass at you.” Gracie feigned shock, smiling smugly to herself because he already had.
“Oh, stop your bickering,” Dorothy said. “You know, PT is right, if you call them Mr. or Mrs. Woods, it is actually fewer syllables than Mr. or Mrs. W. I wonder if any of you have tickled your brains with that one.”
Zeke capered over to Mae. “Care to dance, milady?” They did a few turns and then she dropped her arms and turned away shyly. “Let’s get some air.” He guided her to the screened porch, winking at Otto as he closed the sliding door.
****
The morning was cool and clear. The early morning sun hadn’t quite found its way into the lobby. Instead of the overhead chandelier, a few of the table lamps had been turned on, creating a softer effect. They coaxed a gleam out of the cream stripe in the wallpaper. The carving in the wood of the staircase was more apparent. It was yet another reason why Gracie was amazed by the Crestmont public rooms. Their beauty was different at all times of the day.
Old Tim ticked away, competing with the clattering of dishes coming from the dining room. A fire had been lit in the main fireplace to take the chill off, but was dying fast. Finding no wood inside, Gracie went out to raid the wood pile next to the back porch. She put another log on, but the fire died down even more. Worried about the time, she was about to turn on the electric vacuum machine to do the carpets when a masculine voice behind her startled her.
“Want me to get that going for you?” Eric Sturdy waved his cap at the fire and smiled.
“Yes, please.” With the tongs, he lifted the log Gracie had added and stashed a smaller log under it. Then he pushed the whole thing back until it started to glow.
“It just needed a little more air. You’re Gracie, aren’t you, the one who sang the solo on Christmas Eve. I’m Eric, remember?”
“Yes. Thank you. I mean about fixing the fire. I’m sorry; I have to get back to work. Mrs. Woods will want this room to be done before the guests come out from breakfast.”
“Sure. I need to fix a window upstairs anyway.”
Gracie watched his strong back disappear up the stairs as she pushed the vacuum on the carpet. A loud squall from the machine rebuked her for sucking up part of the rug. She quickly switched it off and forced her mind back onto her work.
II
After ensuring that the town of Eagles Mere was settled for the day, the cat padded west to the Crestmont Inn. Shadow clawed its way up the stone pillars at the entrance, folded its legs under and settled in. The evening sun warmed its silky black coat as the cat surveyed its domain. A large blue convertible with matching blue on the wheels and deep gleaming running boards stopped momentarily. The driver stuck his head out the window and squinted at the Crestmont sign. Two fashionably dressed women in the back seat turned around to smile at the animal as the car chugged up the driveway.
****
The Woods had welcomed many musicians for their concerts before, but this particular interview was completely unexpected. Miss Libbie Miller, booking agent for opera singer, Rosa Ponselle, had insisted that her client be settled promptly in her room after their arrival at seven p.m. with dinner to be sent up shortly. William led Miss Miller to his office and dashed to Margaret’s office, quickly telephoning Isaiah to get back up to the kitchen immediately. He straightened his tie, returned and made chit-chat until Margaret returned from escorting Miss Ponselle to her room.
Once they were reassembled in his office, Miss Miller slid a typewritten list of instructions across the desk. Miss Ponselle was happy to accept their offer of two weeks of vacation in exchange for a one-hour concert on Friday, July 30th. The owners would supply the following: Miss Ponselle was to be given a table for one at all meals. Her privacy was to be respected at all times. A maid to attend to tidying her room, her laundry, and other personal requirements would be furnished. An appointment with a hair dresser each Thursday would be arranged. The piano in the performance space was to be tuned immediately and once again the day of the concert. A rehearsal with Miss Ponselle’s accompanist, who would arrive on the 29th, would be required. Miss Miller then handed them a sizable check to cover the cost of a formal gown to be designed by the Crestmont dressmaker, announced that she would be leaving in the morning, and asked to see the performance space.
Though surprised by these additional requests, the Woods agreed immediately, eager to heighten the image of the concert series. When they returned to the Woodshed for the night, Margaret made tea and they talked over the kitchen table.
“Olivia will do a beautiful job on the gown. We will arrange a fitting as soon as possible.”
William took off his jacket and vest, removed his cufflinks, and rolled up his shirt sleeves. “I assumed an opera singer would travel with her own maid. We don’t really have the personnel to furnish one ourselves. Thank goodness PT anticipated the piano tuning. He’s already called our man in Dushore.”
“Let’s tackle the other things first, William. Gracie loves that hairdresser, Zelda. Perhaps we could send Miss Ponselle to her.”
“And set up a single table in the dining room…”
“Done. Now the maid. Dorothy is the most mature person on the female staff, but there are no waitresses to spare right now. Bessie would be a disaster. Graci
e is the only choice, but now that she is cleaning the common rooms she is quite overloaded. I will simply have to temporarily suspend that assignment and supervise Eunice and Martha on that cleaning. Mrs. Pennington, however, refuses any other housemaid than Gracie, so I cannot take her off that room.”
When they went to bed, Margaret listened to William’s snoring, saying a prayer of thanks that she had the foresight to give Miss Ponselle a quiet room at the end of the east wing away from the livelier guests.
****
The woman held herself erect and confident, but seemed lost in the empty lobby. Her eyeliner was applied in a heavy line and she wore her thick bangs parted in the middle like the rest of her long, dark hair. Deliberately making eye contact with Gracie as she walked by, she dipped her head with a slight smile. Gracie returned the greeting and continued past her toward the library.
“Excuse me,” the woman said. Feeling especially unpresentable after cleaning the Penningtons’ room, Gracie smoothed the wrinkles out of her apron and tried to fluff up her hair before she turned around. Out came the standard response to an inquiry from a guest. “Yes, may I help you?”
The woman extended her arm slowly. “My name is Rosa,” she said deliberately. She swept her eyes over the room dramatically. “Where am I?”
Happy for an easy request, Gracie relaxed. “This is the main lobby. Do you recall your room number? I’d be happy to take you there if you’re lost. There are a lot of rooms here and it can be confusing.”
“And what is your name, dear?” Rosa studied Gracie’s face.
The woman was about thirty years old and had a magnetic, sultry sounding voice. One lone gold bangle decorated her bare arms. She was immaculately dressed in a fashionably short emerald green dress held up by thin straps which made her seem vaguely out of place at the Crestmont.
“Gracie.” She picked up the sides of her uniform to do a little curtsy, then, feeling dowdy, tried to brush off a streak of dirt on her skirt. Rosa watched, faintly amused.