Crestmont

by Holly Weiss

  “Yes, and I want to write her a thank you note but I don’t know where to begin. I mean, she’s a big opera star and I was just her maid.”

  “Just say what you feel. From what you told me, she considered you a friend. Everyone else was running around calling her ‘Miss Ponselle,’ but she wanted you to call her ‘Rosa’.” She handed Gracie a huge tray loaded with green and white plates, cups and saucers. “You carry, I’ll set. Now tell me everything.”

  She babbled on about all the details as Dorothy arranged place settings. The moment she mentioned Eric Sturdy, Dorothy stopped her cold. “That handsome Princeton man sat with you? What about PT?”

  Gracie’s knees felt weak. She set the tray down on an empty table and sat down. The whole story tumbled out about how she camped out at the bowling alley.

  “Gracie, you can’t handle one man. I just don’t know what you would do with two.”

  “I don’t have two. I don’t think I even have one.”

  Dorothy stuck her nose into a sideboard and returned with a tall pile of butter pat dishes. “Well, if it were me, I’d gather myself together and go get the one who’s interested. I hope you’re still going to be in the staff talent show. You were all excited about that song Rosa helped you with.”

  “After those lessons she gave me, I’m going to sing my song, with him or without him.”

  ****

  Margaret agreed. William stood dumbfounded, waiting for questions about the details, but they never came. She said she was impressed with William’s plan for funding, then bustled Peg and Eleanor into the car to shop for clothes in Williamsport. He lifted the receiver and asked the operator to connect him with the West Side Tennis Club in Forest Hills, New York. His tennis courts would be state-of-the-art red clay and would be laid in by experts.

  ****

  Routine. Going to church, cleaning the lobby and figuring up her money situation helped Gracie come back down to earth after Rosa Ponselle left. She walked down after her shift on Wednesday to pick up her laundered uniforms. The clouds twirled like white feathers in the sky. Then the laundry door slammed. Magdalena stomped out and dumped a huge wicker basket of wet clothes on the porch. Sticky bits of white clung randomly to the garments in the basket.

  “Dumkopf!” she said. Magdalena ripped a uniform with “Antes” written inside the neck out from under her arm and waved it in Gracie’s nose. “Was ist das?” she screamed, pointing to the gummy white globs in the outturned pocket.

  Flashes of heat prickled up Gracie’s neck. Her vocabulary word papers. She hadn’t taken them out of her pocket when she sent her uniform to be laundered.

  Magdalena pried off a piece of paper with her fingernail and stuck it under Gracie’s nose. “You. Clean. Then bring back.” Gathering her skirts in a huff, she tromped back into the laundry.

  Gracie ran next door and returned to the laundry porch with the wastebasket from her room. One by one she pried pasty bits of paper off the clothing and deposited them in the basket.

  Olivia appeared from around the other side of the building. “What on earth?”

  Gracie explained her predicament.

  “Oh, my. I’m on a break, let me help.”

  “It’s my mess, I should clean it up.”

  Perturbed, Olivia pulled the basket over and put some uniforms on her lap. They worked in silence as the breeze blew the spicy scent of orange and red nasturtiums their way.

  “Lovely, aren’t they?” Olivia nodded toward the pots. “Peg planted them. She’s always finding some nice little thing to do. Enjoy them while you may because Isaiah is putting the flowers in tonight’s salad.” She rubbed her fingers together, trying to dislodge a sticky bit.

  They picked in companionable monotony until Olivia leaned over toward Gracie. “Isaiah and I saw something odd last night. When we were out walking we saw Bessie and Hank duck into the steam room. She acted downright sloppy drunk.”

  “I guess Jimmy finally got tired of her bossing him around.”

  They both jumped when Eleanor climbed over the porch railing and upset the wastebasket. “Uh, oh,” she said frowning at Gracie. “I knew those pieces of paper you kept stuffing in your pocket were going to get you in trouble.” Eleanor licked two fingers and used them to pick up what had fallen out of the wastebasket. Dusting off her hands, she climbed into the porch swing. “So now we know why Bessie steals the cloves.”

  “What cloves?”

  “The ones she steals from the kitchen. She said they were for her toothache, but they’re probably to cover up the liquor on her breath.”

  “Oh, my, you overheard. Eleanor, you’re just a child.” Olivia said. “You shouldn’t know about such things.”

  “Why does everyone treat me like such a baby? Bessie isn’t so bad. Well, I’m mean right back to her when she’s nasty, but I see her crying sometimes when she thinks no one is around.”

  ****

  Gracie’s soft hello fell unanswered after she let herself in with her key. Mrs. Cunningham slept late more frequently now. Gracie fixed breakfast, but didn’t see the note Madeleine had left until she was heading up the stairs with a tray. She went back to read it.

  Mother felt feverish this morning. Call the doctor if she worsens. This letter must be posted by two. Madeleine.

  Typically, there was no please or thank you included, although Madeleine had left a few coins for postage. The letter was addressed to Salisbury, England.

  By afternoon Mrs. Cunningham felt much better and asked to sit on the front porch. Her chalky eyes stared straight ahead as she nudged each step with her right toe. She stabilized herself with her left hand on the banister and Gracie supported her right arm. They stopped before they reached the bottom for a rest.

  Wouldn’t it be better to convert the dining room into a bedroom for her? The drop leaves on the dining room table could easily be collapsed and the table pushed against the back wall to make room for a bed. Granted, the sun streaming in from the octagonal tower of the second-floor bedroom would be missed, but the bay windows in the dining room flooded it with light. The only problem was that the bath was on the second floor.

  Pushing Gracie’s arm away when they reached the bottom of the stairs, Mrs. Cunningham felt her way out to the front porch. Annie, the large black poodle who had evidently given her family the slip, sat at the foot of the steps, thumping her tail on the ground.

  The old woman perked up. “Is that my little friend I hear?”

  Annie answered with a friendly woof.

  “Play with her, Grace,” she urged. “I know there are crab apples on our lawn because I can’t smell the blossoms from the tree anymore.”

  Annie bounded back from each throw with an apple in her mouth. She dropped every fetch at Gracie’s feet and panted with her tongue hanging out of the side of her mouth waiting for more. When the delivery boy threw the newspaper onto the porch, the dog bolted toward the street.

  “Annie, let’s play some more,” Mrs. Cunningham called, but the dog was gone.

  Opening up the newspaper, Gracie read the headlines out loud, asking what article her charge wanted to hear. “The one about the Army Air Corps, I suppose,” she said distractedly. After a few articles, she waived the paper away and Gracie read to herself.

  People strolled by. Mrs. Cunningham greeted each person by name, recognizing the sound of their voices. She frowned at a young couple who stopped to let their dog lift its leg on the oak tree at the curb while they heatedly discussed the future of the railroad that had brought vacationers to Eagles Mere for three decades.

  “You know I can hear you turn those pages, Grace,” she said irritably when they left. “It is rude of you to read to yourself while I sit here.”

  “Sorry. I was reading the Cultural and Arts section. You usually only want me to read the news to you.”

  “Now don’t you start acting high and mighty with me, young lady, just because you’ve met some famous opera singer.”

  “Do you want to hear about
her?” Gracie asked eagerly.

  “She’s all you’ve talked about all week, so no; I’ve heard enough. You may recall that I heard her sing as well. Mrs. Woods kindly arranged for a car and Peg to escort me. Peg described both gowns to me and,” her blank eyes bore into Gracie’s, “told me you sat with Eric Sturdy.”

  “I didn’t sit with him. He sat with me.”

  “Fine young man. He arranged for the young people from the church to keep our walk clear of snow all winter. Very considerate.”

  Feebly trying to turn her attention to something else, Gracie mentioned a squirrel with a red crab apple in its mouth, scampering across the lawn.

  “Yes, I hear him,” Mrs. Cunningham said. “You must need to be somewhere else because you keep checking your watch.” Not understanding the unusual crankiness, Gracie explained that she needed to post Madeleine’s letter before two p.m.

  “I’d like for you to make us some tea and tell me more about that great-grandfather missionary of yours, the one who was in Egypt.”

  Promising tea as soon as she returned, she grabbed the letter and headed off toward the village green. “I’ll be back in five minutes.” She couldn’t figure out why Mrs. Cunningham wanted to hear more about her great-grandfather Antes when she had politely stifled yawns the last two times Gracie had talked about him.

  When she got back, the old woman was talking to herself, so she went inside to put the teakettle on to boil. Gracie placed two blueberry muffins onto the tray and took it out. They ate quietly, Mrs. Cunningham’s finger pressed onto her mouth as she chewed as if to keep it closed.

  “It was addressed to a man in England, wasn’t it?” Not waiting for an answer, Mrs. Cunningham crumpled into her chair and turned her face away. She pulled her brown shawl tightly around her and spoke with a bitterness that broke Gracie’s heart. Madeleine had met a rich man who asked her to accompany him to Europe. She was to sail to London to meet him. They would be gone for eight months, starting the end of September.

  “She hasn’t asked you yet, has she? I can’t believe it. She’s known for two weeks.”

  ****

  “Mae’s father just shook Zeke’s hand, and now he’s smiling, so it must be going okay,” Peg said, peering with her cohorts out the back kitchen window. “I guess he doesn’t know that Zeke put her step-in’s up on the water tower,” she giggled.

  Dorothy arrived singing off-key, carrying a hatbox and a grained leather suitcase. “I can’t believe the summer’s over. I’ll be teaching in a week.” Oblivious, Peg, Olivia, Adelle, Gracie and Jimmy continued staring curiously out the window. “What are you all doing?”

  “Mae’s father just came to pick her up and she wanted Zeke to meet him.” Jimmy said, quickly wiping the foggy window clear as the sound of the harmonica came closer. In two minutes Zeke passed the kitchen window, wiggling his fingers in a playful hello with Shadow draped around the back of his neck.

  The show was over, so they turned away from the window and hugged each other goodbye. Isaiah held a blue and yellow can of lemon oil in one massive hand and lovingly buffed the prep table with the other. He capped the can and spread his fingertips, barely touching the table. “Goodbye, my friend, till next year.”

  “I hate to hurry off, but Adelle, if I am to drop you home on my way to Wilkes-Barre, we’d better get going.” Dorothy plopped a squishy kiss on everyone’s cheek and said, “Be good, my little chickens. I was just thinking ahead of myself that if you let me sing in the talent show next year, I just might come back.”

  “Isaiah, remember you promised to give me recipes,” Gracie said. Everyone stayed put, awaiting some memorable entertainment.

  “Ah, yes, Gracie, my dear. At the conventions I cater, my clients lift the silver chafing lids expecting something unique and different each morning on their buffet table.” He loosened his tie, pulled a long wooden recipe file off the shelf above the spice cabinet and stepped up on an overturned box, relishing the snickers and whistles from his audience.

  “The king of the egg will now share some of the ideas I have stored up for years to be served for breakfast, lunch or supper.” Isaiah, well-turned-out in street clothes instead of his chef’s apron, cradled the maple box lovingly against his chest and waxed rhapsodic. “What you need are some end-of-the-week-no-meat-left-in-the-icebox-and-all-I-can-do-is-get-to-the-general-store-to-buy-eggs-milk-and-bread recipes. Poached, scrambled, fried, baked, coddled, hard or soft boiled eggs and toast. Fresh baked tomatoes stuffed with scrambled eggs. A bounty of recipes to tickle the tongue. Alpine Eggs, Deviled Eggs, Shirred Eggs and Ham, Eggs a la Goldenrod, Egg and Cheese Soufflé, Creamed Eggs, French Toast and Bread Pudding. And we don’t waste food, so take any leftover eggs, cook them till they are hard, chop them small and add to your soup for extra protein.”

  Jumping off the box, he placed the recipe file in Gracie’s hands, drummed the fingers of his right hand on the lid and said, “Copy any recipe you want.” He extended his arm chivalrously to his wife. “Come away, dear Olivia; our little love nest in Philly awaits.”

  “Isaiah, wait. You need this.” Gracie held the recipe box out to him.

  “Nope. It’s all in here.” He knocked his head with his fist.

  A horn blared and Olivia said, “Oh my, that’ll be PT with the car to the train station. Goodbye, everyone.”

  “Not PT,” said Jimmy. “I saw him leavin’ yesterday. Mr. W’s got Otto drivin’ today.”

  All heads silently turned toward Gracie, who stood frozen, holding the recipe box.

  Eagles Mere, Pennsylvania

  1926

  The robins were long gone when Gracie moved from the Evergreen Lodge to be Mrs. Cunningham’s full-time companion. Her old friend seemed to have come to grips with her daughter’s European trip.

  Madeleine had freshened up the spare room before she left in the middle of September. The room was right next to Mrs. Cunningham’s bedroom with one window over the front porch. It didn’t matter to Gracie that it was tiny, because it was private.

  “Can you imagine a house with no closet in the front bedroom?” Mrs. Cunningham railed the day Gracie moved in. “I want you to put your good clothes like Miss Ponselle’s gown in Madeleine’s closet to keep them safe and clean. You can play my piano and sing anytime you want. Go visit the Woods. And I want you to go to church. Just because I can’t cook doesn’t mean I need to be babysat every minute. I am thrilled to have you here while Madeleine is off scampering all over with her gentleman friend, but I want you to have your own life too.”

  Gracie quickly learned that although Mrs. Cunningham was blind, she could clearly see life. “My Madeleine is as she is,” she commented one evening over dinner. “I accept her and try not to expect more than she can give me. Funny how we trade losses for happiness. I know my daughter doesn’t want to be around me, but then again, she found you, Grace.”

  The next morning, the smell of melted peanut butter from the breakfast toast lingered in the air as they sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee, talking through finances. Madeleine had arranged for all monthly payments to be made by the accountant who handled the trust fund from her father’s estate. She had left the icebox full and would send her mother money monthly for food, clothing, Gracie’s wages and other necessities. “Well, there is not going to be much left over, I can tell you that, Grace.”

  Boisterous laughter tumbled through the open window of the Eagles Mere Inn kitchen next door. Ignoring it, she laid out some of her plans. “I can get a better price for you on ice from Zeke,” she told Mrs. Cunningham, pointing to the icebox with her pencil. “I’ve already asked Mrs. Woods if I can ride with her for groceries on Monday, but I’d like to give her a little for the gasoline, if it’s okay with you. I have some new recipes Isaiah gave me. I know we can save on food if you don’t mind me using leftovers. I’ve checked what’s in the icebox. How about pot roast and boiled potatoes tonight?” Gracie asked, scribbling a few items on her grocery list.

  “Doesn’t y
our thinker ever get tired, child?”

  Gracie said no, curled a lock of her hair behind her ear, and counted out the money Madeleine had left in the Fig Newton can.

  The doorbell rang. Stuffing the money back into the can, she went to the front door to find Eric Sturdy holding a huge box. “Vegetables my mother canned,” he was saying as she brought him back to the kitchen through the small reception hall.

  “I know that voice. Hello, Eric,” said Mrs. Cunningham as he set the box in front of her on the table.

  “How are you doing?” Eric asked.

  “Not bad for an old lady. How nice of your mother to send all of this. Please thank her for me.” And with that, she excused herself to the parlor to listen to the radio.

  Grinning, Eric carefully lifted out an apple cranberry pie and placed it on the table. Then he handed Gracie jars of tomatoes, green beans, pickled cauliflower, beets and carrots, which she stacked on the shelves of the back pantry.

  Inviting him to sit down, she said, “I’m afraid Mrs. Cunningham can’t eat that pie because of her diabetes.”

  “We could eat it.” He winked. “My mother makes a great pie. It would be a shame to let it go to waste.”

  Her blouse rode up as she reached to get the plates from the cupboard. Embarrassed, she quickly pulled it down while Eric helped himself to the forks. He talked about leaving tomorrow for the fall semester at Princeton. “I especially enjoy the train ride,” he said, “because I can read the whole way.”

  Happy for some common ground, Gracie told him what she had read over the summer, then dropped silent, embarrassed to be discussing such things with a college man.

  “Don’t stop. I haven’t gotten around to The Great Gatsby yet. I’d be interested to hear your comments on it.”