by Holly Weiss
“Peg wants to add canoe tilting and underwater rope races to the Water Carnival activities. I predict it will reach a new level this year.” He tried to show Margaret the caption Peg had written in contribution.
“Both of our girls amaze me, William.” Margaret laced her fingers together as a signal for quiet. William waited. Finally she spoke. “It’s been sixteen years since Daddy died. Every May…it feels like…an ambush.”
William hesitated, wondering if he should say aloud what he had believed for years. “Margaret, do you think it is possible that you hold onto your grief so you can feel closer to your father?”
She answered with cold silence.
“I do not mean you do it intentionally, Margaret,” he said gently. “People react to loss in odd ways.”
Cutting him off, she got up and restacked a jumbled pile of papers, smacking them hard on the pine kitchen table. “I will be myself by the time the season starts.”
“You always are, my love,” he said, resigned.
Eleanor and Peg came home from school and their mother sent them abruptly to their rooms to do homework. William dipped his rag into the black shoe polish, assuming the conversation was over.
Margaret filled a pot with water and set it on the table along with the potato peeler. Pushing a potato down onto the prongs, she turned the crank. “Gracie, on the other hand, certainly seems to have gotten over Mrs. Cunningham’s death easily,” she said bitterly. “I will never understand how she was able to sing at that funeral. I could hardly breathe. She seems to have an inexhaustible supply of resilience.”
Thankful for a different topic, he said offhandedly, “Gracie has the energy of youth and replenishes herself with her music, her clothes, her books…”
“And her hair! Remember when she insisted I try that hairdresser, Zelda, one week after the funeral? ‘Research for my guest services room,’ she called it.” Irritated, Margaret plopped a potato in the pot, sending water splashing.
William was appalled at the derision in his wife’s tone. Mopping the table before her papers got wet he said, “Gracie leads a simpler life than you do. She does not spend her summers concerning herself with the needs and desires of umpteen guests and she is not a middle-aged mother caring for two daughters.” He laid his other hand on her shoulder. “Gracie did not lose a parent, Margaret.”
Ignoring him, Margaret announced that she had altered the roommate assignments because of the bunk beds they had added in some rooms to accommodate additional staff in the Evergreen Lodge. “Gracie will have to waitress this year because we are down one in the dining room. Mae won’t be staying in the dorm anymore, so I have moved Bessie into Dorothy and Gracie’s room.”
William said nothing, but cocked his head to the side, waiting.
“As we have said, she is resilient, so she will be fine,” Margaret said with finality.
The Crestmont Inn
Summer 1927
I
Yellow finches, bluebirds and chickadees sang along while Zeke played a wistful ballad on his harmonica. At the conclusion, he dropped the harmonica from his mouth and sought approval in his bride’s eyes. “I now pronounce you man and wife,” the minister said after Zeke finished. A few guests staying at the big house leaned forward on their chairs, quietly watching from the front porch, as the birds twittered their blessing over the union. One woman rocked a perambulator back and forth to keep her baby quiet.
“Thank you for such a beautiful song,” Mae whispered in her new husband’s ear after he lifted her veil to kiss her. Plump bride and curly black-haired groom stood under an arbor decorated with ribbons and flowers, both sets of blue eyes beaming into the camera. The morning sun wove strands of gold and red into Mae’s auburn hair and she held a bouquet of white and purple lilacs. William sang “Amazing Grace” while the newlyweds, best man Isaiah and Mae’s sister as maid-of-honor, processed between the rows of folding chairs. Mae’s parents followed. Zeke was too dizzy with happiness to care that his brothers had stayed home, unloading their huge ice house to make their pre-season delivery to all the hotels in town.
“Whew, glad that’s over,” Isaiah said, pumping Zeke’s hand after the wedding. “Never had to keep track of a wedding ring before. Thanks for asking me to be best man. Now that you’ve found a woman to make you settle down, you take care of her, boy. She needs a special kind of love, what with the little one on the way and all.” Zeke shushed him.
“You might want to hang onto this. It might come in handy after those inevitable lovers’ spats.” Isaiah handed him the harmonica he had dropped. “Glad Olivia and I could make it. Temple finished their spring semester just in time. That the suit Mr. Woods loaned you?” He pinched some loose material in the back of the jacket. “A little big, but not bad. Nice of him, though. I told Sam he was going to have to handle the reception food because I couldn’t possibly be best man and cook too. Man, smell that chicken. I’m starved.” He slapped Zeke on the back and headed toward the food table where Olivia was ladling punch.
Much of the staff had not yet arrived for the season, but the Woods, Magdalena and her new husband Julius, Sid Fox and his wife, Hank, Otto, Rev. and Mrs. Sturdy, Gracie and some of Zeke’s Eagles Mere friends milled around the newlyweds, extending congratulations. Fried chicken, potato salad, baked beans, biscuits, pickles, salted peanuts, peppermints and punch bowl were laid out. The star of the table, however, was a thirty-inch wooden salad bowl Sam had found in the garage, cleaned up and loaded with chunks of cantaloupe, green grapes and strawberries, topped with marshmallows. Eleanor hovered near the table, stole a strawberry, popped it into her mouth and held it there whole while she wiped her fingers on the back of her dress.
It was June 5th, a week before the official opening of the Crestmont. As a wedding present, the Woods gave Zeke and Mae a two-week stay in the Grandchildren Cottage, so named due to its size rather than the age of the occupants. A quarter of a mile down the hill from the big house, the tiny cottage was accessible only by a short walk on a footpath. After the honeymoon, Zeke would resume his duties as head bellhop and Mae would help with setting up the dining room, but would not actually waitress due to her delicate condition.
When Zeke told his brothers that Mae was pregnant they had shown their true colors, hooting and hollering it was about time their shrimpy little brother finally got it together to make a girl preggers. He paid Mr. and Mrs. Woods a visit then, in the middle of May, sitting solemn and red-faced in the Woodshed. Could he and Mae get married at the Crestmont?
***
“I hope you enjoyed your breakfast, sir.” William Woods sounded especially chipper Monday morning as he greeted a participant in The Shorthand Reporters Convention. “Yes, I agree. Two of the best chefs in the state. Your meeting is in the smoking room this morning? That’s way down here at the end of the east wing. I’ll show you myself.”
Chatting with the guest as they strolled through the lobby, he found Gracie dusting Old Tim. He pointed a finger in her direction and then at his chest and mouthed, “Five minutes.” The old uncertainty burned like acid in her throat, but Gracie swallowed it down, telling herself that Mr. Woods probably wanted something other than to complain about her cleaning schedule.
The Woods had insisted she stay in one of the steam-heated rooms on the first sleeping floor after Madeleine returned home to Eagles Mere. “Someone might as well enjoy looking at the lake,” they said. For the two weeks before some early bird guests arrived for the wedding, Gracie was the only person sleeping in the hotel. Finally able to cry about Mrs. Cunningham’s death, she didn’t care if her sobs echoed through the empty halls. Just being in the big house made her feel sheltered and comforted.
Mr. Woods returned, rubbing his hands together with satisfaction. “These conventions are great money makers, Gracie. Granted, we go through a lot of wood to keep the fireplaces going, but other than that it’s too cold for water activities; there are no concerts or dances because of round-the-clock meetings, and we r
un on a shoestring staff.” He tipped his head slightly in her direction. “A superlative shoestring staff.”
Taking the dust cloth from her hand, he led her to the front porch. The whack of axes splitting wood came from down near the garage where Otto and Hank worked cracking jokes. Zeke and Mae, arms around each other’s waists, strolled down the driveway oblivious to anyone else’s presence.
“I hope they will be happy. They are so young. And Zeke even younger than Mae.” Mr. Woods said.
“I know people wonder about Zeke, given the circumstances and all, but he really loves her.”
Mr. Woods rocked on his heels, watching the newlyweds disappear past the west wing. “Gracie, why don’t you move into the Evergreen before the staff from out of town arrives on Saturday? First one in gets the best bed and all,” he chuckled, fiddling nervously with his onyx cufflinks. “Given to me by Mrs. Swett. I know that now, because you helped me sort them out last winter.” He let out a big sigh, peering up at the yellow awnings on the west wing. “Just replaced the ones out back. Next year, the ones on the west wing.”
Finally, taking in a big whiff of the wood smoke lacing the morning air, he said, “Sit down, Gracie, I have a matter of some delicacy to discuss with you.” He explained that a great influx of additional staff necessitated the addition of bunk beds in the Evergreen Lodge. Regretfully, the Woods were forced to house three women in some rooms. Dorothy and Gracie, being the eldest staff in the dorm, seemed the right choice to share a room with Bessie, now that Mae was married.
“Confidentially, Gracie, we need to know if you see anything amiss with Bessie.”
“She’s always churlish, sir. Is that what you mean?”
“No, we are concerned primarily about alcohol consumption. Do you have any idea why she might seek out alcohol?” Gracie said no, but that she would let them know.
“I will have this same conversation with Dorothy when she arrives,” He slapped his thighs as he rose, leaving his rocking chair clattering back and forth.
“How are your tennis courts, Mr. Woods?” Gracie asked, trying to lighten the conversation.
“All set to go for guest players when our season opens, and we have several reservations from professionals who want to play in the August tournament. It will be an exciting year for the Crestmont.” Meekly handing back the dust cloth, he said, “Tell my wife it was my fault if she is upset that you haven’t finished the lobby.”
****
“Whooee, it’s cold!” Isaiah yelled after his crooked cannonball into the lake sent water splashing all over the dock.
“Oh my, Isaiah, I would have said so if I wanted to go swimming,” Olivia said, brushing the water off her arms.
The morning sun reflecting off the water looked like tinsel on the trees near the shore. He treaded water, admiring his wife. “We’ve got to see if Mr. Woods will let us come a week early every year. Being in a wedding at the Crestmont has its benefits. We got us a week’s vacation.” After he climbed out, he hopped from one big foot to the other, banging his head with his hands to get the water out of his ears.
Eleanor crouched nearby, her toes dug into the sand, preoccupied with her tin boat. Ten inches long, the wind-up boat was very narrow with a red hull, cabin, smokestack and wood-grained painted deck. They watched her move it along the sand, then down into the three inches of water that lapped up against the shore. Guiding it as it floated in the water, she switched hands to move it around the dock post. Finally, she pulled it out and wound the metal spring as if ready to launch.
“Hey, Eleanor, that’s some nifty boat, but I’m not going back in after it. Those fancy underwater artesian springs were freezing my keister off,” Isaiah called.
“Don’t worry. Papa’s going to be here any minute. He promised he’d measure how far my boat will go in the water.” She sat down on the sand to wait.
Olivia nudged Isaiah and he jumped off the dock and squatted beside the little girl. “How’s your tap dancing coming?”
She shrugged. “Sam said I’m good enough for us to do a showier number in the talent show this year with piano, harmonica and drums. Is Eric bell hopping this year? I’m looking for him.”
“Haven’t seen him. Why do you ask?” Isaiah said.
“Well, I figured maybe he could be our drummer. We need to practice with our band.” Screwing her eyes up toward the big house, she tossed the boat from one hand to the other.
“I don’t want to be a flat tire or anything, kid, but I told Sam I’d relieve him for lunch, so Olivia and I have to go.”
“It’s okay. Papa will be along soon.”
****
But William was on the porch of the big house. A severe-looking man with a pock-marked face, dressed in a gabardine suit with worn cuffs on his trousers, had cornered him.
“I’m trying to find this man.” He pulled a photograph out of his briefcase and held it under William’s nose, watching his face for a response. Julius, Magdalena’s new husband with the coke bottle glasses and paunchy stomach, stared back at William from the picture.
“Yes, I know him.”
“When did you see him last?”
“Early this morning. He was up on a ladder out back installing awnings.”
“On a ladder, you say?”
“Yes. Why, is there a problem?”
“Just some state business. Where is he now? I need to speak with him.”
“I’m not sure, but he has to be somewhere on the grounds. That’s his car right out there in the driveway.” William pointed to a dilapidated looking wood-framed Franklin with spongy looking tires.
“His car, you say. May I have your name, sir?”
“William Woods. I own this inn.”
The man flashed him a business card from the Division of Social Services. “When you see this person, please tell him it is imperative that he telephone me immediately. It seems Pennsylvania has been paying disability benefits for his alleged blindness for several months now.”
Pocketing the card, William hurried down to the dock to find Eleanor.
****
Gracie’s favorite common room was Margaret’s Masterpiece, decorated in soft blue and rose tones. After she finished that, she would tackle the Woods’ offices while they hosted the convention guests at lunch. Mr. Woods always placed great importance on convention guests, saying that if treated right, they would usually come back for a summer vacation.
Hemlock logs snapped as the heat of the fire released their trapped moisture, sending sparks out onto the rug. Gracie whisked them quickly into her dustpan and threw them back into the fire when a familiar voice startled her.
“Going to rain today.”
She jumped at the sound of PT’s voice. “The sky was pretty clear when I got up,” she said.
He crouched down, pointing to the tiny glowing coals on the rear wall of the firebox. “See those geese on the fireplace? They’re little patches of soot that burn only when bad weather is coming.”
“Whatever are you doing in the Ladies Lounge, PT?” She leaned on the vacuum, relieved they weren’t jumping down each other’s throats.
He turned to sit down on the hearth, extending his long legs out across the Oriental rug. “Came to find you. Get my Christmas card?”
Gracie nodded, swishing her feather duster over mauve roses on the frosty glass lamp globes.
“Am I forgiven?”
“For what, leaving without saying goodbye? It’s a habit of yours I’ve grown accustomed to.” Her tongue nearly bled when she bit it.
“I’m not good at goodbyes.”
“According to what you told me last year, there’s a lot you’re not good at. You know, it wasn’t easy for me to get up the courage to camp out at your bowling alley.”
“Yup. You’ve got spunk.” PT fiddled with his pocket watch. “Heard that lady you took care of died. My condolences.”
“Thanks. I didn’t know if you knew.” They were quiet for awhile. “Isn’t this the day you go to the trai
n station to pick up out-of-town staffers?”
“Nope. That’s Tuesday. Just got here today myself.”
“Oh.”
“Remember when I picked you up at the Wilkes-Barre station two years ago? You were a scared rabbit. You couldn’t wait to get out of here to go on the road singing. Now you can’t seem to leave.”
Gracie switched to another lamp, enjoying his attention.
Wiping his palms on his thighs, he got up and pulled some folded wrinkled paper from his breast pocket. “Wrote this for you.” When he handed it to her, his long fingers ran fleetingly over hers, lingering on the tip of her middle finger.
She hesitated and then opened up three pages of hand-written musical notation. He had written “Gracie’s Refrain” at the top of the first. “I didn’t realize you composed.”
“Studied a little classical music.” Brushing the song sheepishly he said, “Sorry, didn’t come up with any lyrics, but something’ll come to you. You’re good with words.”
Clambering up from the hearth, he grazed her cheek with a kiss, ducked his head, and disappeared through the French doors.
****
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Woods, I wanted to be done in here before you finished hostessing lunch.” She shined the last brass knob on the immense filing cabinet.
Smiling, Margaret Woods nonchalantly opened the file drawer labeled “P” and pulled out a piece of paper. Gracie asked what new demands Mrs. Pennington had for cleaning her room this year, but Mrs. Woods said no, it wasn’t that at all. Rosa Ponselle had directed her agent to write to the Crestmont Inn. She enjoyed her stay so much last year that she would be receptive to returning for another concert in the summer of 1928. “Look at the postscript, Gracie. Miss Ponselle sends her regards to you. See how you helped us in taking such good care of her.”
Gracie smiled. She had often recalled Miss Ponselle and her desire to touch people with her singing. “I remember when you put that chair in your garden for her. She called it a sacred retreat. You should sit out there yourself, ma’am, if you don’t mind me saying so. Just seeing this filing cabinet makes me wonder how you keep so many things in your head to make people happy.”