Crestmont

by Holly Weiss

  Laughing, Mrs. Woods said, “You must be prophetic, Gracie. Some of my jobs are more troublesome than others. Like what I am about to ask you. Would you be willing to waitress this year?”

  “Yes, ma’am, whatever you need me to do.”

  “And I need to tell you about the roommate assignments.”

  “Your husband explained it to me. It’s all fine.”

  “You are always so kindhearted, Gracie. Do you have some time to help me in the library? I need to shelve some new books.” Pausing in the hall, Mrs. Woods smiled wistfully at her father’s portrait.

  In the library, she pulled books out of a newly opened box. They passed them back and forth with mutual appreciation. Working together to rearrange the shelves, they stocked the new acquisitions at eye level.

  “Remember when we used to chat in here at night after the guests were settled in their rooms? I miss those times now that you are down in the dorm.”

  “Mrs. Woods, we haven’t talked much since Mrs. Cunningham died. We got so close, caring for her together at the end. Sometimes I feel like we’re family and then other times…”

  Margaret leaned disconcertedly against the roll top desk. “We certainly have had our ups and downs. Gracie, it is difficult because we have two different relationships. One is a professional relationship because you are on staff here, and we have also developed a close personal relationship, like family, as you said. Sometimes the lines between the two get blurred. Since her funeral, it has been difficult for me because it brought back my father’s death. I fear I have not acted as kindly toward you as you deserve. Please forgive me.”

  “Oh honestly, it’s all right. I think a lot about what Rev. Sturdy said at her funeral.” Mrs. Woods’ limpid brown eyes widened.

  “‘Our grief in loss is a measure of a love that supersedes death.’”

  “I remember that now.” Pushing herself up off the desk, a transformed Margaret Woods twirled around, smoothing her hair. “And I never thanked you for sending me to Zelda. Now that my hair is shorter, I have so many more waves.” Gracie was about to compliment her on her hair, but the telephone rang in the lobby and Mrs. Woods ran to answer it.

  ****

  Sam cooked a new dish Monday night he had learned from a new Italian restaurant back home in Harrisburg. The Woods family joined the shoestring staff for a dinner of spaghetti, meatballs and cooked tomato sauce. Everyone talked about the stables the Chautauqua Inn had built to house their new horses. Eleanor speared a meatball and held it up, trying to guess the ingredients. The meatball plopped off her fork, splattering tomato sauce all over her blue dress. A stern William probed Julius while handing over the business card he had received earlier that day. Magdalena left in a huff. PT and Gracie kicked around song ideas for the talent show. Peg huddled with Otto and Hank, picking their brains about the techniques they used to plug leaks in canoes.

  Needing to take stock, Gracie excused herself early. So much to absorb in one day. The song PT wrote for her was a complete surprise. She couldn’t wait to take it to the staff lounge tomorrow to play it. Maybe rooming with Bessie wouldn’t be so bad since Dorothy would be there too. Waitressing really worried her. Training was scheduled for Friday when the new girls arrived. Thursday seemed the logical day to move into the Evergreen Lodge.

  Captivated by the moon dancing on the gentle evening waves, Gracie watched the lake from her choice big house window, enjoying this treat the Woods had given her. She complimented herself for being good with words, just like PT had said. Hadn’t she used “churlish” correctly in describing Bessie’s behavior to Mr. Woods?

  She and PT hadn’t bitten each other’s heads off today and he had talked more than ever before. What an enigma. He could whip her around from being infuriated for his inability to handle romance to feeling all softhearted because he wrote her a song. Once in a while he let her in, like telling her about the speakeasies. Other than that, he was very secretive about his life apart from the Crestmont. Aware there was much more to him than he allowed anyone to see, Gracie decided to tread on that uneven ground. But carefully.

  She got in bed, congratulating herself on how she had moved forward since coming here. Her first summer at the Crestmont, she had kept a list of friends to convince herself that she wasn’t alone. Today, she no longer felt empty inside. God turned her coming here to the good, just as she had prayed that first day in the touring car on the way from the train station.

  Eric’s last letter lay in her left hand. PT’s song was on her lap. She put both aside and pulled out the Paperbag poems from her nightstand. She fell asleep reading them.

  ****

  “Hot, hot, hot,” Gracie grumbled when she saw the room. Two bunk beds replaced the twin she had slept in last summer. Olivia stayed behind to prop the front door open. Setting her hanging clothes on the twin bed, Gracie threw open the window and pushed the door wide, not caring if the flies came in. She was arranging her clothes in the closet when Olivia interrupted her. “Oh, no you don’t.”

  Olivia put down Gracie’s red suitcase and a satchel full of sheet music. “You’re not going to hang my beautiful gown in that closet,” she said, taking The Ponselle out of Gracie’s hand. “I can just picture Bessie stepping accidentally on purpose all over my embroidery.”

  Her index finger punctured a dimple in her cheek while she considered the dilemma. “Wait just a minute. Magdalena won’t miss one little sheet.” She bustled back five minutes later with a sheet folded over her arm. We’ll fold it and wrap it; then put it up there.” Olivia said pointing to the top shelf. “Bessie’s too short to even see it.” Gracie dragged the chair over so she could reach the shelf and Olivia handed her the teal silk gown Miss Ponselle had worn for her concert.

  “I have to go and hem Mrs. Woods’ gown for Saturday’s dance. Season opening and all.”

  “Thanks for your help, Olivia.”

  Gracie flounced down on the bottom bunk, angry to have to share a room with Bessie, and sorted it out. Dorothy would need the twin bed, so she’d take the bottom bunk. Once Bessie was up on top, maybe she would stop blathering on and just go to sleep. Gracie placed her intimates in the top drawer of the dresser, piled her sheet music on the bottom shelf of the closet and her books on the little shelf under the table near the door. Next, she hid her most personal items—her jewelry box, the Paperbag poems and her notebooks—in the red suitcase which she tucked under her bunk.

  While in the bathtub, she worried that Dorothy and Bessie would say she had taken over the room. Sure, she had a lot of stuff, but it was part of her and she wasn’t willing to part with a thing. Well, they would just have to work it out. She wrapped herself in a towel. Once back in her room, she opened the transom all the way, changed her mind about the jewelry box, and put it on the dresser. At least her money was in the hotel safe. No worries there.

  ****

  “You want me to what?” Isaiah asked, scratching his head when Gracie carried a big round tray into the kitchen.

  “Wait till I pick it up, then put two cake pans full of water on the top. If I’m going to waitress on Saturday I need to practice carrying a lot of weight.”

  “I thought Mrs. Woods trained you waitresses.”

  “She does, but I’m nervous about this part. Dorothy talked me through how to do it on the telephone.” Gracie balanced the tray on two fingers and her thumb, careful to keep her fingers straight.

  Isaiah muttered something to himself as he filled the pans at the faucet. “Ready?”

  She nodded. He placed the pans on the tray, crossed his arms across his stout chest and said, “This ought to be good.”

  “Now tell me if I’m tipping it.” Gracie stepped tentatively around the kitchen.

  “No tipping so far. But if you do tip, you’re going to get soaked.”

  Eleanor barged through the swinging doors. “Whatcha doing, Gracie?” Startled, Gracie wobbled, trying to keep her balance. The tray slipped off her fingers and the cake pans clattered to the
floor. The three of them grabbed rags and knelt down to mop.

  “Mama asked you to waitress, didn’t she?” Eleanor asked. “Maybe you should try one cake pan next time.”

  ****

  The butter smell from the twice-baked bread Sam had made for breakfast made Gracie’s mouth water. She wondered how she would survive the long stretch between eating breakfast at 6 a.m. and waiting until after she had served lunch to eat her own. “Make sure you eat eggs to tide you over,” Dorothy had warned.

  “Follow me to the kitchen.” Mrs. Woods pushed briskly through the swinging doors, leaving each girl to hold them open for the next. Sam tipped his chef’s hat in greeting and finished wiping down the egg grill.

  “Your silverware is stored in individual chests here according to your assigned tables. You are responsible to count it every evening after dinner and lock it up overnight. Do you understand?” Flicking a finger authoritatively toward the doors, she led them back to the dining room. Isaiah and Sam followed their trail, throwing sawdust on the floor to absorb cooking grease before they swept up.

  Five silent waitresses-in-training followed Mrs. Wood single file into the dining room.

  “Proper setup is as important as excellent service. Bring clean tablecloths and napkins from the laundry prior to each meal. Isaiah will show you where to chop your ice. Glasses and china are here.” She opened a door with three huge glass panes against the kitchen wall. Taking a white plate with a border of green vines and berries out of the immense china cabinet, she rotated it, pointing to a spot where the vine hung down. “This is the top of the plate and should be placed exactly at twelve o’clock.”

  Pointing out water pitchers and silver coffee pots on the lower tier of tables that hugged six wooden columns scattered throughout the room, she walked to a huge maple sideboard on the same wall as her greeting station. “Creamers, sugar bowls, salt and pepper shakers and small service dishes are here. Close these doors once you have your supplies.” Dainty tiny crystal bowls for jelly or lemon slices were stacked neatly in the sideboard, along with butter pats in the china pattern.

  “You should be able to set a table for six in five minutes. The silverware must be set in the order in which it will be used. Place water glasses one inch above the tip of the knife.” She beckoned them over to a table where Mae was placing teaspoons.

  “This is an example of what I expect. Well done, Mae.” Gracie and Mae exchanged lip-bitten smiles.

  Mrs. Woods continued. “You will be assigned six tables, each of them numbered. Take orders one table at a time without writing them down. You will soon train yourself to be able to memorize each guest’s selections. Sam and Isaiah call out table numbers when your orders are ready. Fill your tray and call ‘Orders out’ to alert any incoming waitresses when you walk through the right swinging door from kitchen to the dining room. To reenter the kitchen, use the opposite door.” Doors swung as she illustrated by walking through one, then the other. “Serve meals from the left and collect dirty dishes from the right. Before I teach you how to hold a tray, are there any questions?”

  Their eyes were like glass, but each one shook her head no. Eleanor was evidently standing on a chair in the kitchen. She made faces at them through one of the round windows on the doors.

  “I prefer that you converse minimally with the people at your tables. Many of them want to be left alone while on vacation and do not indulge in idle conversation with the staff. Some may want to chat with you. Listen to them, but do not offer information about yourself unless asked. When asked, keep your answers to a minimum. Do not offer suggestions on the menu, but be quick to respond to any criticisms you receive about the food. Guests are generally very good about leaving tips, but if someone does not, speak to me about it and I will make sure you are taken care of.”

  Then Mrs. Woods illustrated carrying the tray with the same technique Dorothy had described to Gracie over the telephone.

  When she was done, she walked to the French doors that led to the hall and then turned back toward them as if to make a point. In a managerial tone, she said, “Your job as waitresses is to enhance the Crestmont table with impeccable service. Ten minutes before mealtime you must be lined up in front of the windows in clean, starched uniforms, indicating you are ready to serve. Do you hear my words?”

  Overlapping voices responded, “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good. Mae will stay to help you practice. Come to my office when you are done to receive your assignments.”

  ****

  “I was so sorry I couldn’t get here for Mrs. Cunningham’s funeral. They put the screws to us teachers with mandatory meetings.” Gracie said she understood and was feeling much better now.

  Dorothy unpacked while she talked. “We have one night of peace. Bessie isn’t coming in until tomorrow—something about her father couldn’t get her here on time.”

  Gracie lay on her side on the bottom bunk, head propped up on one elbow.

  “She’s not going to be happy about taking a top bunk, you know. It’ll be hot as blazes up there,” Dorothy said as she put Lawrence’s picture on the dresser and got ready for bed. “Mr. Woods spoke to me, too. I’m not crazy about being her policeman. You can’t talk to her about a thing. Bessie doesn’t exactly take incoming calls.”

  Gracie told Dorothy about Mrs. Woods firing off instructions for the new waitresses.

  “Oh, I got that speech when I started too. Really had to buckle myself up to absorb it all. Look at me now. Head waitress!” She made a billowy curtsy in her navy and red calico nightgown. “Go ahead and talk to the people at your tables. I love to. Most of them know me well. Mrs. Pennington loves to go on and on about her ailments and Miss Woodford gives me reviews of the latest New York City plays. It doesn’t hurt your tips to show a little interest, you know, as long as it is genuine. People can spot a fake immediately. Most of them are very nice and will make your day brighter. Who is at your tables?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “You’ll do fine, now that you’re not afraid of people anymore.” Dorothy shielded herself from the pillow Gracie threw at her. The conversation meandered around to the subject of men.

  “I want to hear everything,” Dorothy encouraged. “He wrote you a song? He’s a mystery man for sure. Holds his cards close to his vest. He told me once about a piano teacher who tried to take over his life.”

  “Now my Lawrence, he was the silent type like PT. He wrote more words to me in his letters when he was in the war in Europe than he ever said aloud in person. He taught me that what people say to you isn’t nearly as important as how they treat you.”

  Gracie fell asleep listening to Dorothy talking about how it irked her that Lawrence used his pocket knife to pick his teeth.

  II

  Modern tennis courts and improved services for guests marked the opening of the 1927 summer season at the Crestmont. People always delighted in new amenities the Woods provided, but there was overwhelming enthusiasm about the opening of the William Warner Memorial Guest Services Room.

  On Saturday, as guests checked in, Margaret Woods proudly handed out cards detailing the experts they had lined up to render professional services each weekday. Dr. Webber rented the room on Tuesday and the eccentric herbalist on Wednesday. Ladies raved vociferously about Zelda, the hairdresser, who came in by train on Thursday to work wonders so they would look their finest for the formal concert. Happy to trade convenience for cost, guests eagerly visited the specialists that each rented the room one day a week. The Crestmont received dual benefits of happy guests and rental income from the service providers.

  Steady streams of people climbed up and down the chestnut staircase, colliding with bellhops on their way to the room on the first landing. Women lined up on the chairs set in the hallway, but men also took advantage of the medical and alternative services offered since there was no hospital within forty miles of Eagles Mere. Dr. Webber treated lumbago, headaches, spider bites, infected cuts, water in the ear and sunstr
oke, along with chronic conditions normally monitored by the guest’s regular doctors. The herbalist offered more natural options. Flower essences and herbal tinctures from medicinal plants were his specialty.

  Usage of the room soared as word got out that Olivia was available for fittings and alterations on Monday and Friday before the dances. Women appreciated the ease of working with the dressmaker right in the big house where they stayed, rather than trekking down the back lawn to her small shop behind the laundry.

  Relieved to be off her feet after five days of waitressing, Gracie sat in the bleachers down at the new courts on her day off. Eric had invited her to watch him play. Although he was clearly the better player, William Woods rooted for Eric’s opponent, Mr. Swett. Peg challenged the daughter of another guest in the second court. Gracie’s first exposure to tennis gave her great appreciation for the athletic ability and precision needed.

  ****

  “Saw that he-man play tennis, didya? I could go for that one.” Bessie entered their room after her bath wrapped in a dingy terry cloth robe. Her red hair dripped under a small white towel she wore like a hood. She was pale. “Heard Mr. W whistled and cheered his head off for Sweaty’s husband instead. Gotta keep those guests thinkin’ they’re the best and all.”

  Dorothy and Gracie had hardly recognized her when she moved in on Sunday. Bessie still had a fresh mouth on her, but the chewing gum and ankle bracelet were gone. She wore no makeup at all. Her large freckles made her nose seem even smaller and she seemed prettier, in a coarse kind of way. She pressed her shoulders down protectively when she walked, making her seem shorter than usual.