I call my hideaway Room 440. God showed me the empty cyclone hill which was to become the site of the most imposing hotel in Eagles Mere at precisely 4:40 p.m.
Moppet, listen to your father. Find your own Room 440 where you can replenish yourself. Our profession is rewarding, but exhausting. Make time for yourself, or you will never be able to properly attend to your guests, not to mention your family.
Search my desk for the combination to the safe.
Love, Daddy
P.S. In case you are wondering how I did it, I put the mattress up there after the floor joists were up, but before the carpenters put the floor in. Your daddy always was a good planner.
Alone in The Woodshed, Margaret refolded the letter and returned it to her suit pocket. Awed by her father’s vision and his faith in her, she cried, fondly remembering his endearing joviality. She wanted to locate the safe and surprise William. Undressing, she slipped into her bathrobe to await his return, wondering if she would sleep at all tonight.
****
Her spirits buoyed by this morning’s church service, Gracie bounced past the offices after staff lunch, winking at Old Tim in the lobby. The library was her friend. When Gracie got there, Mrs. Woods’ favorite chair was empty. Sundays were busy for the Woods and any time off would be spent resting in their cottage. Gracie worked up her courage to sink into her mentor’s chair. Settled there, she pondered her two new homes—this inn that she loved and the Presbyterian Church.
Conversations with people at church had moved beyond casual greetings. People called her by name and seemed genuinely happy to see her. The choir director introduced himself this morning, inviting her to sing a solo before the choir started back in the fall. Astonished at her good fortune, she nodded yes, but later wished she had actually accepted out loud.
She loved Rev. Sturdy’s sermons. He preached like he was teaching himself. Sometimes his message seemed so personal and sensitive, Gracie wondered if he was putting on an act, but the more she heard him, the more she felt he was genuine. “Who Is My Family?” was the title of this morning’s sermon. He had talked a lot about God and the church being family. Something he said really struck her. “Your family consists of the people who love you.”
Who loved her?
Pondering that, she guessed she should write to Lily again, but had forgotten to bring her pencil. She moved over to William Warner’s desk and opened some of the drawers. A child’s spinning top was in one, and some eraser gum in another. She pulled out the smallest drawer all the way on the right and saw some
scrawly
writing on the side. It was a series of numbers with L and R interspersed. She closed it quickly, feeling she had seen something she shouldn’t have. Pulling down a pencil stuck in an upper cubby, she wrote to her sister.
****
“That’s the room you called ‘storage’ when I was young, isn’t it?” Margaret questioned the charcoal eyes in the portrait when she finally had time on Monday. “Daddy, I had to empty your desk years ago. How will I ever know where the combination went?”
Sid Fox passed her in the hall, pushing a cart stacked with canned goods ahead of him. “Sid, do you remember seeing a box with the things my father used to store in his desk?”
He stopped, caught his breath and pushed his glasses back up on his nose. “No, Mrs. Woods, can’t say as I have, although after twenty-five years I have to admit one storage box begins to look like every other.”
“Twenty-five years. Good gracious, Sid. I had forgotten you’ve been here from the beginning.” He tipped his cap to her and headed down the hall toward the dining room.
Anticipation made the climb easy, and soon Margaret found herself on the third sleeping floor, pondering the trap door above her head.
Whistling, Peg turned the corner and stopped dead in her tracks. “She told you!” Peg wailed. “She promised she wouldn’t.”
“Who told me what?” Margaret stared inexplicably at her daughter.
“Gracie. She promised she wouldn’t tell you when Eleanor and I showed her our hideout.”
“This,” she said, pointing to the trap door “is your hideout? What is up there? I cannot believe you kept this from me.” Not waiting for a response, she commanded, “Bring me a ladder.” Too afraid to argue, Peg brought it and laid it in place.
“I can show you if you want, Mama.”
Her mother cut her off. “No. You have been secretly climbing up here and allowing Eleanor to do the same. Don’t you move an inch.” Margaret made her way carefully up into the room above.
The small window was insufficient to fully illuminate the room. She stopped to let her eyes adjust after nearly tripping over an old mattress. A crudely placed white sheet covered something in the corner. Margaret lifted the sheet, coughing as dust hit her throat. She crouched before a foot-high gray steel safe sitting balanced on two boards. The numbers 440 were crudely painted in yellow next to a combination lock on the front.
“Peg, go back to the Woodshed and wait for me. Do not say a word of this to anyone. I will deal with you subsequently,” her mother said sternly and clambered down the ladder.
****
Meanwhile, after tidying Room 58, Gracie lingered there, musing over the
Paperbag
Poet and the woman he loved. Maybe if she spent time where she found the poems she could fill out their story. She jumped when an uncharacteristically stone-faced, dirty Mrs. Woods flung open the door.
“Come with me this minute.” A hot flash crept up Gracie’s neck as she climbed to the third floor and followed Mrs. Woods up the ladder.
“How dare you allow my daughters to do such a dangerous thing without telling me? I suppose the three of you knew about this also.” Mrs. Woods pointed to the safe.
“No, honestly, Peg and Eleanor just wanted me to sit with them on the mattress, sing and talk. They made me promise not to tell you, Mrs. Woods, but after I did, I knew it was wrong. I knew that ladder wasn’t safe, so I told them they couldn’t come up alone. I wanted to tell you, really, I did. I’ve been miserable.”
“
You’ve
been miserable. Your feelings don’t count for much at this point, Miss Antes. You will tell no one about this. Mr. Woods and I will deal with you later. Right now, I have to find the combination to this safe.” Regretting the desperation she heard in her own voice, she sent Gracie down the ladder with instructions to wait.
Standing dumb and scared in the hall below, Gracie realized her discovery of the numbers and letters on the desk drawer might be considered a further indiscretion. “Uh, Mrs. Woods,” she ventured, when her employer reached the floor, “I’m pretty sure I know where the combination is.”
****
“Sid, fetch PT to bring the car immediately!” Mr. Woods crouched over his wife as she lay on the first floor landing. Flowers and shards of pottery lay scattered all over and water dripped over onto the top step.
“Oh, William, I was careless. I didn’t want to go all the way back to the kitchen and bring back the water pitcher. I added the water to the vase downstairs to save myself a trip. It was too heavy to carry all the way up the staircase and I knew it. When I tried to place the bouquet on the table, my leg gave out and I lost my footing. My arm must have become wedged into the table somehow.”
“Everything’s going to be fine, Margaret. I don’t want you to move. We’ll secure that arm and then drive you to the clinic in
Dushore
.”
Hours later, frustrated because she couldn’t sleep, Margaret wiped tears from her eyes, realizing she could never find the contents of the safe without help now that her right arm was wrapped in a plaster cast.
****
“Yes, William, I am well enough to work. I can type with my left hand.” Margaret distractedly flipped papers from one side of her desk to the other the next morning. “Please find Gracie and send her in.”
“Yes. Gracie. Splendid idea. She’s the ticket,” her husband replied helplessly as he hurried out.
When Gracie arrived, she was relieved to find Mrs. Woods more anxious than angry.
“I’m sorry, ma’am.”
“We have much to sort out between us, but now is not the time. You kept my daughters’ secret and now I request you keep mine. I need to get that safe out of that dark room and into a secure place so I can see what is inside. May I have what you copied off the desk drawer?” Gracie hastily handed the piece of paper with the combination on it. “You are to tell no one, not even Mr. Woods about this. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Go tell Sid Fox you need one of his carts to distribute some cleaning supplies. Tonight during the concert, carry it up the back stairs to the trap door, along with twenty feet of rope and a flashlight. I will meet you there at eight o’clock.”
Gracie stole down to the boat house on the dock during dinner, grabbed the rope and a flashlight and hid them both in the third floor utility closet. Getting the cart up the stairs was a losing battle until she realized she could tie the rope around it and pull the cart behind her, lifting it from step to step. She had everything in place just as Mrs. Woods turned the corner, obviously uncomfortable in her cast and sling.
“Loop it around the top, cross the rope on the bottom and bring it up around the other side. Now, knot it well on top. You’ll have to lie down, push it to the edge and lower it onto the cart. I can at least guide it with one hand. No one is in 78 at the end of the hall, so we will wheel it in there.”
The cart creaked and almost buckled when the weight of the safe hit it. Gracie climbed down, her arms aching. Mrs. Woods dismissed her the minute they reached Room 78.
****
Gracie was so upset about Mrs. Woods; she had lost all her joy from singing at the staff talent show. Realizing she had never thanked PT, she went to find him. He and Otto had their heads together at the bowling alley entrance.
She rushed up to him the minute Otto was gone. “I wanted to thank you for playing for me at the talent show.”
“Sure. It was nothing.”
“I hope we can do it again. Oh, and your jazz solo was amazing.” Trying to draw out their time together, she continued, “PT, remember when we talked about me leaving home?”
“Yup.”
“Well, you were going to tell me your story and you never did.”
“Listen, Gracie, I have to hit the road,” he said evasively. “A bowling alley in Philly needs me.” He stepped away uncomfortably, pushing his hair back out of his eyes.
“But how can you leave? The season’s not over. What about the bowling alley here? Oh, now I know why you were talking to Otto. He’s going to run it while you’re gone. You are coming back, aren’t you?” she cried, willing him to stay.
“Yup,” he replied, stubbed out his cigarette, and ambled away.
****
William Woods sat at his desk, chin cradled in his hand, tapping his pencil pensively.
“Come in,” he said, after four soft raps sounded on the door.
“Oh, Mr. Woods, I was just beside myself when I heard about your wife breaking her arm.” Dorothy bustled in, straw hat and suitcase in hand. “I have already asked
Adelle
to hostess meals because I must leave to start my fall term at school. Mae will assume my role as head waitress. Is there anything else I can do?”
“No, thank you, we’ll be fine—I think. Dorothy, can a woman cook with one hand?” he asked innocently.
“I believe that would be difficult, sir.”
“So I assumed. A piece of your advice, Dorothy. We’ll need some help around the Woodshed until my wife recovers. I was contemplating hiring Gracie. Margaret told me Isaiah taught her some things about cooking. I know she can clean and has a good rapport with my daughters. What do you think?”
“Gracie’s a good girl. I’m certain she would do a fine job. She did have some travel plans for the fall, but I don’t think she has decided definitely.”
“Then I will ask her. Please don’t mention it, Dorothy. I’d like to make it a surprise for my wife. I know I can depend on your discretion. I am so worried about her. She seems so down since this happened.”
“Don’t you have any qualms about Mrs. Woods, sir. I have seen her get behind herself and push time and time again. She will weather this as well.”
“Indeed, Dorothy,” he said warmly, shaking her hand. “You don’t know what it means to us to have loyal, superlative employees such as yourself. We will see you next summer, won’t we?”
“Absolutely.” She dropped her suitcase to the floor with a thud and gave him an impulsive hug. “I love my summer family.”
****
Flabbergasted, Gracie stared Mr. Woods full in the face.
“You mean to live with your family all winter?”
“Yes. What’s wrong, child? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Ah, that’s right,” he said knowingly. “Dorothy told me you had some travel plans.”
“No, sir, it’s not that.”
“It’s Eleanor, then. I understand. She can be so rambunctious. Don’t worry. It won’t be too difficult. I’ll be home in the evening. All you’ll need to do is tend to the girls and do a little cooking and cleaning until Mrs. Woods’ arm heals. We have a spare room and will pay you well. You can continue to work for Mrs. Cunningham. Please say yes, Gracie. My wife thinks the world of you and this will be a marvelous surprise for her.”
Woodshed on
Crestmont
Hill
September 1925