“Papa, Gracie and I are going down to the kitchen. Maybe we can at least find some canned food to serve for Mama’s birthday dinner.”
When they got to the third sleeping floor, Peg peered up at the boarded up entrance to their hideout. “Do you really expect me to believe that you didn’t tell my mother about this?”
Gracie shrugged her shoulders helplessly. “Honestly, Peg, she figured it out on her own.”
“Hm.” Peg turned abruptly and clopped down the stairs. Gracie tripped over her boots and landed on all fours on the next landing.
“Maybe you should buy your own boots for next year. They’ll be on sale soon and you can get them cheaper than if you wait and buy them in the fall.”
A stiff icicle replaced Gracie’s backbone when Peg mentioned next year, but she kept her mouth shut and followed her into the kitchen.
Peg switched on a flashlight and the girls made a quick reconnaissance. Without Isaiah and Sam bustling about, the kitchen seemed bare and forbidding. It was pretty well cleaned out, but Gracie found some tins of dried beef in the pantry.
“I guess its creamed dried beef on toast points for Mama’s dinner. What a far cry from roast lamb. I’ll take care of it.” Peg pocketed the beef. “Let’s go.”
“Wait. I saw something.” Gracie pulled an old piece of paper from behind a shelf and tucked it into her pocket.
****
Margaret stood at the stove, stirring the milk, frustrated that she couldn’t get to the post office until Monday. Mrs. Pennington’s special needs came in the mail like clockwork the first of February and Margaret compulsively made note of all requests immediately upon receipt. Invoices from the purchase of furnishings for the new wing would also be arriving and would need to be paid. It never ended. William did as much as he could to help, but his responsibilities at
Westlawn
meant that attending to most of these details fell to her.
Sighing, she stared listlessly out the window at the drifting snow and pried the top off a tin of cocoa powder. She dropped a few spoonfuls and some sugar into the pot. After turning down the flame so the milk didn’t catch, she went to check her file of letters. The name of the guest and any requests made were carefully marked on the envelope in her own handwriting. Her memory was correct, of course. Mrs. Pennington’s letter had not yet arrived.
Boots scraped on the steps and Margaret quickly put the letters away. By the time the others entered, she stood at the stove, placidly stirring the cocoa.
“Margaret, you weren’t supposed to work today,” William said gently.
“No, William, your gift said I didn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to. And I wanted to surprise you snow
shovellers
with cocoa.”
“Cocoa?” Peg faked a smile, wondering how she was going to make creamed chipped beef on toast points without the milk her mother had just used.
“Don’t worry. We have canned,” Gracie whispered, reading her mind.
Gracie’s hands felt warm around the cup as she contemplated her adoptive family. In whose kitchen would she be sipping cocoa in six months? Surely fretting about the long term was fruitless—but planning—evidently she was stuck in neutral about that. Perhaps the Woods would let her help decorate the addition to the big house. The prospect sounded like fun, but she also felt it prudent to make herself indispensable to them.
****
The back of Margaret’s hand patted her mouth to stifle a yawn. “I guess I need a nap.”
“Then the rest of us shall be quiet,” William said as his wife headed for their bedroom.
Peg pulled out a tablet, licked her pencil, and chewed on her brown hair. “I’m going to work on the water sport schedule.” Eleanor wandered into her room.
Gracie tried to immerse herself in Willa Cather’s latest book, but she kept seeing pictures of PT and the mystery man from Christmas Eve, Eric Sturdy. When she envisioned herself tripping onto the stage to do a singing audition, she switched to working on crossword puzzles.
William sat in his blue and tan plaid chair, tapping his pencil lightly on his ledger as he examined little pieces of paper that he kept pulling out of his pocket. He let out a big sigh when the clock on the mantel chimed twice.
Peg draped her arms over his shoulders from behind the couch and put her cheek up to his. “What are you working on, Papa?”
“
Shhh
,” her father whispered, pointing toward the bedroom where Margaret slept. “Tennis courts.”
“Oh,” Peg mouthed. “Your secret is safe with me. I’ll go make dinner.”
****
After downing her creamed chipped beef on toast points, Eleanor asked to be excused. The others lingered a long time over coffee. Gracie talked about the additional revenue
Pennsylvania
had brought in by raising the gasoline tax. Peg described the Clydesdale horses Zeke’s brothers were raising.
“They’re using them to pull the ice out of the lake and roll the snow down on the roads.”
“You’ve been at Zeke’s a lot lately,” her father observed. “He’s too old for you, Peg.”
Peg rolled her eyes. “Papa, he’s only my pal. He’s also five inches shorter than I am.”
“Well, I understand he and his brothers have been fixing the foot bridge at the bottom of the lake again,” Margaret said.
“Again!” the three Woods laughed. Confused, Gracie scanned each face.
“The ice cuts through the bridge pilings every year.” William explained, clearing the cups and saucers off the table.
“William, I hope you remember your promise to organize your cufflink collection. I kept all the gift tags and wrote down the descriptions. All you have to do is write the giver’s name on the little boxes. Then you could wear the cufflinks the same week that guest stays at the hotel without me reminding you who gave them to you.”
“I can’t do that by myself, Margaret.” William swatted her playfully with the dishtowel. “I need your organizational expertise.”
“I’ll do it,” Gracie offered.
“Good, because I want to teach Peg how to embroider these fingertip towels with the
Crestmont
insignia for the guest rooms,” Margaret said, pulling her sewing box out of the inlaid cabinet under the radio.
“Oh, Mama, you should teach Eleanor. She enjoys those feminine things more than I do.”
“I wonder what she is doing. She has been in her room for over an hour and I haven’t heard a peep out of her.”
“Gracie, my cufflink collection is on the shelf in our closet. Would you get it while I see what my youngest has gotten herself into now, please?” William asked.
****
“Look at all of this.” her mother exclaimed as the family gathered in Eleanor’s room.
“Oh, I was just guessing what
Grampa
Warner would have done to help the guests if they had been here in the snowstorm,” Eleanor explained, busily cutting something the shape of a tall isosceles triangle out of green construction paper.
Her dolls sat on a chair, protected by a roof draped over the chair back made from a game board. Canopies made from napkins held by thumbtacks draped down the sides to create walls.
“That’s the fireplace, right there.” Eleanor pointed to a carved area at the base of the chair back.
“And this?” her father asked, amused. The pieces from the chess set they had given her for Christmas were scattered all over her dresser, with folded brown construction paper covering them like tents.
“Those are the children on the playground in tents. And these,” she said holding up the green triangles, “are trees to make it pretty.”
“It must be terribly cold out there on the playground,” her father teased.
“Well, goodness, Papa, it’s just pretend, after all.”
“
Grampa
Warner would have been proud of you.” Her mother hugged her.
“Oh, yes, he told me so.” Eleanor said matter-of-factly.
“That’s impossible. He died before you were born. You didn’t even know him,” said Peg.
“I do too know him. He has funny dark eyes and a pointy beard. He sits on the bottom of my bed and tells me stories sometimes when I can’t sleep. He reads out of a big book called
440
Lakeside
Curiosities
.
“Sweetheart, let’s allow your guests to warm up in front of their fire while we enjoy our own before we go to bed.” Her mother steered her into the living room.
William stoked the fire and then joined Gracie at the kitchen table where they sorted gift tags and cufflink boxes. Margaret worked green thread through a white fingertip towel.
“Let’s tell stories,” Eleanor coaxed.
“All right, here is a story that really happened, but you are going to assume I made it up.” Margaret put down her sewing and leaned forward, propping her elbows up on her lap.
“Before I met your father, we had a thunderstorm here in October. Sandwiches fell from the sky for several minutes.”
“Sandwiches?” asked Eleanor, scrunching her eyebrows together.
“Ham and chicken, to be exact. Also pickles and chocolates. A twister hit some town nearby and carried people’s picnic lunches to Eagles Mere.” Margaret playfully checked the expressions on their faces.
“Mama, it’s not like you to make up tall tales,” Peg said flatly.
“It is no tall tale. I remember it well. If you like, on Monday when the snow is packed down, you can go look it up in the town’s historical records. It was recorded in the newspaper.”
“Your mother tells the truth. I have heard this tale many times, girls,” William said.
The five of them chatted and listened to the radio. At nine o’clock William got up, gave an exaggerated stretch, and winked at Eleanor. “It has been a
wicky
-wacky birthday and I’m going to bed.”
Margaret accepted the kiss he planted on her cheek and pulled a big envelope out from under her sewing box. “Come here, girls. Gracie, you too.” All three sat in their bathrobes on the floor making a little circle around her. “Thank you for making my birthday special. Before you go to bed, I have a surprise for you. I found these things in my father’s safe.”
They watched as she pulled old, yellowed papers out of the envelope. “Here are some things he saved from the early days.”
“Ooh, look,” they said as they fingered each one and passed it around. A birthday card she had made for him when she was a child. A copy of Captain Chase’s bill for laying the plans for the foundation in 1899 along with the guest register from the first season in 1900. A 1904 breakfast menu. Train tickets from the old
Sonestown
cog rail line.
“No train stops here, Mama,” Peg said.
“Not now, but when I was a girl the guests would ride the small gauge train up from
Sonestown
, disembark at the base of
Crestmont
Hill near the outlet pond, and be ferried up to the big house by horse and carriage. Eventually, there was so much flooding that the trestles were washed away. They stopped using the train about the time your father and I assumed ownership of the
Crestmont
. Now people simply motor up the hill in their automobiles.”
“We should display some of these things for the guests, Mama,” Peg said importantly.
“Here’s something you might want to keep,” Gracie said, pulling the brochure out of her pocket. “I mean, I’m sure you have these in your files, but I found this when we went over to shovel the attic. It must be very old.”
“Oh, my, I had almost forgotten that cover. It’s one of my father’s designs, so that would make it at least fifteen years old.”
After she kissed her girls goodnight, Mrs. Woods gave Gracie a hug. “I hope you decide to work at the
Crestmont
again this summer.” Gracie reddened, gave a quick nod, and vanished into her bedroom.
Someday, maybe someone would find these artifacts interesting, Margaret pondered as she put them away. If one of the girls took over when they retired, who knew how long the
Crestmont
would continue to breathe life into weary city people.
****
William was in bed reading Henry Wadsworth Longfellow when Margaret came in from a final goodnight with the girls
.
“It was nice of Gracie to help you organize your cufflinks today, William. Now you can say thank you when you run into the guest who gave them to you.”
“I always say thank you when I receive a gift, Margaret.”
He closed his book and slid down under the covers extending his arm as an invitation. She curled, facing him in the bed, and put her head on his chest. “Having Gracie with us this winter has been good for us, despite what I said in September. She has a gift for grasping at life, which I cannot fathom.”
“And your gift is serving our family and our guests. That’s a tall order for a forty-two-year- old woman.” He chucked his thumb playfully under her chin. They lay there, quietly listening to the wind. “Frankly, Margaret, you seem much better than last fall when you were, shall I say, somewhat depressed.”
“Your gift of taking responsibility away from me today truly helped. It has been the most wonderful birthday I can remember.”
“I think you deserve much more than one day of respite. Have you thought any more about your father’s suggestion to find a way to restore yourself? He gave some good advice in his letter and I agree with him.” He leaned down and kissed her. “I can picture him stealing catnaps up there in his hideaway.”
“I have had no time.” She turned over and they curled, spoon fashion, in the bed. Margaret’s breathing slowed and he was sure she was asleep when she said, “Maybe you could row me around the lake for a little break from it all.”
“Margaret, it is twelve degrees outside.”
“In the spring, silly.”
He chuckled, kissed the back of her neck and settled under the covers.
“What do you think Eleanor meant about my father reading her stories?”
“Just a child’s imagination, Margaret. Creativity is a child’s playground.” He yawned loudly. “I just wish she would actually play chess with the chess set we gave her.”