“Hands in the air on the
yeah
. Got it!” Eleanor smashed her tongue through her teeth to concentrate, swung her arms rhythmically, and spread her fingers high above her head on her last step.
“Hands in the air? Let’s put some hands on the food to make lunch,” Isaiah boomed, leaving the swinging kitchen doors slapping behind him.
“Sorry, boss.” Sam grabbed his apron and tied it in the back. “I was just teaching Eleanor here how to tap dance.”
“We’re going to do a number in the staff talent show together,” she bragged as she turned a mixing bowl upside down on her head, “with hats.” She quickly removed the bowl when a handsome man in a bellhop uniform entered. “Do you work for us—I mean my parents?”
“I guess I do. I’m Eric.”
“You must be new or I would have noticed you before.” Eleanor extended her hand as a graceful lady. “Eleanor Woods, p-pleased to meet you.”
Eric shook her hand. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Woods.” Holding herself two inches taller, Eleanor glided toward the kitchen door.
“Hey, kid, what about our dance lesson?” Sam did a twirl and clicked his heels.
“We shall have to finish it another time, Samuel. I have responsibilities of my own to attend to,” she said in her grown-up voice. Discreetly cutting her eyes over to the side, she sized Eric up and down as she left.
“Sam, I have never heard that child sound so grown-up,” Isaiah hooted. “Looks like you have an admirer, Eric. This is Sam, my assistant chef, and I’m Isaiah. Welcome to the
Crestmont
. You a town boy?”
“Well, my father’s the minister at the Eagles Mere Presbyterian church, but I go to college during the year, so I guess I qualify. Oh, almost forgot, I need five birch beers for guests on the porch, please.”
Sam crooked a finger for Eric to watch, filled one glass with ice, pumped in syrup, and sprayed in the seltzer. “You’re on your own for the rest. We do the food, but you bellhops fix your own drinks, okay?”
“Got it. Thanks.” Eric finished making the sodas and loaded them on a tray. “Nice to meet you fellows.”
Isaiah stuffed four loaves under his arm and grabbed a knife. He skillfully sliced the bread. Adjusting the fire under the grill pan, he grabbed the mayonnaise from the icebox and tossed it to Sam. “I’ll do the grilled cheese and you finish the egg salad.”
Sam nodded as he stood on the other end of the huge work table, fine-dicing onion and celery into a bowl of chopped hard boiled eggs. “Yep, and the fire’s on under the soup. I just have to finish the rice cakes. There’s cut melon in the icebox all set to go. Dorothy already set up the pickle trays.”
Zeke entered, lifted the lid of the soup pot, and sniffed. “Chicken noodle, now that’s a man’s dish. That asparagus stuff you guys make is disgusting.”
“Oh, now you’re a man, huh?”
“Got me a girl, Isaiah. Not just a fling, I’ve got me a real girl. You know Mae, that pretty waitress? I was kind of thinking I might hang around to watch her set up her tables.”
“You’d better stick with this one. You haven’t been exactly on the level with those other girls you dally with.”
“She’s sweet and easily persuaded, if you know what I mean.”
Isaiah pinned him against the table and wagged a warning finger in his face. “You knock her up and I’ll slap you upside the head. Hear, boy?”
****
“Olivia!” Gracie jumped up from the rocker and embraced her friend.
“Hello, Gracie. My, you look fine.” Olivia gracefully settled her petite body into the laundry porch swing and draped the shimmering powder blue skirt she was hemming over her lap. She had tucked a tiny white blossom with red markings into her tightly pinned-back hair. “I wanted Isaiah to have something pretty to look at on his break,” she said. Her tiny chin indicated the next building. “I thought you’d be over there on the Evergreen Lodge porch. My, a new addition and a new dormitory, too. How exciting. Why, we’re neighbors now.”
“This laundry porch feels more like home. And it’s more private. Besides, the younger staff monopolizes the dorm porch. How was your winter?”
“A little lonely,” Olivia sighed. “Isaiah is in great demand now. He was away a lot on weekends, catering conferences in different cities.”
“You must have really missed him.”
“Let’s just say that I love our
Crestmont
summers because we are together every evening after he’s done cooking dinner. He’s so playful. An apartment can be eerie without all of his singing and whistling. Mind you, I love my dressmaking business, and I am with people all the time, but life without my man, it’s just not the same.” Gracie focused on the porch floor.
“Oh, Gracie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“No matter,” She flipped her hand airily. “I just haven’t found the right one yet, although it seems like I’m pretty behind schedule.”
“I was certain something would happen with PT. He’s an odd one, though. Very friendly, but hard to get to know. Why, come to think of it, the little he said to me last summer was about you.”
Gracie stopped rocking, squirmed in her chair, and changed the subject.
“It was really nice working for the Woods all winter. Now Bessie’s on a rampage because I got a promotion. She’s sure it’s because Mrs. Woods favors me.”
“Bessie always has to be the big cheese. I feel sorry for her. A person that nasty must have something hurtful in her life.”
Gracie leaned over and ran her fingertips lightly over the blue fabric. “It’s amazing they can make it so shiny.”
“A silver thread is run through every second warp.” Olivia held the blue material up to the sun. “See? Like little tiny stars.” All of a sudden, she collapsed the material onto her lap and bit her lip. “I have exciting news. A famous opera singer is coming to the
Crestmont
to do a concert and she wants me to make her a gown. Can you imagine? Me designing for a celebrity.”
Gracie could hear the sewing machine whirring as Olivia’s tiny foot pumped away and her delicate hands guided vivid fabrics into elegant gowns the women fancied for the dances and concerts. Her beautiful friend would finally get some of the recognition she deserved.
“Absolutely.”
****
Mrs. Slagle was snoring loudly when Gracie tiptoed out the front door. The waitresses were already up in the big house setting up for breakfast, so she could easily slip unnoticed out of the Evergreen Lodge. A chorus of bird calls kept her company as she went past Peg’s goldfish pond and the laundry around the steam room into the woods. An ideal place for hiking, she decided, if one was so inclined. She yearned for solitude. Thinking about the
Paperbag
poems she had tucked under her mattress, she moped about PT, sure she had squelched anything they might have had.
She found a private rock blushed by the morning sun, sat down and peeled the banana she had taken from the fruit display in the dining room. To perk herself up, she pored over her notebooks. She wrote “Learn to swim” on her list of things to do. Realizing she was still afraid of the water she crossed that out and scribbled, “Buy bathing suit anyway.” She turned the page to where she listed her friends and rested her hand over their names, imagining each face smiling back at her from the shifting hues of green in the trees. When murky images of Lily and her parents threatened to ruin her reverie, she slammed the notebook shut. A crow squawked in protest, landing to add a piece of dead squirrel to its breakfast.
She checked her watch. 8:30. Walking around the back of the garage, she started down the hill toward Mrs. Cunningham’s and tried to enjoy the little patches of sun, which played like haloes on the tall trees.
****
Late afternoon storm clouds threatened overhead and the sound of the piano music was obscured by the howling of the wind. Shadow, smelling rain in the air, dashed in front of her into the garage for shelter. Gracie risked the downpour to follow the song that sounded like what PT called “blues.” It led her to the old staff lounge above the garage.
PT was so absorbed in his playing; he didn’t hear her come in. He had every right to be angry after their meeting on the lawn, but she prayed she might have a chance with him if she apologized.
“I don’t know what came over me, PT. I was nasty to you and I’m sorry.”
She knew he heard her, but he ducked his head down and switched to a huffy, rhythmic piece designed, she was certain, to drown her out. Sometimes she wished she could reach into his brain and pull out words, but she knew he’d rather communicate through the piano. It was a pretty safe bet that right now he was saying he was mad.
She took another step toward the piano. “I should have apologized last week, but I was scared.”
“Oh.”
PT’s
eyes never left the keyboard.
She stamped her foot. “Honestly, PT, how hard are you going to make this for me?”
He swung his lanky legs around the piano bench to face her. His chest was caved and he looked miserably past her. “I’m not good at this.”
She choked. “At what?”
“This.” He wagged his finger back and forth between them.
Before she knew it, his arms were wrapped around her and he was kissing her hair, and then her ear. Then his mouth found hers as the rain thrummed on the roof.
****
The oars sloshed through the water until they reached the foot of the lake, far from the inn. “Let’s stop here.” Margaret Woods buttoned her sweater, smiled at her husband and reached out to pick blueberries from the bushes growing at the water’s edge. Cicadas and bullfrogs said goodbye to the day. Orange, pink and lavender clouds played tag with the setting sun. The water, clear to the bottom during the day, snaked in huge black and purple waves toward the shore.
“I love Thursdays.” Margaret said dropping berries lazily into her basket. “You were brilliant to let Sid take care of game night. We are free to escape and enjoy the lake. I never realized how much I need time to myself, William.”
“Mm.” William hummed a hymn, happy that his wife had accepted this tiny recess in her work week. He leaned over the boat to pick a pink water lily and waived it teasingly around her jaw before tucking it in her hair.
“I need to pocket this moment so I can pull it out to center me in July.”
“Mm.”
“William, I think we are ready for the surge.”
“What surge, Margaret?” he asked absentmindedly.
“The
Swetts
, the
Penningtons
, Celeste Woodford. The opera singer.”
“Margaret, of course we are ready. You have taken care of everything. You always do. Now stop troubling yourself and enjoy our time off.”
They ducked their heads as he rowed under the footbridge into the outlet pond. A thorn hanging precariously in a huge spider web under the bridge nearly grazed Margaret’s head and a family of ducks that had been trailing them turned back to the main part of the lake.
“No talk of running the
Crestmont
while in the outlet pond, dear.” He switched to another hymn.
“Yes, you are right. Sing it out loud, William. I never hear you sing except at the hymn sings.”
“No, no, Margaret. Please don’t remind me of hymn sings at the
Crestmont
because now we are in the outlet pond where we are supposed to be on vacation.” Margaret gave him a chagrined smile, rested her arms behind her on the side of the boat and lifted her face to smell the evening air. William pulled the oars in and they drifted in temporal, peaceful silence. A white deer watched them from his hiding place behind some bull pines, then scampered away to find its mate.
****
Moving the piano was no small feat. Mr. Woods, Sid Fox, Otto and Zeke carried it down the stairs from the old staff lounge above the garage and loaded it onto Sid’s truck. After driving over to the Evergreen Lounge, they took it down the railroad-tie steps, setting it down twice to catch their breath. They balanced it on a dolly and wheeled it into the basement lounge.
The snap of ping pong balls stopped as did the chatter around the fireplace. Dorothy and
Magdalena
looked up from their euchre game. A saxophone from Paul Whiteman’s band blared from the radio. Gracie and Mae turned to watch silently.
“Right here on the wall opposite the fireplace.” Mr. Woods took his breath in big gulps and rested his hands on his knees. Slapping Sid on the back as Otto and Zeke moved the piano against the wall he said, “Care to join me in the Woodshed for some chess?”
“PT is going to be beside himself,” Dorothy noted. “He wanted to supervise that.”
“Mr. W wanted to surprise him,” Zeke said.
Bessie lay on the couch, throwing popcorn kernels in the air from a bowl on her stomach. She caught them in her mouth while Jimmy massaged her feet. “Yeah, he and Mr. W are like bosom buddies, both
wearin
’ those stupid yellow ties.”
“His name is Mr. Woods,” PT said, slamming the door. Everyone froze. Gracie ducked her head into her newspaper. He had avoided her since that night when they kissed.
He diddled a bit on the piano and muttered, “Oh, baby, do you need to be tuned.”
Jimmy made a feeble attempt to break the tension. “
Didya
see Agnes
Swett
cannonball into the lake? Peg was
lifeguardin
’ and even though the woman is twice her size, she went in to make sure she was okay. Every towel on the dock chairs got soaked.”
“Yeah,
snookie
, and Mrs. W sent me to wring ‘
em
out and take ‘
em
to the laundry. What the Sam Hill was that about? I
ain’t
no dock maid, just a housemaid.”
“Ach, Bessie, complaints, all the time, complaints.”
Magdalena
said. “My girls had to dry out towels.”
Bessie bolted upright and spat, “
Yer
precious laundry girls
ain’t
the only ones
workin
’ hard in this place.” Seeing a moment to send a dart, she pelted popcorn at Gracie’s newspaper.” If I were you, Miss I-Get-to-Clean-the-Common-Rooms, I’d get my nose
outa
there and up where it can be seen.” She thumbed at PT. “He’s
gonna
make a pass at you.” Gracie feigned shock, smiling smugly to herself because he already had.