by Ann Rinaldi
Well, I'd do that much today, anyway. I'd get the sheets off the furniture.
There were lots of end tables and lamps and plants, and in the parlor, a fireplace with a marble mantel. On the landing of the stairway was a stained-glass window, and the morning sun streamed in, casting colors on my face. I smiled, feeling blessed, and found my way through the hall and back to the kitchen.
It was there, next to the table in the center of the room, that I saw the woman lying on the floor. A bag of groceries was strewn about her.
I remember thinking: But I didn't hear anyone come in.
Then I thought: She is hurt. So I went to help her up.
I remember leaning over her and gasping. And then I heard someone scream. I put my hand over my mouth so I wouldn't scream and wished whoever it was would stop that screaming.
I was bent over, one hand over my mouth, the other across my stomach, crying, when Rene came up behind me. "Rose, what is it? What? Oh my God. Rose, step back; stop it, Rose; it's all right. I'm here."
I had been the one screaming. I looked at Rene, at his dear face. His hands were on my shoulders, and then he hugged me close for a moment. "Go into the parlor and sit down, child. I'll be along in a minute." His voice was so level, so sane.
I went, and waited. I heard him moving about there in the kitchen. "It's the housekeeper," he called out to me. "It's Mrs. Kerwin. She must have come yesterday and had a heart attack or something. I'm going to call the police."
I sat listening while he made the call from the telephone in the hall. We must get a phone at home, I thought crazily. Suppose Mama comes into the kitchen some morning and finds Opal dead on the floor?
Rene finished his call and came into the parlor. "Go upstairs and get dressed," he said softly. "They'll be here in a little while."
I nodded and got up. As I passed him, I saw him standing there, hands plunged into the pockets of his bathrobe. He was looking at the floor, scowling.
"I'm sorry I screamed," I said.
He looked at me and the light in his eyes was so intelligent and so loving that I didn't want to leave him at that moment. "Dear child," he said, "I'm sorry for such a first day in your new home." Then he kissed me, and I went upstairs to dress.
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April 6 (continued)
RENE TOOK CHARGE this morning like he was President McKinley. He dressed in a wink, ran his hand over his face, determined there was no time to shave, and went downstairs before I had my petticoats on.
I saw him from the bedroom window. He went outside to the street, where there was a thin coating of snow, hailed a boy on a bicycle, pointed somewhere, drew some money out of his pocket, and I saw the boy go in the direction Rene had pointed. Then he was back in the house. And when I went downstairs he was in the kitchen, stirring up a fire in the top of the stove and putting a pot of coffee on.
All while the housekeeper lay on the floor. He stepped around her. I noticed he did not touch her, or the vegetables that were strewn on the floor around her.
I did not go in there. The front doorbell rang, and he dashed out to answer it.
It was the police in their tall helmets. Three of them. Rene ushered them in, introduced me, and brought them into the kitchen. There I heard him answering their questions about who he was and how he'd only recently taken ownership of the house and hired himself a housekeeper.
Then they came into the parlor and questioned me. Rene sat next to me on the couch while they asked me their whos and whys and whens. I was wide-eyed with fright. We had only two policemen in Beaufort, and they were both Negro. I'd never spoken to them. But I was brave and told these three everything I knew. Then they called for the coroner to have the body removed.
Before the coroner's wagon arrived, the boy Rene had given the money to came to the door and handed Rene a bag. I saw Rene tip him and thank him. Then he smiled at me. "Breakfast," he said. "Rolls, and I have coffee on. I'll get it; you don't have to go in there, Rose. Gentlemen, would you like coffee?"
How he could be so social with a dead body in the kitchen I don't know. But soon the coroner came, and while Rene and I drank coffee and ate buttered rolls in the parlor, they took Mrs. Kerwin outside and put her in the coroner's wagon.
"We may need you for further questioning," one of the policemen told Rene.
"We're here," he said. "This is our home."
Indeed. It is now, for all the horror of this first morning in it. We've come through our first crisis, and already I feel at home in the house. Like we've been through something together. And, of course, the same goes for Rene. We've come through together, and I've seen how he can take charge, and I feel even more confidence in him.
Confidence? Or love? Oh, I don't want to fall in love with him. Not yet. And maybe not ever. Still, I am feeling closer every day.
No, not love. It was his mood, his cheerful outlook, his firm resolve that got me through it all. I think I just may have myself the right husband.
April 7
WHEREVER RENE was supposed to go yesterday, he did not go. "I'll not leave you alone," he said. "I'm supposed to have not only a housekeeper but a man about the place, part body servant, part butler, and part indoor-outdoor man."
I smiled. He said I should just go about my business and unpack my things. He was expecting to interview his half-indoor, half-outdoor man this morning.
"I want to see the yard first," I told him. But I could not go through the kitchen. The police were coming back to examine it for any clues that might lead them to think there had been any foul play.
I went out the side door to a little porch, then down the steps and around to the backyard.
There is a great deal of room out there, at least an acre. A carriage house and stable for horses sits on the back of it. I went to inspect that first and saw there is ample room for our two horses when they come. There is a darling swing on a maple tree, plenty of rosebushes and rhododendrons, birdbaths, a gazebo, and some small statues of angels. There is a goldfish pond, too. Immediately I thought of little Benjamin and how the yard would delight him. They must come here. I must plan for them to visit.
There is a black wrought-iron fence around the yard, but the place has that neglected look that grounds get after winter and before spring sets in.
At home, in between fishing for drumfish, Daddy would have the hands planting peanuts already.
Then I noticed a patch of ground to the side of the stables. It had been hoed up and had the appearance of a garden. Clearly there were rows of something already planted.
Maybe the housekeeper had done it, I decided. Surely nobody else would.
Then Rene came around from the side of the house. "How do you like the yard?" he asked.
I told him I liked it fine. I was so proud of the way he looked in his striped shirt, neat trousers, suspenders, and tie. This is my husband, I said to myself with pride.
I showed him the garden, and he scowled. "Someone's been poking around here in my absence."
When I suggested the housekeeper, Mrs. Kerwin, he said no, he'd only hired her before he left. She was to do no yard work. And if I saw anybody poking about the yard, I was to tell him. He wanted no more trouble than he already had.
I said yes, I would. Then I asked him who had been feeding the goldfish. He said he had a boy coming round to do that, but the boy was far more interested in baseball than gardening, so it wasn't him. No, he said, he suspected an interloper.
April 10
WITHIN THE PAST few days, it seems, things have settled down. Rene hired the boy who fetched us breakfast that morning to help carry things about the house and put them in the right places. We have been eating our supper out, although I told Rene I can cook. He said no, he doesn't want me in the kitchen like that.
"You go in the kitchen to oversee things," he said, "like your mother does."
It touched me, his saying that. I know he respects Mama a lot. We ate at a lovely restaurant on Flatbush Avenue. Rene still needs a man about the
place, a cook and housekeeper, and a washerwoman. He has ads in the Brooklyn Eagle for such.
I have taken all the sheets off the furniture, and on especially nice days, I air the house out. There are yellow daffodils in great plenty about the place, and I have picked some and put a vase in the front parlor and in Rene's study.
I make breakfast for Rene and am setting our bedroom to rights. The rest of our things have yet to be shipped north, so we don't have everything yet.
April 12
TODAY I MET the milkman. His name is Mr. Drayton, and his horse's name is Maybelle. I purchased some eggs and butter, also, remembering how Mama told me to take charge and not bother my husband about the little things.
And with some money Rene gave me, I walked down to the grocer on Flatbush Avenue and purchased some oranges, so I could squeeze juice for Rene for breakfast. We have a wonderful icebox in the kitchen, a new modern kind that is run by electricity. I think it is wonderful.
I don't know what the rest of Brooklyn looks like, but Rene tells me some of it is still farmland. As far as the Dorchester Road part of it, it is lovely, with stately trees and neat walks and wide avenues and impressive homes. It is real country. It gives one a sense of peace and composure. Not like home, of course. I miss the water already. And the rattling of the palmetto trees. But I mustn't think of that. No, I must try to adjust to this place called Brooklyn.
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April 12 (continued)
IT WILL BE Easter Sunday in a couple of days. I must plan an Easter dinner. At home we would have fresh fish that Daddy caught, turkey, and even wild duck. Oh, I mustn't think of home!
The police came back yesterday afternoon and told us that the housekeeper's death has been determined by the coroner to be caused by heart failure. Her husband came around to see us last evening and told Rene her funeral would be at the local Catholic church tomorrow. I told Rene we ought to go. He said he scarce knew the woman and didn't have the time.
I made breakfast for Rene this morning. I stumbled around the kitchen trying to find things while he was still asleep. But I managed to set the round table. I made eggs and bacon and coffee and toast. I burned my fingers on the black-top stove.
Reading the morning paper, Rene told me about the Baltimore and Ohio train line testing a train called the "Wind Splitter." It reaches speeds of more than 102 miles an hour. I wish I could take a train like that and go and see my family. But I didn't tell Rene that.
When I went to take his empty plate he put his arm around my waist and said my breakfast was excellent but that he didn't like the idea of my cooking. I told him I cooked at home a lot when the fancy seized me. He sat me on his lap then and said he'd hire us a cook soon. Then he kissed me and said how sorry he was that everything was so confused. We had a few moments like that, then he said he had to go. He was going to his office to settle some things this day. He said he'd take a hansom cab. Would I be all right here alone? I said I would. I'd keep busy. He kissed me and left.
Some people came around in answer to Rene's ads in the paper. But Rene directed me just to take names and addresses. So I did.
It was lonely without Rene. I miss the hustle and bustle of life at home, with always someone around. At noontime I made my lunch and took it out to the backyard.
It was then that I saw the girl.
She was just inside the wrought-iron fence at the side of the stable. And she was hoeing the garden. She seemed to be my age and was dressed in the plain, everyday clothes of the working class.
"Hello," I said.
She was startled and stopped hoeing to look at me. "Good mornin'," she answered, and I heard the Irish in her voice. She was a fine-looking girl, with a natural, healthy prettiness. Her reddish brown hair was tied back in a bun, but tendrils had broken loose and were hanging becomingly around her face.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Bridget. Bridget Moore."
"Did my husband hire you to do the gardening?" I knew this was not so, but after all, I am the mistress of this place, am I not? And I must be strong.
She shook her head no. "I was just after hoein' the weeds." Her face is full of freckles. I thought how we must sound, she with her Irish accent and me with my Southern drawl.
She said nobody had hired her.
Then what was she doing here? I asked. She blushed. Oh, she'd seen the ground, she told me, the beautiful earth begging for seed. And it looked almost as good as the earth used to look in Ireland. Before she came here. "'Tis a shame to let it go to waste and not grow vegetables, ma'am," she said. "Good land is a gift from God."
I took exception to her telling me that. Like I didn't know. "I come from a plantation in South Carolina," I said. "My father grows cotton and peanuts and corn and everything. I know about land."
She did a little knee bob of a curtsy. "Meant no disrespect."
"What are you going to do with the vegetables?"
"Bring them home to my family. Himself went and got injured on the job. That's my pa. Ma is lookin'for work. We've got little ones to care for and my grandfather lives with us. He was in the war and ain't much good for anythin' now."
"I'll tell my husband and ask if you can keep the vegetables," I said. "I'll let you know. What kind of work does your mother do? And what about you? What do you do?"
"Ma's a good cook," she said. "I'll do anythin'."
That evening when Rene came home, I did ask him about her. We were getting ready to go out to dinner, at the house of some of his friends. It seems I had to be properly introduced as his wife.
I could see he didn't like any of it. "Why can't we hire her mother as cook?" I asked. "She's looking for work."
He shook his head no. "You can't just hire people we know nothing about," he said sternly. "They must be investigated, have references. They'll be in our home."
It was a reproach. Tears came to my eyes. Rene has a tower of steel inside him that you can't get around when he doesn't want you to. I have learned that. Now I must learn how to get around it.
Then he put his arm around me, softening. "If you see her tomorrow, tell her to come around. And bring her mother. I'll let her know about the job, and the vegetables."
April 14
THE WEATHER has been chilly and rainy. Not at all like spring at home. But Rene says that when the rain stops it will be lovely. Still, I'm disappointed. The only flowers that are out are crocuses and daffodils.
Yesterday we even had some snow. The paper said three inches. I felt sorry for the daffodils, who have their heads sticking out of it. Rene says they will survive.
I know Rene has his mind on a new shipment of silk that just came in. He told me how they have so many orders from Buffalo, where, he says, there are so many millionaires you can't count them on your fingers, and where they are all dressing their daughters to send to England to marry into nobility.
"What do they do with themselves, these millionaires?" I asked.
"Work," he said, "harder each day. Just like Adrian and I do."
We were having breakfast in the kitchen. He had the folded-up morning newspaper in one hand and was reading it while we talked. I was stunned. "Are you a millionaire?" I asked.
He took his eyes off the paper and smiled at me. "Yes, we are," he answered. "Though it is never to be spoken of."
"You and Adrian?" I asked.
"No," he said. "You and I. Adrian has his own resources."
I fell silent. Discussion of money only made me think of Mama and Daddy and home. Was part of his million our plantation?
"What do you do with your money?" I asked.
And he answered. "Invest. Tie it up in assets. But I hope to have a family and a good life, too. What is it, Rose? What's troubling you?"
"I don't like to talk about money."
"You shouldn't like it. Just depend on me and enjoy what we have."
Just then came a knock on the back door. It was Bridget, with her mother and what she called a Brooklyn cheesecake, which she'd made hersel
f. Rene thanked her and gallantly offered them some breakfast, which they declined. He asked Bridget if she wanted to work for us as a helper and personal servant to me. Her eyes lit up. "Mama can cook," she said.
"I have no doubt that she can," Rene said, "but I must interview you both first and get some recommendations."
He brought them right into the parlor to interview them. I stayed in the kitchen, hoping they'd get the jobs. All Rene needed, he said, were some personal recommendations. Where did they live? As it turns out, they take the trolley line to get here. It's an Irish community where they live. Bridget told us the Irish have lived here in Brooklyn since the middle of the last century.
Rene said he'd have some of his people investigate them. It sounded so formal, even frightening. I wouldn't want anybody investigating me. Would they go into their neighborhood? He said yes, but not to worry about it. Just worry about what I was going to wear tonight, because we were invited out for supper.
April 15
WE HAD Easter dinner cooked by Mrs. Moore, Bridget's mother. It was a delicious ham with all the trimmings. Rene has decided to hire both of them. I am so glad.
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April 20
THE SUN was bright and warm today and we have some tulips out now. The phone rang when Rene was out and it was Adrian, Rene's brother. We had a brief conversation. He asked me how his little brother was treating me, and I said fine. He invited us to his home for dinner. I said I would have Rene call him.
"The little bride," he called me. I wonder what Rene has told him about me. He sounds very nice.
Last night we went to the Willink House and Hotel on Flatbush Avenue for dinner with business friends of Rene's. He says the hotel is owned by two eccentric old ladies. We had an excellent supper, but I am tired of eating out, although I realize that many of these suppers are social obligations.
