The Bon Ton commanded the corner of Hanover Street on the north side of the square. The two walked to the western corner to Cadwalder’s drugstore.
“Wheezie! Wheezie!” Juts shouted as she ran through the cleared path in the Square.
“Oh, no.” Louise groaned. “I’ll get rid of her.”
“How about if I buy her a hot chocolate and then you can send her along? It will put her in a good mood.”
She squeezed his elbow. “You must have a little sister.”
“Not like that one.”
Now even with them, Juts told them, “Momma sent me down to Brown’s meat market.”
“Looks like a heavy package,” Paul remarked, looking at the white paper wrapping.
“A pot roast for Celeste. It’s half a cow, I swear it, but you can’t believe what happened to me! Dimps Jr. tried to steal Dickie Yost, and he’s my date for the Saint Patrick’s Day dance. She said in front of everybody, why would he bother with me? She called me a smart mouth and then she said I didn’t have good clothes, I’d look out of place at the dance. I’m going to kill her.”
“Why don’t you wait on that?” Paul suggested. “Sounds like she’ll do herself in. Come on, I’ll buy you hot chocolate then you can go back to Miss Chalfonte.”
Juts looked at Louise, who affirmed, “You can come with me. I thought I’d sit and talk with Paul, but come on, Juts, a hot chocolate is a good gift.”
Paul brought three hot chocolates, welcome in the cold. They sat in a nice booth while Flavius, the owner, occasionally came over to bring little dishes. He also wanted to keep his eye on Paul. Louise Hunsenmeir had better be properly treated.
Juts chattered, feeling so grown up to be with her sister and Paul, who seemed very mature. Really grown up. Once she’d downed her hot chocolate, Juts left the couple alone.
Paul wanted to take Louise to a nice place to eat but he’d spent most of his money buying her the flowers and all the movie tickets. He asked Knute Nordness at work, a fellow becoming a pal, what should he do? Wait until he had the money again and treat her to something special or walk around the square and go to the drugstore? He didn’t want Louise to think he was cheap.
Knute advised not waiting. “Girls hate to be put off. They think you don’t like them. If she’s any kind of girl, she’ll be happy to see you. I know the Hunsenmeirs. They aren’t gold diggers.”
Knute was right. Once Juts left, with prodding from Louise, the two sat there and talked about everything. He ordered more hot chocolates because he didn’t want to make Flavius mad. Flavius just smiled. He was starting to like this guy.
“And the boss was happy.” She beamed.
“That’s swell.”
“I really like fashion. I read everything I can.” She thought a moment. “When you came to visit, you said you liked house painting. Boy, did you surprise us.”
“Surprised myself.” He laughed. “I do like house painting. I want to learn everything. Different paints give you different results, and I tell you, Louise, buying a cheap paint is throwing your money away. Doesn’t hold up.”
She leaned her elbows on the table even though it wasn’t proper. “Ever think about the future?” She rested her chin on her hands.
“I sure did in the trenches. I told myself if I made it home, I’d learn a trade and if I worked hard, saved my money, I’d start my own business. I’m going to do it. I know I don’t look like much now but I’m not afraid of hard work.”
“Me neither.” She looked right into his warm brown eyes. “You’ll do it.”
Pleased by her confidence, he blushed a bit. “You make me feel like I can.”
Louise volunteered, “I don’t want to start a department store but I’d like to work as long as I can. Even if I marry.”
“Really?” His black eyebrows rose.
“It costs a lot to live and, well, my father ran away in 1907 and left Momma and she didn’t have a dime. I want to put some money away.”
“No man who’s worth anything would leave you.”
Now it was Louise’s turn to blush. “I hope not. You’re sweet to say so.”
“I know so. I haven’t heard many girls say they want to work.”
“I bet Lottie or her harridan of a mother tried to pry out of you what they could. Lottie intends to marry and that’s it. Money, money, money.”
He waited a long time, then spoke. “I feel sorry for her.”
“You weren’t—”
He shook his head. “Sure, I noticed her. I didn’t know anyone in town. Her mother didn’t like me, like you said, because I had no money. I’m just a working fellow. Lottie only went out with me to irritate her mother. That’s no way to live.”
“But you kissed me thinking it was her.”
“I did. Lottie was, uh”—he thought and thought—“somewhat free with her favors. I liked her but not that much.”
“I will never understand men.”
“It’s kind of hard to explain but I didn’t take advantage of her, Louise. You gave me the way out without hurting her feelings. I owe you and that box of popcorn.” He laughed.
She laughed back. “We’ll both work and see where it takes us.”
“What if you get married?”
“Unless he’s a Rockefeller, I think I should work to help out. It costs so much to establish a household. Celeste tells me these things. I know she’s trying to prepare me for the day when I leave Momma. She sure helped me out today at the Bon Ton.”
“If you work, won’t you feel your husband is letting you down?” Pearlie wondered.
“No. We’ll work it out together. We’ll save our pennies. I don’t want someone to think I’m a deadbeat.”
“What if you have children?”
“I can work up until I have them. Then I’ll stay home until they’re in grade school. Paul, I see some of the girls I went to high school with and they’re married, one kid already, and they’re bored, they complain. That’s, uh, tedious.” She used one of Celeste’s favorite words when someone or something bored her.
“You’re different, you know that?”
“I’m not going to be a burden and I don’t ever want to be in the position of my mother.”
He nodded. “Your mother is such a sweet woman. Someone should horsewhip your father.”
“If we knew where Hansford was, we would.”
Flavius came over, and Paul said, “Nothing more, Mr. Cadwalder. We had three hot chocolates and took up this booth.”
“I can see you two have a lot to talk about.”
“We do,” Louise agreed enthusiastically. “We can talk about anything.”
Flavius picked up the cups. “Honey, that’s a great gift.”
Paul walked her down the Emmitsburg Pike to stand at Celeste Chalfonte’s imposing door. It was just about time for Cora to finish her work for the day. “I had a wonderful time.”
“I did too.”
“May I ask you out for next Saturday? I could take you to the movies and a place to eat.”
“Pearlie, I’ll take you to the movies. I have all the tickets.” She laughed.
“Guess you do.” He wanted to kiss her so bad it hurt.
Instead he tipped his hat. “Pick you up at your house.”
“Okey-dokey.”
Louise stepped inside the door as Juts ran up to her in the Chalfontes’ grand foyer.
Apron on, Cora called out, “Have a good time?”
“We sure drank a lot of hot chocolate.” She laughed. “But we had such a good time. He’s not flighty, Momma.”
“I suspect he’s not,” came the alto reply.
Celeste, followed by Ramelle, descended the curving staircase with the big landing, passing the full-length portrait of Celeste painted by John Singer Sargent. “It’s getting so cold. Don’t take the trolley tonight, Cora. I’ll have the chauffeur drive you home.”
“That’s a treat.” Cora stuck her head out of the kitchen.
Seeing a new audience,
Juts launched into a blow-by-blow of the dreaded Dimps Jr. and her trying to steal—yes, steal—Dick Yost.
“How dramatic,” Celeste replied.
“She’s jealous,” Ramelle said. “Ignore her.”
“And she rouges her nipples.”
“Juts, that is enough out of you.”
Celeste, amused, countered her employee and dear old friend. “Cora, I think I should hear this.”
“Yes, me, too.” Ramelle laughed. “Sounds very daring.”
Juts could never resist an audience. She told her tale, an embellishment here and there. Dimps Jr.’s protuberances grew in cup size with each telling.
“I’m surprised the poor girl can walk. She must be a triumph over gravity,” Celeste replied.
As this was over Juts’s head, she tried to come up with another insult for the lewd boyfriend pouncer. “She’s always tilting at windbags.”
Celeste burst out laughing. “Windmills, dear.”
Brilliant sunshine reflected off the snow. People shaded their eyes or pulled down their hats to cut the glare. Clear skies often accompany bitter cold and this day was no exception. The mercury refused to budge from 17˚F. Celeste waited inside the dark-green-painted doors of the railway station. Patience Horney lurked just inside, ready to take up her position selling pretzels right outside the door. The stationmaster had made her come inside.
“Have you watched Orion lately?” Patience asked Celeste.
“No. Pity, for the February sky is so bright and clear.”
“Umm.” Patience nodded, a knowing acknowledgment. “They visit from the Belt, you know?”
Celeste, long used to Patience’s celestial pronouncements, nodded. “Yes, you’ve often spoken of them, as well as those on Saturn.”
Patience folded her thin arms across her chest. “Orion is different.”
Peering out the windowpanes in the door, Celeste murmured, “I’m sure.”
“Heroes made into constellations live on Orion. Yes, they do. The gods and goddesses are still here, of course, but they don’t show themselves to us anymore.”
Far from being irritated, Celeste dropped one dollar into Patience’s cup.
“How many pretzels do you want? They’re hot.”
“Patience, not a one. That’s a small contribution for reminding me to pay homage to the gods.” She smiled and thought to herself that Patience, like others with mental afflictions, may not be stupid, but may in fact see the world differently and thus offer insight.
Patience looked up into those intense eyes. “You’re one of Athena’s own. You must never, never marry.”
Celeste smiled. “We’re secure in that.”
“And beware of Hera. She is wary of any woman who doesn’t follow her example.”
A whistle blew and the people waiting inside the station stood up. Most of them she knew and nodded to. “Patience, I will bear in mind your advice.”
For a fleeting moment Celeste felt the crushing discomfort of knowing there was nothing she nor anyone else could do for the Patience Horneys of the world, people lost to themselves and others.
As the train engine glided to a stop, on time, with steam billowing out, Celeste felt its tremendous power, a power that changed the world. She loved trains, she loved travel, and she loved her brother, who stepped off the train, carrying one large leather bag after tipping the porter handsomely.
As Celeste opened the station door to run to her younger brother, she heard the porter call out, “God Bless, Mr. Curtis, you got you a beautiful girl.”
Recognizing the man on the regular train from Philadelphia, Celeste smiled at him as Curtis hurried toward her. He dropped his suitcase, embraced his sister, giving her a big kiss.
“Welcome home. You’ll give me a rash.” She laughed at his bristly chin as they stepped back into the station.
Walking by, Curtis dropped money in Patience’s cup. She thanked him, recognizing him, but she couldn’t remember his name so she said, “Thank you, Brother.”
On the street side, Francis awaited and opened the door of the 1916 Packard Twin Six. Brother and sister stepped in. Celeste threw the heavy plaid car blanket over their legs.
“Sorry about the rash. The train was late last night getting into Philadelphia. The trip across the country was actually pretty good, on time. Anyway, late, I overslept, just made this one and no time to shave.
“Whenever I look at pictures of King Edward’s friends, I am astonished at the beards and muttonchops, or the sideburns that made it down to moustaches. I suspect these fellows spent a fortune at the barbershop.”
“Bet they did.” She squeezed his hand. “I’m so glad you’re home. Ramelle is waiting at the house. She wanted to give us a few moments together.”
“Do I need to do anything to help with the arrangements?”
“No. Everything is in order and you will be either amazed, happy, annoyed, or all three. La Sermonetta”—their name for Carlotta—“will be there, Herbert in tow and so will Stirling.”
“Really? Did Carlotta receive a vision?”
“No. What she received was a compassionate—you would have loved hearing me—a compassionate plea for Christian understanding, forgiveness, and love.”
Her voice dropped as he shook his head. “Well, it worked. I did have to promise to attend Carlotta’s church with her after your wedding. She extracted a promise that I go to Mass with an open heart and, I expect, an open pocketbook.”
He laughed out loud. “We’ve been keeping popes in jewels and splendor for over fifteen hundred years. Time to do your part.”
“And so I shall. Louise Hunsenmeir will attend to her former headmistress, which should relieve us somewhat. I just hope Fannie Jump doesn’t drink too much and review the causes of the Reformation.”
Fannie Jump Creighton and Fairy Thatcher were Celeste’s childhood friends, and the three knew far too much about one another.
“I should have brought along an actor or two. Creighton never notices.”
Creighton, Fannie’s husband, was too busy making money to notice his middle-aged wife’s seductions. She surprised her girlfriends, as they never knew where she found the energy. So many men.
“As you and Ramelle requested, the service will be at St. Paul’s. The party after the wedding will be a bit more lively. Thank God you don’t have a bachelor’s party, although in a way the supper the night before fulfills that function.”
“This is a great deal of work and I am grateful.”
Celeste leaned up and tapped the window, which Francis slid back. “Yes, Miss Chalfonte.”
“Drive around the square one more time.”
“Yes, Miss Chalfonte.”
“Margaret will not be in attendance but Stirling will.”
“I’m rather glad about that. She’s such a censorious bitch.” Curtis could always tell Celeste the truth.
“Olivia Goldoni will be coming. It’s all discreet. She will sing at the service.”
“You don’t say. Well”—Curtis pulled the rug up higher—“I give Stirling credit.”
“What you can give him is a part for Olivia in one of your films. Some small thing.”
“Did he ask for that?” Curtis was incredulous.
“No, I am.”
“Pity no one will be able to hear her.”
She leaned on her brother, as much for support as for warmth, for the car took a corner and slid on the ice. “No reason her recordings can’t be for sale in the lobbies.”
“That’s an idea. I don’t know if there will ever be sound in film, the technical difficulties are enormous, but it would be wonderful to hear a beautiful voice.” He noticed the snow-covered statues in the square. “Much as I love California, the sunshine, the warmth, I do get homesick. Nothing ever changes here.”
“Does and doesn’t. On the outside, Runnymede is timeless but in other ways we’re changing. It’s change or die, I think. The war.” She left it at that.
“Yes.” He was solemn,
then changed the subject. “And how is my bride?”
“Showing a little. The dress has artful folds—not that some people don’t know, which is to say by this time everyone.”
“The Runnymede human telegraph.”
“Well, it is a scandal too good to be true. The elegant and ever-so-rich Chalfontes have transgressed in interesting fashion.” She laughed. “Curtis, you gave her what I could not. She’ll be here half the year, with you the other half during winter.”
He held his sister’s hand, drew it from under the blanket, and kissed her hand. “I do so love you, Celeste. I do, and…” His voice trailed off and then he said softly, “It just happened, you know. Neither one of us planned it.”
“I know. She always wanted to be a mother. I do understand—oh, not the being a mother part. I mean, I understand for her and I certainly understand how you could find yourself in the position in which you now find yourself. I was never meant to be a mother. Even if I could have given her a child, I don’t think I would. However, I will be a sensational aunt.”
He kissed her hand again. “That you will.”
“Ramelle told me you will call the baby Spottiswood regardless of being male or female.”
“Yes.” He sighed as they turned onto the Emmitsburg Pike. “I hope in succeeding generations there will always be a Spottiswood.” Then he added, “I hope you won’t be lonely in the winters.”
“Certainly not.” Her eyebrows rose. “I’ve never been lonely in my life and”—she drew this out—“I always have Fannie Jump as an example.”
He laughed uproariously, thinking of Fannie’s many affairs, as the long car pulled into the attached garage, built to match the rest of the house.
As they walked through the connecting arcade, Curtis, with a flash of nervousness, said, “I hear women become peculiar when they’re with child. Tell me what to do.”
“How would I know?” She laughed. “Ask Cora, she’s had two. One of those girls would have been quite enough.”
They opened the side door and slipped in. Ramelle ran toward him from the front hallway. “I thought you’d never get here.”
“He came and his beard came with him,” Celeste remarked.
Cakewalk Page 4
