The River to Glory Land

by Janie DeVos

  Slowly, the rest of us found our voices again after being stunned into complete silence, and we began to talk in hushed tones.

  “What do we do now, Mama?” I asked, unwilling to move away from the shelter of her embrace.

  Firmly, but gently, my mother grasped my upper arms, set me back from her and looked deeply into my eyes—eyes that were exactly like hers. “We help the Hollisters bury their son, and then we go on, and we help them go on, too. That’s all we can do.”

  And that’s what we did, but a wispy sadness stayed with us. Its presence was like an indistinct conversation; where one listens carefully but can’t quite make out where it’s coming from or what is being said. It was there nonetheless, nudging us, reminding us, and not letting us forget for too long. The one in our family who seemed most deeply affected by it was Olivia, who said even less than usual, and spoke even more softly. Though she wouldn’t admit it, and probably never would, Mama and I realized that she’d felt more for Rusty than she’d let any of us know. I also thought that my sister might be suffering from some unfounded, gnawing guilt that my family had a hand in the death of her best friend’s brother. If anyone in our family was going to struggle with guilt, I thought it would be my father, but he did not.

  I talked to him about it after supper one evening about a week after the accident as we sat on the veranda and watched the late afternoon boat traffic moving up and down the Miami River.

  “Lil,” my father began after I’d asked him how he’d been feeling since the accident. Just like my sister, my father kept much to himself and it was often hard to read him. “There are some things we can’t control in this world, and others we can. There are also choices we make when we decide to accept the risks and dangers involved in something because the satisfaction of success, if one is lucky enough to have it, is worth it. If you choose to do that kind of work, then you have to accept the fact that there may be times when you pay a high price. Some people aren’t willing to pay it, but some are, and those are the ones who don’t focus on the failures, but work toward a better way of grabbing that brass ring.”

  “And you’re one of those people.” I smiled.

  “Yeah, I must admit I am,” he answered honestly. “And so was Rusty. He once told me that if he went up in flames on the racecourse, at least he’d die doing something he loved. A little prophetic, wasn’t it?” Daddy glanced over at me with a sad smile.

  Maven and Jim had left for Gastonia two days after the funeral, and they planned to stay there indefinitely. Their decision to do so left Francine in a difficult position. While it seemed as though the Hollisters couldn’t wait to leave Miami and their devastating loss behind, Francine seemed determined to remain in the town that was the only home she’d ever known. She told Olivia that one shock in her life was enough, and that she didn’t want another any time soon. To her that meant staying in the home once filled with love, joy, and optimism. It seemed to me that she’d be lonely rambling around in their two-story home on the bay in Coconut Grove, which was just south of us. Fearful of the same thing, my sensitive and kind young sister spent most nights of the week with her, and since the two girls worked fairly close to each other, and oftentimes had the same hours, the arrangement seemed to be working out nicely. I wondered if staying with Francie helped assuage some of Olivia’s guilt, unfounded or not.

  We didn’t spend Thanksgiving at our usual place; our family’s cottage on the island of Key Biscayne. Rusty’s funeral was just the day before, so we stayed at our home on the river and took platters of food over to the Hollisters, who had turned down our request to join us for dinner. And though I knew it was the right thing to do, I still missed going to our little cottage just six miles off the coast of Miami. With Biscayne Bay on one side of the island, and the Atlantic Ocean on the other, it was a quiet tropical paradise, thick with palm trees and encircled by pristine white-sand beaches. I imagined if one could see it from high above, it would look like an elongated fried egg with a deep green yoke, sitting in the middle of a turquoise plate.

  My father bought the land as a wedding gift to my mother, and over the course of several years, the two of them erected a charming two-bedroom, white A-framed cottage, considering it a labor of love. Over time, they added a second story, which was simply a large loft, complete with dormer windows on both sides. Breezes swept through unrestrained, keeping the whole house pleasantly cool. On chilly winter days, we closed the windows tightly against the damp winds, while a cozy fire in the living room’s coquina fireplace kept us warm. Not only was it our usual practice to spend Thanksgiving there, but my birthday, too. We weren’t able to spend December sixteenth at the cottage either because of an early winter storm that brought heavy squalls and high waves with it.

  Fortunately, the rain stopped by noon on my birthday, but the chilly winds remained and the temperature plummeted. I usually took my birthday off, but since we weren’t going to Key Biscayne, I decided to go in to work. It had been fairly quiet; especially considering that we were in the middle of what would normally be our busy season. That evening, as we sat around the table indulging in slices of my birthday cake (Grandma’s lemon), I mentioned that I had taken a look at the Spinnaker’s reservation log, and was disappointed with the low number of guests coming in for Christmas. I wondered if the recent racing accident presaged a dismal winter season for our hotel, and for Daddy’s business, too. The building of new boats as high-priced Christmas gifts for the rich and famous had certainly dwindled from the highs of years before.

  Granddaddy nodded his thanks to Grandma as she placed a snifter of cognac in front of him; then he responded to what I had said about our lack of reservations. “There’s no question about it, our numbers are down this season. So”, he looked around at all of us,“Eve and I have been talking, and we both agree that if we were to get a fairly decent offer for the hotel, we’d seriously consider taking the money and moving on.”

  I looked up at Grandma, but she had her back to us as she tended to the coffee pot by the stove, making it impossible to read her expression. “But Granddaddy,” I said softly, shifting my attention back over to him. “Y’all have owned that hotel for close to twenty years.” Though their announcement startled me, I couldn’t say that the thought hadn’t crossed my mind.

  “I’m not surprised y’all feel that way.” Mama smiled wistfully. “I don’t like it, but I don’t blame y’all. Striker and I have talked about our business a lot lately, too, and we’re prayin’ things’ll get better. We actually had a very interesting phone call this morning from Cyrus Curtis, you know, the publisher of The Ladies Home Journal. He was down here for the last race and he wants Striker to build a motor yacht for him,” she said, proudly glancing over at Daddy.

  “Is that so, Striker?” Granddaddy looked both delighted and impressed.

  “Well, it looks that way,” Daddy humbly replied, never one to enjoy a fuss made over him. “We agreed I’ll send him some design options over the next few days. Cyrus likes fast engines and sleek lines, so that’s the criteria we will build the yacht around. We’ll see what happens. Even if that does pan out, though, Eliza and I need to think about long-range plans for the company. So, we’ve decided to submit a proposal for a government contract to build watercraft for the navy and coastguard.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea!” Grandma said, stopping right in the middle of refilling Mama’s coffee cup to look over at Daddy.

  “Yeah,” Daddy agreed, “but even if the government was to offer us a contract, they’d have to give us a substantial amount of money up front just so we could purchase the materials, not to mention hire enough men to build the boats. As a rule, their contracts don’t call for just one or two crafts of the size we build. I’d need to be ready to begin building immediately, and that takes money and manpower. The government might be hesitant to offer a contract to a company our size.”

  My grandmother returned to her seat next to
my grandfather. “Well, at least you’re thinking ahead. We all have to do something different. The fact of the matter is we’ll lose what we have if we don’t change along with the times. Y’all have options in the marine industry, and that’s good. However, Max and I can’t afford to fool ourselves for much longer thinkin’ things at the hotel are gonna get a lot better. I know that on a good week, we’re barely breaking even. And there have been too many weeks in the last couple of years when we lost money.”

  “However,” Granddaddy quickly added, “we’re not throwing in the towel just yet. Just like Striker, I’m also looking into a couple of new things and—”

  A knock at the door interrupted him. Two friends I’d known since we were little girls were taking me out for my birthday.

  “I’ll get it,” I said, rising from my seat. As I walked from the kitchen to the front door, my head was still reeling from the news that my grandparents were seriously considering putting the Spinnaker up for sale. The thought had shaken me, but I tried to push it aside as I opened the door to Ann Marie Hurley and Kitty Mumfree.

  “Happy birthday, ol’ woman,” Ann Marie announced as she thrust a walking cane at me. Both girls were actually several months older than I, having turned nineteen in the spring.

  “How kind of you to let me borrow yours,” I quipped, holding the door wide for them.

  “Somethin’ smells good,” Kitty said, sniffing the air. “You didn’t eat yet, did you? You know we’re having supper out, don’t you?”

  “I know, I know,” I quickly assured her. “I didn’t eat, as per Ann Marie’s orders. And I’ll have you know, I gave up Mama’s crab Newburg. But, so as not to hurt Grandma’s feelings, I had a teensy slice of the birthday cake she made for me. Go on into the kitchen and get some. The family’s back there. I’m gonna run upstairs and freshen up, but I’ll be ready in a jiffy. Where’re we goin’, by the way?”

  “Never you mind,” Ann Marie replied, walking past me as she made a beeline for the kitchen with her dark brown curls bouncing merrily beneath her navy and white cloche hat. If there was one constant in this world, it was that she never passed up the chance of having dessert, though her figure would make one think otherwise. She was as thin as a rail, and shaped like one, too. The girl was also flat as a board, making it unnecessary to bind her bosom. She wore her clothes well and often modeled for some of the retailers in the area.

  Kitty, on the other hand, was the exact opposite of Ann Marie. Blonde, short and plump, she looked more like a cherub than a flapper, much to her dismay, though the first graders she taught loved her soft, angelic looks. Though she often talked about going on a diet, I’d yet to see her do it, and I wondered if she’d really be any happier if she did. If there was one thing that was a constant with Kitty, it was her sweet disposition. She found the greatest joys in things most other people would overlook. Where one person saw a rainy day, Kitty saw an opportunity to jump in a puddle.

  I sat down at my vanity to touch up my smoky eye shadow and blood-red lipstick. As I did, I smiled, listening to the banter going on below me. Picking up my rhinestone-covered ribbon, I fastened it around my head. The band would keep my bob neatly in place.

  Standing up, I took one final overall assessment of myself. The deep green velvet dress that my parents had given me for a birthday present fit me beautifully. The spaghetti straps covered in rhinestones perfectly matched my headband. Scrollwork of hundreds of silver beads worked their way around the entire scooped neckline. From there, small clusters of beads were scattered in scrollwork patterns across the entire dress, all the way down to the fringed bottom that landed just below my knees, allowing them to poke out teasingly. My legs, however, were fully exposed. Some of my friends’ mothers would never have considered purchasing such a daring dress for their daughters, but my mother wasn’t like most others. Mine was delighted with the new fashion trends, and oftentimes dressed in the same sleeveless, low-waistline shifts as those who were a decade or two younger than she. My mother wore the styles well, being naturally tan, tall and slender. She, too, did some modeling in her youth, just as Ann Marie did now.

  Finally, I turned around to check the seams of my dark nude stockings, and seeing that they were running perfectly straight up the backs of my calves, I grabbed my mother’s white rabbit stole off my bed and hurried down the stairs, calling out to the girls as I descended that I was ready to go. Almost immediately, they came through the kitchen door, with Ann Marie still wiping away the last crumbs of her cake.

  “As usual, that was divine,” she stated dramatically, turning to my mother to hand her the soiled napkin.

  “Much obliged.” My mother laughingly grimaced as she took it from her. Then she turned to me. “You have enough money with you?”

  “Yes, Mama,” I laughed. I’d been making my own money for quite some time, so she no longer had to make sure I had cash on me. Once a mother, always a mother, I supposed. “Don’t wait up for me.” I leaned in to kiss her cheek goodnight. “Grandma gave me the day off tomorrow, so I plan on paintin’ the town red tonight.” I looked over at my grandmother, who had come through the kitchen door and was wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. She gave me a conspiratorial wink, and, as I blew a kiss at her, I once again thanked God I had been born into a family of such amazing women. Bidding everyone goodnight, we walked out the front door and down the porch steps to Ann Marie’s 1921 Davis Touring car.

  Similar in size and shape to Ford’s Model T, Ann Marie’s car was boxy and black, and not especially attractive, but it did have one good thing going for it; an interior backseat. This evening, the temperature was in the low fifties, and would likely drop into the forties before we got home, so I was glad to have Mama’s stole and Ann Marie’s car for the night.

  “So, I’m just makin’ sure,” Ann Marie said as she settled herself behind the wheel. “We’re not pickin’ Olivia and Francine up, correct?”

  “Correct,” I confirmed. “They both had to work late tonight. If they’re done early enough, they’ll drive on over to wherever you told them we’re going. Which is where, by the way?”

  “None other than the Biltmore Hotel!” Kitty shouted from the backseat and clapped her hands in excitement, as Ann Marie turned left onto South Miami Avenue.

  The Biltmore Hotel was the crowning glory of the new suburb, Coral Gables, which lay southwest of downtown Miami. Developed by George Merrick, the sparkling new town was living up to its name, “The City Beautiful.” Canals were carved into the rapidly rising neighborhoods so that gondolas could take would-be buyers down the curving waterways to admire the beautiful Spanish and Mediterranean-style homes under construction. Artistically landscaped lawns, gardens and greenways added to the town’s charm, as did the coral arched entryways and fountains, welcoming all who stepped into Merrick’s dreamscape. I’d driven through the beautiful new town, and by the Biltmore, but I hadn’t gone in. Rising to more than three hundred feet and topped off with a copper-capped tower, the hotel was indeed glorious, and I was anxious to go in and look around.

  “I’m starving,” I said. “So, which restaurant are we eating in? I hear they have several.”

  “In their ballroom!” Ann Marie said excitedly. “And we’re not just there to eat supper. There’s something special going on tonight, and we’re gonna be a part of it!”

  “Oh, Lord.” I looked heavenward. “I hesitate to ask, but what exactly is that?”

  “A Charleston contest!” Kitty excitedly replied.

  I threw my head back and laughed as we turned south onto Dixie Highway. “Well, Ann Marie, I shall be cheering loudly for you and Kitty from my seat. I’m not gettin’ involved with that.”

  “Oh, hooey!” Kitty exclaimed. “You’re the best hoofer we know. And you’ll win that hundred-dollar prize and we’ll live high on the hog tonight – caviar, lobster, champagne,” she sighed longingly.

  “I dislike caviar,” I la
ughed. “But, I do thank you for saying I’m the best dancer you know. However—” Ann Marie started to interrupt me, but I held up my left index finger to stop her and continued. “However, I dance much of the day, most every day, and I’m not gonna dance tonight. So, if you want that caviar and champagne, you’ll be forkin’ over the money for that tab yourselves. Either that or we can turn around and go back to the Spinnaker and get it for free.”

  “Oh, fiddle-dee-dee,” Ann spat. “Some flapper you are, Miss Lily Strickland.”

  “I gave three dance lessons this afternoon and I’m all flapped out!” I laughingly declared.

  “Well, we’ll see if a couple of good stiff Highballs won’t put a little flounce back into your flap.” Ann pointed under the seat. I bent over and spotted an unlabeled bottle of what appeared to be some sort of whiskey.

  “Ann Marie! Where’d you get that?” I wasn’t all that surprised. It wasn’t the first time one of us had gotten hold of a bottle for a celebration.”

  “Hey, not to change the subject,” Kitty said, moving up to the edge of her seat and resting her arm on the back of my chair.