“Is everybody good and mad?” asked Ermel.
“Yes.”
“Mad enough to quit the whole thing?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now go back and keep your mouth shut.”
When Jeb returned empty handed, the notary packed his bag and announced his departure, future business or no future business. That’s when Ermel entered the room, looking innocent and refreshed. And what did they say? Nothing. She’d been in the powder room, and they were men who knew better than to talk about such things. So they picked up where they left off, this time without the smiles. The notary clicked his teeth faster than ever, slapped each page down with barely a glance, and in five minutes had the job done.
Now the time had come to arrange handing over the babies, a topic Ermel had been cleverly avoiding. Jeb knew she didn’t mind giving up a few signatures, but she’d never give up anything that mattered until she got something in return, something more than fancy words and an old invitation to a tea party. What she didn’t understand, though, was that the duchess had already been to court, and the adoption had been set. All that remained was what Pugh called, “a properly executed Consent to Adopt,” the same Consent to Adopt that Ermel had just signed. She didn’t have a bargaining chip. She had someone else’s property and it couldn’t be bargained with at all. She’d signed over the babies and nothing but a knock on the door kept her from knowing it.
Of course Mortimer Pugh had a dozen different ways to take the babies from Ermel. A phone call to the sheriff, a mention of his client’s name, and he could have the babies tucked away at Toomington Hall by that very afternoon. But since Pugh didn’t want to make a nasty scene at Yucky D that might cost him business on the hill, he insisted on playing Ermel for one more round.
After the notary left, the lawyer made his horseshoe frown look something like a smile and said, “Now let’s turn to more pleasant matters. The duchess is hoping that you’ll deliver the babies yourself, Mrs. Railer, that way she can personally deliver your invitation to the tea party—a tea party, I might add, which is being given in your honor, and will be attended by only the best people from the hill. You are very fortunate, I must say, to have made such a friend as the duchess. Shall we say day after tomorrow then? Of course she’ll send her motorcar for you. Is that agreeable?”
~~~
Ermel had less than two days to get ready for the biggest day of her life. She spent a good part of that time telling her story up and down Pine Street. She didn’t doubt that some of the neighbors might turn out to see her off, maybe even wave their hankies as she drove by. She also tried putting a shine on Jeb’s social graces but eventually realized two days wasn’t long enough—or two years—so she made him promise not to pick his teeth with a pocketknife or say the word “reckon.” She also did some shopping for a particular item.
On the appointed day, at the appointed hour in the afternoon, Ermel watched out the window as the gleaming Rolls Royce pulled up to Yucky D, not just to the street in front, but into the actual courtyard, next to the outhouses. It’s safe to say this had never happened before. The Chauffer, just as starched as before, knocked on the door, announced his presence, and offered to be of service. Ermel put him to work loading bags and travel bassinets into the motorcar. After this he held open the motorcar door as Jeb approached wearing a top hat and tails and britches that needed lengthening. Not used to the duds or the motorcar, it took some doing getting him loaded into the back seat.
And now the moment had arrived. Ermel emerged. Actually the bow of her giant hat appeared first, jutting through the doorway like an ocean liner cresting a wave. But sure enough, there was Ermel too, underneath the ocean liner. She struck a pose of dignity and substance and strolled solemnly toward the Rolls Royce. A cry of “yoo-hoo, yoo-hoo” interrupted the silent procession. The Polack ladies, locked arm in arm on a nearby porch, called and waved to her. Ermel stopped, looked at them as if she’d never made their acquaintance, and nodded her head oh so slightly. Then, in case they’d missed it, she stroked the white ermine stole that draped her shoulders, the special item she’d bought for herself. It had taken a fifty dollar down payment and a six month payment plan, but she had to have it because in her new world a lady needed more than fancy hats and high button boots. She looked across the courtyard at Vera Snyder’s house and saw the curtain move. Across the street she didn’t see any well-wishers but saw plenty of eyes glued to windows. With a quick look back at Vera Snyder’s, she caught her staring like all the rest. Poor, unfortunate little people, too jealous to come out and send her off properly. With a hand extended to the chauffer, she slid into her seat with impeccable grace.
At Ermel’s command, the Rolls took a lengthy, circuitous route to the base of the hill, giving her many pleasant opportunities to get stared at by people on the street. It would have been more pleasant had she been able to watch them stare, but that didn’t seem right, so she captured as much of their envy as possible by looking out the sides of her eyes and stealing occasional glances.
And then the motorcar turned left on Center Street and started climbing the hill.
Ermel watched manicured hedges and expansive lawns sail past her window, and the higher the motorcar climbed, the more manicured and expansive they became. She saw long driveways at the base of the hill give way to long, meandering driveways, which gave way to driveways that meandered farther than the eye could see. She counted chimneys. Three chimneys, three chimneys, three chimneys, four, five chimneys, five chimneys, five chimneys, more. Her eyes rolled from rooftop to rooftop, hopscotching across the tops of the modest mansions, frolicking at length across the tops of the fairyland estates. And then the motorcar stopped in front of a giant wrought iron gate. They had arrived at Toomington Hall. The top of the hill. Almost the very top.
Next to Sunny Slope Manor, Toomington Hall was the most famous mansion on the hill. Only those two sat on the north side of Sunrise Way, with Sunny Slope crowning the top, and Toomington off to the side. Every other house in town sat below, like servants. Toomington also shared a Queen Anne architectural style with its fancy neighbor, a fact which the Chamber of Commerce trumpeted in their brochure: “When gazing to the top of our fair town, you will be inspired not by flat-roofed moderns that mingle politely with the mountainside, but by two majestic Victorians towering audaciously and piercing the blue sky with their razor sharp peaks.”
An old man in a blue uniform came out of the gate house, nodded to the chauffer, and pulled on a metal bar sticking out of the ground. From inside the gatehouse came a loud clank and a buzzing, whirring sound. The giant gate started opening. In the middle it had a fancy brass plaque with the letter “T” on it. Ermel’s eyes followed the brass plaque as it moved from right to left. Then the engine revved and the motorcar began the final climb to the top.
Jeb stared out the window with an open mouth. Ermel jabbed him with an elbow and then took inventory of herself. Holding a pocket mirror to her face, she turned to the left, almost hitting Jeb with the ocean liner, turned to the right, smiled, squinted, and rubbed a blotch of lipstick off her tooth. She tucked the mirror back into her black handbag and turned her attention to the ermine stole, gently, evenly running her hands over the top until all the hairs pointed obediently in the right direction. She looked at her gown, at her boots, at the babies. She told Jeb to wipe their faces with his hanky. She was ready.
The multiple peaks of Toomington Hall’s roof rose and fell above the trees that lined the driveway. Every few seconds, when the landscaping allowed, bigger sections of the mansion broke into view. Fleeting glimpses of a sunburst carved into a gable, of fancy wood siding shaped like fish scales, of a porch big enough to get lost in, brought Ermel to the edge of her seat. She cleared her throat and took a deep breath. Then the motorcar entered a clearing, and she realized she hadn’t been admiring Toomington Hall at all. Those grand peaks had belonged to Sunny Slope Manor, which now towered before her very eyes. She lowered her gaze—and her
expectations—and found Toomington Hall in the shadow of its neighbor. Funny how a twenty room mansion could look so small. No matter. She didn’t come to worship Sunny Slope. Everyone did that. She’d come as the specially invited guest of a duchess. Besides, if everything went well, the Newfields might just invite her to Sunny Slope as well.
She grabbed Jeb’s arm and looked into his eyes for reassurance. He looked out the window. She looked out the window too and saw two motorcars parked up by the house, a big one and a small one, both plain and humble, not the motorcars of a duchess. A group of men stood around the motorcars. Ermel stared intently and got a good look at everything when the Rolls turned into the circular drive in front of the house. The big motorcar especially caught her attention. Topless, it had long bench seats facing each other in the back and the words “Police Squad” painted on the side rail that enclosed the seats. All but one of the men, of which there were six or eight, wore police uniforms and shiny badges. When they came to a stop, the policemen spread out and surrounded the Rolls. Ermel looked at Jeb and said, “You dirty dog.”
“Ermel, it ain’t like that. I can explain.”
“Shut up.”
They’d arrived but nobody moved. The chauffeur sat like a stone in the front seat, and the policemen outside stood motionless, alternating their stares between Ermel’s face and their shoes. Some commotion up on the front porch caught everyone’s attention. Mortimer Pugh and three women had just come out of the house and were now scrambling down the steps. Ermel looked at Pugh’s disagreeable face. He didn’t bother trying to crank that big frown of his into something more pleasant. No need. He had her right where he wanted.
He flung open Ermel’s door and said, “This is Mrs. Vigfusson, the nanny, and her assistants. They will be taking the babies now.”
Ermel looked away from Pugh, held her head high, and said, “I think not Mr. Pugh. That ain’t what we agreed to.”
“And what agreement is that Mrs. Railer? Is it in writing? Can you show it to me?”
She didn’t answer.
“This is Sheriff Fowler, Mrs. Railer,” said Pugh, pointing to the man without the uniform. “If you don’t honor our agreement, the sheriff and his deputies will make you honor it. And then I’ll sue you for breach of contract. You’ll lose the re-imbursement money, and, though your husband’s new job is in no way related to the adoption agreement, I wouldn’t be surprised if that disappeared too. You have a lot to gain Mrs. Railer…if you cooperate.”
“Ermel, please. These people ain’t for us anyway,” said Jeb.
“Shut up Jeb! You’re a liar! And so are you Mr. Pugh. And not no accidental one neither, but a rotten one that lies on purpose.” She turned away and stuck her nose back into the air.
“Obstinate little tramp!” huffed Mrs. Vigfusson, who then marched around the motor car and opened Jeb’s door.
“No! No!” said Ermel. “I’ll give them to you! Just give me a minute.” She looked at the three bassinets by her feet. “Hand me that one, Jeb,” she said, pointing to the one farthest away. Jeb picked up the bassinet and started to give it to Mrs. Vigfusson.
“Not to her you idiot!” said Ermel.
Jeb passed it to Ermel, who passed it to Pugh, who passed it to one of the assistants, who walked briskly away and into the house.
“That’s a good girl, Mrs. Railer, a very wise decision,” said Pugh.
“That one next,” said Ermel quietly, pointing to a bassinet.
“Very good Mrs. Railer, very good,” said Pugh, as he handed the bassinet to the other assistant. He then turned and held out his hands for the last baby.
“That’s all Mr. Pugh. That’s all the duchess is getting.”
“Come Mrs. Railer. You know that isn’t our agreement.”
“And what agreement is that, Mr. Pugh? Is it in writing? Can you show it to me?”
Pugh dropped his head and sighed. “Do you know what irrevocable relinquishment means Mrs. Railer? It means that once you say ‘yes,’ and sign the papers, you can’t change your mind and say ‘no.’”
“That’s fine Mr. Pugh, just so long as you can show me in writin’ where I said ‘yes’ in the first place.”
“Sheriff Fowler, I’m afraid your assistance is needed over here,” said Pugh.
The sheriff, an older man with a sagging stomach and two chins, stepped up to the car door. He looked down at Ermel, and she looked up at him. He cleared his throat a few times and said, “Mrs. Railer, you don’t want to go and make a scene. Just think about it for a second. If you make a scene, and there’s a scuffle, the baby might get hurt. You don’t want that now do you?”
“No sheriff, I don’t, and I’m ready to give over the baby just as soon as Mr. Pugh proves that I agreed to it. That ain’t so difficult. It’s all put down on paper, ain’t it?”
“Yes it is, and I’ve seen the papers. Everything is in order.”
“I want to see them too.”
“Mrs. Railer, I’m only going to warn you—”
“No, no, sheriff. If she wants to see it, I’ll show it to her. It will only take a moment.”
Pugh walked briskly back toward the house, leaving behind the fading sound of gravel crunching beneath his feet. The sheriff backed a step away from the motorcar and looked around at nothing. The policemen went back to shoe watching. After a minute, the crunching gravel returned and Pugh stood with a document in his outstretched hand. Ermel took it from him and flipped through the pages.
“Sheriff Fowler, can you help me please?” said Ermel. “What did I write at the bottom of this page?”
“Your name, just like Mr. Pugh said.”
“That’s right. I put my name, and I give my signature, quite a few times if you care to look. That’s for baby Judith. Now look here. What’s that say?”
“‘Ermel Sue Railer.’”
“That’s right. I give my signature all over the place for baby Abigail. Ain’t that so?”
“Yes, Mrs. Railer.”
“Now tell me sheriff, what’s it say right there?”
The sheriff glanced at the document, started to say something, then bent forward and looked again. He stood up straight and looked at Mr. Pugh.
“I know you can read it sheriff ‘cause I wrote as clear as can be. What’s it say?”
The sheriff didn’t say a word.
“‘I say no.’ That’s what it says,” said Ermel. “And here, where it says to give my signature, I said ‘no’ again. If you count ‘em all up I said ‘no’ six times and never once said ‘yes.’”
Jeb groaned. The young cops standing around the motorcar looked at each other. Mrs. Vigfusson hissed something under her breath and ran into the house.
“Give me that,” said Pugh, as he leaned in and grabbed the document from Ermel. “I saw you sign it with my own eyes.” He flipped quickly from page to page.
“No, Mr. Pugh. You saw me sign the other ones, but when I come back from the powder room, you and that tight-ass clerk stopped payin’ attention. I coulda done a finger painting if I’d had the hankerin’.”
“This is deceit! We had a verbal agreement, and that proves your deceit! Your own husband is a witness to that agreement. Jeb, are you just going to sit there and lose everything you worked for. Stand up and take charge! Get control of your wife before it’s too late!”
“Him?” said Ermel with a laugh. “It was too late the day he was born. Now you run along and tell the duchess she ain’t gettin’ Dorthea, the one with the pale blue eyes. She’ll especially want to know that.”
From inside the house came the unmistakable sounds of distress. Mr. Pugh’s head jerked up as he tried to make out the words. After some garbled emotional whispering and hissing, everyone heard, “…didn’t sign the papers? How can that even be possible? That’s his job. You go and tell him to get me that baby, like he promised. And tell the sheriff to do his job!” A few moments later, Mrs. Vigfusson came scampering down the porch steps.
Pugh turned back to Erme
l and said, “Let’s just stop for a moment. We can work this out. I just know we can. We’ve come so far, there was bound to be a little hitch along the way. Isn’t that so?” He laughed nervously. “Let me have a word with the duchess. She really is quite fond of you, and I know she’ll want to make you happy. Can we do that? Can we just take a breath for moment? Sure we can. Of course we can. I’ll be right back.” He turned and dashed into the house.
“Sheriff,” said Mrs. Vigfusson, “Her Grace wants you—”
“I heard.”
The sheriff leaned over and poked his head into the motorcar. He cleared his throat a few times before saying, “I hope you know what you’re doin’ girl, cause it ain’t real smart messin’ with these people. They get their way. That’s the way it works. They get their way.”
“But they can’t take her from me if I said no. Can they?”
The sheriff looked up at the stern-faced nanny, back down at Ermel, cleared his throat repeatedly, and said, “No, not today anyway, but like I said, I sure hope you know what you’re doin’.”
Tea Cups & Tiger Claws Page 3
