The Mystery Trip

by Helen Naismith

  “Here, it’s all yours,” she laughed again, handing it to Claire. “It needs refrigeration, but it’ll be alright in the cooler for a while.”

  She then took out her luggage, a medium-size red suitcase and matching overnight case, and followed Claire into the house.

  As they stood in the foyer, Anne looked around admiringly and said, “It’s such a comfortable home. Beautiful, yes, but always warm and inviting.” Turning to Claire, she continued. “I’m happy to be here. It’s been too long. Thanks for having me.”

  Another hug and Claire went to the kitchen to put the trifle in the refrigerator and the cooler in the pantry. She returned to find Anne in the living room.

  “Your room is across from mine at the top of the stairs,” she said, leading Anne across the foyer to the wide staircase leading to the second floor. In the upstairs bedroom, Claire opened the French doors leading onto the terrace where the women stood together viewing the foliage along the Presidential Range.

  “It’s lovely in the mountains this time of year,” sighed Anne, as she drank in the palette of vivid colors before her.

  “Yes,” agreed Claire, “the fall foliage is always beautiful.”

  Anne put her arm around Claire’s waist and said again, “Thanks so much for inviting me. I love the mountains every season of the year, but especially in the fall. We’re so lucky to live in New England; there’s nowhere else in the world I’d rather be.”

  Claire smiled, happy with her decision to have her friends up for the weekend, and this particular weekend Mother Nature was putting on quite a show. The summer rains and warm temperatures gave brilliance to the leaves of shrubs, softwoods and hardwoods, and the fall foliage throughout the entire region was breathtaking.

  As the two women admired nature’s splendor, Claire glanced to her right and in the distance saw Rosemary’s red Camaro turning into the gate. Like the others, she’d been told by Claire during last night’s telephone call that the gate would be closed but not locked. They had all been instructed to open it manually and close it after they entered. Claire would lock it when they went to dinner that evening.

  Anne and Claire visually followed Rosemary’s shiny vehicle as it thread its way through the neat rows of white birch that lined the long gravel driveway. Because of its beauty and usefulness, the white birch, also called the canoe birch and parchment birch for obvious reasons, became New Hampshire’s state tree in 1947. The tribute spoke to the genius of the Endicott family patriarch who appreciated the grace and sturdiness of this hardy specimen long before the Granite State lawmakers decided to honor its unique characteristics.

  When Rosemary pulled up to the portico and parked behind Anne’s Mercury, her friends were there to greet her.

  “Welcome, Rosemary,” beamed Claire again. “I’m so glad you’re here.” After they all exchanged hugs, Claire reached into the back seat and took out an overnight case, placing it on the ground. She then reached for a basket of food. Handing the case to Anne, she picked up the basket and said to Rosemary, “I’ll take you to your room, then while you’re both unpacking, I’ll start lunch and we’ll eat on the sun porch.”

  After Ed left, Claire had set the oval white wicker dining table with bright yellow placemats and settings from her white Mikasa china. She had also made an autumn floral centerpiece of daisies, yarrow and dried wheat from what still bloomed in the flower gardens. Now, as she waited for her guests to join her, she glanced around the room, checking last-minute details and she was pleased with what she saw. Lunch, she had decided, would consist of green salad, tortellini soup, and Anne’s raspberry chocolate trifle. When her guests appeared at the door of the sun porch, she was not disappointed at their reaction. It was a lovely setting for a ladies’ luncheon, as she knew it would be.

  As they lingered over the meal, Claire turned the subject to the purpose of their weekend gathering.

  “We can discuss suggestions and bring Meg up-to-date when she gets here,” she suggested, taking out her pen and notebook.

  “How about an evening out for dinner and the Boston Pops,” suggested Anne, who loved classical music and knew the others did also.

  “I like that,” agreed Claire. “But I think we’d get better attendance if we did a daytime event. Some women don’t like to drive at night, especially in the city.”

  “Also that’s more of a couple thing, I think,” offered Rosemary. “Most women like to attend night-time events with their husbands. I know I did,” she said with a sad smile, no doubt remembering evenings out with Harold.

  Other suggestions included lunch and a tour of the Witch Museum in Salem, a Boston Harbor cruise, and a summer outing on Cape Cod.

  “Yes, these are exactly the things we can and will do together,” said Claire penning them in her notebook.

  “I agree with the night-time issue Rosemary raised,” offered Anne, “but let me tell you about something you might want to do with friends, not just couples, who like to go out in the evening. I heard about a train from Boston to Cape Cod during the summer months that leaves about six o’clock in the evening. It’s made up of three Pullman coaches, which some bright young entrepreneur bought and restored into a fancy excursion train. What’s different is that the interior is designed to look like the porch of an antebellum home, like something out of Gone With the Wind.”

  “Really?” said Claire. “How interesting. Have you been on it?”

  “No, but some of my friends have.”

  Glancing around the sun porch at the wicker furniture with its large floral cushions, Anne continued, “All the furniture is white wicker — sofas, chairs, ottomans, coffee and end tables. It’s like sitting on a porch in the Old South and watching the world go by. You order drinks, which you pay for, but complimentary fresh fruit and snacks are placed on the tables throughout the evening. Dinners are light and eaten right there on the ‘porch.’”

  “How romantic,” laughed Claire, again taking up her pen. “That sounds like something Ed and I would love to do sometime. I’ll certainly check into it.” She then asked, “What are some of the things you’ve done with your chapter, Anne?”

  “There’ve been quite a few, actually. We chartered a bus to Connecticut for lunch and a garden tour of a castle and had a great turn-out. Another time, taking another bus, we lunched at the historic Publick House in Sturbridge.”

  “I’ve been there and it’s well worth the trip,” interrupted Claire. “I have friends, a very loving, elderly couple, who have Thanksgiving dinner there every year and stay for the weekend at the inn. They never had children, and they call it their second honeymoon. They have been having those second honeymoons for more than forty years,” she laughed. “They’re a delightful couple and still obviously very much in love.”

  Rosemary smiled at the thought of the aging lovers, but sat quietly as Anne continued her response to Claire’s question.

  “One year I arranged what I called our chapter’s “Tour of Homes and Gardens.” We agreed that we’d have a potluck luncheon at the homes of four members who were willing to host them. I specifically asked for volunteers whose homes differed in location and style. And we had a wonderful time. One member, an attorney, lived on a 700-acre farm in Ipswich where she and her husband raised alpacas. They were the most beautiful, gentle animals. We all had our pictures taken with them and they seemed to love us as much as we loved them. Another took us to her pretty little summer cottage in Sandwich down on Cape Cod, which had a beautiful spring garden in bloom. The third lived in a Victorian-style home in Newburyport, and yes, she had an English garden in the back. She has since sold the house, which is now a very popular tea room for ladies’ luncheons.”

  Interrupting herself, she said, “We should go there sometime,” to which Claire and Rosemary agreed. Continuing, Anne went on, “The fourth gal took us to her Brownstone just off Newberry Street in Boston. No room for a garden there, but she did have lovely indoor plants – African violets and ferns – and her home was lovely.
We were surprised at how spacious the rooms were.”

  When Anne finished, Rosemary and Claire complimented her creativity and organizational skills.

  “No wonder you’ve kept your chapter together so long,” said Rosemary, whose members weren’t as adventurous as Anne’s and Claire’s.

  “What about you, Rosemary?” Claire asked, “We know you haven’t been active for the past few months, and that’s certainly understandable. Any ideas for a mystery trip?

  “No, not really. I’ll leave it up to the three of you, but I’ll help you organize it.”

  “I know you will, thanks. But you’re an important part of this decision-making, and we want to know your feelings, so chime in anytime,” replied Claire, with a knowing smile.

  Anne had chaired a number of events for the women of her church, as well as her bridge club, and was never at a loss to come up with activities ladies enjoyed.

  “What about a trip to the outlets in Maine to do some Christmas shopping?” she suggested now. “Many have Christmas Previews the first weekend in December. It’d be fun to go by train from Boston, but I don’t think the Amtrak or Boston-Maine trains go to malls in Kittery or Freeport. We’d have to hire a bus, maybe two.”

  “Oh, Anne, that’s a marvelous idea,” agreed Claire enthusiastically. “I remember going up to Kennebunkport one year for their Christmas Preview and had one of those experiences I’ll cherish for a lifetime. There was a beautiful huge Christmas tree on the town square and all the little shops were decorated with colorful lights and playing carols. Everyone was in the Christmas spirit. The merchants served hot spiced cider and hot chocolate with Christmas cookies and candies, one shop even had a beautiful big wassail bowl. It was wonderful.

  “But what made it so memorable for me was about four o’clock just as it started to get dark, it began to snow, big soft snowflakes. The streetlights throughout the village were the old-fashioned colonial-style lamps, not modern streetlights, and with snow falling against a backdrop of those lamps and bright Christmas lights everywhere, it looked like a real live scene from Merry Ole England. I absolutely loved it, and so did everyone else. It was beautiful and exciting, especially for the small children when Santa made his appearance.

  “So yes, by all means, I think it’s a wonderful idea to go to the Maine outlets during their Christmas promotions early in December. But, as Anne suggested, we’d have to hire buses, because the trains don’t go near the outlets.”

  “Kittery is the closest, less than an hour from Boston,” said Rosemary, “but quite frankly, Freeport has more restaurants, which my members would like.”

  “Mine, too,” agreed Anne, taking the conversation in another direction. “Our Red Hat luncheons are very important to my ladies for a variety of reasons, which I take into consideration in selecting restaurants. Some have very limited funds, and the only entertainment they can afford is their Red Hat luncheon each month when their Social Security check comes in. Others are divorced or widowed. Living alone, they look forward to dressing up and being with people at our Red Hat luncheons. And, of course, there are many who are neither lonely nor strapped for money, but just love the fun things we do together, and in my chapter that always includes a real nice restaurant with good food and good service, reasonably priced.”

  Bringing the subject back to the mystery trip, Claire said when she returned home she’d check on prices to rent buses for a trip to both Kittery and Freeport. But first they’d see if Meg had any other suggestions when she arrived.

  Chapter 11

  While waiting for Meg, the women caught up on the latest news concerning all three. Claire was involved in an art show at the fairgrounds in Ipswich coming up in October; she still exercised at the health club, and had just begun delivering meals on wheels once a week to elderly shut-ins.

  “It never ceases to amaze me how interesting these people are,” she said, describing some of her clients. “Some have lived fantastic lives. They’ve had successful careers, traveled a lot, are well-read and keep up with the news on TV. I agree with that reporter who was assigned to a year-long program to feature life in America. Maybe you saw it. Every Friday evening he did a show on someone’s personal life. During the year, he traveled throughout the country interviewing everyday Americans about what life was like for them.

  “He visited places like a veterinarian’s clinic in Georgia, a windmill farm in Massachusetts, a lighthouse off the Outer Banks of North Carolina. As the year drew to an end, he told the viewers that he had left the retirement homes in Florida until the very last, because he really didn’t look forward to spending time with a bunch of old people who lived alone and only talked about their aches and pains. Then he confessed how wrong he was!

  “He said meeting those retirees proved to be the best part of the entire year-long program, because many had fascinating backgrounds and experiences. They talked easily about things they’d done, people they’d known and places they’d been. One had been an aide to General Patton during WWII, another a backup singer at the Grand Ole Opry when it was at the old Ryman Auditorium. He also met a retired English nurse who had dated a guard at Buckingham Palace, and, he said, there were several Holocaust survivors, but they didn’t want to talk about it, only about their life in America.

  “The point being,” stressed Claire as she continued, “just like all of us, these senior citizens have had full lives but, for many, they now live alone with their memories. They can’t get out and do the things they used to do, but they still have very active minds. Other cultures honor their old people, and we should, too. I really enjoy the time I spend with the shut-ins I visit each week.”

  Her remarks again revealed the altruistic nature of Claire Endicott Benson, who at a very tender age had decided philanthropy would be her life’s work. And it was.

  Rosemary, who had been quiet during most of the afternoon’s discussions, was prompted to share part of her own life’s journey which her friends had not heard before.

  “Good health is so important, no matter what age,” she began. Then she went on to tell about her life-threatening illness as a child.

  “I was 15 months old when I was struck by pneumococcal meningitis,” she began. “It was in December of 1944. My dad was a U.S. Navy pilot on the USS Norton Sound in the Pacific during WWII. He had been reported missing in action three days before I became ill. Mother and I lived with my great-grandmother, my grandparents, my teen-aged uncle, two teen-aged aunts, a married aunt whose husband was a Marine, and her three daughters. Talk about a ‘full house,’” she laughed. “Yes, all twelve of us lived together, which was not unusual during wartime. My mother and my married aunt worked for the war effort in the steel mills and my grandmothers took care of us children.

  “One Sunday the entire family planned to spend the afternoon with relatives at a family Christmas party. I was cranky and running a slight fever. My grandmother decided my mother really needed a break since she had been working so hard, and she was so worried about my dad.

  “Grandmother decided my 16-year-old Aunt Whistle (so named because she loved to wear corduroy pants that made a whistling sound) should stay at home with me so Mother could relax for the afternoon. I understand Aunt Whistle (still my favorite to this day) wasn’t too happy. A couple of hours later I woke up from a nap and Whistle realized I was really hot and feverish. When she tried to lift me from the bed, I would scream in pain. She tried to reach the family by telephone, but there was no answer. It was a balmy December day and they were all outside on the farm where the party was being held, and no one heard the phone. Whistle took my temperature, which was 105. She called the family physician and was told to get me to the emergency room at Children’s Hospital immediately. She couldn’t locate a neighbor to take us. By then I was quite lethargic and she was very frightened, so she decided the best thing to do was to take me on the streetcar and leave a note on the kitchen table for the family.

  “When the family returned home, my mother rushed t
o the emergency room. The doctor felt certain I had bacterial meningitis, but he didn’t know which strain. They had actually done a spinal tap before my mother arrived to give her permission. That would never happen today!” she exclaimed.

  “My heart rate was extremely fast and I was comatose before Mother arrived. They were able to bring me to semi-consciousness from time to time, but the pain was so intense they decided it was better to allow me to remain comatose. First my neck became very stiff and then the paralysis spread to my spine and my limbs. By the next morning a blood culture had shown pneumococcal and the diagnosis of pneumococcal meningitis was confirmed.”

  Claire and Anne sat quietly as Rosemary continued. It was a story she had not shared with her friends before, and they hung onto her every word.

  “This was in 1944 when most people who had this strain of meningitis died. Even today twenty percent of people who contract this strain don’t survive, and today fifty percent of those who do have serious long-term complications. My mother was told the only possibility of survival at that time was sulfa drugs, but there was a severe shortage of this medication because of the war. Not only were fewer drugs being produced, the sulfa that was available was almost entirely diverted to military use. Mother was told that if I did live, and if by some miracle they could locate sulfa for me, I had well over a ninety percent chance of severe complications such as deafness, paralysis and/or mental retardation.”

  Rosemary’s listeners were shocked. They had known her for many years and couldn’t imagine her as anything but the vibrant woman who sat before them now. Although she never worked outside her home after her marriage to Harold, she had always been active in both his and the boys’ lives. She knew and socialized with the wives of attorneys, judges and others in the Suffolk County court system and was a member of the PTA when the boys were in school, all the while volunteering her services for local charitable organizations. In fact, she had met Claire while both were volunteering for Brookhaven’s Jimmy Fund.