Confessions to Mr. Roosevelt Page 11

  When the housekeeper was satisfied Nettie was settled, she walked back to Ellen. “I hope you won’t write about Miss Vine’s little upset today. Or her behavior the other day. I’ve been with her for almost fifteen years, since my husband died, and in all that time, she’s hardly ever slipped away or wanted to go to the depot.”

  “Mrs. Castle,” Ellen reassured her, “there’s no need to worry. I didn’t put anything in the interview about her ‘upset,’ as you call it.”

  The woman continued as if she hadn’t heard. “Since the day Iris Hewitt came and talked to Miss Vine about being interviewed, she’s been edgy. It’s remembering the old days that’s got her worked up. Sometimes, she gets confused and thinks she’s back there.”

  Ellen repeated that the woman wasn’t to give it another thought.

  “Well, good. Thank you.” Mrs. Castle stepped back. “The minister and his wife are coming to the house for lunch with Miss Vine. We’d best be on our way.”

  CHAPTER 13

  AGATHA

  On her way back to the boardinghouse, Ellen’s thoughts seesawed between the article for Mr. Calley and Nettie Vine’s sudden appearance. The train incident and then today’s confrontation nagged at Ellen. There was nothing to do about it, she decided, but to talk to Ivy or Agatha. Maybe she was being a snoop, sticking her nose where it didn’t belong, but she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on the newspaper article until she could put Nettie Vine out of her mind.

  At Miss Jewell’s, she found Audrey already beginning her lunch, chattering with the landlady about going to the Beauty Hut. Inwardly, Ellen groaned. She’d forgotten about their appointments with the mother-and-daughter hairdressing team that promised to work them in on their busiest day.

  “I was afraid you’d be late,” Audrey said when Ellen walked into the dining room.

  “Of course not. I just got waylaid.” Ellen took the plate Miss Jewell offered and sat across from Audrey. As they munched on cold fried chicken and hot potato pancakes, Ellen reported her conversation with Mr. Calley. Her excitement returned with the telling.

  “We’ll head to the Beauty Hut just as soon as I make a phone call,” she told Audrey.

  She peeked around the kitchen door and asked Miss Jewell for permission to use the phone, handing the woman a nickel for its use. The landlady installed the pay rule years before, believing it made her boarders think twice before they tied up the phone.

  With her contact list in one hand, Ellen picked up the hall phone and dialed Ivy’s number. When there was no answer, she pulled out another coin for Miss Jewell and rang Agatha.

  Through Martha, who answered the phone, Ellen arranged to see Agatha after three that afternoon. She realized she would rather talk to Ivy about Nettie Vine; Agatha seemed more agitated by the woman’s very name. Still, Ellen decided to plow ahead.

  Martha met Ellen at the door, directing her into the same pink and green room where Ellen first met Miss Agatha. The woman, dressed today in a turquoise dress with a white bow tied at the collar, put aside a pair of reading glasses and a worn, leather-bound book when Ellen entered the room.

  “I’m so pleased you wanted to visit. Can Martha fetch you something cold to drink?”

  Ellen declined, as Agatha waved Ellen to a chair. “After our talk the other day, I began thinking about how much I loved Dickens. Haven’t read him in years, but Martha helped me find this in Thomas’s library.” She tapped the book on the side table. The Old Curiosity Shop. You know, they say when the ship arrived in New York with the story’s next installment, people thronged the dock shouting ‘Is Little Nell Dead?’ ”

  Watching Agatha’s face light up as she talked about the book’s characters, Ellen lost her nerve. In this sunny room, with Agatha chattering away, Ellen couldn’t bring herself to broach the subject of Nettie Vine.

  “Now,” said Agatha, ending her analysis of Nell’s fate, “tell me about your week.”

  Ellen skirted around her real reason for the visit, telling the woman instead about Mr. Calley’s offer.

  “Well, he must think something of you. I’ve known him all his life, and he doesn’t go out of his way for just anybody.”

  Agatha sat back, considering Ellen with a knowing look. “Now that you’ve told me the good news, tell me what’s bothering you. I’m a good people watcher, and I can see you’re troubled by something.”

  Ellen nodded glumly. “I like your company, Miss Agatha, really, I do. But I came to talk to you about something you might find unpleasant.”

  “Maybe it’s unpleasant. Maybe not. We won’t know until you tell me.” She gave Ellen a small smile.

  Ellen took a deep breath and launched into the story of following Nettie to the train. “I’m ashamed I spied on them. I almost expected Miss Vine to wave to the passengers. Then, she stopped me on the street this morning. Her housekeeper showed up and took her home, but not before making sure I hadn’t included any of what she called Miss Vine’s ‘upset’ in the interview. She said Miss Vine hasn’t done that sort of thing for a long time.”

  “As far as I know she hasn’t, although years ago she was down there most every week. People around here are used to such goings-on, but I can understand how it might startle you.” Ellen caught an undercurrent of strain in Agatha’s voice.

  “There’s more.” Ellen decided if she didn’t tell it now, she never would. “I went to the newspaper office this morning to read some of the early papers. That’s how I happened to meet Mr. Calley. Anyway, after I read the wonderful write-up about the reception for you and your husband—it must have been just elegant—I noticed a little blurb about Mrs. Vine and her daughter going back East.”

  Ellen usually came right out with her questions when putting together a newspaper article, but she felt tongue-tied facing Agatha.

  “It just seemed odd, their leaving when one of the social highlights of the year was about to take place. And then, this morning, Miss Vine said she should have married Thomas Bright.”

  Ellen stopped. It had been a mistake to call on Agatha. This was none of her business. Her curiosity had simply gotten the better of her. “Mrs. Bright, I apologize. This is absolutely none of my business. I got carried away.” She started to rise, but Agatha waved her down. The room was so quiet that the buzz of insects could be heard outside.

  Finally, Agatha broke the silence. “Poor Nettie. I didn’t think it would come to this. Perhaps I should have told you when we talked before, but dragging up old hurts and worries is never easy.”

  Ellen leaned forward.

  “The other day, I mentioned there was someone who might say some ugly things about me. As you might have guessed, it’s Nettie Vine. I didn’t know it at the time I married Thomas, but she planned to have him for herself. Her mother fed the idea. So, when he brought me to Opal’s Grove as his bride, she was incensed.” Agatha stopped. “No, that’s too mild a word. To put it bluntly, she was hell-bent on ruining my name. With the help of a girl named Delia Sanders—who followed Nettie around like a puppy—she put it about that my father wasn’t a respectable businessman. He was a drunk who ran a disreputable saloon for miners, with me working behind the bar. And, maybe I was doing something more upstairs. The rumor also suggested I had somehow spotted Thomas on the street, lured him into the bar, gotten him drunk, and then married him before he knew what was happening.”

  “That sounds so ridiculous it would be funny if it hadn’t been so hurtful to you.” Ellen knew it was a small thing, but she was glad to have kept the two women’s interviews from appearing side by side in the upcoming edition of the newspaper.

  “My mother-in-law heard the whispers and knew exactly the source of the rumors. She and Thomas’s sister were well aware of Nettie’s many attempts to attract Thomas before we married. Julia told me later they had been amused when Nettie made a show of sitting in the front row when Thomas took part in literary society debates, and when she suddenly pretended an interest in Julia. My sister-in-law did not care for Nettie. She
told me she went along just for the pleasure of watching Nettie’s eyes glaze over as Julia talked about Plato’s Republic or the symbolism in Pilgrim’s Progress.

  “Both Julia and my mother-in-law knew Nettie had a spiteful side to her. They never doubted Nettie was behind the rumors. Thomas was livid, and intended to march into the Vine house and have it out with the whole family. But my mother-in-law prevailed. She went to her husband, who was quite upset but managed to direct his anger into a methodical plan. He first visited the Sanders home, where Delia, stared down by both her father and Mr. Bright, confessed her part. With this information in hand, my father-in-law then paid a call on Sylvester Vine. We were never told what was said, but very soon after, Mr. Vine whisked his wife and Nettie out of town.”

  Agatha gazed out the window for a moment. “I was terribly hurt. Remember, I had been in town only about a week. The Brights were preparing the big reception for us newlyweds. The kitchen was bustling with deliveries of food and drink; extra china and glasses were borrowed from three of Mrs. Bright’s closest friends; extra help had been hired. And ruining our happy anticipation of the evening was this ugly thing Nettie started.

  “The party went on as planned. I told you earlier that Ivy and I became friends because of that dress, but there was more to it. The evening of the reception, she arrived early. Her excuse was the off chance the dress might need last-minute alterations, but her real purpose was to see me alone. She gave me a real talking to. Told me not to worry about what people might have heard. She refused to leave my dressing room until she was sure I was ready to hold my head high. And that’s what I did. At the end of the evening, after all the guests were gone, Thomas said how proud he was for the whole town to see I was a charming, refined young lady.” Agatha chuckled.

  “But, you were a refined young lady,” Ellen protested.

  “Yes, I was.” Agatha lifted her head a shade higher. “During the time Nettie and her mother were away, I realized I had gained esteem in the eyes of the town, while Nettie lost a good bit. I did not forgive her for what she tried to do, but, when they returned, I made a point of inviting Nettie to my home when I hosted ladies for an afternoon of visiting. I always acknowledged her when we met in public.”

  “You took the high road.”

  “Not necessarily.” Agatha chuckled again softly. “My revenge on Marie Antoinette Vine was to treat her with kindness. I took satisfaction in knowing it irritated her to no end. She once tried to get the best of me by using her schoolgirl French. You should have seen her face when I answered in kind.”

  Ellen couldn’t stop herself from smiling. Agatha didn’t follow the route many others would have taken, snubbing her antagonist at every opportunity. Ellen was about to say this when she realized Agatha had more to add. “Over the years, things went on much as they had before. My father-in-law had business dealings with Sylvester Vine. My mother-in-law mixed in the same social group as Mrs. Vine. But, more than once, I caught Nettie watching me with outright malice in her eyes.

  “When these interviews began, I wondered if her animosity would rear its ugly head. I don’t think she’s ever forgiven me for taking away Thomas, although he was never hers to begin with. Of that, I have always been sure.”

  “People would no more believe her now than they did then,” Ellen said.

  “I suppose that’s true, but sometimes old feelings die hard. You’ve seen how she can be.” Agatha reached for the bell to ring Martha. “Stay and have some lemonade. You can explain to me what a newspaper stringer does.”

  Ellen clearly understood the message. The subject of Nettie Vine was closed.

  CHAPTER 14

  IVY

  Ivy Hamilton sat in the passenger seat, looking like an excited girl. Ellen worried she had done too much. Before having lunch at the woman’s house, the morning was spent in the church basement, handing out clothes. Audrey had her dress, beige cotton with a simple white collar, and Ellen, pressed by Ivy to take a navy print recently donated by Agatha’s daughter in Topeka, found herself with an almost-new dress.

  Ellen met the other women working at the clothing bank. Frances Teller, wife of the minister and mother of five grown sons, was in her element, helping out in the men’s clothing section. Agatha’s daughter-in-law Carol manned children’s clothing. As Ellen watched her put mothers at ease and shower attention on shy girls and reluctant boys, she thought the woman couldn’t be more different from Ivy’s daughter-in-law, who stood stationed at a long table laden with shoes of every type and size, slips and girdles, hats and handbags. From her little command post, Constance dispensed advice with an authority that brooked no contradictions. As the woman began to grate on Ellen’s nerves, she marveled that Miss Ivy had the patience to deal with the woman, day in and day out.

  “Are you sure you still want to go for this drive?” Ellen asked, as Ivy made herself comfortable. “It’s been a busy day already, and the sun is beating down something fierce.”

  “I’m fine. In fact, I’ve been looking forward to this little trip.”

  Only partly reassured, Ellen drove downtown and took the highway south toward the river. The road was closed three miles out of town for the bridge construction, but Ivy said not to worry.

  “I checked with Dell. The highway is closed just past the county road we want.”

  They saw the barricades and warning signs before Ivy pointed to a gravel road off to the right. “The turn is just up there.”

  Ellen slowed to a crawl. To the left in an open field, a dozen or so white canvas tents marked the CCC camp. A few men could be seen lounging in the sun or walking between the tents and the temporary wood-frame buildings that comprised the kitchen and bath facilities. But it was the construction site ahead that drew the women’s attention. A massive road grader and several farm wagons stood in line, as if ready to march when given the order. Piles of rock and sand formed hills.

  “That is a lot of rock,” Ivy said, shaking her head.

  Ellen agreed. “I heard someone at the courthouse say the workers have to dig even more from along the river to shore up the bridge embankments. Something about not enough bedrock and too much clay and sand.” She made a slow turn down the country road, which had once been nothing more than a wagon track following the natural break between woods on the left along the river and open prairie on the right.

  Ivy warned Ellen it had been some time since she’d been this way, and the soddie had been going to pieces even then.

  “I’d still like to see it,” Ellen said as they bumped along the road.

  Ivy pointed. “It’s up there on the right.” Ellen saw a mound of earth surrounded by a field planted in wheat.

  “You can pull over to the side,” Ivy directed.

  Ellen did as she was told. Ivy hadn’t understated the disrepair of the old homestead. One end of the soddie bulged, slowly crumbling back into the earth. The roof was long gone. The windows were nothing more than gaping holes. The door had been torn off or simply rotted away with time.

  Ellen went around the car to help Ivy step out and then cross a dry, dusty ditch. Brittle prairie grass broke beneath their feet as they moved to stand beside a barbed-wire fence. Ivy rested a hand on a rough-hewn post. She turned her face toward what remained of her first Kansas home.

  “I feel like a girl again. I can remember the wind whipping my long skirt around my legs and the prairie grass bending in waves with just the slightest breeze.”

  Ivy sighed, adjusting a wide-brimmed straw hat more firmly on her head. She turned to Ellen, who stood ready with pencil and notebook. “Morton ought to pull that soddie down instead of letting it die a slow death, but I suppose he’s got other things on his mind.”

  “Morton’s family bought the place?”

  Ivy nodded, her big hat bobbing against a stout southern breeze. “Like I told you at lunch, Nate and Clara stayed on the place for the five years required by the homestead law. Once they had clear title, they sold it and moved on. I wasn’t all th
at surprised when they announced they were going to Oregon. They both had an adventurous streak and were itchy to move. They wanted Caleb and Hannah to join them, but they were pretty well situated and didn’t want to start over again. I was glad they didn’t. They were like family, and it was a comfort to have them near.”

  Ivy gave Ellen a wistful smile and turned back toward the ruins. “You’ve got to have a good imagination to see the place the way it was. Over to the right was a lean-to barn and behind that a corral. There was a big potato field behind the house. Of course, there was a garden, and a well. The trees Nate planted are gone. I think Morton’s father took them out when he decided to go into planting wheat in a big way. There was a time the crop made good money.

  “So many good memories are here. On the day Wheat and I married, we said our vows at the little country church down the road. Then we came here with Nate and Clara and a few friends for our noon meal. There was even a wedding cake, baked by Hannah. Agatha and Thomas were here, and the Archers.”

  “Tell me about your wedding dress.”

  “Of course, I made it, using a design I’d seen in a magazine. The dress wasn’t white. Most weren’t back then. It wasn’t practical to spend money on a dress you’d wear only once, and, even if you planned to dye it, you couldn’t be sure the fabric wouldn’t be ruined.

  “My dress was a light shade of rose, with lace at the neck. The back of the skirt had insets of a light-blue print with tiny rosebuds. Matching ribbons were braided into my hair, which I wore pinned up.”

  Ivy smiled. “I was beautiful, and that dress got worn and made over to copy newer fashions until the material just wore out. I’ve got a scrap of it in a box of mementos.”

  She glanced again at the soddie. “Clara was fond of flowers. She had wisteria and red roses she’d started from a cutting brought from Illinois. We had a pretty bowl of the early roses on our wedding table.”