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Confessions to Mr. Roosevelt Page 7


  Agatha laughed, remembering that day. “You wouldn’t know about Polly Armstrong, but the woman had this traveling show. She wore short tunics over tights when she and her troupe acted out Shakespeare, and when she took to the stage to sing popular tunes, her evening gown allowed for a considerable display of bare flesh. But I knew my mother-in-law wasn’t happy. Ivy knew it, too, so she took the dress away and returned with it the next day. She’d cut fabric from the underskirt where it wouldn’t show and applied it around the neckline as a little stand-up ruffle. I wasn’t completely covered up, you understand; there was simply less to see.

  “Ivy was quite clever. I liked her from the first. I admired her straightforward way of speaking. You’ve met her so you know what I mean when I say you just have this great feeling in her company. Over the years we’ve shared so much, and, even though I lived in town and she married a farmer, we always found ways to visit back and forth. And you might think this strange, since we lived only about twelve miles apart, but we kept in touch with letters. We exchanged news about our children, and we told each other the most ordinary things. I knew what vegetables she was getting from her garden in any given week, and she knew what I wore to church when the new minister came to town.”

  Agatha sighed. “We’ve seen each other through good times and bad. I don’t know what I would have done without her when Thomas died during that influenza epidemic in 1918. He was such a robust man, but in a matter of days, he was gone.” Her hand fluttered for a moment over her cane before she smiled at Ellen. “And to think, she became my closest friend because of a dress.”

  Ellen finished jotting the last and glanced at her watch. She was shocked to see how much time had passed and more than a little troubled at the small amount of written material that represented her interview. Iris Hewitt would be disappointed, what with Mrs. Bright being a prominent member of the community. She glanced at the woman and wondered if she was tiring. Squaring her shoulders, she told Agatha the problem.

  “Is there one event you might talk about? Maybe you could mention something that every settler endured.”

  Agatha, head tilted to one side, considered the possibilities. “Well, I absolutely refuse to talk about the grasshopper plagues. Just the thought of how those pests got into everything, including your hair and clothes, makes my skin crawl.”

  Ellen blew out a breath and tried another topic. “The droughts?”

  “No.” Agatha shook her head emphatically. “The droughts were bad, but blizzards always terrified me more than anything else. The one that stands out in my mind happened in ’86.”

  Ellen felt a flood of relief. Here was something that represented the settlers’ endurance. She nodded, encouraging Miss Agatha to continue.

  “It came in early January, not too long after New Year’s. The temperatures had been bitterly cold, but then the weather turned mild, almost warm. People went out without coats or shawls. Tom Junior, who would have been fourteen at the time, went off with his friends. They were chomping at the bit to try out the baseball mitts and bats they received as Christmas gifts. Caroline had just turned eight. She and two of her little friends were having a doll party on our front porch. Clouds began to build to the west and north. At first I thought nothing of it, but as the afternoon wore on, I felt this growing sense of dread.

  “There are people who claim to have premonitions of bad things coming. Well, I never had one before, but I just had this feeling. I couldn’t concentrate on anything for two minutes, and I kept walking to the front door to check on Caroline and to watch for Tom Junior’s return. When the wind began to rise, I broke up the doll party as calmly as I could. I left Caroline with our cook, Bess, and walked her little friends to their homes. Then I went looking for Tom Junior. An overwhelming panic seized me. I almost collapsed from relief when I met my son coming down the street.

  “My husband and his father arrived shortly afterward. Snow had begun to fall by then, and the wind was stronger. They’d closed the bank early and sent the three employees home. My serious, level-headed father-in-law had the same sinking feeling I was experiencing. Maybe it wouldn’t amount to a thing, he said, but he would feel better if we all went home with him.

  “It wasn’t far to go. Just across the street. By that time, the snow was coming down heavier and blowing sideways. We bundled up and packed a few things, intending to stay the night. Then, in a tight little group that included Bess, we pushed our way across the road. As it turned out, we were there two days. We kept the fireplaces roaring in the two downstairs parlors, keeping the heat in by closing the pocket doors that led to the entry hall. Bess and Mrs. Bright’s domestic help, a Swedish girl named Inga, kept the kitchen stove going and somehow managed to feed us all. We were uncomfortable, but we didn’t suffer half as much as the people who were caught out in their sod houses and dugouts.

  “For days—even weeks—after the storm, reports came in of people found dead, frozen to death. Some died huddled in their homes. Others were caught out on the open prairie. Animals died, too. Some cattlemen, especially those farther west, lost most of their livestock. Thomas worried about the effect on the bank, but our biggest concern was the fate of friends. Until I learned Ivy and her family were safe, I couldn’t sleep. Although they had a substantial house on their farm, I still imagined them huddled against the freezing cold or caught unawares out in the storm. That happened to Sylvester Vine. He started out that January morning to visit a man about the sale of his farm and was found four days later, his buggy pulled up against a rock outcropping. Everyone assumed he tried to save himself and his horse by getting out of the wind, but the cold was too much for both man and beast.”

  Ellen recognized the name. The county history she’d read had sung the man’s praises. There had been a photograph, too, although the only feature Ellen could recall was the man’s overly generous beard.

  “Sylvester Vine . . . one of the town’s founders?” She was rather proud of herself for knowing the name.

  Agatha nodded. “He was the primary investor in the town company. He named the town for his wife. And don’t write this down, but she was a lot like that busybody I told you about in Colorado. Opal Vine made just about everything her business, whether it was organizing a literary society, building a decent school, or starting up a public library. There were many people who wanted those things and worked for them. Mrs. Bright and her daughter, Julia, for instance, devoted countless hours to raising funds for a library.

  “I joined their cause after moving here. In fact, I gave two or three piano recitals to raise money. We had a lovely new piano in that parlor across the hall.” Agatha pointed with her cane. “Thomas and I grandly called it our ‘music room.’ It was my mother-in-law’s idea to hold afternoon teas at which I performed. For the privilege of being culturally elevated by the few pieces of classical music I could play without mangling them, the ladies gave a donation.” Agatha chuckled and shook her head.

  “Mrs. Vine attended, but you knew from her pinched expression she wasn’t happy. She had this idea that she alone could bring ‘civilization’ to this town. My sweet-natured mother-inlaw once confided she thought Mrs. Vine was a ‘pill.’ That was the worst thing I ever heard her say about a person, and I could have said much worse, knowing all those naughty words I’d heard in the mining camps.”

  “Sylvester and Opal Vine,” said Ellen. “They would be the parents of Marie Antoinette Vine. Correct? She’s on my interview list,” Ellen added.

  Agatha’s face tightened.

  Ellen realized she had unknowingly blundered. Whatever the mother was to Agatha’s mother-in-law, she thought Marie Antoinette was to Miss Agatha.

  “Yes, she’s Sylvester and Opal’s daughter,” said Agatha, her mouth a tight line. Ellen noticed Agatha’s white-knuckle grip on her cane.

  Agatha cocked her head. “I have a word of advice. She can be difficult. You tread lightly with her.”

  “Yes, I will,” Ellen murmured, sorry the interview seem
ed to be ending on a sour note. As she put her things away, she thanked the woman for talking with her.

  Agatha nodded with the grace that once again reminded Ellen of a queen acknowledging her subjects. “I’d love to have you drop by again to visit.”

  The tension Ellen felt just a moment earlier was gone. “I’d like that very much.”

  When Agatha started to rise, Ellen waved her to stay. “I can find my way out.”

  “Come back and see me,” Agatha called after her. “And keep in mind what I said about Nettie.”

  As she stepped onto the porch, Ellen heard Agatha’s bell ring for more lemonade.

  Ellen considered the interview as she walked to her car. Perhaps it was just coincidence that Nettie Vine had come up in Ivy’s interview and then in Agatha’s. After all, they had all been in Opal’s Grove since the town was young. Yet the two women didn’t talk about Nettie Vine as a friend, but as someone they kept at a distance.

  CHAPTER 9

  ELLEN AND AUDREY

  Ellen intended to type up Miss Agatha’s interview, but the day’s heat was wearing her down. A hot wind blew in waves through the car’s open windows. Few people were out on the street. Even the gossipers and tobacco spitters had been driven off their benches by the temperature. Ellen started to park near the courthouse but suddenly changed her mind. She had never cut a class in college. It wasn’t like her to shirk anything, but she suddenly felt drained by the unrelenting sun and exhausted from a day of listening and writing. She reversed the car and drove to the boardinghouse.

  It was quiet when she arrived. She didn’t hear Miss Jewell in the kitchen, and Audrey was not in their shared room. Ellen stripped off her clothes, draped the dress across the back of a chair, wrapped herself in a cotton robe, and padded down the hall to the bathroom. She stood in the tub under the shower, letting cold water run over her. After several minutes, she felt refreshed and toweled dry. Combing tangles out of her hair, she examined her face in the mirror. People said she took after her father’s mother—those high cheekbones and squared chin. Ellen supposed she was pretty in a way most girls were, but she didn’t fool herself into thinking she had the beauty that turned heads.

  Returning to the bedroom, she pulled a white short-sleeved blouse and a faded blue skirt out of the closet. Through the open bedroom windows, Ellen heard the sound of voices in the backyard. She hurriedly dressed, pulled on a pair of sandals, and took the stairs down to the kitchen. Miss Jewell was just coming through the backdoor.

  “Let me fix you a nice glass of iced tea,” offered the woman. “I just came in to get another.”

  Ellen thankfully took the offered glass and held the screen door open for Miss Jewell to pass.

  “I convinced Miss Jewell to take a break from that hot kitchen,” Audrey called. She was stretched out on a canvas-backed deck chair under an arbor of honeysuckle and trumpet vines. She wore a sleeveless blouse and cotton trousers rolled up to her knees. She held a glass of tea in one hand. A cigarette in the other.

  Ellen gave her a long look as she pulled a lawn chair into the shade and took a seat.

  “You don’t approve?” asked Audrey as she brought the cigarette to her lips. Her look said: I dare you.

  “It’s not that. I tried it myself.” Ellen shrugged. “I was just thinking you could lose this job if Mrs. Hewitt found out and told Mrs. Fletcher. And maybe I would, too. You know, guilt by association. And what about Miss Jewell?” Ellen cut her eyes in the woman’s direction.

  “Don’t worry.” Audrey blew out a perfect ring of smoke. “Miss Jewell doesn’t mind. I asked before lighting up. And nobody can see me under this arbor.”

  “That’s right,” chimed in the landlady as she took a seat. “One of my teacher boarders makes use of the arbor on a regular basis. If she was ever seen, she’d be fired.”

  “Miss Jewell is the soul of discretion.” Audrey took another puff.

  “Just be careful,” Ellen warned. “As tired as I am after two interviews, I still don’t want to lose this job.”

  “Hard day?”

  Ellen shook her head. “No, it was good.”

  Before she could say more, Audrey broke in. “Well, mine was a pip! My first interview was with a man who came here when he was ten years old. His stories about fighting a prairie fire and going out with his brothers to gather buffalo bones gave me some wonderful ideas for a children’s book. The afternoon interview wasn’t so great. Mrs. Clancy couldn’t talk about anything but recipes and how to prepare things like squirrel and prairie dog.” Audrey wrinkled her nose. “I told Ralph being assigned to the old folks’ home wasn’t going to be as easy as he thought.”

  Ellen raised an eyebrow. “Ralph? He made such a point at the meeting about being called Professor Reynolds. And you get to call him Ralph?”

  “I didn’t ask permission. I just told him he was being a stuffed shirt, and, whether he liked it or not, I was calling him by his first name.” She ground the cigarette into an upturned canning lid. “He’s really pretty nice, but he’s having a tough time right now. He was teaching at a little college when it closed for lack of funds, and he hasn’t found another school to take him.”

  “Too bad he got off on the wrong foot with the group. He should realize all of us are worried about what happens next. Maybe a little scared, too.”

  “I’m not scared,” countered Audrey. “I was, though. When they let me go at the library because there wasn’t any money for my salary, I was plenty scared. But not anymore. Something always comes along.”

  She pointed a finger at Ellen. “Ralph’s problem—and, I bet it’s yours, too—is that you can’t see yourself any other way than what you want to be. I got over thinking of myself as a librarian. I had to, if I wanted to eat. I worked behind the concession stand at a movie theater, and for a time I cooked greasy burgers at one of those highway joints truck drivers like.”

  Audrey tilted back her head and drained the last of her tea.

  Ellen sipped her own tea while she thought this over. Audrey was five, maybe six years older. She’d obviously had more experience in the real world, but Ellen wasn’t ready to concede Audrey’s point.

  “But that’s giving up on your training and what you really want.”

  “Not at all. I’m still writing my stories, and one of these days I’ll find somebody to publish them. Maybe another library will hire me. But it doesn’t matter if I’m a dishwasher or working for the WPA, I’m still who I am.”

  They’d forgotten Miss Jewell until she broke in. “You’ll be fine. You’ve got spirit.”

  The landlady turned to Ellen. “How was Mrs. Bright?”

  “Wonderful. Just as you said she’d be. So, was my first interview, Ivy Hamilton.”

  Miss Jewell beamed. “My goodness, you got two of the nicest ladies around these parts. Who do you see tomorrow?”

  The woman’s smile faded when Ellen gave the name, Marie Antoinette Vine.

  Miss Jewell leaned forward, lowering her voice. “You know, I don’t gossip. If I did, I wouldn’t have any boarders. I go by the rule that if you can’t say something nice about somebody, don’t say anything.” Miss Jewell sighed. “But I’ll break that rule for Miss Vine.”

  “I was told she can be difficult.”

  The landlady snorted. “Difficult! Ha! She’s mean as a snake. Let me tell you about Miss Vine.”

  Ellen and Audrey exchanged glances. This was a different side of Miss Jewell.

  Looking around as if the neighbors were hanging over the fence to catch every word, Miss Jewell kept her voice low. “My mother’s family was poor as dirt when they came to this town. My grandfather mucked out the stalls at the livery stable and did any other nasty job no one wanted. My grandmother took in laundry. My mother was just a little slip of a girl, but she sometimes went with her mother when she went around to the big houses.”

  Miss Jewell took a breath. “One day, Grandmother’s at the Vine house, delivering clean linens or whatever, when Nettie Vi
ne comes driving into the yard with that pony cart she had. My mother was six or seven at the time, and you know how some kids just love animals. She ran over to the pony, with the idea of patting it. She barely put her little hand on its nose when Nettie jumped down from the cart and slapped Mother away. Hit her right across the face, hard enough to send Mother sprawling on the ground.”

  “Holy cow.” Audrey swung her feet to the ground and sat upright.

  “That’s terrible!” Ellen was outraged.

  Miss Jewell nodded. “Grandmother was so mad! She swore she’d never wash another thing for that family. Of course, there were one or two other laundresses, but my grandmother was the best. Mrs. Vine apologized several times and made her daughter do the same. But Grandmother wouldn’t change her mind, not even when she was offered more money. And my mother made sure I heard that story as a lesson to stay away from the Vines. When I was a girl, I’d cross the street if I saw Miss Vine coming down the sidewalk toward me. I was that scared of her.”

  “And that was the end of it? No one punished Miss Vine for hurting a child?” Ellen couldn’t believe Nettie had gotten away it.

  “Of course, nothing happened,” Miss Jewell sniffed. “Remember, this is the high and mighty Vine family. They could do anything they wanted.” She put a hand over her mouth and dropped her eyes. “Sorry. The story still rankles when I think of it.”

  “Are you going to ask her about it tomorrow?” Audrey flashed a wicked grin in Ellen’s direction. “That should spice up these old settler interviews.”