Confessions to Mr. Roosevelt Read online

  Miss Jewell, regaining her composure, laughed at the idea as she pushed herself out of her chair. When the landlady was back in the kitchen with her radio on and a pot of boiling potatoes on the stove, Audrey tilted her head toward the kitchen. “Do you think Miss Jewell’s right?”

  “About the story?” Ellen couldn’t imagine the woman would make it up.

  “No, no. What she said earlier about things turning out all right.” She stopped as if deep in thought. “You know what we should be doing? We should be thinking about what happens after this job ends. There’s no guarantee it will go on to another county, and there’s no promise we can move on to that state guide some writers are working on. In a month, we could be right back where we started.”

  Ellen agreed, although she admitted that, since coming to Opal’s Grove, she felt too busy to think ahead. She saw herself back home and felt a shiver of dread.

  Audrey leaned toward Ellen, elbows on knees. “I bet the first thing that just popped into your head was packing it in and going home to the folks.”

  Ellen gave a slight nod.

  “I thought about it when the library let me go, but by then, I’d been on my own for some time. Going back to the bedroom I shared with my sister when we were growing up and rocking on the porch with the folks after supper seemed worse than living in a cheap rooming house and frying up greasy hamburgers. Besides,” she continued, “it would be admitting defeat. I couldn’t do that after my folks made sacrifices, especially Mom, who was determined her daughters have an education. Dad went along with my sister studying to be a nurse and me going to library school, but Mom had a tough time with Dad’s family. They thought it was foolish to educate girls when we’d just end up getting married.”

  Audrey smiled wryly. “I used to tell myself that my sister and I stayed single just to prove them wrong. But the truth is, I like being on my own. Why else would I turn down two marriage proposals?”

  “Two?” Ellen blinked in surprise.

  “Well, you don’t have to look so shocked. I know I’m no beauty queen, but I do have personality.” Audrey tossed her head.

  Ellen started to apologize, but Audrey cut her off with the wave of a hand. “Never mind. We have to concentrate on the problem of what comes after this job.” She lit another cigarette and reclined on the deck chair. “The main thing is to make a plan. We can’t just hope something will happen. We have to help things along.”

  Ellen watched Audrey concentrate on blowing a series of smoke rings. Audrey, she decided, was a nudger. She’d poked at the professor until his façade began to crack. Now, she was pushing at Ellen.

  CHAPTER 10

  NETTIE

  Nettie Vine lived in the house built by her father. It stood on a large corner lot just two blocks from Agatha Bright’s, but the Vine home was unlike any other in Opal’s Grove. It had the look of a mansion, a monument to Sylvester Vine’s success. Constructed from limestone, with red granite lintels set over each window, the massive house was topped by a cupola. The yard was enclosed by an ornate wrought-iron fence.

  Ellen parked on the street. Somehow, pulling into the driveway seemed like an intrusion. She took a deep breath before leaving the car and unlatching the gate that brought her to a stone-paved walkway. She approached the house with trepidation. Miss Jewell’s story and Agatha Bright’s words kept running through her head. She tried to forget them. A good journalist, she reminded herself, had to leave preconceived notions behind.

  She took the three wide stone steps to the front door. Unable to locate a door bell, she rapped the oversized door knocker. She waited and was beginning to wonder if she should leave when the door was answered by a middle-aged woman in a black uniform with a white apron. Introducing herself as the housekeeper Mrs. Castle, the woman invited Ellen inside. With a muttered request to follow, the woman led Ellen into a marble-paved foyer, through a second set of massive wooden doors, and into a large hall dominated by a central staircase.

  “Miss Vine is receiving this morning in the front parlor,” intoned the woman, indicating Ellen should go to the left through a set of pocket doors.

  Ellen blinked. Every surface of the room was covered with some sort of decorative piece. An ornate clock bracketed by silver candlesticks sat on an oversized mantelpiece. Tables were cluttered with porcelain figurines and faded arrangements of dried flowers under domed glass. Wilted peacock feathers sprouted from a large Chinese vase in one corner, and gilt-framed paintings obscured much of the dark paisley-patterned wallpaper. Lace curtains, overhung with heavy velvet drapes, barely moved as the morning breeze tried to push through half-opened windows. It wasn’t enough to alleviate the room’s sultry climate. Ellen felt beads of sweat begin to form along her brow.

  Standing in the center of the clutter was a diminutive woman. Like the room, she seemed out of another era. Her ankle-length, white organdy dress was trimmed along the collar with embroidered pink rosebuds. She wore white high-top shoes, pointed at the toe and buttoned along the side. The woman’s faded yellow hair wrapped around her head in a braided crown.

  She stepped forward to greet her guest, gracefully lifting a bird-thin arm. Her fingers lightly touched Ellen’s outstretched hand.

  Ellen found it difficult to imagine this frail woman ever had the strength to knock down a child. Still, she didn’t doubt Miss Jewell.

  “Would you be wanting any refreshments?” asked the housekeeper, who hovered at the door.

  Nettie Vine barely moved her head to indicate she’d heard. “This is not a social meeting, Mrs. Castle. It’s business.”

  Ellen gave the woman a small smile. “Nothing for me, but thank you for asking.”

  Nettie gave a small wave that took in the room. “Welcome to my home. Please be seated.” Nettie indicated a small sofa, its velvet upholstery faded and creased from wear. The woman settled onto a matching couch across from Ellen.

  Ellen glanced around the room. Its décor left her dizzy, but she managed to say, “Your home is impressive, Miss Vine.”

  “My parents always wanted the best.” She sat back, her bow-shaped lips forming a little pout. “You know, I should be cross. My father founded this town. It’s named after my mother. I should have been the very first person interviewed in Mrs. Hewitt’s little project.”

  “It’s very gracious of you to see me now. I’ve read about your father. He was a very important man.” Ellen felt like a character in a comedy of manners. Miss Vine ducked her head, accepting the words as nothing less than her due.

  Watching Ellen pull out her notebook and pencil, the woman straightened. “I hope you have my correct name in that little book. Although my close acquaintances call me Nettie, my formal, given name is Marie Antoinette Vine. My mother adored the French and their culture. She said it was only natural that I be named after the country’s most famous queen. My brother was christened Rex Louis.”

  Ellen tried to nod seriously, as if the choice of names was understandable. But they struck her as absurd. The urge to laugh almost got the better of her. She dared not look at the woman and feigned great concentration in writing until she felt she had regained control.

  “What an interesting choice of names.” She almost choked out the words. Taking a deep breath, Ellen pushed on. “Mrs. Hewitt failed to mention that you had a brother.”

  Nettie’s face took on a studied expression of sadness. “Oh, poor Rex Louis. He died, sweet child. It was not long after we arrived here. Father had given me a pony cart. I warned Rex Louis he was too young to ride with me out on the prairie. But I couldn’t resist his pleadings. It was so sad. The cart overturned, and my little brother hit his head on a large rock.” Nettie cut her eyes toward Ellen. “Of course, I was devastated, but Mother and Papa urged me not to blame myself. I was their only child now, and it was important to put the whole thing behind me.”

  Ellen wrote, wondering if Nettie would ask that it be omitted. But the woman seemed more interested in smoothing her skirt across her lap.

>   Aware of the warning that Nettie could be difficult, Ellen turned to something she hoped was more pleasant. “It would be interesting to learn about your early experiences in this new town. You were in a special position to see the changes and progress.” Ellen wasn’t exactly proud of appealing to the woman’s vanity, but it was clear Nettie Vine expected deference.

  As if on cue, Nettie’s face brightened. “The town was formed in 1866. Papa was a major investor in the town company, although he had many other interests. There was the shipping and trading business, begun by his grandfather in Philadelphia. Papa’s family—Mother’s, too—were among the first in that city. Mother also had very important and successful cousins in Boston.” Nettie’s words and demeanor left no doubt that she took pride in a family history of wealth and commerce. “Mother never imagined that Papa’s interest in a Kansas town would actually bring us here. On numerous occasions, I overheard her ask why Papa couldn’t manage his investment from a distance, but he wanted to be on hand. He wanted to take an active part to protect his interests. Originally, the town was called Grove— for the stand of oak trees along the town’s northern boundary— but Papa said if Mother would come to Kansas, he’d change the name to include hers. And he promised to build an elegant home, one even grander than the one we had in Philadelphia’s most exclusive section of town.”

  Nettie looked past Ellen as she recalled those days. “Papa also appealed to her sense of duty. This was a rough prairie town crying out for women of culture. Mother could be a guiding light. Despite her reluctance to leave family and friends behind, Mother agreed. Early in 1867, Mother, my brother, and I arrived in Kansas. Traveling with us was Mother’s maid and Mr. and Mrs. Ross. She was our cook. He was the butler and Papa’s manservant.” Nettie plucked at a sleeve. “After about a year, the maid left us to get married, and Mother was at her wit’s end trying to find a replacement. Satisfactory help was so difficult to find, especially when all that seemed available were the immigrant girls.”

  Ellen winced. While her own father’s family traced its roots back to the Revolutionary War, her mother’s people were the sort of immigrants Nettie obviously dismissed as inferior. She took a deep breath. “Once you were settled, what were some of your mother’s projects?” Ellen had already heard this from Agatha Bright, but it had to be asked.

  “Oh, any number of things. The first, as I recall, was raising funds to furnish the town’s school. The building itself was funded with donations from the townspeople, and there were two rooms, one for the younger children and one for the older students. Teachers were hired, but, before classes could begin, the classrooms had to be filled with desks and the many other things a proper school required. Mother rallied other ladies to hold fundraisers and raffles to raise money.”

  “After the school opened, did you attend?”

  Nettie’s eyes widened, horrified at the thought. “I had just turned fifteen and had already completed my education in Philadelphia. In addition to attending a private school for young ladies, my parents hired tutors who came to our home. One instructed me in French. Mother insisted on that. Another was a dancing master. A young woman of my position had to be adequately prepared to go out into society.”

  Ellen nodded as if she completely understood the ways of the privileged class. “Your mother felt she had a role to fulfill for this town. Did your father envision any duties for you?”

  “I asked Papa that very question.” A smile spread across the woman’s face at the memory. “We were right across the hall in his library, which also served as his office. I remember him sitting at his desk, considering. Finally, he said that, while I might help Mother in her endeavors, I would have a special responsibility. I was to cheerfully greet every newcomer. If people felt welcome, they would want to settle in town or take claims in the county. I decided I could best accomplish this responsibility by meeting trains coming from the East. I often stood on the platform, calling out words of welcome. Papa thought this a lovely idea.”

  Nettie paused before continuing. “Of course, I did other things. I was the leader of my social set, just as Mother provided an example of refinement among the ladies of her acquaintance. With Mother’s assistance and Papa’s approval, I organized parties and picnics and afternoons of croquet or ice cream socials or taffy pulls for the boys and girls around my age. We had some wonderful times.

  “I was quite popular. One boy, his name was Simmons, wrote a poem comparing my eyes to cornflowers and my hair to the bright sun at noon.” Nettie smiled dreamily. “Wasn’t that sweet of him? There were several suitors, and I must mention the English duke who stopped to visit Papa while touring the American West. We held an elegant dinner party here for him and his two companions, who were also from titled families.

  “The dinner was lovely. The crystal and silver sparkled in the candlelight. I wore my first grown-up dress. It was pink with pale-green florets that began along one shoulder and trailed down one side of the skirt. The duke was quite charmed with me. I believe he wanted to ask for my hand in marriage, but Papa must have had told him in private that I was too young. When the duke left, I was disappointed, but then Mother reminded me of the young men right here in Opal’s Grove. Several were entranced with me. They jockeyed with one another to sit by my side. They lined up to dance with me.”

  Ellen stopped herself from asking about these suitors, but she did wonder what had become of them. From the information supplied by Mrs. Hewitt, Ellen knew Nettie Vine had never married. She thought this rather odd, but perhaps it was as simple as Nettie being more inclined to collect admirers than to take any of them seriously.

  Ellen saw the woman flinch, as if struck by the same thought. Feeling as though she were walking on eggshells, Ellen searched for another line of questioning.

  The safest path was to ask something innocuous. “Is there something in particular you would like the people who read this to know about the early years?”

  “Mr. Roosevelt’s not reading this, is he?”

  Ellen let out a breath as she promised Nettie this was not the case, but the look on the woman’s face remained skeptical. Ellen repeated the question.

  Nettie put a bony finger to one side of her face, as if considering. “When we first arrived, the town was very raw. The courthouse was not quite completed. The trees planted on the courthouse grounds were spindly little things, tied to thick sticks for support. The only sidewalks were around the square, and they were wooden planks. When it rained, the streets turned into a mire of mud. Only Papa’s drive and determination changed that. The downtown streets were paved with bricks. Later, many of the residential streets were paved. Papa convinced farmers to settle in the county, and businessmen to open stores and offices in town. People should remember Papa as a great man.

  “As to later years, I don’t know what to say.” Nettie let a hand drift in the air. “Mother continued with her committees and afternoon get-togethers with friends. I often went along. But we also traveled. For almost two years, Mother and I did the grand tour of the Continent—London, Paris, Rome, Vienna, and other cities of cultural importance. Mother and I adored Paris. Many of the beautiful things in this room were purchased on that trip. On other occasions, I spent extended periods back East with Mother’s family. One such time was after Papa died in that horrible blizzard.” Her voice broke.

  “I’m sorry,” Ellen said. “I had no intention of bringing up unhappy memories.”

  Nettie lifted her head. “Mother considered moving back to Philadelphia after that, but in the end, she felt we should stay here to remind the townspeople of Papa’s influence and contributions.” She sighed. “It was such a sad time. Even now, I must remember Mother’s admonition to be brave. Papa would have wanted that.”

  “I’m sure that’s true.” Ellen didn’t want to dwell on the demise of Sylvester Vine. She moved to a topic that should bring back happier times.

  “It seems there were several girls near your age in the early town. Perhaps you might wa
nt to mention your closest friends.”

  Ellen expected the woman to readily recall at least a few of those young women who were part of Nettie’s crowd. Surely, she hadn’t forgotten Ivy. But Nettie let several moments pass before she answered.

  “Certainly, there were girls who came here for parties and afternoon visits and who, in turn, invited me to their homes. As for close friends, I don’t know how to answer that. Delia Sanders and I spent a good amount of time together. She was entertaining, in a mischievous sort of way, but I knew that anything said in her presence would be repeated. She simply couldn’t help herself. She was a terrible gossip.”

  Ellen’s hand faltered over the page.

  “Oh, don’t worry about insulting dear, homely Delia. She and her family left Opal’s Grove long ago. Besides, everyone knew she couldn’t keep a secret, just like everyone knew Julia Bright was too bookish to be any fun at a party.” Nettie plucked at a sleeve.

  “Of course, I tried to befriend Julia, but she was hopeless with all that talk of poets and great literary authors. I confess she bored me to tears. I can’t say she was terribly missed when she went back East.”

  Ellen kept her head down, pretending to write. She didn’t want Miss Vine to see that she was appalled by the casual way the woman discarded the girls with whom she professed to be friends.

  “And there was Millie Lakin. The only reason for her popularity with young men was her willingness to kiss most anybody, and allow other signs of affection.” Nettie raised an eyebrow, suggesting Ellen knew what she meant.

  Ellen pulled herself upright, determined to move on. “Perhaps there’s one social event or party that stands out in your mind, other than the dinner for the British duke.”

  Nettie nodded, willing to be led down another path. “That would easily be the party Papa gave in the autumn of 1869. It was October. Mother and I had returned from spending several months with our Philadelphia relatives, and Papa threw a huge affair to welcome us home.