Parlor Games: A Novel Part 25

"Yes, I'm sorry. You know that forced me to stretch the new account."

"If I'd kept sending her money all this time, it'd amount to one thousand fifty dollars."

"That sounds about right."

"You said you'd make up the money for Mother if I helped you come into some funds."

"And I will keep my word. I couldn't ask for a better a.s.sistant than you, Daisy."

Daisy nodded to d.i.c.ky and turned to me. "d.i.c.ky has something to show you."

d.i.c.ky levered himself up off the bed and pulled out the bottom drawer of Daisy's dresser. He extracted a soft cloth pouch and handed it to me.

The black pouch weighed heavily in my hand, as if the contents were concentrated-like gold or lead.

Daisy grinned at me. "Go ahead, open it."

I loosened the slip string on the pouch and poured the contents into my palm.

"My yellow-diamond necklace. Dear G.o.d, I've got my necklace back." I bounded to my feet and hugged Daisy, d.i.c.ky, and Daisy again, all the time shedding tears of joy.

THE BONDS OF FAMILY AND FRIENDS.

TO MENOMINEE-OCTOBER-NOVEMBER 1901

The next day, I bade Daisy and d.i.c.ky good-bye. They caught the morning train to the East Coast, and I left in the late afternoon, bound for Michigan.

As my train chugged out of Lawrence station, I squeezed by the other pa.s.sengers navigating the car's narrow corridor. My sleep compartment, which was barely wide enough to turn around in, featured a neatly made-up bed, an overhead storage rack, and, on the opposite side, a counter with an inset wash basin and two wide but shallow drawers. I deposited my suitcase on the bed, unlatched it, and dug out my yellow-diamond necklace. Bracing myself against the counter, I stood before the mirror and fastened it on. Such a beautiful piece, I thought; I'll never tire of gazing at it.

I'd shaken a finger at d.i.c.ky during our private meeting, "So you're the one who nabbed my necklace."

His expression brightened with one of his rare smiles.

"As I was leaving the ball?" I asked.

He nodded. "A little trick I learned on the streets of New York."

And then Daisy took my hand. "So you mustn't ever show it in public, either in England or anywhere else."

But I could wear it in the privacy of my own quarters and, in some distant future (after everyone had forgotten it was a stolen item, with the insurance money already disbursed), once again dazzle admirers with it.

I was traveling on my own for the first time in nearly a decade, with nary a soul to answer to. It was exhilarating. My first full afternoon on the train, I circulated about the lounge car, where I met several august gentlemen. No sooner had I accepted Mr. Ramsey's invitation to dinner than Mr. Weber joined us and asked if we had dinner plans. Turning to Mr. Ramsey, I said, "Why not make it a party?" Mr. McFarland came along soon thereafter, and the three gentlemen escorted me to dinner. I asked to be seated at a table that could accommodate one more person, just in case someone else happened along. Mr. Ramsey ordered a bottle of claret and told the waiter not to rush us.

Mr. McFarland, a wiry young man with a red beard that tangled at its fringes, said, "Mrs. de Vries, I understand I should be addressing you as Baroness."

"Technically, yes," I said. "But we're not at a royal ceremony, are we?"

The hollow-cheeked Mr. Ramsey sat up straight, adjusting the collar of his starched white shirt. "At least tell us how you came to marry a baron."

"It's a long story. We married at his home in Holland. My goodness, it'll be nine years next month."

"If you don't mind my asking," said the solid Mr. Weber, "how did you meet a baron?"

"Gentlemen, I'm just a simple girl from Michigan-a modern Cinderella, you might say."

Mr. Weber thumped one of his sausage-fingered hands on the table. "Ach, I don't believe it."

"Honestly, I grew up in a log cabin in Muskegon. I can tell you all about it."

"Please do," said Mr. McFarland, with a sweep of his arm.

"My father owned a tavern. I had an older brother, Paul, who walked me to and from school every day. One day, when Paul took sick, I stopped at my father's tavern instead of going straight home. A fiddler stood on a table in the corner, sawing away at that fiddle and making everyone merry. When I walked in, the men lined up to dance with me. Mind you, I was only seven, but my father had taught me how to dance. I reeled from one man to the next and had such a wonderful time I arrived home very late for dinner."

"What a naughty Cinderella," said Mr. Weber.

"My mother was furious, hollering at me for worrying her to death. 'But, Maman,' I said, 'I had to help Louise with school lessons.' 'I don't care what Louise wanted,' she said. 'Please,' I begged, 'please forgive me.' She said, 'When flowers turn blue. Now off to bed. There'll be no dinner for you tonight, or tomorrow, either.' Once the house quieted, I scrambled out my bedroom window with a candle lantern. I found a thicket of wintergreens and feasted on their tender new leaves. Then I picked some tiny forest-floor blossoms, arranged the miniature bouquet in an inkwell, and left it on the kitchen table with a note apologizing to Maman. By morning, the blooms had turned indigo blue."

"And did you have dinner the next night?"

"My favorite-perch and potatoes."

The men lit into laughter, and the woman at the next table-a solid-framed woman in a stylish wool suit-guffawed.

Once her laughter subsided, I turned to her. "Would you care to join us?"

"You bet I would," she said, striding over to our table and sticking out her hand. "I'm Frank Shaver. From Chicago."

It turned out that Frank, who I guessed to be roughly my age, was quite a storyteller herself. The men she'd attended law school with had dished out a lot of guff, and she regaled us with some of her comebacks: "Better watch out, buster, we might meet across the aisle in some big case"; "Is that the best insult you can muster?"; and "You think a woman'll be out of place in a courtroom? Well, at least my voice carries, which is more than I can say for that banjo tw.a.n.g of yours."

Frank and I took to each other like old school chums. When she announced she needed to retrieve her bag for the next stop, I said, "Gentlemen, if you'll excuse me, I'll see Frank off."

As Frank and I sidled along through the cars, I asked where she was from.

"Grew up in Pittsburgh. My parents still live there. But the place is too stodgy for me."

"But Chicago, you couldn't call it stodgy."

"Oh, no. Sometimes the excitement's not the right kind, but it keeps the law and lawyers busy." Frank opened the door to the next car and guided me through, as amiable as a gentleman showing a friend around. "How long are you in the States for?"

"I hope to stay awhile," I said. "Catch up with my family in Menominee and see to some business."

"I love the U.P. Get up there every summer to fish."

"Really? Well, you'll have to stop in Menominee and visit."

"I'll take that as an invitation."

"What kind of law do you practice?"

"Wills, contracts for small businesses, property sales. Just two of us in the office, so we end up doing a little of everything."

We flattened against the windows to let a party of four pa.s.s.

"Really? I just bought a resort hotel in Arkansas. I could use some legal advice."

"I can help with property contract matters, as long as they're not particular to Arkansas law." Frank yanked her suitcase off the storage rack.

I asked, "Do you know Michigan law?"

"I sure do. Went to law school at University of Michigan."

"I may need your counsel in the future."

"I'd be glad to be of service."

By the time the train pulled into Milwaukee, we had exchanged addresses and promised to write each other.

With my train scheduled to arrive in Menominee early in the morning, I rose at five to dress and pack. I'd set aside one special outfit for my arrival: a maroon dress with a multilayered skirt, puffed sleeves, lapels brocaded with black braids, and a narrow embroidered strip of white fabric binding the lapels-an altogether regal look.

The train pulled into a dark and drizzly Menominee shortly after six. I stepped down my compartment steps onto the familiar platform and took in the red station-more shrunken and dull-colored than my memory had painted it. A pine-scented breeze carried hints of burning wood. Plopping my traveling case on the platform, I hugged myself for warmth. I'd neglected to pack my pelisse, and fall had not lingered here: It was nearly cold enough for sleet. I lifted my face into the bracing mist and surveyed the jagged treetops silhouetted against dawn's milky sky. A rush of memories-of rambling through Michigan's pine-needled forests, running barefoot along its sparkling sh.o.r.es, and warming up on chill mornings before a blazing woodstove-flooded me with nostalgia.

"You there, May."

I followed the voice-Maman's-and she, Paul, and Gene hurried up to me, shuffling flat-footed on the platform's rain-slicked slats.

I flung my arms around Maman. "It's been too long."

"By ten years," she said, nearly hugging the breath out of me.

"And, Paul"-I turned to him-"missed you, big brother."

He embraced me. "You, too, little sister."

"And who do we have here?" Little Gene was not so little anymore. At twenty-four, he'd matured into a handsome young man, with a comely, chiseled face and lively ocean-blue eyes. I reached up to hug him. "My goodness, you must be six feet tall."

"Six two, sister." He lifted me up in his arms, swung me a quarter turn, and eased me down. Chuckling, he asked, "Or should I call you Baroness?"

I patted his cheek. " 'M'lady' will do."

Paul reached for my suitcase, and Gene, who was dressed quite fashionably in a wool jacket and plaid vest, offered his arm. I nestled my arm in his and squeezed up close to him.

Maman walked to my other side, took my hand, and led me down the platform. "You wouldn't believe all the talk around town. Our very own baroness coming to visit."

I believed it when we walked through the double-boxcar-sized train station, which was unaccountably crowded for such an early hour. All eyes turned on us. Some of the smattering of gentlemen fingered their hat brims as I pa.s.sed, and the ladies either nodded or attempted modest curtsies. To be honest, although I knew Menominee had never before laid eyes on a baroness, all the attention surprised me.

Another surprise awaited me when we reached the house. The furniture did gleam from a fresh polishing, the carpets smelled fresh, and the kitchen counters sparkled, but the pantry contained fewer than twenty jars of put-up vegetables, mostly tomatoes, green beans, and beets.

While Maman prepared a breakfast of egg-battered bread, I asked, "Didn't you do your usual canning this year?"

She kept her back to me. "Sure I did. We've just been eating more from the pantry this fall."

"You been buying much from the butcher?"

"Not much. Hunting season opens week after next. Paul'll get a deer."

It pained me to think of it: While I had been living the rich life in London, Maman had been struggling to get by with her garden, a few laying hens, and paltry supplies of flour and sugar. Still, I didn't want to fuss about it. I poured myself another cup of coffee. "Meantime, let's go shopping and buy some fancy canned food. And stop by Daltry's and get a roast for dinner."

"That'd be nice," said Maman, flipping the bread onto a platter and pretending at nonchalance.

Paul stomped into the kitchen. He'd changed out of his cotton shirt and black dress jacket into a dull-green flannel shirt. "You'll do no such thing," he said. "I'll be going out on the lake after breakfast. We'll have trout for dinner."

"Mmm, fresh-caught fish," I said, twisting around to smile at him. "I won't turn that down."

I could have predicted Paul's resistance to my offer, stubborn and proud as he was. But fishing and hunting couldn't stock the pantry or buy coal for the furnace.

It took me only one day to determine how to help my family-and at the same time handle the remodeling and management of the Potash Sulphur Hotel.

I found Gene lounging over the Menominee Herald in the parlor my second morning at home. "Gene, I need you to help me with an errand. Will you get the carriage ready?"

He flipped the newspaper to the next page. "I was going to meet some fellows this afternoon."

I gripped the center of the paper and lowered it to catch his eye. "I have something to discuss with you."

He uncrossed his legs and set the paper aside. "If you say so, m'lady."

When we got to Shimek's Furniture Store, I asked him, "If you were furnishing a hotel from scratch, what sort of things would you buy for it?"

Gene stroked his chin. "Aren't you mysterious?"

Mr. Shimek swaggered up to us and asked if we needed help.

"Oh, no. This is just a scouting visit," I said. As he rambled off, I turned to Gene. "Come, now, tell me how you'd go about it."

"Do I have unlimited money?"

"No one has unlimited money."