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Scraps from a Diary - 2. Scraps from a Diary, 2 of 3
Scraps from a Diary, 2 of 3
By the time dinner was over, a chorus of crickets had arisen to sing the twilight a lullaby.
The social rooms of The Clubhouse were abuzz with merrymakers as I strolled through them. The parlour, with its sofas and armchairs, and its massive stone fireplace aglow with hickory logs, hosted quiet conversations. Small tables by screened windows to the porch were occupied by chessboards and gentlemen at play.
The lounge next door had several card tables set up, and this is where I saw Mr. and Mrs. McIntire playing bridge with another married couple.
Following my instincts, I exited the door from this room onto the veranda.
The night was warm and the breeze delightful.
I found him sitting alone on the top step at the side of the structure. Noisy carousing from the young men having fun in the distant Billiards Hall wafted up to us.
"May I join you?"
"Of course," Bauer said.
I sat on the step next to him.
"Beautiful night, isn't it?"
"Yes, Miss Barrett. I ain't never seen anything like it."
At first his statement set me back, but then…. "You've never spent time in the country, have you?"
"No, miss. It's wonderful here."
"I agree, and look at you!" I flicked his lapel. "Fine linen suit, looking remarkably dapper and like a gentleman of leisure."
He laughed.
"Mrs. McIntire picked this out for me. It's all right, but I feel silly wearing these short pants."
"I know you do, Bauer."
Slowly the intelligence that Constance had shown Bauer a kindness sank into my heart. Maybe that woman was softening to the boy; maybe my half-baked notions…were slipping away.
"Miss Barrett?"
"Yes."
"How are preparations for the new store going?"
"Good, Bauer. So far so good."
"That's a relief. I can't wait to see it all. Mr. McIntire talks about the Tunnelway, and tells me that's where I'll be spending most of my time."
"He does?"
"Yeah. Says I'll be down there running errands between the store and the warehouse. But I won't mind."
I decided a good-natured distraction was called for; a quiz for him on which line we had taken to get here. "Well, my little railroad enthusiast, how did you like your journey on the…the…?"
"The Saint Louis and San Francisco Railroad, miss?
"Yes, that's the one." He had made me smile with my whole heart. He's such bright little scamp.
"It was wonderful! So much to see."
"Yes, I thought it was beautiful too."
Our conversation was interrupted briefly by loud victory hoots from the Billiards Hall. Just beyond it was the large one-story guesthouse for the younger, unmarried men of Famous-Barr. The Hayloft, as it was known, could reputedly sleep forty city bachelors with country ease and comfort.
Refocusing my attention, I realized this must have been the south side of The Clubhouse where Bauer and I were seated. Flanking the porch steps were the faintly scented buds of daylilies. Their subtle aroma surrounded us and made me consider how short is the life of one of their kind. They have just one day in the sun, and this evening the brave-hued little fellows who had made my heart gladder only hours ago were now shut closed, never to open again, but still managed to send out their last sweetness to us anyway. Next to them, the buds that will blossom tomorrow are tightly sprung and anxious, counting the moments for warmth and the chance to stretch and live out their full potential.
However, for the moment, a state of either vibrant equilibrium or dull stasis reigned; I did not pretend to know which.
My glance from my companion must have been too long, for he turned concerned eyes up to me.
I shook off my thoughts with remembrance of work matters.
"You know, Bauer, one of my pre-move-in tasks is to stage all the finished departments and work with the photographer to document each one. It's a lot of work, and I think I will need an assistant on the days we shoot."
The boy looked a total blank.
"You, Bauer. I want you to help me."
"Me, miss?"
"You are perfect. You have an interest in photography, and seem to love it too."
I had to halt. The overwhelmingly happy and excited sparkle in Bauer's eyes stopped me cold.
"I will help you, Miss Barrett. You can count on me." A cloud passed atop his features. "But what about Mr. McIntire?"
"I will talk to him; leave it to me. As long as you want to do it…."
He nodded.
"Then I will tell him I need you and he'll say yes."
Naturally, I didn't tell the boy McIntire would say yes even if the answer were 'No!' The backing I have from Messrs. May and Salomon would see to that.
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1913
Wednesday, July 2nd
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Famous-on-the-Meramec, near Eureka, Mo.
Dear Diary,
Very sensibly so, breakfast was served buffet style. The morning was warm, and the still breezes and insistent whiff of hay riding on them promised a hot afternoon of sunshine and splashing Famousites in the river.
I collected my portion of scrambled eggs, a bran muffin, and dab of sweet cream butter – made in the property's dairy – and scanned the dining room.
Able to seat about one hundred fifty people, now less than twenty-five were scattered about. I wondered if the head of store security was among them; I had to show and get his sign-off on the architect's reworked jail cell. As a virtual ocean liner of commerce, FB needed a brig as well. Shoplifters beware.
While I was looking to see who I could see for business reasons, I stepped out to the screened-in eating porch. The air here was delightful, and birdsong greeted me.
Stretching along one narrow side of The Clubhouse, another fifty guests could be seated here; now only a few groups sat at scattered tables.
Damn.
Too late. They saw me. Worse yet, the man compounded the impossibility of me sailing past them by rising.
"Ah, Mr. McIntire – Mrs. McIntire – good morning," I was forced to cheep.
"Good morning, Miss Barrett," he said, looking warily at his wife.
I felt a smile rise. "May I join you?"
A questioning glance to the Missus confirmed to McIntire that I was not welcomed.
Thus, I pulled out a chair and ensconced myself, thorn-like in her side.
While I undid my napkin and silverware, I bantered witlessly. "Beautiful day, is it not, Mrs. McIntire?"
"Delightful."
I split my bran muffin and smeared one half unctuously with butter. "Any particular plans for today?"
Mr. McIntire sat. "Some of the boys in The Hayloft are planning a special rig for the Fourth. I'll be helping them this afternoon."
A suddenly horrified thought struck me. "You haven’t housed Bauer with those 'boys,' have you?" The Hayloft was like a college dormitory, and there's no telling how much trouble they could cause for an eight-year-old amongst them.
"No, Miss Barrett," Constance said. "He's sleeping with us, on a rollaway bed." She seemed surprised at the vehemence of my interest.
There was a glass preserves jar in the center of the table. I drew it to me. Avoiding the woman's eyes, I took off the linen doily protecting the conserves from flies and spread a fair chunk of strawberry jelly on my muffin. "Well, that's good. He is still rather young, you know, despite his maturity."
I re-covered the jam pot and took a bite at last. Delicious, but the expression on Mrs. McIntire's face was closer to sour grapes.
I disliked this woman; she was shallow, dull, devoid of humor, and worst of all, had her Mister wrapped around her little finger.
Mrs. McIntire made a display of setting her eating utensils nosily on the rim of her plate.
While I sampled my eggs, she leaned towards me.
"Out of friendly curiosity, Miss Barrett, do you ever mind your life being unfulfilled?"
I set my fork down, swallowed and dabbed my mouth with my napkin. The tone of condescending pity in Constance's voice raised anger in me.
I rebuffed her calmly, as if having to explain a simple thing to an even simpler child, "I have my career, Mrs. McIntire."
She scoffed, thrusting her spine back on her seat. "I worked too, but a woman's real job begins when she sets up a house and makes it a warm and inviting home for children."
A complex emotional reaction arose within me. I collected my wits for a moment, glancing at Mr. McIntire and finding some unexpected encouragement there. "My hope," I said without vindictiveness, "is that career women of the future won't have to make homemaking 'a job' if they don't want to. Let's imagine a time when marriage is not an automatic I quit from a career they find fulfilling too."
Mrs. McIntire acted vaporous, like the melodramatic heroine of a moving picture show.
"John, dear," she sighed, rising to her feet and making him stand as well. "I've come over all queer again." Her hand drifted to her midsection. "I think I'd better lie down."
"Yes, dear."
"Is that…." She paused, apparently rethinking her word choice of idiot. "Is that boy out of our room?"
"Yes, Constance dear. I saw him collecting a fishing pole and bait, so I expect we won't see him till lunch."
She held my eyes; maybe she expected me to stand as well. Instead, I resumed eating my too-long neglected muffin.
"Well good," she huffed. "Now, if you'll excuse me."
I gave a brief wave with my soiled jam knife.
Chewing contentedly, I watched her clear the room. Suddenly Mr. McIntire sighed, and I felt sorry for him. His escaped breath was one of resigned exasperation.
"Since I'm standing, Miss Barrett, may I get two cups of coffee for us?"
I nodded with open enthusiasm.
By the time it took him to return with a small tray rattling convivially with coffee service for two, I had finished my eggs and muffin.
The pleasant breeze did much to restore the lightness of the space after Constance's departure.
I stirred in a lump of sugar. "Mr. McIntire, these last six weeks before the store opening will be frantic to say the least. In the final fortnight preceding the ribbon cutting ceremony I will need an assistant to help the photographer and myself with last moment arrangements. I told Bauer he could do it. Do you foresee any problems arising due to a professional furlough of the lad to me?"
"No, Miss Barrett." He took out a pocket calendar and notebook. "Weeks of August 25th and September 1st?"
"Yes, that's right."
He made a note complacently; I could see the man had a lot on his mind.
≈ • ≈ • ≈
- 15
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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