Crestmont by Holly Weiss Page B

asking, is your family pleased that you are with us this summer?”
    “Yes, ma’am,” Gracie stammered, ashamed at the bold-faced lie.
    “Good. Tomorrow it will be just a week since you came. I hope we have made you feel at home.” Checking her watch pin, she said, “I’d better get back to the Woodshed. Many tasks make for much fatigue. Goodnight.”
    “Goodnight, Mrs. Woods.”
    “Woodshed,” that’s what the Woods’ cottage was called, Gracie mused, as she turned on the lamp. It was much more than a shed, Dorothy had told her, with three bedrooms, steam heat, and a coal-burning stove. They could live there all winter, enabling Mr. Woods to keep track of the Crestmont while he taught at Westlawn Academy for Boys.
    She opened the dictionary and found “acquiesce.” After writing down the definitions for all of her vocabulary words, she closed the heavy book and shut off the lamp. The full moon shone through the curtain casting a delicate pattern of lace on the wall. It illuminated a plaque on the desk:

     
    William Warner
    1853-1911
    Creator of the Crestmont Dream

     
    Gracie remembered the wistful expression on Mrs. Woods face when she had shown her father’s portrait after the interview. It seemed like Mrs. Woods missed her father a lot. Gracie hardly ever thought about her parents. What was wrong with her? The only people she missed from home were Lily, George and Rev. Herbst . Telling Mrs. Woods her parents were pleased she was in Eagles Mere was a lie, but on the other hand, she wasn’t sure they really cared where she was. Lily would care, though. And George, well, she didn’t permit herself to think about him. Oh, but she just had, hadn’t she? Folding her arms in front of her on the desk, she lay her head down and let the tears come. She had to write the letter.

     
    ****

     
    Feeling restless after her shift the next day, Gracie decided to brave the laundry. She grabbed her soiled uniform, not bothering to change out of the one she wore, and headed down the back hill toward a small white-washed building. The fresh smell of soap, hissing of ironing machines, and chatting of female voices greeted her. A lovely whitewashed porch with rocking chairs, railings and delicate filigree invited her to sit down. Smoothing her skirt, she sank wearily into a rocker. Even though she was lonely, Gracie found peace in being alone. She peered up at the big house, standing brown and majestic on the hill. Laughter from guests strolling on the lawn drifted down to her. She watched them enviously between the branches of the huge blue spruce tree next to the porch, noticing how at ease they seemed to be with each other.
    “I see you survived your interview.” PT startled Gracie when he clambered into the other rocker. He lit a cigarette, then flapped out his match.
    “Oh, that was the easy part, I guess,” Gracie sighed. “It’s the fitting in that I’m not so good at. Most of the girls are much younger than I am, except Dorothy, of course. So far, she’s the only friend I’ve made.”
    “You met Magdalena yet?”
    “Who?”
    He tipped his head back toward the small building attached. “Heads up the laundry. Army sergeant type. Don’t let her catch you in that uniform when you are off shift. You’ll get a scolding for dirtying it up.” Gracie’s right eyebrow shot up as she checked the laundry door.
    He gave the stem of his pocket watch a couple of twists and checked the time. “Bowling alley opens in ten minutes. Some guests can’t figure out their own scores. Mr. Woods counts on me to help with the tallying without them knowing.”
    “Oh, well, thanks for the company. This is the first real conversation with a staffer near my age I’ve had since I arrived. Oh, and I liked your piano playing. It was different than anything I’ve heard.”
    “Yup.”
    Gracie scrambled up the hill to the big house, sure he must have thought her incredibly stupid to have said such a thing.

     
    III

     
    “Hey,