Land Sakes (14 page)

“Now, Percival, you go up to your room and call for an ice pack. Lie down a while and when you feel like it, give me a call.”

All that taken care of, I parted company to go up to the suite and tell Mrs. Winchester what all had happened.

13

Mrs. Winchester wanted to hear the whole story, and her mouth dropped open as I was telling her everything that had happened. Once I finished, she commenced giggling, and the more she thought about it, the funnier it got to her. I managed to get tickled too, now that it was all over.

We were still laughing when the phone rang. It was Percival, and he sounded as woebegone as a body can get, which was no wonder; he had really been put through the wringer. Even so, with good reason he was anxious to get on the road. “Ask Mrs. Win
chus
ter, if she has no objection; I would like to leave as soon as possible.”

I repeated his message, and Mrs. Winchester agreed that we needed to get out of Dodge before we got slapped with a warrant or something. “Tell Percival we will leave in the morning.”

I told him that, and he thanked me. “Now, Percival, did you get that ice pack?” He said he had, so I told him to take care of that lump and to call me if he needed me.

“Miss E.,” he said, and I know this was hard for him to say, “I don't know how... how to thank you for all you did today.”

“Think nothing of it,” I told him. “You just take care of yourself. And, Percival, if you're not up to driving tomorrow, I can help you out.”

How could I know that idea would throw him into a panic—but it did. His voice shot up so high it could have broke the sound barrier! “Oh no! No, that won't be necessary.”

Without the Rolls to take us anywhere, this meant Mrs. Winchester and I had an afternoon and evening left to ourselves.

I did ask her if she wanted to go to a cemetery or something. “We can take a cab.”

“No, I've been to Chicago many times, and I've seen all the graves I want to see. Al Capone's is one you ought to see. He's buried in Hillside, which is not far from here. You would understand what the epitaph on his tombstone means—‘My Jesus Mercy.'” But before I could say anything, she rattled on, “I ordered a pedicure. Would you like to have one? They're coming to the suite.”

“No, thank you.”

“They have a lovely afternoon tea in the lobby if you'd like to enjoy that.”

That sounded okay, but I told her if I ate in the afternoon it would spoil my appetite for supper. What I really wanted to do was have time alone to read my Bible and pray. “If there's nothing you need me for, Mrs. Win
chester, I'll just go to my room. I have a few things I need to take care of.”

It was wonderful having an afternoon free, but I hardly got settled in my room when, as you might guess, the phone rang. It was Barbara wanting to know how things were going. Since this was long distance, I gave her a short version of the excitement we'd had in the park, and she got a big charge out of that. Then she asked, “How's Mother doing?”

“She's fine. Right now she's having a pedofile,” I said. “Sunday we went to a little country church.”

“To church? I can't believe it. Did she like it?”

“She loved it.”

“Oh, Miss E., that's great!”

“How are things at Priscilla Home?”

“Same old, same old. The new director stays in her apartment a lot, which is fine with the rest of us.”

“She's not sick?”

“No. Rumor has it she's nipping.”

“Now, Barbara, that's nothing but gossip; you know how I feel about that. Try to put a lid on that before it gets out of hand.”

“Okay.”

“How are the Ringstaffs?”

“Oh, they're great. Mr. Ringstaff still comes every day. We're studying Ephesians, and it's just wonderful. Lenora brought us a new hair dryer and gave us a concert the other night.”

Barbara was pretty bubbly, which gave me a good idea
that Nancy was keeping up morale. But it worried me that the girls didn't like the new director. I wanted to ask how the money was coming in, but Barbara wasn't the person to ask.

Hearing about Priscilla Home made me blue, and the feeling stayed with me all afternoon until it was time to change and get ready for happy hour.

As it turned out, Mrs. Winchester didn't stay in the bar as long as usual. Since we were leaving early the next morning, I figured maybe she had the good sense to hold down on her drinking so she wouldn't be hungover and too bent out of shape to travel. We went to the Avenues, a restaurant next to the lobby that overlooks a park. “It's the Water Tower Park,” she told me.

If I was to say what I thought of the decorating in the restaurant, I'd say it was done in very high-class Chinese art, and even though I had been turned off of everything Chinese by them Charlie Chan movies Beatrice and I used to watch, I liked what they done in the Avenues. In addition to the pretty panels and stuff, there was this out-of-this-world kitchen open to the public where you could keep an eye on the chef and everything that was going on in there. That I liked.

Even so, foreigners eat stuff we Americans don't, so I wasn't going to take a chance on ordering something foreign that would make me break out in a rash and itch for the rest of the trip. Why they don't write menus in plain English is beyond me. I spotted the word
salmon
and decided to order that. I could eat the salmon and leave off anything they served with it that I didn't recognize.

Since we had to get up early the next day, I felt it my duty to get Mrs. Winchester to eat food along with what she was drinking, because that would help keep her from getting soused. So as I studied the menu, I acted like my mouth was watering over everything on it. She fell for it and ordered everything from a sushi appetizer, which is one thing I would not put in my mouth, to a full-course dinner of Oriental seafood and some kind of red wine.

“I always stay in the Peninsula when I'm in Hong Kong or Singapore,” she was saying.

“You been to China?”

She nodded, but she must have not got much out of it because when I asked her how she liked it, she said it was depressing.

Her sushi was arranged to look like a flower on the plate, and she dived right in to gobble it down. Expecting her to gag or strangle or keel over dead, I could hardly keep my mind on what she was telling me. “I read in the newspaper that Philip tried to buy into these Peninsula hotels, but they wouldn't let him.”

As for the wine, she polished that off in no time flat, and the waiter swooped down on her like a vulture to pour her some more. I gave him a look that would wilt a dandelion, and he got my drift. She finished eating the sushi, but she didn't keel over or nothing.

“The Japanese must not allow foreign investors,” she said.

“Japanese? I thought this place was Chinese.”
So, the Japanese won't let that money-grubbing Philip buy into their business. They're smart, those Japanese
.

Well, we got through the meal okay. Mrs. Winchester
ate everything on that platter and didn't fall out from it. After I finished my salmon, I studied the dessert menu, but, like I say, it was not wrote in English. So I waited until she made her choice, banana crème brûlée with milk chocolate ice cream. That sounded okay, so I ordered that too, with coffee. Mrs. Winchester wanted Irish whiskey in her coffee. So far she seemed to be holding her liquor okay, but I never knew when another drink would tip the balance.

Even when we were back in the suite she seemed okay, but by the time we were ready for bed, she started carrying on like she did before. Only this time, she seemed to forget that business of having had a wonderful childhood. “You know, Miss E.,” she said, “nobody has ever loved me... but that hasn't affected me in the least. I'm a well-rounded person, don't you think?”

Well, I sure couldn't agree with her about being well-rounded; that is, unless she meant her figure. She was plenty well-rounded in that department. But I know she meant her personality was not affected by not being loved. Nothing could be further from the truth, but, land sakes, I didn't have the heart to tell her she was wrong.

“Well, Mrs. Winchester, my mother always told me that love begets love. You love somebody else, and they will love you back. If nobody ever loved you, maybe it's because you never loved anybody else.” I realized too late that sounded blunt, but it had just popped in my head to say it.

Mrs. Winchester stared at me and didn't say anything for a long time. I was afraid I had hurt her feelings.

As it turned out, I hadn't. I think she was debating whether or not to tell me what she finally whispered. “I love Philip.”

You could have knocked me over with a feather!
How could she ever have loved a man like Philip Winchester, knowing he only married her for money
? I couldn't say a word.

That thing stayed with me long after I went in my room to get ready for bed. I took a quick bath, packed a few things, and kept thinking about it.
Love don't make no sense a-tall. It's pure nonsense. She won't never get a life if she keeps holding a torch for him. Maybe sometime I can come up with some way to help her face the facts
.