Parlor Games (31 page)

Over the next two years, I found myself more and more discontented with Rudolph, who had become quite contrary: “Use your
own money if you must go to plays every Saturday,” or “Mother and Miriam will not be happy that we are staying only two weeks at Christmas,” and “No, I refuse to mingle with the masses at Queen Victoria’s funeral. They can bury her well enough without me—or you, for that matter.”

In truth, he’d grown tiresome, and I missed my family. Then I received a letter from Maman informing me that Paul had lost his lumber-mill job and Gene, two years post–dental training, still hadn’t secured a dentist position or managed to set up a practice in Menominee.

I reported the news to Rudolph at luncheon and said, “My family needs me. I must go back to the States.”

“Would you like me to go with you?”

I’d anticipated such an offer from him, reluctant as he was to let me out of his sight for a single evening. “I think it’s best if I go on my own. I’ll try to make it a quick trip.”

Upon Daisy’s urging, I withdrew all the money from my London account: “You said you might want to invest it, and America is the place for that.”

In September of 1901, Daisy, Dicky, and I journeyed to Liverpool and boarded the SS
Majestic
for New York. Oh, how I looked forward to reclaiming the spirit of adventure I’d bottled up during almost nine years with Rudolph and his family.

ACQUISITIONS OLD AND NEW
FROM LONDON TO ARKANSAS—SEPTEMBER-OCTOBER 1901

I
so loved my well-appointed first-class cabin on the SS
Majestic
, the leisure of afternoons lolling in a deck chair, the beauty of sunsets at sea. In fact, I enjoyed everything about that crossing: my newfound sense of freedom; the utter relaxation of life without appointments; the companionable dinners. And after sacrificing so many youthful years to country life and reaching the age of thirty-two, I was pleased to find that men still flocked to me.

I never imagined, however, that my convivial chats with one particular American businessman would pay high dividends. Near journey’s end, Mr. Harry Drummer, an athletic but balding widower on holiday with his son, began to seek me out for late-afternoon cocktails. He jested he was “not only vice president, but finances pooh-bah” at Churchill Downs.

“Ah, Mrs. de Vries, there you are,” he said upon finding me chatting in the saloon with Daisy and Dicky. The aura of cigar smoke floated about him. “May I join you?”

Mr. Drummer hailed from Kentucky, just like my old friend Sue Marie, and I took some comfort in his long-voweled Kentucky drawl. I introduced him to Daisy and her brother, who drifted off to freshen up before dinner.

Mr. Drummer guided me to a seat by a porthole and ordered drinks for us. “What’ll you do when we land?”

I twisted my wedding ring to center its diamond on my finger. “My family is expecting me in Michigan. But I might stop a night in New York.”

“Well, I guess Robert and I’ll do about the same. Duty calls in Louisville.”

I gazed out the porthole. The seas surged with choppiness, the worst of our ten days at sea. Although I’d escaped a bad case of seasickness, the ship’s pitching did gurgle my stomach. “Goodness,” I said, “this roughness is a bit unnerving.”

“Swivel around here,” he said, rising to help me rearrange my chair and, in the process, suggestively clasping my shoulder. “It’ll help if you look at the horizon.”

I allowed—but did not yield to—his touch. “I wonder how long these unruly seas will last.”

He settled in his seat again. “The captain says just another day.”

I took a few deep breaths. “Yes, that’s better.”

Mr. Drummer braced his forearms on the table and leaned toward me. “Say, weren’t you talking about making an investment?”

“Yes, if I can find a worthy speculation.”

He lowered his voice. “Churchill Downs is planning to build a racetrack outside Hot Springs.”

“How far along are you with the plans?”

“Oh, it’s all on paper now, but we’re about to buy some property near Lawrence station. Place should be booming once we break ground.”

I grinned. “To say nothing of when you open the track.”

“Horse racing
is
lucrative.” Mr. Drummer swung his head in a loop. “Yes, it is.”

“Have you broken the news yet?”

“No, it’s strictly on the hush. If you’d care to join me for dinner, I can fill you in on the details.”

Our drinks arrived, and I swooped mine up and tipped it against his. “To shrewd investing.”

In early October, our ship steamed into New York, where I found the newspapers plastered with reports of McKinley’s assassination and Czolgosz’s trial and impending execution. The mood in the city was so somber I was loath to loiter even a day. I packed a suitcase and sent my wardrobe trunk ahead to Menominee with word that I
would soon follow. Daisy, Dicky, and I took the train to Hot Springs and checked into the Arlington Hotel. That day and evening, we saw the sights in downtown Hot Springs, which was booming with rowdy visitors and gambling games—not that I had any interest in gambling myself. Before Dicky could search out the local ruffians, as was his wont, I sent him off to track down a horse and carriage for us to rent, and on the second day he drove the three of us to Lawrence station.

We arrived in the afternoon, parched from the journey, and toured all the dusty roads around the train station looking for a place to stay. But we found little by way of accommodations: a hotel with a sagging porch and a boardinghouse. So I ordered Dicky to drive us back to the station.

I thumped on the carriage compartment to signal Dicky to pull over.

When he jumped down, I opened the door and said, “Go in that tavern and ask if there are any nice hotels in the area. And please bring us some water.”

After a few minutes, Dicky emerged with glasses of water for Daisy and me, which we straightaway gulped down. He leaned against the carriage door, his hand braced on the door and a foot propped on the step.

“There’s a place several miles down the road,” he said. “Potash Sulphur Hotel.”

Dicky used the tavern keeper’s directions to drive us there. The eighty-four-room resort featured grounds with an archery range, badminton nets, and two bathhouses for taking the waters. The property sat atop a knoll, and behind it golden grasses rippled down to a river. Trees nestled along the river’s curves; their leaves had changed to oranges and browns but still clung to the boughs. The picturesque scene nearly tempted me to take off my shoes, skip down the hill, and dabble in the cool river waters.

We checked in, intending to relax for a few days before continuing our journey. I carried my suitcase down the long second-floor hall to my room. The construction seemed solid enough; I discerned only minimal creaking of the floorboards. But the paint on the hallway walls peeled away at the seams, and the doorknob to my room jiggled in its socket before catching. Blue-and-green floral wallpaper
decorated the walls of the thirty-square-foot room, though the sun had faded the parts washed by window light. Acrid scents of perspiration and stale kerosene hung in the air. I brushed my hand over the liquid-and-cigarette-stained veneer on the bird’s-eye-maple dresser and inspected a lantern of about 1870s vintage stowed on a corner shelf. The bed, though covered with a clean, hoop-patterned quilt, squeaked when I sat on it. Upon turning in for the night, I couldn’t help but roll into the bed’s slumping middle; many bodies had obviously occupied its recess. I cracked my window to freshen the room, and the babbling river and rustling leaves lulled me into a dreamy slumber.

Daisy, Dicky, and I met in the breakfast room the next morning and seated ourselves on chairs smoothed down in their leg channels. I asked Daisy and Dicky to report on their rooms, which sounded as sorry as mine.

Studying the frayed edges of our beige tablecloth, I said, “This place could use a serious sprucing up.”

We sat near a wide window at the rear of the dining area. Dicky eyed the weathered window casing. “Maybe a good gutting.”

“At the least, new wallpaper and furniture,” said Daisy.

As we finished our flat cakes and ham, the owner’s wife, white-haired Mrs. Honeyman, came around to greet us.

“I just want to welcome you folks to our little piece of paradise.” Her cheeks plumped into cheery mounds as she spoke, and she clasped her hands over her round, aproned belly.

I reached out to shake her hand. “I’m Mrs. May de Vries. These are my traveling companions, Belle and Richard Emmett.”

Daisy and Dicky greeted her with nods and smiles.

“Pleased to meet you,” she said.

I looked into her baby-blue eyes. “You have a lovely property here.”

“Well, thank you. We’ve been cherishin’ it for thirty-eight years now.”

“I’m surprised to see so few guests.”

“Oh, in its heyday people came from all over. But now it’s mostly regulars.”

“Is that likely to change in the near future?”

“No reason it should.”

“That adds to its appeal,” I said, glancing out the wide window overlooking the resort’s rolling property. “It’s very peaceful.”

With a “You folks enjoy your stay, now,” she sauntered off, swaying back and forth on her bowed legs.

I sipped my coffee and meditated on the view of rusty leaves glistening in the sun.

As Mrs. Honeyman sidled up to a table a few down from ours, Daisy whispered, “They don’t know about the racetrack.”

I replaced my coffee cup. “That appears to be the case.”

“How do you want to handle it?”

“You and Dicky go into Hot Springs and track down some information about property sales, especially places comparable to this one. That’ll help me determine a fair offering price.”

Dicky pulled up out of his slump. “Might take some time to find some sales.”

“Stay overnight in Hot Springs if you’d like.” I calculated—two rooms and four meals for two, but not enough to tempt Dicky to drink intemperately—reached into my coin purse, and handed Daisy a twenty-dollar bill. “For your expenses.”

Daisy tucked the money into her skirt pocket. “We’d better get going.”

Daisy and Dicky dropped their napkins on the table and rose.

I caught Daisy’s eye. “And for goodness’ sake, be discreet.”

“You might have noticed: I’m actually quite good at that,” said Daisy, scraping her chair back into place and marching out with Dicky.