Authors: Ann Rinaldi
"Who are you?"
"My name is Bridget. Bridget Moore."
"Did my husband hire you to do the gardening?" I knew this was not so, but after all, I am the mistress of this place, am I not? And I must be strong.
She shook her head no. "I was just after hoein' the weeds." Her face is full of freckles. I thought how we must sound, she with her Irish accent and me with my Southern drawl.
She said nobody had hired her.
Then what was she doing here? I asked. She blushed. Oh, she'd seen the ground, she told me, the beautiful earth begging for seed. And it looked almost as good as the earth used to look in Ireland. Before she came here. "'Tis a shame to let it go to waste and not grow vegetables, ma'am," she said. "Good land is a gift from God."
I took exception to her telling me that. Like I didn't know. "I come from a plantation in South Carolina," I said. "My father grows cotton and peanuts and corn and everything. I know about land."
She did a little knee bob of a curtsy. "Meant no disrespect."
"What are you going to do with the vegetables?"
"Bring them home to my family. Himself went and got injured on the job. That's my pa. Ma is lookin'for work. We've got little ones to care for and my grandfather lives with us. He was in the war and ain't much good for anythin' now."
"I'll tell my husband and ask if you can keep the vegetables," I said. "I'll let you know. What kind of work does your mother do? And what about you? What do you do?"
"Ma's a good cook," she said. "I'll do anythin'."
That evening when Rene came home, I did ask him about her. We were getting ready to go out to dinner, at the house of some of his friends. It seems I had to be properly introduced as his wife.
I could see he didn't like any of it. "Why can't we hire her mother as cook?" I asked. "She's looking for work."
He shook his head no. "You can't just hire people we know nothing about," he said sternly. "They must be investigated, have references. They'll be in our home."
It was a reproach. Tears came to my eyes. Rene has a tower of steel inside him that you can't get around when he doesn't want you to. I have learned that. Now I must learn how to get around it.
Then he put his arm around me, softening. "If you see her tomorrow, tell her to come around. And bring her mother. I'll let her know about the job, and the vegetables."
THE WEATHER
has been chilly and rainy. Not at all like spring at home. But Rene says that when the rain stops it will be lovely. Still, I'm disappointed. The only flowers that are out are crocuses and daffodils.
Yesterday we even had some snow. The paper said three inches. I felt sorry for the daffodils, who have their heads sticking out of it. Rene says they will survive.
I know Rene has his mind on a new shipment of silk that just came in. He told me how they have so many orders from Buffalo, where, he says, there are so many millionaires you can't count them on your fingers, and where they are all dressing their daughters to send to England to marry into nobility.
"What do they do with themselves, these millionaires?" I asked.
"Work," he said, "harder each day. Just like Adrian and I do."
We were having breakfast in the kitchen. He had the folded-up morning newspaper in one hand and was reading it while we talked. I was stunned. "Are you a millionaire?" I asked.
He took his eyes off the paper and smiled at me. "Yes, we are," he answered. "Though it is never to be spoken of."
"You and Adrian?" I asked.
"No," he said. "You and I. Adrian has his own resources."
I fell silent. Discussion of money only made me think of Mama and Daddy and home. Was part of his million our plantation?
"What do you do with your money?" I asked.
And he answered. "Invest. Tie it up in assets. But I hope to have a family and a good life, too. What is it, Rose? What's troubling you?"
"I don't like to talk about money."
"You shouldn't like it. Just depend on me and enjoy what we have."
Just then came a knock on the back door. It was Bridget, with her mother and what she called a Brooklyn cheesecake, which she'd made herself. Rene thanked her and gallantly offered them some breakfast, which they declined. He asked Bridget if she wanted to work for us as a helper and personal servant to me. Her eyes lit up. "Mama can cook," she said.
"I have no doubt that she can," Rene said, "but I must interview you both first and get some recommendations."
He brought them right into the parlor to interview them. I stayed in the kitchen, hoping they'd get the jobs. All Rene needed, he said, were some personal recommendations. Where did they live? As it turns out, they take the trolley line to get here. It's an Irish community where they live. Bridget told us the Irish have lived here in Brooklyn since the middle of the last century.
Rene said he'd have some of his people investigate them. It sounded so formal, even frightening. I wouldn't want anybody investigating me. Would they go into their neighborhood? He said yes, but not to worry about it. Just worry about what I was going to wear tonight, because we were invited out for supper.
WE HAD
Easter dinner cooked by Mrs. Moore, Bridget's mother. It was a delicious ham with all the trimmings. Rene has decided to hire both of them. I am so glad.
THE SUN
was bright and warm today and we have some tulips out now. The phone rang when Rene was out and it was Adrian, Rene's brother. We had a brief conversation. He asked me how his little brother was treating me, and I said fine. He invited us to his home for dinner. I said I would have Rene call him.
"The little bride," he called me. I wonder what Rene has told him about me. He sounds very nice.
Last night we went to the Willink House and Hotel on Flatbush Avenue for dinner with business friends of Rene's. He says the hotel is owned by two eccentric old ladies. We had an excellent supper, but I am tired of eating out, although I realize that many of these suppers are social obligations.
Still, I decided to make supper tonight for us, for we were supposed to be going out alone. I walked to Flatbush Avenue and went to the butcher and the greengrocer. Then I trudged home and made an excellent pot roast with vegetables and one of Grandmother's Connecticut pies. It was Mrs. Moore's day off.
Rene didn't know whether to be angry or pleased. "I don't want you slaving over a hot stove," he scolded. Yet he said the dinner was excellent, and I know he was pleased with my accomplishment. He hugged me and called me the "Mistress of Dorchester."
"Dorchester is the road, not the house," I reminded him.
"I think then that we'll name the house Dorchester," he said. "It sounds romantic, doesn't it?"
I said yes and asked him how you name a house. He said he didn't know, that you probably just referred to it that way. So we decided to call the house Dorchester. And Rene said I am the mistress.
He is happy with Bridget and her mother, Mrs. Moore. "We have to stop living like savages around here," he told me.
BRIDGET CAME
this morning, bearing another Brooklyn cheesecake. "What would you have me do, sir?" she asked Rene. He told her just to keep his wife company, attend to her needs and wants, and help her mother.
"I can do all that and more, sir," she promised him. Then he kissed me and left. "Remember," he whispered in my ear, "you have a servant now. And remember you are the Mistress of Dorchester. Act accordingly."
"Of course I will," I promised.
"Not if I know you," he said. "If I know you, I'll come home and find you skipping rope with Bridget."
I must write to my mother. Other than a short note to let her know we arrived safely, I have not written.
TODAY WAS OUR DAY
to go to supper at Rene's brother's house. They live near Bedford Avenue in the old William Payne house. It is a darling house with a front porch and lots of trees and a large front lawn on which they have a croquet set. Adrian is just as I thought, genial and protective of Rene, though he kids him a lot. His wife, Sara, is sweet and childlike in the way women get when they don't have children. I think we can be friends. She told me I must join the local flower club, that I would enjoy it. I said I would consider it. Afterward, when the men went into Adrian's study to have their smokes and drinks, she took me outside to show me her gardens. I think she is an accomplished married lady. I wish I could be like that.
RENE WENT
to the local Episcopal church with me, even though he is supposed to be Catholic. He was sent to a school by his parents in France, he told me, where the priests were so strict that he left the church as soon as he attained his majority. Then he took me to New York to dine at Delmonico's. I missed my family dearly.
I HAVE A LETTER
from Mama! How exciting! She tells of the lovely spring down there. Daddy has had his people plant seven acres of cotton. A dead porpoise, about eight feet long, washed up with the tide. Daddy secured a rope to it and dragged it onto the beach, and hopes to get about five gallons of oil out of it. Some cattle got into his corn and ate it badly. Little Benjamin has had a spring cold and is starting to say words. I must write, she says, and let her know about my new home. And, oh yes, Heppi is expecting a baby.
I ASKED RENE
where he lived before he bought this house. He said he rented part of Dellwood House in Bay Ridge. He promised to show it to me sometime. It is high on the bluffs overlooking New York Bay and the hills of Staten Island. But he had always wanted his own home, and so he purchased this one right before his trip when he met me. Rene doesn't say much about his past, or his family, with the exception of Adrian. It occurred to me today that he has told me nothing. I wonder why. Did he tell my parents? He must have told Daddy something, or Daddy would never want me to marry him. Suppose he comes from people who are wanted by the law back in France? Suppose he owes great globs of money? Oh, I must stop being so foolish.
AS THE WEATHER
becomes nicer, I find it difficult to stay indoors. I am spending quite a bit of time outside, tending to the flowers. We have the most beautiful peonies behind the house. They are white and pale pink, full pink, and deep magenta. I can't stop looking at them.
TODAY RENE
caught me weeding the garden, and so he immediately said he must hire a gardener, that he has been remiss. He put an ad in the
Brooklyn Eagle,
not only for a gardener but for an all-around man, and a washerwoman. Mrs. Moore has been kindly washing our clothes and putting them on the drying line out back.
TODAY I FOUND
a beautiful black-and-white cat on the stoop in back of the house. He is most friendly. I told Rene I wanted to keep him, and he said all right, but don't be upset if someone comes around claiming him for their own. I think I shall name him Patches.
PATCHES IS
doing quite well and nobody has yet claimed him. He sleeps at the foot of our bed at night. I think it is very decent of Rene to allow this, since he isn't overly fond of cats, but sometimes I think he would grant me just about anything I wanted. I know he spoils me. But I like it.
For instance, this morning I wanted to go walking on Dorchester Road, and since it was Sunday, Rene agreed. And it was as if we came out of a beehive, Rene and I, because of a sudden we met all our neighbors.
Mrs. Manning lives next door. She is elderly with white hair and a glint in her eye. She is in a wheelchair and has a young black man wheel her about. "I see you outside all the time with the flowers," she said. "What are you going to do with all the flowers?"
I told her that where I come from, on Decoration Day, we gather flowers and take them to the cemeteries to put on the graves of the war dead. She asked me then if I had anybody who died in the war. I told her about my daddy's uncle Sumner, but that I didn't know him. She asked why I brought flowers to the cemetery then. "It doesn't matter if we know the person or not," I said. "We put flowers on all the graves."
Well, she thought that was the best idea since electricity came to Brooklyn. The neighbors here put flowers only on the graves of those they know, she told me, and the other graves look so lost and lonely. "Why don't you encourage the neighbors hereabouts to go with you and do the same thing?" she asked. "You know, here on Dorchester Road we have a big picnic, with speeches and everything, on Decoration Day. It could be part of the ceremonies."
I looked at Rene. "You could visit some neighbors," he said, "and have them pass the word. It's for a good cause."
So I said I would. Now what have I gotten myself into?
BRIDGET AND I
literally knocked on doors this day, to solicit donors to bring flowers for Decoration Day. We knocked on the doors of Mrs. Mason, Mrs. Dell, and Mrs. Norwich. They all liked the idea of bringing flowers to the grave sites of the war dead. Then we had to visit the two churches involved, the Catholic and the Episcopalian, to see if there are any graves of war veterans. It turns out there are. And we went to make a count so we would have enough flowers.
TODAY IS
Decoration Day, and the weather was beautiful. Mrs. Moore made up a ham and a platter of potato salad. Her potato salad is almost as good as Opal's. I put on my next-best dress (it is white) and a large hat, white gloves, and shoes, and we went to the festivities. Rene and I were introduced as newcomers. After the ceremonies and speeches, I assembled with the other women in back of the parade, each with a bouquet of flowers in our hands, and we walked to the cemeteries. Then we who had flowers went about distributing them on the graves. How pretty they looked! I heard Mrs. Norwich say we should do this every year.