Chapter 22
CHAPTER 22
MONDAY, DECEMBER 26, 1927
C lara
Yesterday morning, Louisa and I left early, trudging to the hotel to be part of a small crew of staff to tend to the needs of guests. Thankfully, hotel management saw fit to share the Christmas workday and split the maids into either a morning, afternoon, or evening shift. The five-hour shift passed quickly as we all worked together on every guest floor, save for the eighth floor, which was tended exclusively by two eighth-floor maids per shift.
The mood at the hotel was light and festive, a welcome change from last week’s angst and uncertainty. Knowing Mr. Barnes would not pop his head out and sour my day left me free to tend to my tasks with ease and joy.
My worry melted to the back of my mind as we gathered with the afternoon shift. In a changing of the guard, so to speak, we assembled ourselves around the piano temporarily situated across from the registration desk.
Ms. Thompson sat at the piano bench and led us all in a chorus of Christmas songs. Soon, the lobby was filled to bursting with hotel guests and staff joining to celebrate Christmas Day. The ladies from the laundry, every bellboy and porter, and even Chef himself descended into the quaint and cozy hotel lobby as we raised our voices, if not all the way to heaven, then at least to the highest beams of the double-height lobby ceiling.
After the short day, we arrived home in good spirits, with plenty of time to enjoy Christmas afternoon and an evening meal together. The turkey, courtesy of Mr. Hamilton, is sure to keep us fed for the remainder of the week. Not to mention the gift certificate to the local butcher.
On Christmas Eve, Louisa had been juggling our large, fresh turkey when Ms. Thompson surprised us with the envelope. Having assumed Lou and I would share a gift of one turkey between us, my wide eyes had darted up to see the matron’s genuine delight as she’d explained. “Mr. Olson and I thought you might appreciate not having two turkeys to roast this holiday.”
* * *
Now, a day after Christmas, a fresh blanket of snow lulls all three of us into sleeping later than usual. I relish the quiet of the apartment as I mull over the events of the past week. With Louisa’s injury, my illness, and the bustle of the holiday season, our hotel schedules have looked like a patchwork quilt. Today is our only official day off.
Though Boxing Day has long been recognized as a government holiday in Canada, businesses such as The Hamilton never truly close, due to the nature of the services provided, which makes having the day off more special for us. The hotel will operate with a smaller crew today, and since all city and administrative work ceases, Papa, who works with the city parks, is free to enjoy the day at home with us.
I snuggle deeper under the covers, content to enjoy the restful morning.
An hour later, I am startled awake by the telephone ringing. A quick glance toward Louisa’s bed tells me she either hasn’t heard or is happy to ignore the offending sound. I marvel at her ability to remain still as the third ring pulls me from my bed, my bare feet hitting the cool, wood floor.
“Wilson residence.” I hear Papa’s gravelly morning voice as I enter the hall. “She is, but I am afraid she isn’t able to come to the telephone at the moment. I can tell her you called.” Papa’s voice smooths into a chuckle. “I will be sure to tell her that. She knows how to reach you, then?”
I am standing in the space between the living room and dining table when Papa turns and spots me. Unsurprisingly, he does not indicate the call is for me, so I settle myself on the sofa and wipe the sleep from my eyes.
“You do. Thank you for asking my permission.” I look up and find Papa’s lips quirking upward. “Yes, I imagine you can expect an answer shortly. You as well. Goodbye.”
Papa places the telephone’s handle on its holder and slides his hands into the pockets of his robe.
“Who was that?” The question comes out amidst a yawn.
“I’ll put the kettle on and fill you in.” Without hesitation, he moves into the kitchen and out of sight. I hear the sink filling the kettle and cups being retrieved from the cupboard.
A few minutes later, Papa reappears with two cups of tea and biscuits smothered in butter from last night’s feast.
“How did you sleep?” he places the tray on the coffee table before sinking into his usual chair with a cup of tea and a biscuit.
“Very well. I even managed to fall back asleep for a while.” I stir sugar into my cup and recline back into the soft sofa. “Who telephoned? Was it Thomas? I imagine Lou is desperate to hear from him. She’ll be sorry she missed his call.”
Papa smiles and shakes his head. “Actually, it was Mr. William Thompson, calling for you.”
I feel the heat rise in my cheeks, warming me through, all the way to my bare toes.
“He has invited you to have tea with him this afternoon.”
“Oh.” I have little else to offer at this news. My mind whirs with questions I’d like to ask about my father’s conversation with William, but I am at a loss for how to go about doing so.
I haven’t spoken privately with William since before Christmas. Our paths have crossed, but there hasn’t been an opportunity for more than a cordial hello. And now, with my situation within the hotel, I’m not sure anything more would be appropriate.
“He asked me to tell you that your favourite tea house is open today and he would like to take you there.”
“My favourite tea house?” I search my brain for a tea house that might be considered my favourite, given I seldom venture out for tea. Then it dawns on me. “Masao’s mother has a tea house. He must have been speaking with Cookie.” I look up at Papa. “I’ve only been there once, with her.”
Papa’s head bobs up and down. “He seems a good fellow. Courteous, well-mannered, and respectful.”
“You got all of that from a two-minute telephone call?” Louisa stands in the hall, dressed in a silky pink robe, her hair beautiful and wild in a cascade of curls.
“Good morning.” I stand to fetch her a cup for tea, but she waves me off, moving to the kitchen to retrieve one herself.
“So, what’s this about William Thompson inviting you to tea?” Louisa returns, settling herself on the sofa with her feet tucked up beside her.
Papa, seeming quite pleased with himself at having intercepted the call, adds further insight. “He even requested my permission to take you out.”
“I see.” Louisa sips from her cup. “He is serious, then.”
I am about to say otherwise, to tell my family that William and I are merely friends, when Louisa chimes in again. “I saw the way he was looking at you the day he brought me home.” Her face lights up as if someone has plugged her into an electrical socket. “Is that why he has returned to Vancouver so soon after his last visit? It hasn’t even been three months since he was last here, and Toronto is on the other side of the country.”
“If you must know, he came to spend Christmas with his sister.” I am glad to have an answer to quell her suspicions.
“The same sister who is working through the entirety of the Christmas season?” Louisa’s left eyebrow shoots up, and I realize she is right. I hadn’t given his reasoning a second thought, but now I see the truth. William is in Vancouver because of me.
My instant inclination is to decline the invitation to tea. There are moments when having a sister who is able to read your thoughts is less than helpful. This is one of those moments.
“Don’t you dare even think about refusing the man.” Louisa shifts to face me straight on. “His weren’t the only eyes I noticed giving lingering glances.”
“I did give him my permission, darlin’.” Papa joins in, and I swear my family is goading me. If it weren’t for the earnest looks on their faces, I might believe they are having a laugh at my expense. But it is pure love and encouragement they are offering.
Papa spreads his hands wide. “He is a good man, isn’t he, Clara?”
I nod as the tea settles nervously in my stomach. “He is.”
“Then you’d best call the hotel and tell him you’d be delighted to meet him for tea.”
* * *
An hour and a half later, I am bathed and wearing a dress of Louisa’s choosing. She has tidied my hair and added a soft shade of lipstick to my lips. Despite my protests, my sister has refused to allow me to wear a toque to ward off the below-zero temperatures.
“You may wear a scarf and mittens, if you so choose, but you are not messing up your hair with a dastardly toque.”
I frown, knowing the smallest gust of wind is sure to do the same amount of damage when it comes to my unruly hair.
When William knocks on our apartment door, I feel as though my knees have turned to jelly. Louisa squeezes my hand reassuringly and mouths “Have fun” before Papa is inviting William into the living room, where I am waiting.
His eyes light up when he sees me, and I am immediately grateful to have a sister who knows how to make me presentable.
Pulling his gaze from mine, he inclines his head in Lou’s direction. “Miss Wilson.”
Louisa’s features barely conceal the mischievousness lying in wait. “I assume we can call you William now.”
“Please do” is his only reply.
There is no pretense. No put-upon airs. Despite William’s education and his likely affluent lifestyle, he appears exceptionally at ease in our humble apartment. This warms my heart, and when he asks if I am ready to go, I do not hesitate.
The tea house is quiet today, given that most Vancouverites are likely cozy in their homes, nibbling on seasonal treats or napping off their Christmas Day festivities. I greet Masao’s mother and introduce William as another friend of Cookie’s, to which she welcomes him with a low bow and a demure smile.
We sit in low chairs beside a window overlooking the street in the heart of Japantown. The scents of tea leaves and tatami mats intertwine into a welcoming grassy aroma, and I inhale deeply. With tea and manju , a Japanese delicacy, set before us, we remove our coats and gloves and settle into our cozy spot.
“Did you enjoy your Christmas?” I pour the tea into the little cups, steam escaping in a delicate dance.
“I did, though I must say it is a bit unusual to spend the holiday in a hotel. Even a luxurious hotel such as The Hamilton.”
I consider his comment. “I imagine it would be. To be honest, I was surprised by how many guests chose to be away from home at this time of year. I thought you might have spent the day at your sister’s, but I suppose she was working too.”
“She was, but she usually works on holidays.” William reaches for his tea, but I stop him with a gentle hand on top of his.
The gesture is forward of me, which I realize too late. He lifts his gaze to mine, and my stomach flips.
I pull my hand away and tuck it out of view beneath the low table. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to… It’s just that Cookie taught me the last time I was here that the reason there is no handle on a Japanese teacup is that if the cup is too hot to hold, it is also too hot to drink.”
William gives the cup on the table a sideways look. “How absolutely clever.”
I sense our mutual appreciation for the brilliance of such a notion.
Folding his hands together on top of the table, William’s eyes meet mine as his expression turns serious. “I know I invited you to dinner and this, though very nice, is not dinner.”
My first thought is one of worry. I must have misinterpreted his attention and forced the poor man to retract his earlier invitation. I am wishing to be swallowed up by the floor when William elaborates.
“As you know, I am only in town for a short time, and it feels as though the days are disappearing right before my eyes. When I learned you wouldn’t be working today, I leaped at the chance to ask you to dinner. However, I was unable to find a single restaurant open on Boxing Day.” He shrugs in disappointment, and I catch a glimpse of what I imagine he might have been like as a young boy.
My worry vanishes at his explanation.
“Cookie has become a dear friend to my sister, and to me as well. When I visited her for my morning cinnamon bun?—”
I can’t help myself and I interrupt him mid-sentence. “Wait, you go down to Cookie’s pastry kitchen every morning to get a fresh cinnamon bun?”
A hint of pink rises in his cheeks, and I decide that blushing is my favourite look on William Thompson. I boldly note to find more reasons to make him blush in the future.
“That wasn’t really the point of my story, but I see I have found something else we have in common. A love of Cookie’s cinnamon buns.” He lifts his cup of tea, no longer steaming, and sips with a humoured expression. “My plan is to eat as many of them as she will allow before I have to board the train for home.”
I laugh, an honest-to-goodness laugh, and it feels good. All of my concerns about the incident with Mr. Barnes, the precarious nature of my position at the hotel, and the appropriateness of sitting here with William Thompson disappear.
“Anyway, hence our tea date.” William raises his teacup and waits for me to lift mine. “Cheers and happy Christmas, Clara.”
“Cheers,” I repeat before sipping my tea.
We settle into a comfortable conversation as I tell William about the first time Cookie brought me to the tea house. He asks how I met Masao, and I catch myself beaming at the memory of offering him my apple when all he really wanted was the seeds for planting.
William shares what it is like to be a lawyer and about how he came to live in Toronto. With moisture in my eyes, I tell him about the cancer and losing Mama. In turn, he confides how he and his siblings lost their parents, his father to the Great War and his mother shortly after to the Spanish flu.
Another hour passes as Masao’s mother replaces our pot of tea with a fresh one. We are deep in conversation and only notice her presence when she places the hot tea in the middle of our table.
William grows quiet as I pour him a cup. I sense he has something to say but is hesitant. I can’t even begin to comprehend what it might be, given the stories we have already shared with one another. I return the pot to the centre of the table and meet his eyes in the low light of the late afternoon.
“There is something I would like to ask you.” His voice is soft, almost a whisper.
I lean in and give him my full attention.
“I would like to invite you to the New Year’s Eve ball at The Hotel Vancouver. It is said to be the city’s finest celebration.”
“Oh.” I sit back in my chair, my mind fixating on the word “ball” before apprehension pokes at me, reminding me of all the reasons my going to a ball with William is not a good idea.
“I’ve learned you are not working that evening.” He searches my eyes. Hopeful. Eager.
“It is true. I am not working.” My gaze drops to the table. “I—I have never been to a ball, let alone a New Year’s Eve event. Are you certain I am the one you wish to take?”
“I assure you, Clara, I would not ask if I weren’t certain.”
“No, I suppose you wouldn’t.” His gentle half smile tugs at my heart, and I wish things were simpler. I wish we had met under different circumstances and I could say yes to his invitation without reservation. I am duty bound to follow the rules of The Hamilton, and yet here I am, having tea with a guest. I have muddied the water by accepting his invitation here today, and I am suddenly aware I may have once again put my job in jeopardy.
“It is such a lovely invitation. I wonder if I might have a day or two to think it over?”
William’s back straightens, and I realize I have offended him. “Of course.”
My hand instinctively reaches out for his. “Please understand my hesitation has everything to do with me, not you.” I feel a deep red colour rising from my neckline to the top of my forehead. “I am sure you’ve noticed that I am cautious. My sister would call it unadventurous.” I try to shrug off the insult I’ve delivered myself. “I am touched and honoured by your invitation. I promise to give it my full attention.”
William squeezes my hand in his, signalling to me that all is well, and I am surprised to find how comfortable his hand feels in mine.