Chapter 11 Geraldine
Geraldine
It wasn’t home, that had to be said. But it was a remarkably fine substitute.
Geraldine had had a bit of a qualm once the water taxi was halfway across the lake.
Had she been too hasty in her decision to cede possession of her house to the invaders?
The thought had plagued her like a dance tune she couldn’t get out of her head, until Bernard cut the boat’s engine and drifted to a stop alongside the dock at the Maine Chance Farm.
Despite its name, it hardly looked like a farm.
The dock anchored to a wide strip of recently raked sandy beach.
Bernard handed her out onto the dock and into the care of a trim young man with broad shoulders and an easy smile.
Something about him struck her as familiar.
She searched her memory for a moment, trying to recall where she had seen him.
In a moment’s time, all of Geraldine’s luggage sat neatly on the dock and the water taxi had eased away from the shoreline.
“Welcome to the Maine Chance, Mrs. Putnam. My name is Calvin. If you will follow me, it would be my pleasure to escort you to the Arden House.” With that, the young man tucked a suitcase beneath each arm and grasped two more by the handles.
While she considered herself far too old to seriously entertain any amorous notions, she still found herself admiring his graceful movements as he led the way up a path that wended between two stands of mature pines and maples.
Even weighed down by her luggage, he strode swiftly along, his back straight.
That did it. She was able to place him. He had been one of the many handsome young men in uniform who had marched so smartly in the Memorial Day parade earlier that season.
Even out of uniform, he cut quite a dash.
Age had not dimmed her eyesight, nor her appreciation for attractive youths.
Although she had been to the property during the offseason as a dinner guest of Elizabeth’s, she had never before arrived by boat.
The path led across a rolling manicured lawn; past triangular garden beds luxuriantly filled with marigolds, dusty millers, and salvias; and up to the Arden House.
With its generous proportions and twin wings on either side of the main building, it made for a pleasing sight.
The door to the building swung open, and a familiar woman of middle height and age appeared on the threshold.
In her navy cotton dress, with its starched white collar and cuffs, and her neat bun, she was exactly the sort of servant of which Geraldine heartily approved.
The woman bent towards the young man’s ear as she stepped slightly aside to allow Calvin to pass into the building.
He nodded without comment and disappeared from sight.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Putnam. It is my pleasure to welcome you to the Maine Chance Farm.”
“Hello, Iris. I haven’t seen you since sometime before ice- out. How have you and your mother been keeping?”
The day the last bit of ice had finally melted on Long Pond was a much-welcomed event in the community, rather like the spotting of the first spring robin or the last frost. Mentioning it shouldn’t have brought a flicker of discomfort to Iris’s face.
It must have been caused by the question about her mother, although Geraldine could not imagine why that might be.
Orla Hubbard was a respected member of the community and not the sort to stir up worry.
In fact, she and Iris both helped out when Mrs. Burns needed extra staff for the large dinner parties or fundraising events she hosted from time to time.
“Things are much the same as usual. She is sure to be pleased to hear that you asked after her.”
Geraldine took the hint; the subject of Orla was not one Iris cared to entertain. She rarely cared to discuss her family either. The least she could do was respect that same preference in another.
“Allow me to congratulate you on your new position. Housekeeper must be quite a responsibility at a place like this.”
Iris bobbed her head. “I wished that such an opportunity could have come in some other way, but I hope that I am doing Alice proud.”
Geraldine was sure Iris meant what she said.
Alice had given her a chance and taken her under her wing during the resort’s first season twenty years earlier.
She would have been desperate for a job, as was everyone else, given how hard-hit Maine had been by the Depression.
Alice could have given the position to any number of more experienced young women, but for some reason she had chosen Iris.
As far as Geraldine could tell, Iris had spent all summers since making sure to live up to Alice’s faith in her.
“Miss Arden hasn’t built her successful business by setting low standards. I am certain you are up to the challenge.”
Geraldine had long been aware of those standards.
She’d first encountered Elizabeth Arden when she visited her friend and mentor Elisabeth “Bessie” Marbury at her home in Mount Vernon back in the late twenties.
Elizabeth had become so smitten with Long Pond and its environs that she purchased parcel after parcel of the land adjoining Bessie’s and set about building a lavish home.
No detail was too small for her attention.
She’d hired the best builders, decorators, and landscape designers to bring her vision of a perfect country estate to life.
When Bessie died just a year later, Elizabeth bought her property as well and joined it to her own.
Not long after that, the Maine Chance Farm resort was born.
Even though she spent most of the year elsewhere, somehow her enthusiastic and exacting presence could be seen and felt throughout the estate.
A small smile lifted the corners of Iris’s mouth. Geraldine could not remember the last time she had seen the younger woman smile. Even at town meetings or whenever she encountered her at shops in town, she appeared to have something weighing her down.
“Shall I show you to your room, or would you prefer to have a tour around the resort?” Iris asked.
“If it is all the same to you, I shall just roam about on my own for a bit and look things over. I have need of an outbuilding to use as a studio while I am here, and the sooner I find the right spot, the better.”
Iris appeared taken aback by the suggestion but recovered her composure quickly, as a woman with as much experience as she possessed in catering to the whims of others might be expected to do.
Geraldine hadn’t meant it as a slight. She simply preferred to take things at her own pace and poke her nose in wherever she felt inclined.
Besides, she imagined that Iris had far too much to do to indulge in a leisurely stroll about the property.
“If that is your wish, you are most welcome to do so. I’ve had Calvin take your luggage up to the Mille Fleurs Suite. With your keen interest in gardening, I thought you would find it appealing.”
“I am sure that it will more than suffice.” Geraldine thought it best to smooth any ruffled feathers. “Even though I don’t wish to monopolize your time with a private tour, perhaps you could provide me with an overview of the schedule. I’ve heard that it’s surprisingly regimented.”
“Miss Arden does believe in structure for her guests, especially those who are here to slim down. They only have so much time with us, and we strive to help them achieve the maximum results through a variety of activities.”
That all sounded ominous. Not for the first time, Geraldine was grateful for her own effortlessly slender build. “What sort of activities?”
“Swimming, badminton, reducing baths, horseback rides. For those guests with more than just a few pounds to shed, a three-mile daily walk is strictly enforced.”
Geraldine snorted. “‘Enforced’? How would anyone know if one of the slimming guests simply sat under a shady tree for an hour or two before heading back, claiming to have followed the recommendation?”
Iris leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I wondered the same thing the first time I heard of it. Miss Arden insists on the use of pedometers.”
“Pedometers?”
“Yes, they’re tamper-proof devices that measure the number of steps one of our slimmers takes in a day. They are tied about the guests’ waists in order to accurately track their movements.”
Having come of age in the era of the corset, Geraldine found the notion of anything restrictive cinched about a woman’s waist, especially something whose sole purpose was to ensure that her body dwindled in a slavish adherence to fashion, to be repulsive.
“How astonishing. Is there anything else I ought to know before I strike off on my own?”
“Dinner is at seven o’clock in the dining room, and I would mention that it is a formal affair. Guests are encouraged to retire by nine p.m., so there is little ever scheduled after the evening meal.”
“But it is still light out at nine. Are we paying through the nose to be treated like children?”
Again, a small smile softened Iris’s face. “Perhaps that is the secret to the youthful glow our guests acquire by the end of their time here.”
“Somehow I doubt that. Are there any other outrageous practices of which I should be aware?”
“While I understand from your reservation forms that you are not here for slimming, there is one dietary restriction that applies to all of our guests.”
Geraldine braced herself. As a child, she had been dosed daily with spoonfuls of cod-liver oil and made to drink tonics of one sort or another that her mother had sent away for by post. Surely it could not be as bad as all that at a luxury resort.
“Which is…?”
“This is a strictly no-alcohol facility.”
She stiffened. How on earth could a place consider itself civilized, let alone opulent, if it ascribed to such barbarous austerity?
“No wine with dinner? No nightcaps?”
“No, nothing of that sort, I am sorry to say. We do serve iced vegetable juices at cocktail hour before dinner is served, if that is any consolation. I understand from the guests that the chef has come up with some delicious options.”
“Vegetable juice instead of cocktails?” Geraldine gripped the reception desk in alarm. “Is nothing sacred?”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Putnam. Do you wish to cancel your reservation?”
Geraldine considered it. While she was never one to say no to a cocktail—not after the shenanigans of Prohibition—she could not imagine heading back home to endure Anselm’s family.
No, if the price of being well shot of them was abstinence, then that was cheap enough.
Besides, she had never been all that interested in following rules.
She was confident there was a way around that one.
“I shan’t let a little thing like that bother me. Now, where would you suggest I start my perusal of the property?”
“Well, considering how beautiful the weather is today, I would recommend that you take a stroll around the grounds. As I am sure you are aware, the property is comprised of hundreds of acres, most of them displaying Miss Arden’s deft touch and love of beauty.”
“Then that is where I shall begin. And I’ll be sure to be back in time to dress for dinner, cocktails or no cocktails.”