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ALMOST AS SOON AS MARY and Christena sat down at the table in the Grand Hotel’s bustling restaurant, Thad’s “Grandmama” Richardson attempted to find out who Mary was—to ascertain her bloodline.
“What is it that your father does?” the old lady asked.
“Oh,” Mary said, “he dabbles in stocks and buys the odd property here and there.” She didn’t mention that the “odd property” included iron mines and vast tracts of timberland. “We have a nice little house on Superior Street in Duluth.”
“And you came out a year or two ago?” Grandmama asked. Her beady little gray eyes looked as if they never missed a thing.
In fact, Mary might have debuted a year ago, if she had been willing. But she had refused the honor. What a silly thing, being a debutante. Had she not existed before that?
“No, Mrs. Richardson,” she answered, “never did anything like that. I just said, ‘Hello, world, here I am.’” She gave a silly little laugh, hoping to end this particular line of questioning.
It seemed to do the trick. Grandmama leaned back in her chair, glancing around the dining room, no doubt looking for a young lady more suitable to her grandson’s attentions.
All around them were scores of vacationers gotten up in their summer best, creating such a din with their conversations that Mary very nearly couldn’t hear Mrs. Richardson. Waiters scurried about. A string ensemble sat off in a far corner of the big dining room, knocking out popular songs and favorite dance tunes by Strauss, Brahms, and Dvořák.
Although the lake trout almondine was mouth-watering, Mary’s thoughts were focused less on the dinner than on the telegram she had just received. Her dining companions nattered on about the new president. Thad, his grandmother, and chum Ronald McNulty were of the opinion that Mr. Roosevelt, though of the right class, might not be loyal to that class. Mary, barely paying attention to them, mulled over the many ways in which Edmond’s impending visit might go awry.
What if the couple quickly ran out of things to say? What if they really had nothing in common, apart from a love of art? What if Edmond made some dreadful social misstep? What if someone belittled the impecunious artist, shaming him in Mary’s presence? What if Christena and Paul Forbes went off together, leaving Mary and Edmond to their own devices? What if Mary and Edmond somehow ended up alone in her room? Would he be able to restrain himself? Would she?
“Miss MacDougall? Mary?”
Mary started and blinked across the table at Grandmama, who, along with Thad and Ron, was staring at her. The stocky, white-haired old lady looked mildly concerned.
“Are you all right, my dear?” she asked. “You look quite distracted and a little flushed.”
“Yes, Mary, are you feeling ill?” asked Christena, leaning toward her niece.
Mary felt a bit embarrassed. “Fine. I’m fine,” she reassured them. “Just daydreaming, you know. What you say about President Roosevelt is very interesting. About how he’s a bit of a loose cannon and perhaps not perfectly trustworthy with regard to business concerns. It got me thinking.”
Thad looked pleased with himself. “Then you’re suspicious of him, too. I mean, a cowboy! In the highest office in the land? There’s no telling what outrageous thing he might do. Not a few of my professors at Wharton have their eye on him.”
Mary very nearly observed that the most powerful man in America, who had suffered terribly in his personal life yet accomplished so much, would hardly lose any sleep over the opinions of a bunch of fusty old professors of finance and bookkeeping. But she held her tongue. She and Christena had agreed to be agreeable with anything their dinner companions said tonight, however small-minded.
Since Thad and Ron and Grandmama had done little but pontificate amongst themselves—with occasional nods to Mary and Christena—Mary decided to do some pontificating of her own.
“Well,” she said, “I don’t know about Mr. Roosevelt’s business acumen, being neither a student of politics nor finance. But I do know that I very much admired President McKinley.”
Thad attempted to leap in and take back the conversation, but Mary ploughed ahead.
“Several years ago, when I was still in school, the president came to visit Duluth and I was privileged to attend a speech of his before a large crowd. I stood not twenty feet from him, and I can tell you that he was quite a handsome man. A wonderful orator. And he seemed so kind and concerned about us young people and how education would help us make our ways in the world and...”
Mary kept on this track for a good five minutes, before she finally ran out of steam. In the midst of her monolog, she caught a glimpse of Christena suppressing a smile.
“A very interesting account,” observed Grandmama Richardson dryly.
“Why, thank you so much,” Mary said, now smiling herself. “I should add that I haven’t decided yet if I myself will go off and earn a college degree. It’s an open question.”
The old lady curtly shook her head. “My dear, that is a terrible idea. A waste of time and money. Your duty is to find a gentleman you would want to marry, and then to start a family.”
“My father,” replied Mary sweetly, “has said something along the same lines.”
“Then your father is a wise man,” the old lady pronounced.
There was a slightly awkward silence, until Thad took the floor again and shared everything he had learned about Mackinac, in the way of entertaining activities.
“Say, I have swell idea,” he said. “Do you ladies play tennis?”
“I do,” Mary said, “but rather badly.”
“Same here,” tossed in Christena.
“Well then, what do you say to a mixed doubles match in the morning, after church? Ron and I have a court reserved. We can decide who plays who tomorrow.”
“What do you think, Mary?” asked Christena.
Mary shrugged. “Fine with me. Sounds like fun.”
Only a tennis match, Mary thought. How bad could it be?
“And I hope we’ll see you ladies at the big dance.” Thad was grinning at Mary, his perfect white teeth glinting. “Tomorrow night. They’re bringing an orchestra down from Sault Ste. Marie especially for it. I’m very much looking forward to twirling you two ladies around the floor.”
“Oh, we’ll be there,” gushed Christena. “I do love to dance.”
“And so do I,” Mary said. But she wondered if she looked as insincere as she felt. Thad’s arms were not the arms she dreamed about having around her.
* * *
A SINGLE-SET MIXED doubles match was played late Sunday morning on the courts below the hotel. Mary and Thad defeated Christena and Ron 6-3 without too much trouble. Mary actually enjoyed herself. Thad showed that he had a fine sense of humor, cracking jokes and falling to the court in mock agony when one of Christena’s wild volleys barely missed his head.
Saying goodbye to the gentlemen, Mary and Christena dragged themselves up the hill and the several flights of stairs, back to their rooms.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to move the rest of the day,” groaned Christena, as she unlocked the door to her room. “What was I thinking? A woman my age playing tennis with three young people?”
Mary was still grinning as she opened her own door and went in. When she noticed a yellow envelope on the carpet, a telegram, her pulse quickened. This had to be the reply from Mrs. McColley to the telegram Mary had sent on Friday.
Snatching it up, she ripped it open. Her heart racing, she read the contents, then rushed out down the hallway and into Christena’s room, without even knocking.
Her aunt, who was sitting with her feet up on a hassock, looked surprised.
“Mary, what’s wrong? And what’s that in your hand?”
“I have to go back to Dillmont, Tena,” Mary said breathlessly, waving the telegram in the air. “As soon as possible.”
“But whatever for?”
“As you recall, I wired Clara McColley. I asked her one question—what color was her mother’s hair? She tells me it was black, with flecks of gray.” Mary paced back and forth as she spoke. “Whoever the undertaker saw in that shroud at the infirmary... Whoever he buried... That woman with the wisps of red hair... She was not Agnes Olcott.”
Mary stopped pacing and looked her aunt in the eye.
“Oh, Tena, I’m beginning to think something truly is rotten in Dillmont!”
