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August 1926
BETHANY ROBINSON DID not need yet another lecture on being appreciative.
“Thank you, Aunt Margaret.” She accepted the gold trimmed, white china plate her aunt handed her while clearing her throat to disguise the grumbling of her stomach. Placing the plate in front of her on the table, she waited and tried not to look at the food placed upon it.
At the head of the table, Uncle James cut a big bite of chicken and popped it into his mouth without waiting for anyone. Aunt Margaret said nothing, but straightened her fork with that look upon her face, her lips puckering like a prune. She straightened the fork again, showing her blue veins and the bones beneath her thin, pale skin.
Aunt Margaret was in a mood, and she obviously wasn't going to say Grace.
So it would be one of those kinds of meals. If only Bethany could have eaten in the kitchen, with cook as she'd been allowed to when she was younger.
She glanced down at her chicken, wondering if it was safe to eat a bite or if that would draw her aunt's attention and sour mood. Perhaps it would be best to wait. The tension in the room gathered closer, and the more she could distance herself from that, the better.
Her stomach rumbled again.
“Margaret,” Uncle James said. “Please eat something.”
Her aunt, a small, bird-like woman, who barely ate enough to keep a bird alive, said, “I couldn't eat another bite.”
Such a predictable old refrain.
“Not a thing.” Aunt Margaret sighed. “You go on, dear. Take it.” She held out her plate to him, looking away from it as if the food offended her. “I simply can't.”
Bethany would have loved for her aunt to have offered her the savory chicken she had passed over to Uncle James, but she said nothing and instead cut her own portion into small pieces and ate one slow bite so as not to draw attention to herself.
Having an entire breast of chicken all for herself just once would be nice. Her aunt always cut the chicken breasts in half.
One might fill her up. If anything could.
Bethany suspected Aunt Margaret counted how many bites Bethany took. Though counting bites was something Bethany did, too, it was different when she did it.
Four more bites, see? Out of five. If she chewed them slowly enough, she might feel full faster. Strange how that sometimes worked. That, and drinking lots of water.
Though not today. Not the way Aunt Margaret stared at her with that look, her brown eyes darkening like storm clouds gathering.
Thump.
“Enough!” Uncle James thumped his fist on the table again, his fork still in his hand.
Both women turned to him in surprise.
“Enough. I’m taking you to Hot Springs National Park for the baths, and you will not argue with me.”
Bethany raised one eyebrow. He wasn't talking to her. She never argued with Uncle James. What was he talking about? What did he mean by enough?
“One likes to be asked.” Aunt Margaret sniffed and her facial expression turned haughty. “There is no need to speak to a lady in that tone, Mr. Robinson.”
“Mrs. Robinson, I am asking you to travel with me to the medicinal springs to partake of the baths and healing properties of the waters.” His tone brooked no argument and said just as clearly that he was not asking, but telling.
“I will think about it.”
Uncle James, knowing as well as Bethany did, that the phrase Aunt Margaret had just used meant no, then changed both his tone and his approach. “I am asking out of concern for you, dear. Your health is no better and seems to be getting worse.”
“I have done everything the doctor asked.”
“Yes, and now we are going to try a new doctor. One who has had success with women in your condition.”
What exactly was that condition? They always referred to it as one of Aunt Margaret's spells. Maybe this new doctor would finally have a name for it.
“The trip will do you good, and I have a meeting with Mr. Rivalde after we arrive.”
“About the merger we've been discussing?” She glanced over at Bethany then back again.
“Yes. He is amiable.”
“Well, then.” Aunt Margaret sniffed. “We shall all go to Hot Springs and take the baths.” She shot a pointed glance at Bethany.
Bethany placed her hands in her lap and folded her fingers together. “When are we going?”
“Next week,” Uncle James said. “We'll take a two week holiday.” He nodded at his wife again. “That should be long enough.”
Aunt Margaret nodded in agreement.
Would two weeks be long enough to cure her aunt? That didn't seem like very long.
Oh, but if we're gone that long...
“That means we'll be away on my birthday,” Bethany blurted out, and then stopped herself from saying more.
This would be her eighteenth birthday. She'd moved from counting down the months to counting the weeks left. Soon she would be of age and no longer under Aunt Margaret's thumb.
“We'll celebrate your birthday in Hot Springs. That will make it a very memorable trip.” Aunt Margaret smiled a secretive smile.
That smile would have made Bethany nervous had they not been discussing her birthday.
Just a week left to plan before they left for Hot Springs, Arkansas.
Bethany would have to change her original idea, but she would still go through with it. Nothing short of illness or death would stop her from carrying out her plan.
Being in Hot Springs might even make it easier.
*****
BETHANY HAD NEVER BEEN inside the train station before. She peered out beneath her wide brimmed hat as she looked about taking in the sights and sounds around her.
Her aunt resembled a crow in a tailored black worsted jersey suit, gray hat, and black shoes as she darted her gaze about the station, looking for an open space on one of the wooden benches.
Not for the first time, Bethany noticed how old fashioned her aunt appeared in the skirt that came nearly to her ankles. The suit was at least five years old, and her aunt wouldn't replace it until it wore out. Despite the fact Mr. Robinson owned his own company and moved among the wealthier members of society, his frugal wife stretched every penny and clung to the older fashions.
Most of the women bustling about the station wore newer fashions and shorter skirts. Bethany glanced down at her own navy blue georgette crepe frock which fell well below the knee, the long, lacy collar the only pretty thing she liked about it. At least with her wide brimmed hat, she could duck her head and hide when she wanted to.
Oh, what she wouldn't give to wear one of those shorter dropped waist dresses with a cloche hat and bobbed hair. To look like other girls her age and to go dancing with boys. She could not wait for the day when she could pick out her own clothes and go when and where she wanted. Soon she would be eighteen and would be able to use her inheritance. She hoped. Uncle James had always been vague about the terms of the will and monies her parents had left behind for her.
“Come along,” Aunt Margaret said, interrupting her thoughts. “We will sit and wait for your uncle.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
Bethany followed her aunt, who had noticed an open spot on one of the benches and strode toward it determined to claim it for her own. People moved away from her when she was in that mood and held that look upon her face. Her aunt, tiny as she was, could be a formidable woman. Soon she and Bethany sat together on a high backed wooden bench.
People bustled around the train station, many carrying newspapers and reading the headlines as they walked.
Everyone else appeared to be reading the paper. Something must have happened.
A long line of passengers stretched around the newspaper stand, and more joined the line as soon as it started to shorten.
Whatever had happened must have been awful. Women cried, and men shook their heads and looked mournful.
Bethany strained to see a newspaper held by a man nearby.
The headline read, Rudolph Valentino Dead, August 23, 1926. Sudden Death at the Age of Thirty-One.
Oh, no. He couldn't be dead. He'd just had an operation a week ago. His latest movie had just come out, and he'd gone to New York to promote it. He was too young to be dead. So young and handsome. How could Rudolph Valentino be dead?
A tear formed in the corner of Bethany's eye. Uncle James sat down next to her, and she asked, “Uncle James, are you gonna buy a newspaper?”
“What for?” He frowned. Uncle James read the business news and kept up daily with Wall Street, but rarely followed stories unless they were about money or politics.
“To read about what happened to Rudolph Valentino.”
“You want to read about the death of some movie star?” Uncle James directed his frown at her.
“Well, yes. Everyone is mourning him. Can't you see?”
“He must have been a drinker,” Aunt Margaret said. “That's what happens to wild young men who drink.”
“Hollywood types,” Uncle James said with disdain. “They all drink.”
“The women, too. It's disgraceful.” Aunt Margaret nodded.
Both she and Uncle James were in favor of prohibition and looked down on lawbreakers. Aunt Margaret always pointed out how all the good churches now served grape juice in place of communion wine.
“Well, there's nothing in that paper I wish to read.” Uncle James pulled out his pocket watch to look at it, signaling the discussion was closed.
“Young women today...” Aunt Margaret paused and let the words trail away. “I simply don't understand them.”
The dark haired flapper who had drawn Aunt Margaret's attention walked by, cigarette holder in hand, as if on cue to emphasize Aunt Margaret's point.
“Drinking, smoking, running wild.” Aunt Margaret tsked, then sniffed and turned her head away from the flapper, dismissing the thin, vivacious girl who was now talking with friends.
Ignoring Aunt Margaret, Bethany fingered her clutch purse. She'd saved for months to collect the money inside it. Though she yearned for a newspaper, she knew that if she bought one, it meant dipping into her funds.
Best not to dip into it for anything, or her plan might fail.
“I blame the parents,” Aunt Margaret said. “You are a fortunate young lady. Why if we hadn't taken you in? Who knows what might have happened to you?”
“Yes, ma'am. Thank you.” The words slipped out automatically, the pattern long established from ten years of similar conversations.
Bethany looked about the room, taking in that her aunt and uncle seemed to be the only people in the train station uninterested in the death of Rudolph Valentino.
Was the whole world mourning his death? Everyone, except perhaps Aunt Margaret and Uncle James.
At least here, Bethany didn't feel so all alone, as if no one understood her or her feelings. As if no one felt the way she did, and that she had something wrong with her.
Here, she felt more normal.
Maybe someone would leave a newspaper when they were done, and she could pick it up and read their copy.
Unfortunately, the train arrived before that happened, and the conductor called all aboard.
A movie poster beside the door where they went out to board the train advertised Valentino's final movie. It read, Rudolph Valentino stars with Vilma Banky in The Son of the Sheikh, from the novel by E.M. Hull.
How romantic. What an adventure a trip to a foreign land would be. To have a Sheik fall in love with you and sweep you away.
Bethany sighed.
Oh, how she wanted to see the movie. Everyone had been talking about it since it had premiered in California in July. Then the promotional tour had taken the stars across the country, and Rudolph Valentino had ended up in New York having his operation. Now, he was dead.
Bethany might never have a chance to see one of his movies.
She sat on the train in their private compartment in the window seat looking out at the world and wondering when, where, and how she would ever find her place in it. Someplace where she fit in, and where at least one person understood her.
She wanted to see The Son of the Sheikh so badly. The movie was supposed to open next week at home. Any day now, and everyone would see it but her.
Once again, she would miss out. She missed out on everything.
She stared out the window at the scenery. The whole world was passing her by, and right now she was powerless to do anything about it.
*****
THEY RODE THE ROCK Island Railroad into Hot Springs, Arkansas, and then took a taxi to the Arlington Hotel. With two towers on top and an American flag flying in the middle, the hotel sat at the end of famous Bathhouse Row and soared impressively over all the other buildings. Bethany counted at least nine floors with windows, not counting the towers.
Their taxi let them off out front, and the taxi driver unloaded their bags for the bellman to take in. Uncle James walked up to the reception desk to check them in while Bethany waited with Aunt Margaret.
“It's beautiful,” Bethany said. Inside the Lobby, two murals adorned the walls: one behind the bar on the right side of the room, and the other behind the bandstand on the left side.
Her aunt glanced about, sniffed, and said, “I hope our rooms are suitable. One never knows with a hotel.”
Bethany had no frame of reference with which to compare this hotel, since she'd never been inside one before, so she remained silent and enjoyed all the new sights and sounds.
Once they finished checking in, they followed the bellman to the elevator and then accompanied him up to their rooms on the fifth floor, where he unlocked both doors. They stepped inside, and he placed their bags in their respective rooms.
Bethany hurried to the window in her room and looked out. She had an excellent view of Bathhouse Row and was high enough up to see quite far. The room was small but lovely, and she had it all to herself. Though her aunt and uncle would be right next-door, she was happy to have the privacy. She'd be able to lock the door so no one could walk in on her, not even her aunt.
“You have an hour to unpack and freshen up, and then we'll go down to the Venetian Dining Room for dinner,” Uncle James said. “Be ready.”
“Yes, sir.” Bethany waited until he left before spinning in a circle with her arms out and laughing. She was here inside this elegant room in Hot Springs, where her life would change forever. She could hardly wait.