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?