“Well, of course he did,” said Dodge huffily. “And wasn’t he lucky?”
“Some psychics are very lucky, my brother. It’s almost as if someone’s watching over him.”
Porter nodded as he ground his teeth.
“Say,” said Dodge, brightening. “Duchamp’s ‘Nude Descending a Staircase’ is around here somewhere. Let’s see if Comstock has swooped in and covered the poor woman up, although I would challenge him to point out the naughty parts from among all those shanks and planks.”
The two brothers laughed.
Perhaps the brothers would have taken things less in stride had they known the truth of what had actually occurred: that Mrs. Cramford, having overheard her children’s plan and the item with beautiful claret petals that was to be the principal part of it, had promptly telephoned her favorite psychic to let him know what to expect when he arrived at the hotel the next day. As it so happened, Mrs. Cramford had attended the exhibition only a week before and was quite taken with the van Gogh floral still life. It was she who had told Mr. Reese exactly where it was to be found. The ulterior motive at play here had everything to do with her daughter, who was a perfect match for the young bachelor-mystic. Reese had impressed the old woman with his fine looks, his innate charisma and charm, and his financial success in a profession that rarely brought great wealth. There was only one thing left for Carlotta to do to secure the deaclass="underline" encourage Violet to divorce that lout of a husband of hers. It should prove very easy. One of the psychics she had been secretly seeing in Hoboken, New Jersey, had told her so.
1914 DEVOTIONAL IN ILLINOIS
Saturday, June 27
I used to enjoy what Papa calls our “Chautauqua summers.” It’s all so old fashioned, I know, and half the folks who come here walk around the place with their Methodist noses stuck up in the air like they’re trying to sniff God, but I did used to have fun. I learned to swim and dive and to play croquet and tennis. We went on hikes through the woods on the bluff, and picked wildflowers along the Jerseyville Road, and Miss Dawson, who conducted the girls’ classes, was warm and kind and funny, and I’ll miss her now that I’ve outgrown her.
I’ve outgrown everything I used to do here. I don’t even think I should like to take a swim in the pool because it’s either filled with the little ones splashing around like otters or those older than me who, truth be told, also splash around like otters. I just turned eighteen last month. I am between worlds. I am dreading my nearly summer-long stay here with Mother and my Aunt Carolyn, and glimpses of Father as he motors in from St. Louis on occasional weekends.
I am going to die of boredom here. I absolutely know I am.
Monday, June 29
Today I climbed the bluff unattended (to Mother’s consternation) and watched the sun go down in all of its violent color and still wished that I were anyplace else on Earth. All the girls I knew from summers gone by have stayed in the city where it is hot, but where they are not minding the heat in the least because they’re seeing boys and going to dances. They have dances here but there are few boys around my age who aren’t in the employ of the New Piasa Chautauqua or who don’t go to Lover’s Bridge and drink corn liquor or smoke behind the Pavilion, and I absolutely hate them. I hate all boys, to tell you the truth. Why did I look forward to growing up?
I am adrift.
Saturday, July 4
It is Independence Day and my boredom is made almost bearable by the celebratory events of the day. There was a concert band performance and a bicycle race and the funny Fat Man races. (Papa was here and I begged him to enter, but he found my request to be an affront to his efforts to reduce.) After supper we all gathered at the riverfront for a fine display of fireworks. The sound — like small cannons going off — frightened Aunt Carolyn (who frightens easily, I must say), but the shapes and colors were beautiful. And there was no one who enjoyed the show more than I — except, perhaps, the young woman who stood next to me. She said her name was M.K. (which stands for Mary Katherine) and she told me she works as a chambermaid at the Inn. Mother and Aunt Carolyn and I have lodgings in the Piasa Springs Hotel, for which I must consider myself lucky as Aunt Carolyn tried to secure a room for the three of us at the Women’s Christian Temperance Union Cottage, which would have been simply unbearable, as the women who stay there are far too prim and proper, and they pray far more than is customary here at this Methodist outpost on the river, where people already pray too much in my heathen, hell-worthy opinion. But Mother — thank God! — would not have it, for where would Papa stay when he came for his visits?
Anyway, M.K. was funny and very gay. I am hoping that I have another opportunity to see her.
Saturday, July 11
A very good day, I must say. I watched the girls playing basket ball in the afternoon and there was a diving contest at the swimming pool. Mother wanted me to enter, but I couldn’t remember all that I’d been taught and feared I would make a fool of myself. At supper tonight, Mother took me aside and said that she would have no more of my maundering about in a non-participatory manner and that I would have to start attending some of the lectures with Aunt Carolyn and her, especially those having to do with the cooking arts, since every girl my age needs to know her way around a kitchen.
Ugh!
But the day ended on a very good note because Mother and Aunt Carolyn and Papa, who was visiting this weekend (two weekends in a row, callooh callay!), and I all went to hear the world-famous Miss Maude Willis read from various works of fiction and drama. And I thought that she was very good, especially when she read a couple of passages from A Girl of the Limberlost (which I had read myself when I was sixteen) pertaining to Elnora’s tristful rambles through the swamp, collecting moths and wishing that her mother would not hate her for trying to be born while her father was busy dying in the swamp. As I was being moved nearly to tears, who should suddenly appear but M.K., who opined in a rough whisper that Miss Maude Willis was a fraud and a theatrical poseur and New Piasa Chautauqua would have been better served by having the “Divine” Sarah Bernhardt sitting on stage and belching for an hour instead. I burst out laughing and earned a glare of displeasure from my aunt, who was sitting nearby.
Before we parted, M.K. whispered that I was downright “adorable” and that she would like to spend some more time with me. She said she had tomorrow afternoon off, and asked would I meet her at the Pagoda and perhaps we could go rowing together?
She gave me a little kiss on the cheek in parting and I kissed her back. I was giddy to have made a new friend, though Aunt Carolyn looked at me oddly.
Sunday, July 12
I did not meet M.K. at the appointed hour (2:00) because Papa had decided to stay until tomorrow morning and Mother and Papa and Aunt Carolyn and I were to have a picnic. I stole away after the service to try to find M.K. and tell her that I would have to break our engagement, but I could find her nowhere about, and I regret not asking the name of the boardinghouse where she was staying.
I felt miserable, but I didn’t tell Mother the reason. Papa thought it was because I was not seeing enough of him and I pretended he was correct in this assumption and hugged him tight while holding back tears, which seemed quite incongruous since M.K. was nothing more to me than just a friend.
Thursday, July 16
I finally caught a glimpse of M.K. this afternoon upon the verandah of the Inn, sweeping among the rocking chairs. I know she saw me, but she pretended that she didn’t. I don’t blame her. I wondered how long she must have waited for me at the Pagoda before concluding I’d changed my mind. I would have gone to her and explained everything, but Aunt Carolyn and Mother and I were on our way to hear a lecture by Mrs. E. F. Ford on beautiful houses — their location, arrangement, furnishings, and sanitation.