Baltimore, 1927.
Light departed from the sky as quietly as the last few guests leaving a long extended party. A pulse of stillness rode along the few minutes after the sun had surrendered its thrown. It was in midst of the brief boundary between day and night, I let my thoughts float to the minor rumblings earlier in the hour. My imagination vastly drifted like the aroma of roses at the mercy of a summer breeze.
I knew the household received a peculiar invitation. I saw the ornate, gold envelope sitting on a side table by the front door. Gerda, the maid, had received it from the mailman, but, in her haste, didn’t deliver it to Father’s study right away. She corrected her error minutes later.
Seeing the decorative parcel was the most exciting point of my day. I couldn’t take my mind off it. I pictured Father reading the invitation. He couldn’t have been happy to see it, upon first glance. His day had been too packed with business matters he’d never reveal to the rest of his family. He had to read it quickly, then toss it in a wastebasket or write a polite decline, and go back to brooding over letters from his associates.
I wished for him to share what he’d been welcome to attend. Hearing about exciting events in other parts of the city was what saved me from falling prey to the drabness of our home. My wish was granted, and more.
Father had never seen any invitation like this one before, and, as he told us over the dinner table while showing the invitation, thought the choice of paper vulgar. The paper inside was also gold, with a shimmery, swirling leaf design coating the edges of the paper, meaning to mimic a frame to a museum painting.
Virginia Tristertot, the wealthiest spinster in the west side of Maryland, was throwing a last minute party and wanted all members of the Mercidale family to attend. The invitation made a strong effort to inform this would be no ordinary party. The location was an eighteenth century pirate ship docked at the main harbor. There’d be art, performers, and exciting music. The eccentric Ms. Tristertrot crammed heavy descriptions of what to expect of the unique provisions; romance, excitement, and adventure. She described the night as “One which will change your view of the world.”
Father was so put-upon by the invitation. He hardly spoke to Virginia since her husband died. Wade Tristertrot was a well-known industrialist. The wealth he generated from his steel factories left a deep footprint, having left behind a lifetime’s worth of funding for the symphony and a restored plantation house on the outskirts of the city. It had been rumored Virginia had let her wild side loose, since Wade’s departure. Reading her invite, Father wondered how loose. He found the unexpected request very puzzling, which was why he decided to enlist the assistance of us, his family, to decide whether we should go, rarity. It was opening his decision to our influence that inflicted a crack in the future of my relationship with him.
Up until that evening, we were a typical Baltimore family. The city was a puzzle box of flesh and stone. Each piece consisted of its many different societies, moving with and against one another. They broke away from their slot, only to come back, at the end of every, long, productive day. The confused framework was ultimately the efficiency in its foundation. The Mercidale house had undergone many changes, but each one only reinforced the same old values. Father wanting the input of his wife and children was an act of self-relief. His mind was too tired to focus on such an insignificant matter like a party. And, while he did feel some shame admitting to not being strong enough to command his will over everything, he also wanted to see if Ophelia, my sister, and I, had grown enough to fulfill our choices with intellect.
I craved to be trusted more and worried about failing. My upbringing, like every boy’s, was one which didn’t permit sharing opinions. An exception on a humid July evening was both invigorating and frightening.
Father sent Gerda to each of our quarters to announce our summoning to the dining room for dinner. Her loud knock made me jump out of my seat. “Eustice! Master wants you for supper downstairs! Make sure you have your evening clothes ready!”
I had been reading a letter from a college friend, lost in the exotic news from the outside world. I opened the door to see an unapologetic Gerda, who rattled off Father’s orders. “What? We haven’t had dinner together since I found out I had been accepted into Bates. What could Father want to discuss with me?”
The sides of her lips twisted in opposite directions before speaking. “It’s not just you, arrogant fiend! The Mrs, and Ophelia will also be dining with you, like all families do every night. Be glad you all get to act normal for once.”
“Thank you, Gerda. You can go back to skinning stray cats alive and using them as dusters.”
“Just wait ‘till you upset the master enough with your free-willy antics. It’ll be your skin soaking up dust.” She turned her wide frame and lurched off, monstrous steps echoing ahead of her.
I closed my door again. I wondered what could be so important to call a family dinner. It had to be urgent. Our dining habits were dismal, only a death in the family or the bleak announcement of a luxury we took for granted needing to be cut back. I put the thought on the back of my mind. No use in worrying, until I’d find out what the fuss was about.
Ten minutes before dinner, I was in a panic. It had been too long since the last time I utilized any formal house clothes. All dinner ware had been outgrown and was outdated. Father would throw a fit. After laying clothes across my bed, then throwing them back onto the floor of my armoire, I settled for a casual, white button down shirt, and brown trousers. It looked more fitting for a Sunday stroll, but the garments were high quality and custom fitted. Another obnoxious set of knocks came down on my door. “Eustice!” Gerda shouted. Her voice was strong enough to splinter the thin wood of the door. “You’re going to be late!”
I swung open the door. “There’s no traffic between this room and the dining table! And I have a clock.”
“Given how much time to spend daydreaming, I’d be surprised you remember how to read it.”
I groaned and rolled my head. “Why do we keep you employed?”
She pointed past me, into my bedroom. “Go study your precious clock. You’d find me and it have a lot in common.”
“Tightly wound?” I thought I had come up with a witty retort.
She jutted her potato-shaped head forward. “We both keep the day moving forward.” I watched her twirl and head away, as if exiting a stage after an intense performance.
Coming into the dining room at seven o’clock felt like crossing the border of a dangerous country. The ocean-blue paint felt like a grave in the dim, chandelier light. The flames swaying on top of the towering silver candlesticks helped me centralize my concentration. I kept my eyes on the thin line of smoke rising from their tips, as I sat down. Father had already taken his seat at the head of the table, and was watching me take my seat. He was in a dinner jacket. The only item missing from the upscale attire was a tie. Mother was also seated. She shifted between looking at Father and her dishware, seemingly unsure of how to compose herself. She had dressed up more decadently than this night required. The dress was black, with lace trimmings running in a multitude of directions across the corseted bodice and wide skirt that spilled over the side of her chair. Her hair was halfway completed to turning grey, her natural brunette broken up into stripes. I chose the chair farthest from Father, next to the opposite end of the table. I dared not look at him, until spoken to.
The room was silent, as we waited for Ophelia. The etiquette for this time and location of the house should’ve come naturally, as it would with any other family in Guilford. Yet, any other respectable family would be horrified, if they found out we ate in our bedrooms and study. This eating routine had formed out of habit, not deliberate desire. No one wanted to eat, whenever Gerda had prepared a full meal. She got used to making different, smaller meals at varying times. When it was time to collect our personalized cuisines, and we didn’t come downstairs, she took the initiative to deliver to our rooms. If we were not available to receive the nourishment, the meal was left on a table to run cold. Gerda loved to complain how degenerate we were, ironic on the account of a maid espousing insults to her employers was equally as detestable. I couldn’t deny she was right.
Ophelia came in, around three minutes, after I sat down. These were the longest three minutes all day. She was also overdressed, but not in a respectable manner. Her dress was sleeveless, and nearly shoulderless. The lilac purple silk shone brighter than the polished china. A dark, pink ribbon was wrapped tightly around her waist, its ends draping down at her knees. The neckline would’ve left her upper chest exposed, had it not been for the big, diamond pendant covering almost all of her cleavage. “Good evening,” She sounded like she knew full well how scandalously she had dressed. A delight in her own, discrete naughtiness permeated from her tone.
“Ophelia, what are you wearing?” Father spouted, his tone rising an octave.
She pulled out the side of her skirt. “Do you like it? I picked it up at Hochschild Kohn a month ago. I didn’t have an occasion to wear it, and figured now was as good a time as any.”
“Did you get it at half off, because you only seemed to have bought half the dress!” Father said, so flabbergasted he sounded like he was choking on food he had not eaten yet.
“Come now, Father, it’s not whore-ish at all. I think it is very classy. Coco Chanel designs dresses in this cut, and no one thinks her work is tasteless.”
Father jerked upward. He wanted to stand up, in order be more authoritative, but thought the better. “I don’t know who this Coco Chanel is, but she will not influence my daughter to look like burlesque dancer.”
Ophelia put one hand on her waist, and slanted sideways, her signature gesture of indifference. “Have you seen burlesque. I guarantee you, if I wanted to capture men’s eyes, I’d have to pull something much more revealing from my closet.”
I cringed at her little, nasty joke. She loved pushing Father to the edge, always against her better judgement, and always seeming to get away with such crude behavior, more than I ever could. Mother diffused the situation with her ever-soft spoken voice. “Please sit down,” she instructed Ophelia. “Let’s hear what your Father has to say.” Ophelia sat opposite me.
Father relaxed at Mother’s confirmation of his control. “Thank you, Jessica. I do have some news. We’ve all been invited to a rather strange party, thrown by Virginia Tristertrot.” He pulled the invitation off his lap and held it in the air. “This event she’s throwing has a very distinct air of extravagance, as you can see by the paper, which I find very vulgar. Its purpose is not mentioned. I find this odd. What business does a woman of her age have throwing a giant soiree? And on a boat, of all places!”
Ophelia flicked her wrist at Father. “Typical you. A big gathering can and should only be conducted, if it’s for business exchanges. Can’t a woman just have a good time? Why do elders have to sit locked up in their houses? Can’t they go out on the town and live?”
Father banged his fists on the table. Sending vibrations all the way to our end of the table. “Damn it, Ophelia, doesn’t your dress already do enough talking for you?”
Mother put her hand on his wrist. “Burton, she has a point. Virginia was a topic of discussion in my women’s Bible group. After Wade died, her staff reported she was losing her mind. She walked around the halls in her nightclothes, during the day, windows shut, talking to herself. This has to be a response to her widowhood. She wants to get out into the world, and connect with other people. Why be trapped with her memories?”
Father took his venomous gaze off Ophelia. “Why doesn’t she just join your group?”
Mother blushed. “Rose invited her. She said she’s not a big fan of Christianity, anymore. It’s been rumored she dabbled in Eastern religions.”
Father’s eyes dropped a level of scrutinization. “No wonder her mind has gone. She’s left herself open for the devil himself. No matter, I brought her invitation to your attention, because I want us to attend. This could be a great opportunity to make some key connections. Wade left his affairs to his business partners, but Virginia still has a lot of connections. She can toss my name in a very wealthy hat. I’ve called you all here, because I was to make some rules very clear. Whatever Mrs. Tristertrot has planned, I want us all to conduct ourselves professionally. It could be wild, but we’ll show them what real ladies and gentleman act like. If I talk to the right people, I might obtain the right resources to get our mines back to the glory days.” His expression morphed from controlling to introspective, eyes cracking down from a roar to a gentle breeze. “We could afford a full staff again. We could acquire another vacation house at Ocean City, or even Cape May.” We all took a moment of silence, looking down at our empty plates, mourning the life we once lived.
It had long ceased to be a secret productivity at the coal mines had embarked on a steep decline. Father modernized too late, giving his competitors a leg up. To this day, mules were still used to haul coal out of the tunnels. Most of the hand pushed cars were made of wood, which rotted quickly in the moisture, and barely any of them had small tracks to make the trip easier and quicker. We visited the little town of Otsego in May, my first trip back down there in seven years. The landscape was nothing like I had remembered. The bustle was gone. The sound of rock crumbling had vanished. The sight of gritty men packed together at the canteen during lunch hour was history. Father inspected the lands with his trusted head foreman. By the end of the trip, he was depressed, I assumed from learning about everything that went wrong.
“You don’t need rich men to tell you how to pull the mines out debt,” Ophelia said, obtusely. “Just buy cutters for those poor men to make their work easier.”
Father sprung into his all-too familiar lashing out procedure. He stood up, pointed at Ophelia, and shouted like a crime victim vowing revenge on an old enemy. “Maybe you can go in there and dig the coal out! That would teach you some respect for the job!”
They bickered until Gerda burst into the dining room and shouted at both to keep quiet. We all ate in relative silence. The woman could drive me to jump off a cliff, but I did appreciate her initiative. She knew how to keep order with more than just household tasks.
