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Authors: Beth Hoffman
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alone, why do you need a cook?”
Aunt Tootie pulled off her gloves and dropped them on a marble-topped chest. “Oletta has been with me for years and years,” she said, removing her hat and scratching her scalp. “Lord knows I tried, but I never was much of a cook. Taylor just loved good food—eating was one of the greatest joys in his life. We needed Oletta back then. When Taylor passed away, I kept her on. She’s family to me. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without her.”
When we climbed the steps to the second floor, I was weak-kneed from sensory overload. A pair of blue-and-white vases, as tall as I was and fi lled with flowers the size of basketballs, flanked the arched corridor at the top of the staircase. I all but got drunk on the perfumed air as we headed down the hall.
“There are four guest bedrooms up here. This one faces the front of the house,” she said, stepping into a room and turning on the overhead light. The bed had four carved posts and was so high off the floor there were little wooden steps to reach it. Long ivory-colored draperies were covered with acres of embroidery and tied back with huge green tassels. Between two windows sat a chest of drawers the size of a refrigerator.
“It’s yours if you want it, Cecelia, but we’ll take a look at all the others before you decide.”
The other bedrooms were much the same as the first—big and fancy—all with their own private bathrooms that had shiny white tubs supported by golden feet that looked like the claws of giant birds.
My aunt chattered away as she continued her tour. I followed, keeping my arms glued to my sides so I wouldn’t bump into anything. As breathtaking as the house was, Aunt Tootie wasn’t even the slightest bit show-offy. In fact, she seemed tethered to the earth and as homey as a comfortable chair.
At the far left side of the upstairs hallway was an alcove with an arched door. “What’s in there?” I asked.
“I’ll show you.” She opened the door, flicked on a light, and led me up a narrow stairway. “There are two bedrooms and a storage room at the end of the hall. And this,” she said, dramatically opening a door, “is the sleeping porch. Isn’t it the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen?”
She walked around the room and flung open tall moss-green shutters to reveal floor-to-ceiling screens. A light breeze rolled in and my aunt took a deep breath. “It smells divine up here, doesn’t it?”
The wooden floor was painted a soft robin’s-egg blue, and the ceiling was pale yellow. An iron bed shaped like a sleigh was smothered with colorful pillows, and when I touched the white comforter, my fingers disappeared as if I’d plunged them into a mound of whipped cream. The room was like a happy tree house made just for girls.
I stepped across the floor and pressed my nose against the window screen. I was up so high I had a bird’s-eye view of the entire garden. “Wow. Is this your bedroom?”
“Oh, no, honey. My bedroom is at the end of the hall on the second floor. When we go back downstairs, I’ll show you.”
A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. “Aunt Tootie,” I said, turning to face her, “could this be my bedroom?”
She was quiet for a moment, and I wondered if I shouldn’t have asked, like maybe this was a room reserved for special guests. But then she put her arm around my shoulders and nodded. “If I were your age, I believe this is the room I’d pick too. Consider it yours, Cecelia Rose. In the winter months you’ll have to use one of the other bedrooms—this room gets cold—but for now I think it’ll be perfect.”
She gave my shoulders a squeeze. “All right, let’s get your suitcase out of the car and get you settled. Then we’ll have a bite to eat and go to bed. I don’t know about you, but I’m plum worn-out.”
Six
I woke to the sound of children’s voices, as faint as the tinkling wind chimes. The voices grew louder and erupted into gales of
Aunt Tootie pulled off her gloves and dropped them on a marble-topped chest. “Oletta has been with me for years and years,” she said, removing her hat and scratching her scalp. “Lord knows I tried, but I never was much of a cook. Taylor just loved good food—eating was one of the greatest joys in his life. We needed Oletta back then. When Taylor passed away, I kept her on. She’s family to me. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without her.”
When we climbed the steps to the second floor, I was weak-kneed from sensory overload. A pair of blue-and-white vases, as tall as I was and fi lled with flowers the size of basketballs, flanked the arched corridor at the top of the staircase. I all but got drunk on the perfumed air as we headed down the hall.
“There are four guest bedrooms up here. This one faces the front of the house,” she said, stepping into a room and turning on the overhead light. The bed had four carved posts and was so high off the floor there were little wooden steps to reach it. Long ivory-colored draperies were covered with acres of embroidery and tied back with huge green tassels. Between two windows sat a chest of drawers the size of a refrigerator.
“It’s yours if you want it, Cecelia, but we’ll take a look at all the others before you decide.”
The other bedrooms were much the same as the first—big and fancy—all with their own private bathrooms that had shiny white tubs supported by golden feet that looked like the claws of giant birds.
My aunt chattered away as she continued her tour. I followed, keeping my arms glued to my sides so I wouldn’t bump into anything. As breathtaking as the house was, Aunt Tootie wasn’t even the slightest bit show-offy. In fact, she seemed tethered to the earth and as homey as a comfortable chair.
At the far left side of the upstairs hallway was an alcove with an arched door. “What’s in there?” I asked.
“I’ll show you.” She opened the door, flicked on a light, and led me up a narrow stairway. “There are two bedrooms and a storage room at the end of the hall. And this,” she said, dramatically opening a door, “is the sleeping porch. Isn’t it the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen?”
She walked around the room and flung open tall moss-green shutters to reveal floor-to-ceiling screens. A light breeze rolled in and my aunt took a deep breath. “It smells divine up here, doesn’t it?”
The wooden floor was painted a soft robin’s-egg blue, and the ceiling was pale yellow. An iron bed shaped like a sleigh was smothered with colorful pillows, and when I touched the white comforter, my fingers disappeared as if I’d plunged them into a mound of whipped cream. The room was like a happy tree house made just for girls.
I stepped across the floor and pressed my nose against the window screen. I was up so high I had a bird’s-eye view of the entire garden. “Wow. Is this your bedroom?”
“Oh, no, honey. My bedroom is at the end of the hall on the second floor. When we go back downstairs, I’ll show you.”
A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. “Aunt Tootie,” I said, turning to face her, “could this be my bedroom?”
She was quiet for a moment, and I wondered if I shouldn’t have asked, like maybe this was a room reserved for special guests. But then she put her arm around my shoulders and nodded. “If I were your age, I believe this is the room I’d pick too. Consider it yours, Cecelia Rose. In the winter months you’ll have to use one of the other bedrooms—this room gets cold—but for now I think it’ll be perfect.”
She gave my shoulders a squeeze. “All right, let’s get your suitcase out of the car and get you settled. Then we’ll have a bite to eat and go to bed. I don’t know about you, but I’m plum worn-out.”
Six
I woke to the sound of children’s voices, as faint as the tinkling wind chimes. The voices grew louder and erupted into gales of
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