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Authors: Virginia Rich
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people who can afford to pay, and it’s surprising how many people are glad to pay for a good simple hot meal at noon and a cold one—sandwich and fruit, or whatever—for supper. It’s prepared at the hospital, and of course Helen has it organized like a Swiss watch.”
“I’ll bet the prospect of a little visit with you or Bethie is as cheering as the food,” Mrs. Potter remarked. “That darling round face of Beth’s, and her crazy bright hats—if I were one of your customers, I’d consider Thursdays the red-letter day in my week.”
“Oh, the whole crew all week is great for that kind of thing,” Gussie said. “Beth probably
is
the most fun as a caller, because she’s always so sunny and cheerful. Still, everybody tries to look bright and smartened up for the day of her rounds. Or
his
. We have men volunteers too, you know.”
“I hope not Ted Frobisher,” Mrs. Potter replied. “I’d hate to ride with
him
down all those little streets. As I remember, he’d be too befuddled by noon to find his way around town, or to remember who got what, if he’s still drinking as much as he used to.”
“I suppose he is,” Gussie said, without great apparent concern. “Ted’s always just a little bit stewed, but he’s never really out of line. Always the same wonderful manners he learned at his mama’s knee in Wellesley; always the same totally proper dress for every occasion—Jules used to call it ‘elderly Yacht Club attire.’ You know exactly what I mean. And he still putters around with his greenhouse. Ted hasn’t completely lost his marbles, Genia. He still keeps his office up above the Pacific Club, right next to Ozzie’s, and he has his connection with the same good Boston brokerage firm.”
The thought of Ozzie had them both shaking their heads sadly. Poor Ozzie, they both said again, let’s hope he just slipped away peacefully.
Then, brightening, Gussie crossed to the kitchen door and opened it to look out. Large, soft flakes of snow were falling, then melting in soft dark circles on the cobblestones. The neatly trimmed hedge of yew below the side porch was frosted with white, and the shrubbery beyond the garden in back was sharply outlined.
“Let’s go down Main Street and see the Christmas trees one last time before they’re taken down,” she urged, “and enjoy the snow before it all melts and gets slushy. It’s too warm for it to last.”
She closed the door reluctantly. “Oh, and I haven’t told you,” she continued. “I’ve invited some people in, mostly old friends of yours, on Saturday afternoon. And Tony Ferencz, of course. Later, after we’ve had a walk we can take a look in the specialty places for party cheeses and things.”
As they went up the wide front stairs to dress for the day, Gussie paused, one hand on the gleaming mahogany handrail. “It may seem heartless not to cancel my party because of Ozzie’s death,” she said. “Still, everyone is dying to see you.”
Resuming her quick, light ascent, she added, “And I want you to have every possible opportunity to know Tony.”
Mrs. Potter was suddenly reminded of Mary Augusta Baines, college freshman. “I’ve just met the most wonderful new man from Amherst,” the young Gussie was saying, “and I can’t wait for you to meet him.” There had been a number of wonderful new men from a number of colleges, Mrs. Potter reflected, before cousin Theo came on the scene.
The two met again, shortly, in the upper hall at the top of the staircase, wearing wool trousers and warm sweaters. A large gilt-framed mirror reflected the meeting of the similarly clad figures—one with softly cut, slightly curling hair, lightly frosted in a way not so much disguising its gray as blending it into a new and becoming color; the other gray-blond, her hair smoothly pulled back into the same knot she had worn, although with a period of various changes in between, since their college years together.
Mrs. Potter drew back in
“I’ll bet the prospect of a little visit with you or Bethie is as cheering as the food,” Mrs. Potter remarked. “That darling round face of Beth’s, and her crazy bright hats—if I were one of your customers, I’d consider Thursdays the red-letter day in my week.”
“Oh, the whole crew all week is great for that kind of thing,” Gussie said. “Beth probably
is
the most fun as a caller, because she’s always so sunny and cheerful. Still, everybody tries to look bright and smartened up for the day of her rounds. Or
his
. We have men volunteers too, you know.”
“I hope not Ted Frobisher,” Mrs. Potter replied. “I’d hate to ride with
him
down all those little streets. As I remember, he’d be too befuddled by noon to find his way around town, or to remember who got what, if he’s still drinking as much as he used to.”
“I suppose he is,” Gussie said, without great apparent concern. “Ted’s always just a little bit stewed, but he’s never really out of line. Always the same wonderful manners he learned at his mama’s knee in Wellesley; always the same totally proper dress for every occasion—Jules used to call it ‘elderly Yacht Club attire.’ You know exactly what I mean. And he still putters around with his greenhouse. Ted hasn’t completely lost his marbles, Genia. He still keeps his office up above the Pacific Club, right next to Ozzie’s, and he has his connection with the same good Boston brokerage firm.”
The thought of Ozzie had them both shaking their heads sadly. Poor Ozzie, they both said again, let’s hope he just slipped away peacefully.
Then, brightening, Gussie crossed to the kitchen door and opened it to look out. Large, soft flakes of snow were falling, then melting in soft dark circles on the cobblestones. The neatly trimmed hedge of yew below the side porch was frosted with white, and the shrubbery beyond the garden in back was sharply outlined.
“Let’s go down Main Street and see the Christmas trees one last time before they’re taken down,” she urged, “and enjoy the snow before it all melts and gets slushy. It’s too warm for it to last.”
She closed the door reluctantly. “Oh, and I haven’t told you,” she continued. “I’ve invited some people in, mostly old friends of yours, on Saturday afternoon. And Tony Ferencz, of course. Later, after we’ve had a walk we can take a look in the specialty places for party cheeses and things.”
As they went up the wide front stairs to dress for the day, Gussie paused, one hand on the gleaming mahogany handrail. “It may seem heartless not to cancel my party because of Ozzie’s death,” she said. “Still, everyone is dying to see you.”
Resuming her quick, light ascent, she added, “And I want you to have every possible opportunity to know Tony.”
Mrs. Potter was suddenly reminded of Mary Augusta Baines, college freshman. “I’ve just met the most wonderful new man from Amherst,” the young Gussie was saying, “and I can’t wait for you to meet him.” There had been a number of wonderful new men from a number of colleges, Mrs. Potter reflected, before cousin Theo came on the scene.
The two met again, shortly, in the upper hall at the top of the staircase, wearing wool trousers and warm sweaters. A large gilt-framed mirror reflected the meeting of the similarly clad figures—one with softly cut, slightly curling hair, lightly frosted in a way not so much disguising its gray as blending it into a new and becoming color; the other gray-blond, her hair smoothly pulled back into the same knot she had worn, although with a period of various changes in between, since their college years together.
Mrs. Potter drew back in
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