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Mother threw her crochet lace shawl over her shoulders and ran it over her arm before stepping toward us.
"Do I look beautiful?" she asked, spinning around.
"You certainly do," Jimmy said. He nodded appreciatively.
"Thank you, James. And Dawn, you look so pretty, too," Mother said.
"Where did you get that necklace, Mother?" I asked pointedly.
"Necklace? Oh," she said with a nervous little laugh, "this was one of the last things poor Randolph gave me before he . . . before he passed on," she said.
"Wasn't it Grandmother Cutler's necklace?" I pursued.
"So? What if it was? What good did it do her anyway? She never cared about it, or about anything that any normal woman would care about. Go look in her closet and you will see the sort of garments she owned. She hardly ever wore makeup," Mother said, and she leaned toward us to add, "I don't think she even wore perfume. Just used Ivory soap and a Brillo pad," she said, laughing. "That's why she filled her office with lilacs."
"I can't believe Randolph would have given any of his mother's things away," I muttered, loud enough for her to hear.
"Well, he did. Actually, I asked him for it, and he went into her room and got it." She shook her head. "He told me she wanted me to have it, and I said, 'Next time you see her, thank her for me.' " She started to laugh.
"Oh, Mother, you didn't," I said, grimacing. To feed Randolph's insanity like that . . . it was immoral.
"Oh, what difference does it make now? Whatever is in that room is yours and mine anyway, Dawn," she claimed.
"What about Philip and Clara Sue, Mother? Clara Sue certainly would want to be included," I said.
"Well, yes, theirs, too."
"But I thought you didn't want anything to do with Grandmother Cutler's things," I reminded her.
"Not these things!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide. Then she settled into a smile. "Oh, let's not talk about anythi
ng that is unpleasant in the remotest way tonight, okay? Just look," she said, stepping closer to Jimmy. "We have such a handsome escort. Can I borrow an arm, James?" she asked. He blushed and glanced at me before nodding.
Mother threaded her arm through his quickly.
"Now won't we three look like something going through that lobby!" she exclaimed.
The stairway wasn't wide enough for the three of us to descend abreast, but Mother didn't seem to want to relinquish her hold on Jimmy, so I backed up and let them go first. At the bottom Jimmy turned and smiled, offering his arm again.
"Mrs. Longchamp," he said.
"Thank you, Mr. Longchamp," I replied, and we made our entrance into the lobby.
It was just as Mother had envisioned. Guests and staff all turned our way, their faces lighting up with awe as we paraded through to the front entrance where Julius waited. As soon as he saw us he opened the doors, and we left the hotel. Julius ran to the limousine and opened the rear doors. Mother got in first. She insisted Jimmy sit between us.
"To Beulla Woods," Mother commanded.
"Yes, ma'am," Julius said, and we were off.
It was still light enough for us to get a clear view of things as we drove up the long, winding road that led to Bronson Alcott's home. Beulla Woods stood on a high hill looking down on Cutler's Cove like a castle. Just as Jimmy had described, it was a spectacular house built with gray stone wall cladding and decorative half-timbering. It had a prominent round tower with a high conical roof. The tower housed the main entrance, which was a dark pine door set in a single arched opening. The tall two-story building had a steeply pitched roof. There were two sets of three double-hung windows on each level facing the front. Under each set of windows on the second floor was a small wrought-iron decorative balcony. The chimney was on the side, and there were round hedges all about the house.
The driveway took us around the rich, elaborately landscaped front with its gardens and fountains. Julius jumped out of the limousine and opened the rear doors, helping Mother out. Jimmy and I got out and joined her.
"Isn't it wonderful?" she said, turning and sweeping the air with her arm. We looked down at the ocean below, the boats, the docks, the cars and people on the street—everything looking toylike and precious. The sun was sinking below the horizon, the last rays of sunlight shining toward the center of the sky, making the world below celestial and angelic.
"I could stand here forever and look," Mother said. "Well, you'd better not, or our dinner will get cold," Bronson Alcott said.
All three of us spun around to see him standing in the doorway, his arms folded, a white meerschaum pipe in his right hand. He wore a dark blue velvet jacket with a gold lining on the collar and above the breast pocket. Instead of a tie, however, he had on a ruby cravat. In the twilight his chestnut hair and mustache looked a shade darker, like dark honey. The laughter around his sapphire eyes rippled down to widen his smile.
