Heiress

Allison pulled at the collar of her blouse, feeling as if her breathing had been hampered. Forty thousand dollars a year! Her father had supported a wife and three children on less than that. Why would a single woman need so much?

“But about your living quarters,” Curnutt continued, “I had assumed that you would live in Harrison’s home, which is yours now.”

“Oh, yes, Allison, you must consider living there,” Celestine insisted. “It’s a wonderful house.”

“Didn’t you say it was a three-story home? I don’t need that much room, and wouldn’t the upkeep be expensive?”

He smiled, and she knew he was amused by her conservatism, but her parents had had no choice but to be conservative; otherwise they couldn’t have supported a family on one salary so Beatrice could stay home and take care of the children. Even with riches at her disposal, it was a habit she wouldn’t lose easily.

“I’m sure your uncle would be pleased with your attitude toward wealth, for he wasn’t a big spender himself, and you’re right, the house is expensive to maintain. Although Harrison didn’t make any stipulation whether you should sell or keep the house, I suggest that you live there for a period of time before you make the decision. It is a largc house, but the caretakers occupy the third floor and take care of cleaning and maintenance, so it shouldn’t be a burden to you.”

“Even sight unseen, I’m willing to take your advice, but I would like to see the house when it’s convenient for you to take me.”

He checked his watch and took his appointment book from his pocket. “We can go right now. I have a dinner appointment at six o’clock, but we have time.” Turning to Celestine, he said, “Please telephone Minerva that we’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

The lawyer traveled on High Street until he turned left on Buttles, drove past Goodale Park to Neil Avenue, where he turned north again. The quiet atmosphere of the area and the Victorian homes on both sides of the street made Allison feel as if she had stepped back in time. Would the Brontë sisters wander out of one of the doors on their way to church? Perhaps Mary Todd Lincoln would be peering from a window, anxiously waiting for her tardy husband. Craning her neck to see each house they passed, Allison was impressed with the asymmetrical brick-and-stucco homes, many massed around a central tower or spire, marked by steeply pitched roofs and narrow arched windows accentuated by hood moldings.

Curnutt drove a couple of blocks before parking the car at street level. He pointed to a massive brick building.

“This surely isn’t it!”

“Harrison Page bought this house about twenty-five years ago. After his wife died, he devoted his time to decorating and furnishing the home as it would have been when it was first built. The house is yours now, and I hope you’ll be pleased with the results of his efforts. Shall we go in?”

“Allow me to sit here for a few minutes and take this all in. Yesterday I thought of a nursery rhyme about an old woman whose appearance was altered, and she kept saying, ‘Lawk a mercy on me, this is none of I!’ I don’t even feel like myself. Nor do I know my own mind. Am I grateful to Uncle Harrison for gifting me with all these material possessions, or should I resent his interference with a life-style that has been sufficient for twenty-four years? Ownership of this house is more daunting than ownership of the publishing company. I don’t know how I can cope with this change in my life.”

Curnutt gave Allison a fond look that she didn’t see, but he was pleased with her, and furthermore, he knew now that Page had made the right decision to convey his estate to this woman, although Curnutt had counseled against the move. In the few hours he had known Allison, he had observed the same qualities in her that had made Harrison Page a respected and wealthy man—determination, loyalty to duty, conservatism and intelligence. He silently thanked God that he had been given the privilege of introducing this young woman to a new world—one in which she would undoubtedly make mistakes, but also one in which he believed she would ultimately triumph.

Allison’s eager eyes took in every detail of the huge house. A brick pathway from the street traversed a small lawn, and two large marble urns stood beside the three stone steps that provided access to a wide porch with a crested roof supported by six round Ionic wooden columns. The porch was surrounded by a wooden railing sustained by elaborately turned balusters. Two slender junipers, their tops projecting above the porch roof, stood like sentries on each side of the steps, and groupings of low evergreens and shrubbery were arranged around their trunks.

The three-storied redbrick house was divided into three sections. On the left was a rounded turret crowned by a conical spire. The middle section was dominated at the second story by a curved leaded glass window in a floral design capped by a stone lintel, and to the right, uncovered by the porch, bay windows marked both the first- and second-floor levels. Several brick chimneys projected like sentinels from the steep gray slate roof. Such a home was worthy of a president or even a king; it couldn’t be hers.

Her eyes shining, she said, “It’s a beautiful building. I’m ready to go in now.”

With all the eagerness of a man playing Santa Claus, Curnutt opened the car door for Allison. Tingling with excitement, a broad smile lighting her face, Allison walked briskly up the steps and stopped before double walnut doors embellished by curvilinear floral designs in clear leaded glass. Above the doors was an oblong leaded window that matched the door panels. Curnutt reached around her and turned the old-fashioned doorbell.

As though she had been waiting, the right door was opened by a tall, angular woman with high cheekbones accentuated by steel gray hair pulled back and tightly wound into a small bun at her nape. Dressed as she was in a trim gray dress, she could easily have stepped out of the Victorian era.

“Welcome, come in,” she said in a pleasing voice that sounded as if she meant it. Behind her hovered a portly man dressed in a flannel shirt and denim overalls.

Allison and Curnutt stepped into the warm, high-ceilinged foyer, which Allison realized was larger than the living and dining room put together of her family’s house back in Chicago. Allison’s eyes were drawn immediately to the spiral stairway with graceful scrolled railings that terminated on a landing on the second floor. A brass chandelier with tiers of crystal pendants hung from a leaf-filigreed ceiling medallion. Burgundy carpeting covered the stair treads, and the foyer floor of darkly varnished hardwood was brightened with two Oriental rugs. The walls were a neutral tone of pale blue.

The foyer was long and narrow, with four steps at the rear of the hall leading to the kitchen area. To the left of the doorway was a massive walnut hall tree, with several hats suspended from the hangers. Facing them was a longcase clock that melodiously chimed the hour.

Sizing up every detail of the house, Allison hadn’t moved since she’d set foot in the hallway. She was brought out of her trance by a gentle tug on her arm.

“Allison, I want you to meet Adra and Minerva McRamey. They’re important fixtures in this house.”

Trying to shake the cobwebs from her head, Allison said, “I’m pleased to meet you. I apologize for being impolite. I’ve never been in this grand a house before.”

She shook hands with both of them, and Adra’s rosy face beamed at her.

“We’re glad to see you, Miss Sayre. Mr. Page was a quiet man, and he never talked about his family. We knew he had a sister somewhere, but we sure didn’t know he had any kin as pretty as you. How come none of you ever visited him? After his wife died, Harrison was lonely, and there was plenty of room in this big house.”

“As far as I know, we never had an invitation to visit him. It always puzzled me why he and Mother weren’t more friendly.”

“We’re glad you’re here now,” Minerva said. “What do you think of the house?”

“If the rest of the house is anything like this foyer, I want to keep it.” She gave Thomas Curnutt an anxious look. “That is, if you think I can afford it. The taxes and upkeep on a building of this size must be horrendous.”

“Nothing you can’t afford if you want to live here. Let’s continue our tour. The living room, originally called the parlor, and dining room are to the left. Harrison spent a great deal of time and money furnishing these rooms with genuine antique pieces of the period. Even the lamps and vases and such are antiques,” he added.

A fireplace fronted with gray marble, with a slab of matching marble as a mantel, over which hung a lighted picture of a woman in formal dress of the Victorian era, was the focal point when one entered the room. A brown leather sofa and two soft armchairs upholstered in flowery chintz were grouped around a large oval coffee table placed on an Oriental rug. A delicate brass chandelier with a few crystal prisms hung from a ceiling medallion over the coffee table. A nineteenth-century wooden bench covered with needlepoint was to their right, and a grand piano stood along the wall that looked out on the street.

“This room seems as if it has never been used.”

“Mr. Page didn’t entertain much, and he spent all his time in the office across the hall,” Minerva said. Motioning to the adjoining room, she added, “He did like his meals served in the dining room.”

She led them into the dining room, designed with a fireplace identical to the one in the parlor; a portrait of a wigged Victorian gentleman hung over it. A glittering crystal chandelier shed a soft glow over an oval oak table covered with an ecru crocheted tablecloth. Eight cane-back chairs stood around the table, a hutch displayed a set of English bone china and a corner cupboard contained a dazzling array of deeply cut crystal. A garish tree-of-life wallpaper accented the wall above the dark three-foot wainscoting.

Opposite the parlor and dining room was Harrison’s office, masculine and overwhelming with its dark wooden furniture, walnut paneling and parqueted floor.

“This could do with a bit of bright color,” Allison said.

“I agree with you, Miss,” Minerva said, “but Mr. Page was a rather somber man. You’ll like the library next door.”

“Oh, yes,” Allison said when she entered the library, as bright as the noonday sun. A glazed chintz lounge stood between two windows hung with balloon curtains. A needlepoint rug covered the floor. Two wicker chairs were upholstered with the same chintz as the lounge and a floral-patterned fabric was draped over the bay window, which looked out to a landscaped garden area. Several needlepoint cushions were displayed throughout the room, and the seats of many small chairs were upholstered with a variety of patterns, ranging from small-scaled flowers with muted backgrounds to a few that portrayed parrots and other tropical birds in bright floral settings.

“Who has done all this handwork?” Allison said, admiring a cushion that had a lifelike representation of a macaw. She appreciated the many hours of painstaking work that had gone into the crocheted doilies and other finely done handwork in the house because her mother always had a needlepoint project under way.

“I’ve done a lot of the crocheting, but Mrs. Page did the intricate work,” Minerva said. “Being an invalid, she devoted most of her time to creating with her needle.”

Noting that there was a desk and chair in one corner of the library, Allison decided this was where she would spend most of her time, rather than in the more formal rooms.

The kitchen had all the modern conveniences—waste disposal, microwave, dishwasher—and Allison clapped her hands in joy when she saw the rounded dinette adjacent to the kitchen. Located in the turret, the dining area was lighted by three curved windows accentuated by airy lace curtains. A round pedestal oak table placed on a ceramic tile floor had four matching chairs around it. A potted African violet bloomed profusely in the middle of the table, and other plants stood on the window ledge.

Allison drew back the curtains and looked out on a high laurel hedge that hid the house next door. Two white iron benches were grouped around an oval matching table, and a tall Greek statue overlooked the scene.

“Oh, what a lovely place! When we look out our kitchen window at home, we see the house next door.” Donald’s house, she thought quickly and pushed the memory aside. “I’ll love having my meals here.”

“Do you have time for a serving of banana cream pie?” Minerva asked.

“I am in a hurry,” Curnutt said, “but I’ll never turn down your pie.”

They sat in the dinette alcove, and while they waited to be served, Allison said, “This is the most fabulous home I’ve ever seen. I’ll try it for several months anyway. It may prove too much for me, and I may feel lost here. Our whole home in Chicago isn’t a quarter this large. It scares me in a way, but I do feel at home already.”

When Minerva brought the pie and a beverage, Curnutt pulled out the extra chairs and said, “Sit down, Minerva, and you, too, Adra. You should be involved in any plans we make for this house.”

Adra declined pie, but drank a cup of coffee.