In February 1948, the Communists took over the government in Czechoslovakia, ratcheting up an already strained situation in Europe. Tensions again increased when President Truman refused to give the Soviet Union war reparations from West German industrial plants. Josef Stalin responded by splitting off the Russian occupation zone as a Communist state. It appeared that a conflict was possible between the former allies.
The following month, the Army Exchange Service notified its employees that it would shortly be reducing staff in England and increasing it in Germany. When I told Rob about the announcement, he said he had a feeling he would be hearing from TRC’s headquarters in the near future, which would mean he would return to Atlanta and then, possibly, Flagstaff. He often told me he wanted me to see all the great sights that were so near to his home: the Grand Canyon, Petrified Forest, and the red rock country, but marriage was never specifically mentioned.
One drizzly Saturday afternoon, after we had made love, I asked Rob if we had a future beyond our terms of employment in England. After a lengthy silence, he answered, “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say here.” I got dressed and told him I was leaving. Before he could get his pants on, I was down the stairs and out the door. On the way home, I stopped at Boot’s Chemist Shop and bought Alka Seltzer. This relationship was starting to affect my digestive system.
Pressure increased at work with the next memo from the AES personnel office. Don Milne, my boss, wanted to give his staff the heads-up and told everyone to assume they would be transferred to Germany. A second option was a ticket on a ship back to the States. Because I worked for Don, I would be able to stay in my job as long as he had his. Even though I had heard from friends that conditions in Germany had improved considerably since those first two dreadful years after the war, I had no intention of going back, especially in light of the current situation with the Soviets. I felt about returning to Germany in the same way that Elizabeth Garrison felt about marrying the reverend, Mr. Chatterton. It wasn’t going to happen.
Although my future with Rob was uncertain, his relationship with Mrs. Dawkins was going great guns. Rob’s soft-spoken Western drawl had won over my landlady, and the packs of Wrigley’s gum he brought the boys didn’t hurt, either. As a result, Rob and I were given permission to use the front parlor instead of the kitchen. We had to keep the door open and “mind the carpet,” but it was a big improvement over the kitchen table.
We were holding hands on the sofa when Rob told me about his dinner with Jack Crowell at the Engineer’s Club. He described the club as a place that would have seemed familiar to President Lincoln. “I’ve seen caves with more light. There were waiters in there who were probably on staff when Victoria was queen.” Victoria had died in 1901.
Rob said their conversation was all over the map. “Let’s see here,” Rob said, reading from a cheat sheet. “Christopher Lacey, Will Lacey’s son, made a fortune in railroads. He donated the property for a railway station near his home, which would become the town of Stepton. By the way, the Lacey Trust still owns ALL of the property under Stepton and collects rent from every business and residence in the town.”
“That’s similar to what happened in Scranton and Minooka,” I said. “The coal companies sold the houses to the miners but kept all the mineral rights. In some cases, they kept right on mining, and a few of the houses near my Grandma Shea’s started going down into the mines.” That merited a raised eyebrow from Rob.
Scanning his paper, he said enthusiastically, “Oh, you’ll like this story. Christopher’s son, Andrew, made a fortune in steel, but he also continued to control every aspect of the import/export business his father had built. He and his partners owned textile mills in India, the ships that brought the cargo to Europe, received special rates from the railways, and had controlling interests in several collieries that provided the coal for his trains. In America, that type of operation is considered to be a monopoly, and it’s illegal.”
“When am I supposed to start liking this story? It sounds like the coal operators who impoverished my grandparents.” “The romantic part’s coming,” Rob continued. “During the Christmas holidays, Andrew went around to the different offices giving out envelopes with a little something extra in them. The office personnel were allowed to invite their families to a holiday party, and at the Sheffield office, thirty-year-old Andrew met the daughter of his bookkeeper, nineteen-year-old Marianne Dickinson. Apparently, she was one of the great beauties of her time. Andrew was smitten — Jack’s word — and they got married and had five children, including Beth’s father. It’s kind of a Cinderella story,” and he started to sing “Isn’t It Romantic.”
Rob leaned forward so that I could scratch his back and continued to read from his notes. “It was Lady Marianne Lacey who started a tradition of having a Christmas tea for all the servants. They were invited upstairs to join the Laceys in the breakfast room for a catered buffet. Beth and Lady Lacey took turns playing the piano, and the whole gang sang carols. The last time they had it was Christmas 1914. Trevor was killed the following September, so that was the end of that tradition.”
“Were you surprised when you found out Beth’s brothers had been killed in the war?”
“Not really. We knew about Jack’s brother, right? And we knew Beth had brothers she never talked about? I figured the reason for all the secrecy was that the brothers were dead and not in a good way. I’m still not sure what happened to the youngest brother.”
“Well, I was stunned when she told me. She looked so sad that I changed the subject to her children. She said she thought Michael and I would make a good couple.”
Rob furrowed his brow and looked at me, “I hope you’re kidding,” he said seriously. I shook my head “no” and asked him to continue.
“We’ll get back to you and Michael later.” After looking at his notes, he continued. “The next heir to Montclair was Ned Lacey, Beth’s father. After university, Ned went to the States and met Beth’s mother, Sarah Bolton, at the races at Saratoga where she was spending the summer. Sarah was an expert horsewoman, and Ned was quoted as saying, ‘I married her because she had the best seat of any woman I ever knew,’ which translates today as ‘she had a nice ass.’”
I rolled my eyes and hoped Mrs. Dawkins wasn’t close enough to hear him.
“Beth’s father was the head of a brokerage house in London,” Rob continued. “Jack said not to make too much of Edward Lacey being a broker. It seems that Andrew didn’t like to entertain, so that became his son’s responsibility. Although Ned hosted shooting parties, he didn’t care all that much for shooting. He liked speed, as in racing motor cars, and owned an interest in several. He also owned a Silver Ghost Rolls Royce, which Jack worked on. During the war, Jack drove an ambulance donated by Rolls Royce. Since he had already worked on a Rolls engine, it probably saved him from being assigned to the infantry.”
All of this was very interesting, but after being gone for more than four hours, was that all he had learned?
“No, there’s a lot more, but it’s mostly about the war. Do you really want to hear about it?” I could tell by the change in Rob’s voice I probably didn’t want to hear anything else.
“No, not now.” I wanted to think of it as being Christmas 1914 with Beth playing the piano while her family and all the servants sang carols. It was to be their last Christmas together.
Putting his arm around my shoulders, Rob pulled me close to him and asked, “Now, what’s the deal with Michael Crowell?”