Geraldine covered her mouth with her forefinger and hmmmmmed (Thank you, God), pretending to think about it. She let a respectable amount of time pass before shooting her finger in the air. “Wait a minute…I do happen to know somebody who might fit the bill: my daughter, Emilia Mae. A hard worker, that one, sturdy and capable of anything she puts her mind to.” Geraldine believed in truth telling and convinced herself that what she’d told Sam was correct in every sense of the word. Emilia Mae was a hard worker, and Lord knew she was able-bodied. She continued: “This sounds like a wonderful opportunity for her to learn about the real world and get some working experience at the same time. I’d allow her to leave school for a while should she fit the bill.”
“I’ve seen her around here, but don’t really know her,” said Sam. “Keeps to herself, that one, doesn’t she?”
Worried that Sam, like everyone else in town, knew how withdrawn Emilia Mae could be, Geraldine quickly added: “She’s grown into quite a young lady, smart and sturdy as a mule. You ought to get to know her.”
“Okeydoke, I’ll do that,” he said. “Will she be here this weekend?”
“Come by Saturday. She’ll be here all day.”
Geraldine was proud of herself. This was perfect: She was solving two problems at once. She was generously seizing an opportunity for her daughter’s future. And boy, what a relief it would be to get Emilia Mae out of the house. God knows she’d tried with that girl. Every week in church she’d pray for guidance. For patience. For a break. Whatever she did seemed to be wrong. Everything she said came out like criticism; every gesture she made, Emilia Mae rebuffed. The last time she took her shopping and picked out a dress, Emilia Mae shook her head and said, “That’s for your thinner daughter, not this one.” After she took her to get her hair done in a slinky Veronica Lake style, Emilia Mae came home, brushed out her hair, and put it up in a ponytail. When Geraldine brought home a copy of Black Beauty, Emilia Mae smirked and said, “Guess what? I’m not ten anymore.” It hurt her feelings, but she kept on trying. Geraldine bought her lotions and perfume and once a beautiful scarf made in Italy. Always Emilia Mae would thank her politely and shove the stuff to the back of her drawer. She had to face it: Her daughter didn’t like her, never mind love her.
Maybe she didn’t have the gift so many women had. Nothing seemed to come naturally with this child. She couldn’t bring herself to hug her, call her “sweetheart” or say “I love you.” Emilia Mae called her “Mother.” So dry and formal. It was hard looking in the mirror every day knowing that yours was the face your daughter despised. If she sent Emilia Mae to work at the inn, no one could call her a bad mother. People would understand that a job is a job. All she had to do was pray that Emilia Mae would act civil to Sam Bostwick when he came around.
That night, after Emilia Mae went to bed, Earle and Geraldine retired to the living room. Earle was playing one of his jazz records on the Victrola and Geraldine was smoking a cigarette. Earle leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes as Duke Ellington and his orchestra played “Mood Indigo,” one of his favorites. Geraldine figured this was the perfect time to tell him about Sam’s offer. Earle kept his eyes closed as she spoke. Only when she got to the part about Emilia Mae learning about the real world did Earle pop up, eyes wide open. “For Pete’s sake, Geraldine, the girl is only fifteen. That’s way too young for her to be living away from home.”
Geraldine puffed her cheeks and made a sound like air leaking out of a balloon. “May I remind you that the Neptune Inn is about five and a half miles from here? She could ride her bike back and forth that distance.”
“And what about her schoolwork?”
“Our little genius can catch up on her own. Let’s face it: We could use the money. Hard work will be good for her, teach her some life lessons.”
“She can learn life lessons at home,” said Earle. “We can’t toss her out like a stray dog. She needs to be around people her own age, not ragtag strangers from who knows where.”
Geraldine ran her tongue around the inside of her cheek. “Can you honestly tell me that our home wouldn’t be a happier place if she was gone?”
“I can honestly tell you that our home would be a happier place if you weren’t so angry all the time.” Earle got out of his chair, turned off the record player, and left the room.
Geraldine followed him. “I’ll tell you what, Mr. High-and-Mighty. We’ll let her choose. Sam’s coming back on Saturday, he’s going to talk to her directly. If she says yes, she goes; if not, she doesn’t.”
“No, absolutely not,” said Earle. “I will not have my daughter leave school and work at some inn where absolute strangers come and go and there’s no one to watch over her. That’s out of the question.”
Emilia’s bedroom was adjacent to the living room. The walls in the Wingo house were old oak, thin enough to let everything through except a draft. Emilia Mae could hear the click of the switch when her father turned the Victrola off. When he said the part about letting her go where there was no one watching over her, she heard his words as clearly as if he were standing next to her.
The Oz brothers must have heard him too, because they immediately appeared on her bed. It was never clear exactly who suggested that Emilia Mae not wait for Mr. Bostwick to come to the bakery Saturday but that she go to the inn and seek out the man before the weekend, but the thought flowed through her as if it had been in her head all along. If she was going to go work at the Neptune Inn, it would be her choice, not her mother’s. Isn’t that what Dorothy would do?
On Friday after school, Emilia Mae rode her bike to the inn. With its gray wraparound porch and white slat-wood rockers, the Neptune Inn was one of Westchester County’s landmarks, and Sam Bostwick one of its fixtures. She walked into the lobby and from a distance saw a little man with white foamy hair and spidery veins on his nose: Sam. She walked up to him and held out her hand. “Hello, I’m Emilia Mae Wingo. I think my mother spoke to you about me. I’m looking for work, and she said there might be a job here.”
He studied her with his milky brown eyes: “Ah yes, the sturdy girl. I’ll get right to the point. I’m looking for help at the inn, someone to tidy up the place, keep the rooms orderly. I can’t do it on my own anymore. It would mean free room and board. It’s a well-paying job, and you’d be on your own. Your mother says you might be just what the doctor ordered.”
Emilia Mae couldn’t imagine that her mother would ever tell anyone she was just what the doctor ordered. “What exactly did my mother say?”
He was standing close to her. Close enough for her to smell the Sen-Sen on his breath. “She said you’re just the kind of gal I’m looking for, strong and capable of anything you put your mind to. What do you think?”
“My mother really said those things?”
Sam nodded. “Yes, she said all those things. Said you could leave school for a while and have a real-life experience. That’s what she said. Are you interested?” He sounded impatient.
Strong and capable! Her mother really thought that. Well, she’d show her mother just how strong and capable she was, and make her proud. It took Emilia Mae but a few seconds to answer: “Yes, sir, I am interested. Very interested. When can I start?”