I Dream Alone Page 2

  * * *

  A voice, very familiar to me, called out, “Come in, please!”

  Pat opened the door and we both entered Maggie’s quarters. The place was twice as big as her suite in the Shelbourne and, like in her space there, her clothes and travel trunks were spread all about the room. She even had a record player on a small table not too far from her bed.

  As I had seen so many times, Maggie Sheridan was sitting up in bed with two supportive pillows behind her:one at her back and the other behind her neck. I could feel her eyes observing me as I placed the breakfast tray in front of her yet again. This morning, however, was the first time in America. After putting the tray down I knew enough not to move, so I just stood still like a soldier at attention.

  “Well, well, well!” Maggie commented on my presence. She seemed happily surprised. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon. Are you sure you’re not still seasick?”

  I moved back from her bedside a bit and almost bumped into Pat.

  “He wanted to help me, and he was wide awake,” Pat volunteered.

  As Maggie began to spread a chunk of marmalade across a slice of toast, she called to Pat. “Make sure he knows where he is, Pat! He’s a long way from home.” She looked at me and, as often in the past in Dublin, I felt she was about to lecture me.“Sit, Gabriel.”

  I obediently followed her instruction and went over to a chair halfway between her bed and the big window that faced out onto the estate.

  “Make sure he knows his way up and down, Pat,” Maggie commanded.

  “Will do!” Pat responded.

  By the time I’d settled in the chair Pat had left the room without saying goodbye to me.

  “Well, did you sleep okay?” Maggie asked me with upturned eyes as if she was unsure of what my answer would be.

  “I did. I fell asleep in my clothes.”

  Almost without hesitation she raised her voice and asked, “Did you take a bath? I hope you did. Did you?”

  “Yes.”

  If she noticed how clean I looked she didn’t say so. “You’ll need a new suit and, looking at you now, I can say you’ll need a new just-about-everything.”

  In a partly lost state of mind I sat awkwardly in front of Maggie as she continued to eat her breakfast. She appeared to be less frustrated and impatient than she had frequently been at the hotel in Dublin. Maybe it was because she had no one to yell at nor anything to complain about.

  Maggie’s bedroom had a very large window that faced out in a different direction to the room I was in. To show her that I was feeling relaxed, I stood up and walked towards the window.

  “Have you been outside this morning?” she queried me as if to break what seemed to me to be a prolonged and awkward silence.

  “I went out front earlier. The biggest place I’ve ever been in,” I said with a flush of enthusiasm, more to reassure her than myself.

  At that point I heard a tap on the door and Mrs. Axe, wearing a silky oriental type of bathrobe, entered the room and looked to be in a jovial mood. “How are you, Gabriel? Rested, I hope?” She seemed happy to see me and I felt a bit more at ease.

  Before I could answer Maggie called out loud, “Gabriel hasn’t worn anything new since the invention of wool!”

  At that point I turned to leave the room and was just about out the door when Mrs. Axe called to me, “Wait, Gabriel!”

  I stopped in my tracks. She moved a few steps closer to me. “We’ll see you downstairs in about an hour. Dress for the weather – wear a warm coat. We’ll be driving to White Plains.”

  * * *

  The walk back to the kitchen allowed me to see parts of the mansion I hadn’t noticed earlier. Down the big staircase I went, walked across the huge foyer, passed through a waiting room with sofas, armchairs and antique furniture. Seconds later I was pushing the revolving door that led to the kitchen.

  As I entered the kitchen Pat and Jim were sitting at the table drinking coffee.

  “Damn snow expected this weekend and Arthur’s got the flu,” Jim grumbled as he placed dishes in the sink. “Arthur’s been workin’ here for fifteen years and he always gets the flu whenever a holiday comes up.”

  “Plough truck ready?” Pat asked.

  “Yep, it is,” Jim answered in a kind of cowboy accent.

  I sat down at the kitchen table but still didn’t know what to do with myself. Feeling at odds as to how the rest of the day would unfold, I sat in silence while Jim continued to complain about his workmate Arthur.

  With an obvious sign of impatience, Pat got up from the table and began to do routine chores about the kitchen. She talked as she put the pots, pans, glasses and plates away.

  I followed her every move. I imagined it would be only a day or two until I would be on my own with regard to getting Maggie’s breakfast tray ready.

  As Pat rambled on she told me just about everything she thought I needed to know about the castle and the Axes, as far as she was concerned. She repeatedly related to me that Mr.and Mrs. Axe rarely dined together mainly because of Mrs. Axe’s temperament and schedule. According to Pat, Ruth Houghton Axe moved about like a bumblebee and was forever on the phone talking business. If she wasn’t involved with that, she was supervising her husband Emerson’s schedule, particularly his cultural activities. Ruth Axe booked tickets to the opera and on rare occasions to Broadway shows. Weekdays Mrs. Axe was at the office in Manhattan and, every third week or so, she travelled about the country on company business. Mr. Axe rarely went with her. Infrequently, on weekends when they had visitors, they shared the dining-room table. Most of the visitors to the castle were individuals who were connected in some way to the business of finance and “mutual funds”. The exception to the dining schedule, which included breakfast and lunch, was when Maggie decided to come down from her quarters. If she was in the mood to eat lunch or dinner she’d appear in the dining room. More often than not Mrs. Axe knew in advance if Maggie was going to be eating in the dining room and so she’d show up to eat with her and Mr. Axe. Mrs. Axe occupied one section of the castle that had a view of the town in the distance. Mr. Axe’s suite overlooked the vista of the Hudson River. During the work week he would supervise the accountants, financial experts and others who worked daily close to him in the castle. Miss Barnes, an elderly spinster type of woman, who had been with the Axes since the forming of the company, was his secretary and she attended to every need he had.After overseeing the domestic operation of the castle, such as cooks, cleaners, painters and the groundsmen who kept the lawns neat and trim, Mrs. Axe made her way into the Manhattan office every morning slightly before noon. She would not return again until way past dinner time and would then spend an hour or two with Mr. Axe going over the day’s business.

  As I listened to Pat I guessed that the Axes didn’t know they had not only hired a housekeeper but a personal historian as well.

  Pat walked to the window and pointed out towards the main entrance. “That’s the car Mrs. Axe uses, Gabriel,” she said to me.

  I leaned on the windowsill and saw a big yellow car parked under the covered archway. “I just washed and polished the damn thing,” Jim grumbled further as he joined us at the window. “That’s usually Arthur’s job and not mine. I like being out on the grounds.”

  * * *

  After a drive of about thirty minutes Mrs. Axe pulled her car up outside a big shop in the nearby town of White Plains and told me to get out. I stepped out of the car and followed her into the shop. Maggie remained behind in the car.

  When I entered the shop it was like a warehouse. Mrs. Axe and I were greeted by a sales clerk but before he could say a word Mrs. Axe told him what she wanted. She pointed to me and gave the salesman instructions as if she had been his boss for years. The man then led me away towards a long rack of clothes. Mrs. Axe followed and began to pick out different kinds of jackets and suits as if she was going to wear them herself. She didn’t ask me what I liked or what I was interested in. Mrs. Axe liked what she liked even when it c
ame to what clothing I should wear. She had purchased a suit for me on Grafton Street and it had worked out well. She now ordered several white shirts and two black trousers. Also shoes as well as two tweed suits, a few sweaters, socks and underwear.

  * * *

  Two hours or so later that afternoon Mrs. Axe slowly brought the car to a halt outside the castle. I had seen almost every building and street in Tarrytown and had also learned a lot about its history and the historical characters that helped make up its overall profile. After that afternoon I knew more about Tarrytown and Westchester County than I did about almost any other part of the world, and that included Ireland.

  Sitting behind Maggie and Mrs. Axe as we drove from place to place was like travelling through a time zone where every moment felt as ifI was attached to a cloud of non-reality. What I slowly but surely began to embrace was that I was comfortable in that region of being away from my past and drifting in a direction where there were no signs of a final destination.

  As I’d sat in the back seat of the car, Maggie had engaged in a conversation with Mrs. Axe about how I needed to be dealt with, with regard to adjusting to living in America. She outlined what she thought was the right programme for a person my age. When the time came, after I had gotten used to my new environment and life change, I was to think about attending school. Maggie was very much committed to the promise that she had given to my mother in Dublin. As she talked about work, education and even keeping clean, she also periodically would turn her head and look back and remind me that I was still a Catholic and that I was never to forget that fact. She made sure that Mrs. Axe drove by the local Catholic church so that I would know where to go when it came to attending it on Sundays and other holy days. She didn’t mention the fact that the Axes were not churchgoers and wouldn’t be inclined to remind me of my religious obligations. That responsibility, for the duration of her time in New York, rested solely with Maggie.

  Bythe time I got out of the car I had been prepped on my schedule and daily routine for my life at the castle. One fact was firm, knowable and stationary in my mind: it was that every morning for as long asMaggie was residing in the castle I would serve her breakfast just as I had done back in the hotel in Dublin.

  I soon learned that Maggie would regularly complain about the New York weather and just about everything else. If she wasn’t going back to Dublin in three days it was three weeks. If it wasn’t three weeks she would be returning in three months. One of those time periods, according to her, would be an opportune time for me to resume, or more accurately begin, my education.

  My education in Dublin hardly qualified me to carry a breakfast tray. School back there was more like a prison that I was consistently and fervently attempting to escape from. I couldn’t remember one day of enjoyment or pleasure or inspiration inside the walls of the Christian Brothers School, or for that matter the less draconian semi-secular school I attended before I reached the age of fourteen years, old enough to leave and join the workforce.I had barely scratched the fundamental basics of reading, writing and elementary arithmetic in Dublin. My working-class upbringing neither envisioned nor prepared me to think or imagine a world that didn’t include the sight of smoke chimneys and the cacophony of hammers. The exception to answering the call of the factory horn came to me from Sister Charlotte, a nunat Goldenbridge Convent. It was she who saw to it that I had a suit for my First Communion. She, in a lesson without words, perhaps inadvertently bequeathed to me the element of hope.

  As I was taking the bags and packages of clothing out of the car trunk after our jaunt,Mrs. Axe asked me to come back down to the dining room when I had deposited them in my room.

  When the three of us approached the main door it was opened by Pat. She took some of the clothing packages from me and walked alongside me as I proceeded across the foyer and headed towards my quarters at the top of the marble staircase.

  Maggie called after me as she and Mrs. Axe retreated to the dining room. “Come back in fifteen minutes or so! Freshen up and come down!”

  “Okay, ma’am,” I responded.

  Walking up the long twisting marble staircase with bags and packages was a bit of a task.

  “Where were you all today?” Pat asked me as I proceeded ahead of her.

  I really didn’t know where I had been. I told her we drove all over the place and I also told her about the shopping spree in White Plains. As I mumbled about the day’s events I fumbled with the large bags and packages I was carrying. A pair of shoes fell out of one box and landed a few steps below me. I retreated and picked them up but in my semi-blurred state of mind I dropped a few more clothing items. Pat came to my assistance and helped me pick them up.

  “You’re coming down in a few minutes, I understand?” Pat asked me when we reached my room.

  “I’m to be down for a cup of tea or something,” I answered, not really wanting another cup of tea. I was feeling tired and wished just to flop on the bed and fall asleep.

  * * *

  After unpacking most of my new clothes I fell down on my bed. I was tired, confused and had no idea what to do with myself. I wanted to close my eyes but I knew I had to be down in the dining room shortly. As I lay on the bed, making every effort to keep my eyes open, I could hear my shirt still flapping outside the window. It was getting darker and windier outside. The noise of the shirt flapping in the wind made sure I couldn’t fall asleep. I got off the bed, opened the window and retrieved my shirt, which was almost frozen stiff. I walked to the bathroom and threw the shirt into the tub. I then turned on the hot water and the shirt almost melted.

  * * *

  When I got back downstairs Mrs. Axe and Maggie were sitting at the dining-room table. A classical music piece was playing on a record player, which was situated near an enormous window that gave a view of the Hudson River valley. Mr. Axe was standing over the record that was presently playing.Several shelves laden with records were visible. A massive dining table lay in front of a stone fireplace.

  “There you are!” Maggie called.

  When Mr. Axe saw me enter the room he lowered the volume on the record player. “Hello, hello,” he said, then cleared his throat and joined his wife and Maggie at the table. Mr. Axe had a habit of clearing his throat after he spoke. “I hear you got new clothing today, Gabriel.”

  Before I could answer him the swinging door to the dining room opened and Pat entered, carrying a tray with the tea things on it.

  “Thank you, Pat,” Mrs. Axe said with a smile of satisfaction.

  Maggie repeated the same sentiment. Both women were apparently in the mood for a cup of tea.

  “A few biscuits too, Pat,” Mrs. Axe added.

  Pat retreated to the kitchen and returned almost immediately with a plateful of colourful biscuits. Then she smiled obsequiously and withdrew again from the room.

  I wasn’t sure if I should reach for the teapot and pour the tea. I felt caught between serving and being served. I decided just to wait until somebody else did it. Eventually Mrs. Axe took hold of the teapot and poured tea into all four cups. She passed one to me and I felt a bit awkward. I got worried as to how to say thanks. My voice seemed to be stuck somewhere deep down inside of my stomach. I wondered if I was expected to be more open and talkative. I was happy that Maggie was in the same room and I knew she’d come to my rescue if I behaved or said anything embarrassing.

  In a few seconds Mrs. Axe’s voice broke into my thoughts and it was a welcome relief.

  “So, Gabriel,” said Mrs. Axe, “if you need anything let me or Margaret know.”

  Maggie then took over. “But don’t get in Mr. Axe’s way – he likes everything his way. He has it all pre-arranged. Don’t touch anything that belongs to him.”

  I wasn’t really sure what she was referring to.

  “Miss Sheridan is referring to my chess set, Gabriel. I have it set every night and –”

  “And he likes it that way!” Mrs. Axe said with a laugh.

  “Yes, I like it
that way,” Mr. Axe added.

  “Maybe you can teach him to play chess, Emerson,” Maggie said.

  Mr. Axe cleared his throat again. “I’d be happy to. Of course! I’d be happy to.”

  When the teapot was emptied and the biscuits on the plate consumed, Mr. Axe turned up the volume on the recording that was playing and all four of us sat for a few minutes listening. Mr. Axe seemed to be in another world with his music. He listened as if he was being caressed by the sound.

  “Would you be familiar with this music, Gabriel?” he suddenly asked.

  At that Maggie jumped in. “For God’s sake, Emerson! The poor boy just got off the boat!”

  Mrs. Axe laughed and took the tray with the cups and saucers off the table. She walked back towards the kitchen and Maggie followed her.

  I then got up from my chair and followed Maggie.

  * * *

  My alarm clock rang and awakened me at seven. A quick wash and a jump into the attire Mrs. Axe had bought me: black trousers, white shirts, then down to the kitchen where Pat was in the early stages of preparing Mr. Axe’s breakfast. Mrs. Axe got her own breakfast every morning way before Pat or I arrived in the kitchen. She would be up with the birds and would take her breakfast back to her bedroom where she could be on the phone doing business and eating at the same time.

  When I entered the kitchen Pat was in her usual talkative mood. Mrs. Axe, according to Pat, was “the livewire” of the couple. Mrs. Axe managed everything domestically as well as holding the position of being vice president of the company. She hired and fired financial executives and the domestic staff. When she was satisfied that everything was in order in the castle every morning, she’d get into her car and drive to New York City where she presided over several executives who worked in the Fifth Avenue Office of EW Axe and Company. Apart from having different personalities and interests in many diverse subjects, Mr. and Mrs. Axe shared a love for opera and almost all things “cultural”.