“It’s very presidential.” Letti barely containing her smirk.
“Indeed.” Eleanor’s face took on a solemn cast. “Presidents are the most important people in the world. They're like royalty. After all, what could be more important than running a country? All that power. All that responsibility. As Americans, we should proudly revere our Presidents, for they're so much better than we are.”
“Didn’t Jefferson say all men are created equal?” Florence asked.
“Presidents are more than mere men. They’re born to lead. Did you know all forty-three Presidents have carried European royal bloodlines? Thirty-four of them are genetic descendants of the French ruler, Charlemagne. Nineteen are related to England’s Edward the Third.”
Eleanor produced a handkerchief from the cuff of her long-sleeved dress and mopped at the sweat on her neck.
“If you go back far enough, everyone is descended from the same people,” Letti said.
“Of course they are, dear. Adam and Eve. But only a small minority of these descendants have carried the royal bloodline and were fit enough to lead nations. I have to ask... is Letti short for Leticia?”
“Loretta.”
“Too bad. Leticia Tyler was married to our tenth President, John Tyler. Not a very dynamic first lady, and a cripple at the end of her years. But she had eight children. Only seven survived. How many have you had?”
“Just Kelly.”
Eleanor fanned her face with the handkerchief, a dainty movement incongruous with her massive frame. “Only one child? Such a shame. God told us to be fruitful and multiply. Did you know there was a woman in the eighteenth century who had sixty-nine children? She gave birth to sixteen pairs of twins, seven sets of triplets and four sets of quadruplets. How blessed her family must have been.”
“I’m surprised her uterus didn’t run off and hide,” Letti said.
Eleanor turned to Florence. “How sad that both of us are past our child bearing years, isn't it Florence? It would be so lovely to have a few more.”
“I only needed one because I did it right the first time,” Florence said. Out of the corner of her eye she caught her daughter smiling.
Eleanor turned her attention to Kelly.
“But this young lady here. She has many children in her future. Her breasts are just coming in. I can picture them, swollen with milk. ready to suckle her young.”
“Yuck,” Kelly said. “If I have kids, they’re getting formula.”
Florence didn’t like the woman talking to her granddaughter. Letti didn’t seem to like it either, and put a protective hand on Kelly’s shoulder. Eleanor apparently didn’t notice, and moved closer to the girl.
“And what’s your name, precious one?”
“I’m Kelly. This is JD.”
JD was staring at Eleanor like she was a rabbit he was ready to chase.
“And what does JD stand for?”
“Jack Daniels. Mom named him. We got him when my dad died.”
“He looks very protective of you. How old is he?”
“Eleven.”
“Our thirty-fifth President, John F. Kennedy, had a German Shepherd named Clipper. Such a good-looking animal.” Eleanor tucked her handkerchief away and went
Kelly’s eyes got wide.
“We really do appreciate the free rooms,” Letti said, stepping between Kelly and Eleanor. Florence noted the forced smile on her daughter’s face. “We’re very tired, so if you could please show them to us.”
Eleanor raised up her nose, as if she just smelled something she didn’t like. “Of course. Please follow me.”
The large woman strolled past the living room and up the stairs, moving at a quick clip. Florence and Letti, hauling the bags, had to march double-time to catch up. Like the walls, the stairs were made of naked wood, the banisters iron. There was a gap between the opposing flights, so it was possible to look straight up between them and see the roof. The stairway was slathered with more Presidential stuff, including a large poster of Mt. Rushmore. When they reached the second floor, Eleanor was standing in front of a closed door, tapping her foot. Her boots were vintage like her dress, black leather with hooks for the laces.
“This is the Abraham Lincoln Bedroom. It will be perfect for Kelly. You other ladies are on the third floor.” She handed Kelly a key, then began walking back to the stairs.
Letti voiced her objection before Florence could. “We’d like to all stay on the same floor, if possible,” she called to Eleanor’s back.
Eleanor turned and offered a mirthless smile. “That’s impossible. I’m afraid I haven’t made up any of the other rooms.”
“I’ll take this one,” Florence offered.
Kelly already had the key in the door and had opened it. The light was on, and as expected, Lincoln memorabilia was the dominating motif.
“This room is cool! I did a school report on Lincoln. Remember, Mom?”
“I’d feel better if you stayed in a room next to me or Grandma.”
“Aw, c’mon. I’ll be fine. JD will be with me.”
“I’m a fan of Lincoln too, dear,” Florence said. “I was actually at Ford’s Theater when he was shot. Other than that, it was a pretty good play.”
Kelly pouted. Florence considered correcting her on her pouting—pouting wasn’t a useful habit to pick up—but she wasn’t going to usurp Letti’s authority and start making rules. That had been one of many conditions Florence had agreed to when she asked to move in with them. In truth, if Letti had asked that Florence wear a bag on her head and never speak again, she would have agreed to that as well. Repairing her relationship with her daughter, and building one with her granddaughter, were the most important things in her life.
“You should room next to Mom,” Kelly told her. “It will give you a chance to patch things up.”
Florence gave Letti a look that said,
“I’m not stupid,” Kelly said, putting her hands on her hips. “I don’t know what the deal is between both of you, but now is a good time to work it out. I’ll be in here with JD, eating granola bars and playing with my iPod. G’night.”
Kelly smiled brightly, stepped into the Lincoln bedroom with the dog, and shut the door behind her. Florence heard the lock turn.
“She takes after you,” Florence said.
Letti folded her arms. “Meaning she never listens?”
“Meaning she’s strong willed and a smart observer.”
“I don’t have all day.” This from Eleanor, still waiting at the stairs.
Letti pursed her lips and walked after the woman. Florence followed.
After another flight of stairs, and another poster of Mt. Rushmore, the women arrived on the third floor. More low-lighting. More odd memorabilia on the walls.
“Letti, this is the Grover Cleveland room. I believe you’ll find it quite comfortable. And for you, Florence, the Ulysses S. Grant room, right next door.”
“Thank you, Eleanor.”
Eleanor handed her the key, but hung onto the key ring.
“If you’re hungry tonight, the kitchen is on the first floor. There’s food in the icebox. I made cupcakes earlier. But be careful walking the halls. Rumor has it the inn is haunted. This property used to be a tobacco plantation. The owners had six slaves, and they treated them harshly. Lashings. Thumb screws. Are you familiar with strappado? They would tie a rope around a slave’s wrists, fasten it to this iron banister right here. It’s actually a gate. See?”
