Chapter 11
No one could be bothered to meet her at the airport.
Her brother and father were much too busy at work to take time to pick her up, her grandmother no longer drove, and she hadn't notified any of her old friends of her last-minute change in plans. Her father had already forbidden her to rent a car – proper ladies didn't rent cars – so she waited an extraordinary amount of time for a taxi, standing just inside the glass doors of the miniscule terminal surrounded by her ladylike blue luggage, suffering the stares of blatantly curious people who obviously had never seen a woman such as herself.
Or maybe it was the gorgeous coat they had never seen the likes of before. She felt spoiled and sophisticated in the coat, and exceptionally warm. As she watched pellets of frozen snow blow across icy pavement, the thought of Perry colored her cheeks a becoming pink. He had been absolutely correct in pointing out her short, lightweight coat would be no barrier against the weather here. If she hadn't dived immediately into being upset with him, she would have realized what a practical gift it actually was. Maybe it was the grand scale of the gift that had bothered her. But then, Perry liked the finer things in life and generally functioned on a grand scale. A serviceable wool coat would have been too pedestrian for him to select. And she had to admit the coat was neck and neck with Estelle's silk evening gown as the most beautiful article of clothing she'd ever worn.
The taxi driver deposited her and her luggage at the curb, refusing to navigate the slippery curved incline of the driveway. She paid him the exact fare and turned her back on him as he squealed his tires in perturbed protest driving away. Luckily two adolescent boys wandered by at that moment and for a dollar each they gladly carted her luggage up the drive and then escorted her to the door of the imposing square Victorian farm house with the wraparound porch.
Just as Della reached for the brass knocker, the door was flung open, revealing her grandmother, dressed in one of her ubiquitous grey wool dresses and heavy black shoes, her abundant silver hair pulled back in a crocheted snood embellished with seed pearls. She didn't look a bit different than the day Della left, aside from her reliance on a thick ebony wood cane, and was quite possibly wearing the same dress. But then, it was difficult to tell day-to-day if Katherine Street was wearing the same dress or just another of the similar fabric and design.
"Della Katherine," her grandmother all but barked in exasperation, "I expected you thirty minutes ago. Come inside this instant. What have you done to your beautiful hair?"
"Hello Grandmother," she replied smoothly, grabbing the small blue Samsonite suitcase and train case and easing past the elderly woman, pausing briefly to brush a kiss to a powdered cheek creped with wrinkles. "I had trouble getting a taxi. And obviously I had my hair cut." She set the train case on the hall table and the little suitcase next to it on the floor.
Katherine Street put a hand to her cheek tentatively. "You didn't smear, did you? Guests will be arriving momentarily and I don't have time to repair my make-up."
Della fought the urge to sigh. "No Grandmother, there is no smear." She glanced back out the door to the large suitcase and bulging garment bag still on the porch. "Is there someone here who can help take my luggage upstairs?"
Her grandmother stepped away from the door and shook her head. "I'm afraid you'll have to manage by yourself. Hurry, child, before all the heat escapes. What on earth are you wearing?"
"I'm wearing a coat over a traveling suit," she replied as she once again stepped out onto the porch, grabbed the large suitcase and garment bag, dragged both over the threshold and shut the door firmly. She should have paid those boys an extra dollar to take the luggage upstairs.
"How can a secretary afford a coat such as that?"
"I'm a very good secretary," she replied flippantly. Instantly regretting the impertinent remark, Della straightened and turned toward her grandmother to apologize and received a smack across her cheek with an open palm. The slap almost echoed like a gunshot in the big silent house, and hurt like a son-of-a-gun.
"Enough of that smart mouth, missy. I won't tolerate it in my house." Katherine Street's steely voice hissed and she stomped away with her heavy black cane up the hallway toward the kitchen at the back of the house.
Della collapsed against the dark wood paneled wall, her hand covering the cheek her grandmother had slapped. Had she really thought things would be any different after three years away from home?