Una
Una stood on the threshold of the Bernsteins’ dining room, wondering what she could clean.
The room was a complete mess. Sample menus, music playlists, and color swatches were strewn over one end of the table. The other end was covered in color printouts.
Una’s gaze swept over images of china patterns, balloon arches, floral centerpieces, and buffet items. She made it a point never to look at people’s personal papers but was unable to avoid the photos of champagne fountains, ice sculptures, macaron towers, and platters of chilled caviar.
When she saw the cost of some of these items, she gasped. Then she clapped her hand over her mouth.
You are here to clean, not to judge.
But what to clean?
Boxes of Atari game systems and Sports Walkmans were stacked on top of the sideboard next to a bowl filled with little blue Tiffany boxes. The painting that once hung above the sideboard had been replaced by a bulletin board showing a seating chart for Charles’s party.
The top shelf of the china cabinet had been emptied to make room for RSVP cards and invoices.
Dirty coffee mugs littered every surface. Una counted twelve in all.
“It’s chaos, I know,” Elaine said, stealing up behind Una. “The party’s in two weeks and I still havesomuch to do.”
The doorbell rang and Elaine frowned. “Oh, brother. I was just about to get to work.”
She marched to the front door and Una heard her exclaim, “Beth! Oh, my goodness! I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages. Iwas just about to have a cup of coffee. Care to join me?”
“I came to drop off this raspberry-walnut rugelach I made for Charles, but I also wanted to see a friendly face.”
Elaine hesitated a beat too long before replying, “That’s so nice of you. Come in.”
Trailing Elaine into the kitchen, Beth spotted Una in the hall. “Morning, Una.”
Una was shocked by Beth’s appearance. She looked hollow, as if she hadn’t eaten for days. Her cheeks were gaunt and the thin skin under her eyes was puffy and discolored.
The poor girl isn’t eating or sleeping.
She smiled warmly at Beth. “Good morning.”
Una vacuumed the dining room and waited until Elaine and Beth had relocated to the living room before carrying the dirty coffee cups to the kitchen.
As she loaded them into the dishwasher, she heard Beth say, “The thing is, he’s been super sweet to me for the past few days. He’s been complimenting my cooking and telling me I look beautiful. He took me out to dinner and held my hand under the table, just like he did when we started dating.”
“You see! It’s just a rough patch. All couples have them. As a matter of fact, Ben and I are in one right now. He thinks my plans for Charles’s party are spiraling out of control. He won’t let me spend another dime.” Elaine let out a dry laugh. “I pretended I’d scale back to keep the peace, but I have money ofmy own, and I’ll empty my bank account if it means giving Charles what he wants.”
“Don and I aren’t in a rough patch.” Beth’s voice sounded brittle, as if she might break down if she kept talking. “He feels like a stranger. He’ll hug me or kiss me on the cheek like I was his mom or kid sister. He told me he wanted to take a break from baby making—that we should just focus on the two of us right now. He wasn’t even looking at me when he saidit. He was gazing out the window. It’s like he’s not all there.”
Una ran the water in the sink even though there were no dishes to clean. She didn’t want to hear such intimate details about the women’s marriages. Her brain was already overloaded from having spent the last few days poring over the papers and notebooks belonging to Mrs. Stapleton’s father.
Jonathan Stapleton’s research on Cold Harbor dated back to the 1700s when the Matinecock Indians sold the land to a group of white settlers in exchange for a cartload of household goods.
His notes on the settlement’s early history were reflected in his book, which Una had already read. After reading his notes, however, she finally came across a reference to Eel’s Nest. In 1878, Captain Josiah Smith purchased fifty acres of land from the village of Cold Harbor. According to property records, Smith planned to build a house on a twenty-acre parcel. He also gifted thirty acres along the waterfront to be designated as a nature preserve.
Other than property records and tax payments, my search on Capt. Smith came up empty, Jonathan wrote.As he kept only a gardener and housekeeper on retainer, I suspect Eel’s Nest was not his primary residence. With no information on his place of origin, the name of his ship, or records of his voyages, he might as well be a ghost.
Jonathan didn’t run across Smith’s name again until an 1882 article inThe Long-Islanderhighlighted two Suffolk Countyhomes built by Gilded Age architect Stanley Morris. One of those houses was Eel’s Nest.
Jonathan had a copy of the original article, which included the grainy photo of Mrs. Smith that Una had seen at the library.
She didn’t want to risk looking into the woman’s black eyes again, so she immediately covered it with a Post-it note and didn’t breathe easy until Mrs. Smith’s smudged profile was hidden under the square of yellow paper.
