Bed Memorys

When I was about 8 years old ( 1941 ) my parents took a trip and arranged for me to stay with two maiden ladies who lived in an antique house in Orient, further out the North Fork of Long Island. I was to sleep in a “feather bed”, a first for me. It must have been used to entice me to be willing to cooperate with the arrangement. I remember the feeling that they were doing us and me a big favor and that I must be on my best behavior. In retrospect that “spin” was part of the preparation by my mother, I’m sure.

I was deposited in the afternoon, in one of my best dresses. Something felt out of sync. This was the way I was dressed for a party. I knew this wasn’t a party. There must have been a meal, conversation, perhaps a game. I was focused on getting into that feather bed. The two ladies struck me as overly enthusiastic with forced smiles, unreal, probably in their anxiety about taking this responsibility.

I don’t remember the meal or the topics of conversation. What I remember is standing by the bed, hugely mountainous in my eyes. I decided I wanted to depress only the center with my body leaving the sides intact like a nest. I asked to stand on a chair and jumped into the middle. Somehow I cracked my knee or shin in the process. It hurt a lot but I didn’t want to disturb the general joviality or challenge the two ladies to care for an injured child. I really didn’t feel they could handle it. I managed not to cry out or cry. I said I had done just what I planned and was relieved when the pain quickly subsided.. I loved the bed that turned out to be surprisingly hard in the middle where I had landed. I said good night and the ladies withdrew. My parents picked me up after two nights I think, and I never saw the two ladies again. I did make a mental note each time we passed the little house by the side of the road. I understood from my mother that it was special, an Antique, “very old”.

So much of the North Fork was “very old” at that time. We rented the “Cottage” on the old William Floyd estate. My mother told me that the land had been given to William Floyd by George Washington as a reward for his service during the Revolution. The “cottage” was really two houses, Joined. The original part dated from the early 1700s. there was the cooking fireplace with a Dutch oven. The hearth was occupied by a big black stove, wood burning? I think there was another stove, electric?, in the kitchen as well. The other half of the house was a more recent addition with a parlor, sun porch, four bedrooms and two baths. The new part had a noisy ghost. (see my Ghost Story )
We rented from the currant occupant of the estate house, made of stone, with a copula, widows walk, on top. Across the road in an old yellow frame house lived Miss Floyd, whom my mother cultivated, charming her, trying to turn her into a friend. She was old even then. A little wisp of a woman with white hair. She was cared for by a black couple, retainers. I remember them as being very kind to me and friendly. At Easter the old man was sent across the road with an Easter basket for me containing eggs, candy and “real” porcelain German rabbits, the mother and two babies. My mother managed to drop one of the babies and break off an ear which she mended with glue. I still have them, in the chest. I remember entering Miss Floyd's the parlor, a room that occupied the East wing of the house. The floors slopped this way and that and the windows went from ceiling to floor.
I think my mother had concerns about the cleanliness of the kitchen, which was overrun with cats. I was admonished not to eat anything offered there.

Miss Floyd’s complaint was that her niece, not she, had inherited the stone house. This was because Mrs., Robinson, the niece had married. What threw Miss Floyd into a ladylike tantrum was the fact that Mrs. Robinson hadn’t had the expected children and was at that time in a Boston Marriage with a transvestite, Dr. Jennings. I realized that there was something strange going on mainly because Dr. Jennings who was evidently a woman dressed in men’s suits, tie and all. She was reclusive so I didn’t see much of her. At one point she was taking a mail order photography course and needed to do some pictures of a child. Mrs. Robinson asked my mother if I would pose and on the appointed day she arrived in our living room with camera, white screen, lights and I was dressed in two different outfits. The first a red and white stripped dress with my hair braided. The next, a dark red corduroy two piece dress with my hair loose. Unfortunately my mother had assigned me to do my own hair and for at least a month, probably more. I had just been smoothing the top and not re-braiding it. (Mothers don’t let your daughters grow up to be slackers.) My mother couldn’t get a comb through it. There was a snarled mat between the crown of my head and the beginning of the braids. I remember a lot of tugging and painful pulling, threats to cut it off.

Miss Floyd was the source of my two cats. Mittsey and Spot. Mittsey was killed on the road in front of the house but Spot managed to live to have two kittens, Cream Puff and Grey Boy. I loved them deliriously. We also added a German Shepard, King, to our family. I remember Spot bringing her kittens and depositing them between King’s paws and he trying to raise his muzzle out of the reach of their playful mits without getting up and disturbing them.

It was a happy time. My mother loved the house and the life of a country lady. We had visitors. Gigi and Uncle Bob, my mother’s Aunt and Uncle. They were driven over by Aunt Edith’s chauffer, Smith, in a big impressive gray Packard. Smith was in Livery and caused quite a stir in the Village of Greenport. Friends from the Clarkstown Country Club came. MK Krell and Roysey, her son, from Scarsdale. “Aunt” Truman Lovelace. Louise Whitaker, “my father’s first wife”.

I don’t know when or why things began to deteriorate between my parents. My mother said it was because she was worried that my father was getting older and they had nothing saved for the time when he must retire.

I came home from school one day and found my trunk packed and my mother saying we were going to Nyack to the Clarkstown Country Club. She left my father a note, put me in the car and we left.

That was the beginning of a very bad time. I found my self mostly alone, except for Mr. Powers and his Elephants, the only child on the club grounds. My mother and I shared a bed in our room in the clubhouse. I cried at night for my father and my pets. It must have made my mother feel guilty because I remember her crossly telling me to stop crying. Things didn’t go well for her there. PA took over her car. She had to work for our board and room. My father was furious and threatening to sue her for my custody. I remember him coming to see us and how angry he looked. I thought I had done something wrong. I didn’t understand how my life could become so confusing in such a short time.

My mother realized she had made a mistake and we packed surreptitiously, she became paranoid about taking the car back from PA and we crept out at 4 am, me being sworn to secrecy and with the help of Eddy Evans, got our car and were on the road to return to Greenport, my Father and my pets.



Addenda: I visited the North Fork in 1986 about. Mrs. Robinson’s property was being subdivided into Condominiums. Miss Floyd’s house was restored and redecorated by a new owner from New York City. It was “Victorian” in overly plush decor. Miss Floyd would have been upset. The Cottage had burned down a few years before. The little cemetery was still on the corner across the lane from the Cottage and across the road from Miss Floyd’s. I found her grave and paid my respects