Idle Hours: the Grace and the Glory: The Grace and the Glory

By Pat S. Hogeboom

Notes from readers:

I loved Idle Hours! What a terrific story. Once I began to read it, I couldnt put it down. It brought me great joy! Pat is a great writer-storyteller. With so many of the names and places being familiar, it made it that much more interesting. I want to buy more copies for my friends. Its a terrific gift.

Dottie Hanly, retired librarian, Connetquot Schools

Now this is what I call a great read! The story is so gripping I couldnt put it down. Idle Hours is fascinating in its history of the real Vanderbilts, mixed with the real people of the day. I loved Papa, and Almina. They were such a contrast to Alva and Willie K. I got so interested in Consuelo Im trying to find a copy of her autobiography, The Glitter and the Gold. Thanks Pat, I cant wait for the next book!

Sally Bedford

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 21, 2005
• ISBN: 9781453552018

Pat S. Hogeboom

Pat S. Hogeboom writes a monthly column for the Great South Bay Magazine of Long Island. She lives near the original Idle Hour Estate and has long been fascinated with the story of Consuelo Vanderbilt. She is the author of the historical novel, THE HOPE CHEST, Xlibris, 2003.

Book preview

Copyright © 2005 by Pat S. Hogeboom.

Photographs are re printed with permission of the Dowling College Archival library.

Library of Congress Number:                  2005905649

ISBN:                  Hardcover                      1-4134-9899-X

                             Softcover                        1-4134-9898-1

                             Ebook                             978-1-4535-5201-8

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

25258

Contents

Acknowledgements

Prologue

1895: The Duchess Comes Home

Chapter One

When First We Met

Chapter Two

The Laurel and the Iris

Chapter Three

Piece Work

Chapter Four

Trees and Teas

Chapter Five

Consuelo Plays Hostess

Chapter Six

The Nursery Schoolhouse

Chapter Seven

Mama’s Voice

Chapter Eight

Of Pies and Pits and Presidents

Chapter Nine

Spare the Rod and Spoil the Child

Chapter Ten

Mamas and Papas

Chapter Eleven

Fire Island and the Breeches Buoy

Chapter Twelve

Nathan’s Voice

Chapter Thirteen

The House of the Holy Nativity

Chapter Fourteen

Changes

Chapter Fifteen

Dune Grass and Dune Roses

Chapter Sixteen

Hearts Ease

Chapter Seventeen

Together Again

Chapter Eighteen

A Wedding at Idle Hour

Chapter Nineteen

Wild Violets

Chapter Twenty

The Summons

Chapter Twenty-One

Laurel

Chapter Twenty-Two

Almina

Chapter Twenty-Three

The Crossing

Chapter Twenty-Four

The Duchess

Chapter Twenty-Five

At Last

Chapter Twenty-Six

The Claddaugh

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Home

DEDICATION:

TO THE PIONEERS OF OAKDALE

AND

DOWLING COLLEGE

Acknowledgements

Su Garrison Terry, of Dowling College made the story possible with her generous time and encouragement, as did Tim Kelly and Chris Kretz, also of Dowling College, Oakdale where they work in what was once the Idle Hour estate. Gil Bergin of the Connetquot State Park, originally the Southside Sportsmen’s Club helped to establish the history of that fabled place. Pam Burner of St. John’s church has made that tiny chapel church alive for me as the place that the fictional Laurel knew as her spiritual home. St. Mark’s Church, my own parish home built by William Kissam Vanderbilt is a part of the community of Islip. Sister Ruth Angela is very much a part of today, not the yesterday of this story, but her life at the Convent House in Bay Shore, which no longer exists touched my own as it has thousands of others. For you dear Sister, the faith you have supported and encouraged for us all continues in this tale.

I thank the readers who helped immeasurably, Rachel Simpson, Amy Sybil, Nancy Mion and Dorothy Adams. You have made such a difference and I am grateful for each of you in my life.

In the character of Laurel I have hoped to give the amazing Consuelo Vanderbilt, whose grace and heart captured my imagination long ago, the friend she should have had.

Most of all, for my dearest Bill, whose loving patience, support, careful research and scholarship made this story come alive. You have my heart.

Prologue

1895: The Duchess Comes Home

The air was cool, hinting at the beginning of autumn on that evening of November sixth. Still, we were all there for her, Consuelo Vanderbilt, a pretty girl who grew up in the great house, came to our school to visit us and went to our church, which was really her church since her father built it. Today had changed everything. We were gathered to greet the bride and her new groom as they came from New York City. It was a calm evening, our never-ending winds quiet for a change. The deep hoo-ee of the train echoed from far away, first Babylon, then the tiny town of Islip as it approached each crossing, the sound cutting through the air, faint at first, then stronger each time until at last it shouted at us. We’re here! We’re here! The two-car train, specially built to carry her and her groom, stopped in a great squeal of brakes and hissing of steam and smoke, and then I too was shouting with the rest. Hurrah! Welcome home!

We were a common little band—friends, photographers from the local papers, and many like me who had walked down from Bohemiaville just to get a glimpse of her. But no one knew her as I did. No one else had played with her, learned with her, laughed with her. I was the girl she had called friend.

Now, at eighteen, she was suddenly the Duchess of Marlborough. She wouldn’t even be an American anymore. With her marriage she had given up her citizenship; but today she was coming home to us, to the home she had loved best, her parents’ mansion, Idle Hour, to begin her honeymoon among friends.

The train was early, as if they were eager to begin their life together. There was a milling about as the train stopped,

After our first huzzahs we became restless. When would they appear?

Finally, a small man stepped down, noticed the crowd, and smiled hesitantly.

Then we saw her, and a huge cry of welcome went up. Consuelo herself with her incredible and unique beauty; those eyebrows always looking so expectant, her dainty head with its black hair, her pale face looking so white it seemed that she was almost ill; but her sweet smile just for us, as she stepped carefully to the ground, helped by the same little man. Could this be the Duke himself? This little fellow? She held his hand and stood by him; tall, slim, and straight; elegant as always. She smiled at us, waved, and we all cheered again. She had been my friend, and I was incredibly happy to see her, but still, my eyes welled with tears.

The next day, the newspapers would call theirs the most elegant wedding ever held in the United States and describe a wedding ceremony of unequalled beauty, with a guest list of the wealthiest and most prestigious people in the United States. But no one came from England. Their own favorite son was to be married, but none of his family would make the journey to join in his special day. What kind of family were they?

Where was the bridal carriage? Shouldn’t the coach and four be ready to take them to the manse? After all, her father had the finest team of horses and carriages ever seen and had hosted the New York to Oakdale run just two years prior. Where was the coach now for the Duke and the Duchess?

For those of us who worked at the Idle Hour and knew her mother, we thought we knew. All Alva Vanderbilt had cared about was the title. She wanted a daughter who was royalty. If only she had known that it was she, Alva, whom we called Her Royal Highness, said with a sneer and a flick of our finger at our own noses behind her back. We knew Mrs. Vanderbilt would have put all her efforts into the wedding in New York City. We believed that she didn’t care at all what happened after that; and Mr. Vanderbilt was a bystander, a weary onlooker to all her plans. There had been rumors about Consuelo’s reluctance to marry this man. As her friend, I was one of the few who knew the truth.

Consuelo looked puzzled by the lack of transport and the Duke appeared annoyed. But then she whispered in his ear, and he turned to us. He smiled pleasantly enough, I thought, and indicated that they would walk. The crowd surged forward, surrounding them, delighted to be able to walk them to their honeymoon house, her father’s mansion, Idle Hour, not far from the railroad station that had, after all, been built to accommodate the Vanderbilts.

There were the photographers with their flashes fouling the air with the smell and startling the bride each time they went off. She held her groom’s arm and tried to hide behind his shoulder except that he was so short she had to bend down. We were used to Consuelo’s height. She was so regal in her presence. But this man at her side looked small beside her—and ordinary. That was it. He looked about as distinguished as any one of our fathers dressed up for Sunday. Oh his suit was elegant certainly, but he himself wasn’t very special at all. But she was. Our Consuelo was special, indeed. I could only hope he’d know how very special she was.

Before I could pull back into the crowd, she saw me. Her eyes met mine, and I smiled as broadly as I could for her and waved boldly, even bouncing up and down on the balls of my feet, swept away by the excitement of the crowd. But in truth, I felt embarrassed. I hadn’t wanted her to know that I too was ogling her, staring at her, and this man who had made her into a Duchess. I knew the truth of her heart. The small crowd took off, surrounding them both. I stood back from the rest. As they came to the East Gate House and turned toward the mansion, I hung back all the way. The gates swung open, but the Duke beckoned for the little group to continue.

I listened to the excited voices; respectful, laughing, not boisterous; and heard the road crunch under their feet as they turned down the lane that led to Idle Hour. Behind me, the chug of the train, then its piercing whistle sent a chill through my body as it pulled away. I heard every sound of the night and barely breathed as the group moved on, their voices growing more distant. I was still motionless when I heard them cheer. I knew that the Duke and Duchess must have arrived at the great house and left the little band of escorts. I could imagine them walking forward up the driveway as she and I had done a hundred times before. I smiled to myself, remembering how happy we were as little girls. I almost laughed out loud, recalling how, as we came to the front door, I would break away and run to the side of the house where I could enter with the servants like my Mama. I was not a servant. I was Consuelo’s friend, but it was understood that the front door was not for the likes of me, a plain farm girl.

Now, the working staff would be lined up at the door to greet them. My own Mama was their cook for the week at Consuelo’s request, and she too would be anxious and excited. I heard the crowd shout a cry of good luck to them as they turned to wave. Hip hip hurrah! they shouted. Hip hip hoorah!

Then I turned and ran as fast as I could away from them all, back across the tracks, up the road in the dark toward my parents’ farm in Bohemiaville, my head a jumble of memories of Consuelo and me, two little girls growing up together in this country place—one a princess to us all from the very beginning, the other just an ordinary little American girl with the extraordinary good fortune to be allowed to study with her in her nursery. At least I was ordinary once, until I met her, Consuelo Vanderbilt, now the Duchess of Marlborough. I taught her where to find the finest violets in the woods around her home, and together we learned French.

Now, she still knows where the flowers are but she has to send a servant out to get them. And I am the girl with few friends, who is thought of as the girl with the fancy airs who thinks she is so smarty-pants because Consuelo Vanderbilt once singled her out. My life is a muddle now. I speak French like a Parisian for all the good it does me, but at least I can still pick the violets by myself.

Chapter One

When First We Met

I was six years old when I first met Consuelo, and it was through my oldest brother that it came about.

One day, Nathan, who was about twelve at the time, was told to take care of me as usual when my mother went for the afternoon in the wagon to the post office and general store.

Just as soon as Mama was gone, he said, How ’bout a nice walk, sister? Come on, Matt. We’ll go into the woods and see some things. What d’ ya say? At nine, Matthew adored our big brother, but still, he spoke up. Mama said to stay here, Nate. She says the woods is dangerous.

Not with me, it ain’t. I know those woods good. You’ll be safe with me. I got things to show ya. Come on, Matt. Let’s go."

That was really all Matt needed. He looked up to Nathan and was thrilled to be included in his plans.

Come on, baby girl. Let’s go. I’ll show you some of the biggest violets you ever saw.

I whined a bit like any girl, but I wanted to be with my big brothers so as they started to walk away, I just picked myself up, wiped my nose with the back of my sleeve, and followed. It didn’t take long for my little legs to tire, but Nathan just picked me up, and I held on to his neck and bobbed along on his back.

Got something to show you. Follow me.

Papa says to stay away from the Vanderbilts’ land. We’ll get in trouble, Matt said.

Moneybags Willie K. Vanderbilt don’t know everything. He’s never even been in here, and he’d get lost if he tried. Besides, this is Indian land. He put me down then, and we picked our way through the undergrowth, making our way around a fence when we came to it.

We did, indeed, find the violet patch where there was a gap in the trees just wide enough to let some light warm the earth, and there were the biggest ol’ violets I ever did see. I was so excited that I picked a big bunch and carefully put them in my pocket until Nate said, Come on, girl, we got to keep going. I got something else good to show you.

I struggled to keep up as my calico skirt caught on the burrs and the twigs of laurel and holly. Then wild rose thorns caught in my apron, but the boys wouldn’t stop, so I pulled on it and it tore. I was just about to cry when I heard them both shout, and they ran ahead. I just scurried as fast as I could to keep up, and then I saw it.

It was a platform carefully built up in the crook of an old oak tree, half hidden among the leaves with a few rough boards almost enclosing it on three sides. It was very high up, and there was a crooked ladder made of fallen branches that had to be climbed to reach it.

Nate really was a good brother. He came back to get me, picked me up, put me on his shoulder and carried me to the ladder, handing me over to Matt who helped me climb as they pulled me up into the tree onto the wooden floor. It was glorious. There we were, looking over the world from our perch! I had never in my life been so high as that tree branch, and I was not going to be a scaredy girl. Not me. I was determined to be strong like my big brothers, so even though my head was a spinney wheel for a minute or two; I smiled and clapped my hands, then I grabbed for the floor of the little house and held on as hard as I could.

Matt was just as thrilled.

Has it been here long?

Old Mr. Murray, the Indian guide at Snedecor’s Tavern says that it was used as a platform to look out over the water to see how the clouds were forming and if any ships were on the horizon. The forest wasn’t as thick or tall then, so you could see good from here. First it was just a platform, and then they built it wider and enclosed it. I found it one day and tested it. It’s still good and strong, and I made sure the ladder was good. The Vanderbilts don’t even know it’s here. The woods is too thick for anyone to come here. We should keep a sharp eye out, but we should be all right, Nate added.

He showed me the squirrel’s nest up in the tree and the oriole’s hanging nest too. I felt like a queen looking over my world of wood: the mountain laurel in bloom, the spots of sunlight dotting the underbrush, the lily of the valley nodding below me.

Suddenly, we heard voices, and even Nate froze in his spot.

Sssshhh! he commanded, and Matt and I stopped and held our breath.

Then we heard them. The first voice was stronger, with some kind of accent to it. We were familiar with different accents since so many people who worked at the great house where the Vanderbilts lived part of the year, came from different countries. This voice had a sweet singsong to it.

It’s different from my home, miss, but still, I used to roam my woods, too. Hold my hand now. Let’s go a little bit farther.

Boya, I love it here. I’ve never been so far from the house. Can we find our way back? came a tiny breathy voice, American, but with an accent I had never heard before.

Oh, dammit, my brother, Nate, said.

Why, brother! You said a bad word! I said. Aloud. Very loud.

The noise ahead stopped, and I clapped my hands over my mouth, as I knew they had heard.

Nate gave me a look I had never seen on his face before, and I hid my eyes behind my now very dirty hands.

But calm as could be, I heard him climb down, and then I heard How do you do, miss? and again, How do you do?

I dared to look, and it was the first time I saw Consuelo.

She held on to the hand of the older girl who, even I guessed, was her caretaker. Actually, she was her governess. I, of course, was wearing my same old calico dress, my cowhide shoes made by my father and my big old apron covering all.

Miss Vanderbilt, however, was shining like some special light in the dappled day. She wore white. White brighter than I have ever seen, and there was even lace at her collar. Our own ladies made lace as had been made in the old country, but it was never worn in the daytime, certainly not in the woods. Her shoes were black and buttoned high and she wore a hat—a little dark cocoon of a hat. Her hair was dark and long, while mine was sandy with streaks from the sun in it. A hat seemed to be a strange thing to wear in the woods. My own hair was loose and tangled; my hair ribbon, just a strip of cloth from mama’s quilting, long gone after our walk in the thick woodland.

Nathan shimmied down the tree then.

Boya saw him and pulled the pretty little girl close to her. It was clear she was a bit frightened, but I shall never forget and always bless my brother Nate, for in the very next moment, he spoke so softly and kindly that she relaxed almost at once.

Forgive me, miss. I brought my little sister and my brother here to see the old tree house built by the Indians. We’re right glad to show you too.

Up in the tree house, I held on to the side of the little shack and just stared.

Then she smiled—that is, the younger missy smiled, and the world just sort of stopped for Matt and me. He gasped and said, Oh, my! then he too scurried down the tree and stood next to our brother.

This is my brother, Matthew Haag, miss. My name is Nathan, he said respectfully, and that little missy there is our sister, Laurel. Please come down, Laurel," he said.

But I just held on and shook my head.

A tree house! And she jumped up and down and clapped her hands. How lovely. I’ve never seen such a thing before! Have you, Boya? Do you know tree houses? She stepped forward and looked up right into my eyes.

Yes, I do, Miss Vanderbilt. Emphasizing the name quite distinctly so we would know just whom we were speaking to. Then she too stepped forward.

We had one in my little town of Islip in England where I grew up. I often played in it with my brothers too. Great fun, as I recall.

May I help you up, miss? Nathan asked.

Well, now. I don’t know. You boys shouldn’t be here, you know.

We didn’t think this was on the property. We’re very sorry. But we’s here now, so maybe you’d like to take a look around?

And all at once, Boya smiled. It was a sweet and generous smile. She turned to her charge and said, Well, Miss Consuelo, what would you like to do? Shall we visit the tree house?

Yes, please. Oh, yes.

And the next thing I knew, she was coming up the ladder, with Boya holding her from underneath. Her hand reached for mine, and although I was embarrassed to reach out my dirty hand, I did so and pulled her up. And there she was, Miss Consuelo Vanderbilt, looking me right in the eyes, and so close I could see the bits of light in the dark blue of her incredible eyes. She was beautiful and she was clean, with the white dress so white it almost hurt my eyes. She smelled good too; she reminded me of lavender, and my mother’s herbal patch. No person I had known smelled like that.

Then Boya was up the ladder and exclaiming over it all.

What a grand tree house! It’s quite large, really, it is. You say the Indians made it? How quaint. Your brother would love this place, Miss Consuelo. She turned to me. Now, little girl, what is your name again? Speak up.

Laurel, ma’am. My name is Laurel.

Why, that’s a flower’s name, isn’t it?

Mama named me for her favorite flower. Look, there it is. The bushes of mountain laurel were just blooming all around us, the clusters of tiny blossoms bobbing in the breeze.

It was Miss Vanderbilt who answered. How sweet! I’ve never known a girl named after a flower. That is a dear name, I think.

Yes, it is, said Boya. Miss Consuelo, I think we have had an adventure, but I do think that we must go now. She made her way down the ladder, then asked Nathan, Young man, do you think you could lead us out of these woods?

Why, of course I could ma’am.

Boya said, I am not a ma’am, young man. Please refer to me as Miss, and my charge here as Miss Vanderbilt. That is correct.

Oh, certainly, ma’am. I mean, miss. Certainly. Miss Vanderbilt, allow me. And it was my brother’s strong arms that lifted the Miss Vanderbilt down and placed her carefully on the ground. Then he turned to me. I saw a twinkle in his eye as he said, And our little mountain Laurel, come.

This time, he swung me to the ground and held me tightly by the hand.

Matt had scrambled down too, and we all took off with Nathan in the lead. He knew just where he was going, and after a quarter mile or so, we turned so that we could see the house.

I had never seen it so close before, or from that viewpoint where it stood in all its glory. It was the hugest place I had ever seen, all dark timber and white plaster, with great brick chimneys; it seemed to sprawl in all directions. We stood in awe of it as our new friends came up behind us.

Thank you so much. We can come again, can’t we, Boya? We can meet them again too, can’t we? You wouldn’t mind, would you, Boya? It is so nice to see other children here. You won’t tell Mama, will you? And then, exactly as I would have done, she hung on to Boya’s arm and said, "Please, Boya, please!"

Well, my dear Miss Vanderbilt, I don’t know. We’ll see. Where do you all live? she asked.

We’re at the Haag farm just over there, a mile or so, said Nathan.

Mr. Haag, who helps us farm here? Boya asked.

Yes, miss. That’s our father. he continued.

Does he know you come here? Boya asked.

Well, no, but we’ve never come here before. he said.

She thought for a moment. I see. Then she straightened her shoulders and said, Well, I don’t see why we can’t keep it between us if you promise not to bring anyone else here—just you, Haags, understand? I shall bring Miss Vanderbilt here next week on Wednesday late in the afternoon after tea if you can come. I do believe I know the way now. Would you like that, Miss Consuelo?

Oh, yes, I would. Can Laurel come too? she asked my brother.

I’ll ask. I don’t know. I’ll try.

Boya took her charge’s hand, and together they walked across the road toward the gate to the great house.

I squirmed to get away from Nate, and before he could stop me, I was dashing up behind them. Here, Miss Vanderbilt. And I handed her the violets, now drooping but they were a goodly bunch.

Why, you are the sweetest girl, she said.

They’ll lift up in water, I said. Just put them in water.

I will. I will. Oh, thank you.

And then she leaned over, put her hand on the shoulder of my plain old calico, and she kissed me. Yes, she did. She kissed me. Then they turned and made their way ahead, stopping once to wave as she went, and I was so excited that I jumped up and down and waved back to her.

We could have taken the road home in half the time, but we didn’t want to be seen, so we went back the way we came.

Brother, ain’t there just four people living in that big house? asked Matt.

Guess so, little bro, Nate answered. You wonderin’ why they need such a big house for the four of ’em? he asked.

They got another house too, don’t they? Matt asked again.

"Yep. Maybe bigger’n this one too. Mama says we mustn’t judge. They live a lot different than us, Matt. They have a lot of friends, I guess. Need a big place. Glad I