ROMANOV AUTUMN
Chapter Twenty-One
Jack slept better than he had in
many months during his first night in Mr. Rockefeller’s mansion. He went under pretty
much as soon as his head hit the pillow, and was roused when Margarita came in
around seven.
"Good morning, Mr.
Jack," she said in her thick accent. "You wish to eat breakfast now,
eh?"
Jack cringed when the curtains
were thrust open, revealing bright early morning sunlight.
"Thanks, yeah," he
replied, yawning. "And really…you can just call me Jack…I’m far from a
mister."
Margarita merely laughed and
swept from the room. Jack dressed as swiftly as possible, making sure to put on
one of his new outfits. The brand new clothing felt stiff compared to his other
clothes, which were comfortable from years of wear.
He brushed his hair, which he
admitted needed to be cut rather badly, and washed his face in the basin on the
dresser top.
He hurried downstairs, nearly
barreling over the butler, who merely gave him an aggravated huff.
"Sorry," he apologized,
blushing, and quickly entered the dining room. Mr. Rockefeller was already
inside, though his face was covered with the newspaper. "Good morning,
sir," Jack greeted, not daring to take a seat until he was told to do so.
The paper lowered, and he was given the cue, to which he gratefully sat down.
"Good morning, Jack,"
Mr. Rockefeller replied cheerfully, though he didn’t smile. In fact, Jack had
only seen the millionaire smile once, and that was when he discovered Jack was
perfect for his household staff. "Sleep well, I trust?"
Jack nodded. "Yes, sir. Very
well, thank you." He tapped his fingers against the side of his chair,
feeling rather awkward. He didn’t know if he should start a full blown
conversation with his employer; Mr. Rockefeller seemed too preoccupied with the
news.
Margarita eventually came to
serve them coffee--Jack had taken to preferring his plain—no cream or
sugar--and placed a bowl of fresh fruit in front of Jack. "Eat, skinny
one," she ordered, and he protected his sides, not wanting her to pinch
him again.
Mr. Rockefeller made a small
noise that reminded him of a puff of air and caused his mustache to ruffle.
Jack raised an eyebrow as she went to give her master his own fruit bowl.
"Eat now, read later,"
she said, snatching the paper out of his hands and setting it on the
windowsill.
Jack choked on laughter at the
expression on the old man’s face, hiding it as best as he could with a series
of coughs. Mr. Rockefeller and Margarita both turned to him, expressions of
concern on their faces.
"Are you all right?"
Mr. Rockefeller asked, and Jack nodded.
"Went down the wrong
pipe," he lied, and quickly took a sip of his coffee.
Margarita shook her head and
promised the real breakfast would be out momentarily.
"What’s that going to be,
sir?" Jack asked, for the bowl of fruit was almost as large as a regular
mixing bowl. Well, not quite, but it was much bigger than he was used to.
"I prefer to be surprised,"
Mr. Rockefeller replied, and Jack nodded, popping a slice of banana into his
mouth. Eventually, the cook brought out a large platter of hot cakes, eggs,
sausage, toast with homemade jam, and a bowl of porridge each.
Jack felt his stomach growling at
the scent of the sausage…it had been a long time since he had any.
"I hope I’ll be able to eat
it all," Jack laughed, and Margarita gave him a warning look.
"I will be very unhappy if I
see anything left on your plate, niño," she told him, and Mr. Rockefeller
gave his housekeeper a raised eyebrow.
"His stomach has only so
much room, Margarita. Let him eat what he can."
Jack looked at his employer
gratefully, though he was doubly pleased when a container of syrup was placed
in front of him. He ate almost the entire platter full, minus the porridge, and
was ready to roll out the door by the time Margarita took their trays away. She
was impressed by the amount of food he ate in one sitting, and promised she’d
have him fattened up in no time.
"I don’t know if I should,"
Jack told her. "It sounds like you’re trying to fatten me up so you can
cook me."
This statement actually got a
chuckle out of his employer, and Margarita gave Jack a stern look.
"Don’t be so silly."
She snatched his tray away and went into the kitchen while Mr. Rockefeller
ordered Jack to fetch his coat.
"It is getting rather nippy
out there," the old man told him, and Jack got into his coat, which wasn’t
heavy, but it was enough to keep him from freezing to death. He grabbed his portfolio
from his bedroom as well, needing something to do while he was standing still
for long stretches of time.
As they wandered the streets
visiting this place and that, Jack shadowed close behind his employer. He
didn’t have to do very much but watch out for possible suspects.
Which is a job in itself in a
great city like this, he
thought. Mr. Rockefeller told Jack of his different projects; not only was he
the head of the Standard Oil company, but he also provided charitable
contributions to several important institutions around the country.
"I make my rounds," he
explained. "You will stay close to me. Do not speak to anyone, and they
will not bother you. I do not intend to create suspicion among my
employees."
Jack understood, and tried to
look as innocent as possible. Mr. Rockefeller had him all over New York, by
foot or by carriage. It began to snow mid-afternoon, and Jack’s teeth chattered
as they went from building to building. As he stood waiting for his employer to
come out from one errand or another, he stood drawing random passersby--a woman
carrying a child, a man in a hideous plaid suit.
He would stop sketching as soon
as Mr. Rockefeller came into view, and they would be off again.
When they returned home for
lunch, Margarita ordered Jack to sit by the fire and eat his. "He is
frozen stiff," she told Mr. Rockefeller. "His coat does
nothing."
"Is that all you have?"
the millionaire asked, and Jack looked down at himself, nodding. "Well,
then, we’ll go to the department store again. You should have told me you were
cold, Jack."
Jack blushed. "It wasn’t
that bad, really," he replied, and Mr. Rockefeller gave him a look.
"Here, skinny."
Margarita offered him a large sandwich and a cup of hot tea. "This will
help."
Jack nodded, though his
fingertips and toes were still frozen.
Over the next couple of days, the
snow fell even more heavily over the city. Mr. Rockefeller took Jack to buy a
large, dark overcoat with plenty of pockets on the inside. It was much warmer
than his initial coat, and he was very grateful for it.
When the ice storms came, he
refused to leave the mansion at all. Jack wandered through it during the long
hours, and was given permission to use the library on the second floor. He
discovered several classics, such as Gulliver’s Travels, and others.
When he wasn’t helping out in the kitchen preparing for the Christmas holiday,
he was curled up on one of the cushioned library chairs reading.
Had he been home in Wisconsin,
the urge to jump into the snow would have been great. He remembered past
winters, when he and his sister would take sleds to the great slopes and ride
them down at full speed. Even after he’d fallen through the ice, he still liked
to skate on the frozen lake, much to his parent’s frustration. "That boy
hasn’t learned a thing," Jack remembered his father saying with a shake of
his head as he watched Jack twirl around in his skates.
However, here in New York, Jack
had no desire to trek out into the cold and play. Besides, he had a feeling a
cold was coming on, though he tried to defy the symptoms as much as possible.
His head felt slightly heavy, and no matter how close to the fire he sat, he
still could not get properly warm.
"Jack?" Margarita
caused him to jump, and he saw her standing in the doorway. "Mr.
Rockefeller wishes to speak with you in his study for a moment."
Jack put the book aside after
marking the page, and immediately did as he was told.
"You sent for me, sir?"
he asked, and the older man looked at him.
"Sit down, Jack. I have some
news for you."
Jack sat in front of the desk,
unsure of what to expect, and Mr. Rockefeller handed him a newspaper clipping.
"You were looking to sail to
Europe, right?"
Jack peered at the clip, noticing
an ad for a voyage to London, England in May of the following year.
"That would be perfect,
sir," Jack breathed. "The Baltic…I think I’ve heard of it."
Mr. Rockefeller chuckled.
"It’s one of the older liners, but I’ve been on it myself. I will book you
a ticket, so we’ll be sure the trip will work out in time."
Jack couldn’t stop grinning…his
luck was changing rapidly. Harry should do fortune telling on the side,
he thought with amusement. "Sir," he began, his voice a little
hoarse. "I don’t deserve this."
Mr. Rockefeller raised an
eyebrow. "Nonsense," he replied.
"But…who will be your
bodyguard when I’m gone?"
Mr. Rockefeller gave one of his
very rare half-smiles. "Jack…I intend to stay out of the limelight after
this year is over. I’m getting older by the day, and will not be able to take
on as much as I used to."
Jack nodded in understanding.
"This means a lot to me, sir," he said and Mr. Rockefeller took the
clip back to his desk.
"No trouble at all. Are you
still feeling well, lad? You look tired."
Jack smiled at him. "I’ve a
bit of a headache, but I think I’ll live."
Mr. Rockefeller gave another nod.
"All right. Would you go and see if either Phillips or Margarita need
assistance in preparing dinner?"
Jack gave a small bow and left
the study, heading towards the kitchen. He would be going to Europe in a
year—the very idea was breathtaking. Phillips was grateful to receive help for
the evening meal, and Jack found himself slowly learning the basics of cooking.
That evening, he sat at the
dining room table, staring at a large plate of roast pork, fresh mushrooms, and
soft bread…he wasn’t truly hungry, just sore and tired.
"Sir?" he asked.
"Might I be excused?"
Mr. Rockefeller frowned as he
coughed, giving his employer an apologetic look.
"Shall I send for a
physician?" Mr. Rockefeller asked, and Jack glanced over his shoulder.
"That’s not necessary,"
he insisted. "I’ll be all right after a good night’s sleep." Jack
apologized again, grateful to escape back to his room.