The Best Of Both Worlds. Elissa Ambrose
not a follower of astrology, Becky was familiar with the traits of her sign, and one of those traits was flightiness. Her family called her scatterbrained, and she had to admit, at times it aptly described her. When she used to help out at home and her mind would be somewhere else, Gertie would say, “Don’t go off fartootst.” When Becky left home to get married, it was the same thing. She’d darted from interest to interest, from one job to another, like a butterfly fluttering from flower to flower.
Was it her fault she had a curious nature and couldn’t stay focused on any one thing? Starr must know this, Becky surmised, glancing at a framed chart of the zodiac on the kitchen wall. Apparently, though, her new employer wasn’t concerned. In fact, she’d hardly asked any questions about Becky’s previous experience. “I base all my decisions on intuition,” she’d explained. When Becky told her that she was a vegetarian, Starr had hired her on the spot, convinced that destiny was at work.
“Who will I be reporting to?” Becky asked, remembering the sign in the window. It had advertised for an assistant.
“‘Reporting to’? This isn’t an office, Becky. It’s just you and me. Technically you’ll be my assistant, but I’d like to think of us as kindred spirits. We’ll be working together, planning and making the meals. For the time being all we do is breakfast, but I’m expecting a group of vegetarians over the holidays and we’ll be serving dinner. Where else can people go in this town for fine vegetarian dining? I’m also thinking about opening the dining room to the public on Saturdays.” A frown crossed her brow. “Maybe I shouldn’t have used the word assistant. Maybe I should have used the word slave. I’m afraid I can’t pay you much, but as I already mentioned, room and board are provided.”
“The money is no problem,” Becky said, crossing her fingers behind her back. “Without my having to worry about food or rent, I can save almost every cent I earn.” Until the baby comes, she thought. Diapers and food and clothing would add up pretty fast, never mind the doctor bills. Which was another thing. What about prenatal care? What about the hospital? And, of course, there was the loan from her parents. She made a quick calculation. With what she’d be earning, she could probably pay off the loan in two hundred years.
Maybe working here wasn’t such a good idea. The pay was meager. Her options, however, were limited. No one else seemed to be clamoring for her services, and she was tired of running home to Mommy and Daddy whenever the going got rough.
Starr picked up the teapot and began to pour. “Oh dear, where are my manners? I didn’t even ask if you liked herbal.”
“Herbal is fine,” Becky answered, noticing the cracks in the china. Starr was turning out to be more of an enigma than Becky had imagined. Despite a clutter of statuettes and dolls, the living room was charming, furnished in French provincial with embroidered sofas and cherrywood tables. Charming and expensive, Becky thought. Yet here in the kitchen was a chipped tea service. “I don’t use caffeine,” she said, picking up her cup.
Starr nodded approvingly. “We have so much in common, we could be soul sisters. I still can’t believe my luck—I wanted a vegetarian cook, and here you are.” She lowered her voice as though she were sharing a secret. “I should warn you. There are still vegetarians out there who aren’t as enlightened as we are. Unfortunately, we’ll have to provide coffee. But what can I do? I tell myself I shouldn’t be so narrow-minded, but I can’t help it. Not only do we have a commitment to the earth not to consume its life force, I believe we have a commitment to ourselves not to poison our bodies. After all, we’re part of the earth. That’s how I see it, anyway. What about you? Why did you give up meat and caffeine?”
Gertie had once accused Becky of becoming a vegetarian just so she wouldn’t have to keep two sets of dishes, one for dairy and the other for meat, according to kosher law. As for Jordan, he hadn’t cared one way or the other. He’d rarely eaten at home—when not at school or the hospital, he’d been out cavorting with the redhead.
“Uh, it was because of the earth,” Becky answered. Truth was, until now she’d never even considered the environment. Compared to the global dilemma, her reasons now seemed frivolous. She’d given up meat simply because she didn’t like the taste and because the thought of the slaughter made her squeamish. Why kill an animal when she could eat a stick of broccoli? As for giving up caffeine, she’d made this choice only that morning, after learning she was pregnant.
Over the rim of her cup she studied Starr surreptitiously. The woman was as complex as she was strange. She was also one of those women who looked ageless. She could have been forty or sixty, but Becky’s guess was somewhere in the middle. Although Starr’s skin was smooth and youthful, her long dark hair was streaked with gray. Worn straight and parted down the center, it made her appear otherworldly. But it was her eyes that Becky found so unnerving. Large and green, they shone with an unnatural luminescence.
Above the kitchen doorway were strings of red-and-blue beads, and on the ceiling bright silver stars. But it wasn’t the beads or stars that gave Becky an uneasy feeling. Everywhere she looked were dolls—on the counter, on the floor, on the shelves, even on the walls: miniature dolls, baby dolls, porcelain dolls and fashion dolls, some handcrafted, others store-bought. One in particular, suspended on a gold hook on the wall next to the refrigerator, held her attention. Made of straw and about a foot long, it was clothed in a long white gown, the hem of the skirt hoisted up and draped across one shoulder. Becky shivered, trying to eradicate thoughts of voodoo from her mind.
“Don’t worry, it’s not black magic,” Starr said as though she was, indeed, psychic. “That’s Hestia, my favorite doll, Greek goddess of the hearth. I found her in Barbados, of all places. She reminds me of the Statue of Liberty, except that instead of a torch, she’s carrying a ladle. It’s the straw that throws people. Not exactly typical of a Greek goddess.” Her eyes suddenly twinkled, making them appear even more unearthly. “Speaking of Greek goddesses, I have the perfect thing for you to sleep in. It’s a nightshirt I bought last year at a craft fair. You’ll see what I mean by perfect when I show it to you.”
Becky hesitated. “I don’t know, Starr. I should go home. I walked out angry, and I know my parents will be worried. I’ll call my father. He’ll pick me up.”
“Nonsense. The storm is worse, and the roads won’t be cleared until morning. No one in his right mind would attempt to plow through this mess. Tomorrow I’ll drive you to your parents’ house, and you can collect your things. Why don’t you call your mother? There’s a phone in your room, if you want privacy. Each room has its own extension. Come, and bring your tea with you. I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”
Becky followed Starr down a long hallway and up a narrow staircase. “The house was built back in the late nineteenth century,” Starr said as they climbed to the third floor. “It’s been in the family for generations. My great-great-grandfather built it after he came over from Holland…there I go again, jabbering about my ancestry. I hope I’m not boring you. I have to keep reminding myself that family history is interesting only to the family involved.”
It must be nice to be able to trace your ancestry that far back, Becky thought with a touch of bitterness. Must be nice to feel so connected. Most of Becky’s ancestors had perished in World War II, leaving no records behind. Bubbe was her only living grandparent, and she hardly ever talked about the past. The memories, Becky knew, were too painful.
“I’m not bored,” Becky told Starr. In truth, she’d always been fascinated with family history, as though someone else’s lineage could make up for the lack she felt inside. “Please go on.”
“How about if I bore you with details of the neighbors instead?” Without waiting for Becky to reply, Starr continued, “The house on the left belongs to the Davidsons. You won’t be seeing much of them. They’re both lawyers, and they commute to New York. The Logans live in the house on the right. Such a sweet girl, that Laura. Has the cutest two-year-old named Caroline, and a baby on the way.” She handed the key to Becky. “Here we are. Go on, you open it. The room’s yours now.”
Becky opened the door and switched on the light. What she saw