The Bucket Flower. Donald R. Wilson
with their long sleeves. She had already shed one petticoat and hoped Aunt Sarah hadn’t noticed. For this afternoon visit she had chosen a yellow dress with silver brocade and a coordinated flower-trimmed bonnet. Her skirt was short enough to reveal her matching shoes. Hopefully Aunt Sarah wouldn’t be too warm in her light blue dress with darker satin stripes and puffed shoulders and ruffles. At least she had given up wearing a shawl. Sarah’s wide-brimmed hat was wreathed with crimson roses and draped with a blue veil. They both wore gloves and carried parasols the same color as their dresses for protection against the warm afternoon sun.
As they rode, Beth reflected upon the past week. She had been eager to delve into her studies, but the time hadn’t been wasted. Aunt Sarah turned out to be an excellent companion, setting a fast pace and enjoying everything. They had explored old Fort Marion with its cannons, parapets, and dungeon, and visited the alligator farm on Anastasia Island.
“What are you smiling at?” asked her aunt.
“I was remembering how you had to force yourself to look at the ugly alligators, but fell in love with the sea lions, which are just as ugly in their own way.”
They had walked the sea wall and looked in the little curio shops along sandy St. George Street. Narrow streets with overhanging balconies and moss-covered walls had charmed them both. They enjoyed watching artists sketching and painting on many street corners. She had been surprised to learn that St. Augustine was older than Boston.
Aunt Sarah had remarked on how there were no tearooms for ladies to stop for refreshment while saloons for the men abounded. It reminded her of the double standards which existed for men and women. The man was dominant and the woman subservient. Men drank and swore, made unreasonable demands, and committed ugly deeds, and yet they looked for respect, trust, and love from their womenfolk. Papa, while demanding, at least behaved like a gentleman.
She marveled at the hotel, an experience in itself, with its great rotunda and the grand parlor. Aunt Sarah studied the Old World murals and paintings adorning the walls and ceilings. Continuing a custom from home, they took afternoon tea on the loggia overlooking the formal gardens. Both enjoyed the excellent cuisine accompanied by an orchestra in the vaulted dining hall. And every evening she had been pleasantly overwhelmed by invitations to dance in the casino ballroom.
Kirkside was two blocks from the hotel. Around the grounds stood a newly constructed four-foot wall which was being painted by two Negro workmen. Once through the gate, they saw a two-story frame structure built in the colonial style. The lawn was neatly trimmed and several workmen were planting shrubs and trees. Other workmen were painting the exterior of the newly completed house. The easygoing architectural style and grounds echoed the relaxed way of life she had found here in Florida.
As a footman helped Aunt Sarah down from the carriage she chuckled. “We could have walked here.”
They were met at the door by a black butler who escorted them into a parlor after they handed him their cards. Mrs. Flagler held court regally from a large, red velvet chair.
“Miss Sarah Sprague and Miss Elizabeth Sprague,” intoned the butler. She wondered if the woman expected them to curtsy.
“How do you do?” said the middle-aged lady without rising. “I am Ida Flagler. Please be seated.”
“I’m Sarah Sprague, and this is my niece, Elizabeth.” They sat opposite on a small sofa.
“Mr. Flagler will be here shortly. He has just returned from Lake Worth where he is building a new hotel. He wants to change the name of the village to Palm Beach. His railroad will go there any day now, you know. He works so hard I hardly ever see him,” Mrs. Flagler said sadly.
The queenly face was a beautiful oval with fair skin. Her hair puffed out in a brown bouffant cloud. It seemed too early in the day for her elaborate emerald gown and diamond-studded tiara. The regal lady’s brown eyes bored through Beth in an unsettling way. “At least we have many colorful guests. Last month the Vanderbilts were here, and in January, the Rockefellers. We expect President Cleveland may come next season.”
“We have been looking forward to meeting you both,” said Aunt Sarah.
“Papa has said so many nice things about you,” Beth added to be polite.
“Yes. I remember meeting Mr. Sprague at the Ponce de Leon in the fall. He was here with your mother. She could pass for your sister, I must say.”
Mrs. Flagler must be confused. Mama hated to travel and had never accompanied Papa on his southern business trips. She was stunned and didn’t dare look at Aunt Sarah.
“Ah, here we are!” In strode a tall, distinguished man in a three-piece suit. “I’m Henry Flagler, and I’m sorry to be late.” His wife let them introduce themselves. He wore his gray hair short, and had blue eyes behind a pince-nez. He stood erect and had a commanding air about him that made one understand how he had become rich in oil and owned railroads and huge hotels. His face and build reminded her of Papa. “Ah, Miss Sprague,” he said to Aunt Sarah, “it’s an honor to meet you.” Then turning to her he asked, “How is your father, Elizabeth?”
“He’s in good health, sir,” she answered.
He sat in a parlor chair and crossed his long limbs. “Are you comfortable at the Ponce de Leon?”
“Oh, yes!” they both answered at once.
“It’s a grand hotel,” added Aunt Sarah.
“Thank you. As you may have heard, I’m now building a new one at Palm Beach. Next year you will be able to ride there on my East Coast Lines. In a few years you will be able to travel all the way to the Miami River and a village there called Fort Dallas.” He changed the subject without warning. “In his telegram your father said you wish to do a little exploring, Miss Sprague.”
“Yes, sir. Actually, I’m a botanist, and I wish to study the flora of south Florida.”
“Very commendable. An excellent hobby. I trust you’ve been admiring the greenery around St. Augustine?”
Irritated by his assumption that botany had to be a hobby, Beth felt the redness creeping up her neck. “Yes. Aunt Sarah and I have been enjoying the sights of the city this first week, but we’d like to see more of the state.”
“Well, someday soon you must take the train inland to Palatka and go for a cruise on the St. Johns River down to the Oklawaha. There you will see what the real Florida is like. Not only will you satisfy your curiosity about the plant life, but the wildlife as well. It will make a grand overnight trip if you take the early train.”
“That sounds like an excellent idea, sir, but actually, I was hoping you might suggest a guide to show me the Everglades.”
“The Everglades! Oh, my. Well, they present a challenge, especially for a young lady. Very few men have traversed the Everglades. My engineers have scouted the area and tell me it’s too dangerous to lay tracks across the southern section of the peninsula.”
“I was expecting to record the plant life in the cypress swamp,” she said, her hopes diminishing rapidly.
“What you are suggesting men must do thoroughly and soon. Otherwise there will be no record of what Florida was once like. No portion of the western sections of our country is so unknown to us as southwest Florida. It’s a worthless jungle with nothing in it but flies, mosquitoes, and Indians. Someday soon the Everglades will be drained. Henry Disston started the project more than ten years ago.” His voice rose in both pitch and volume, and he used his arms to demonstrate Florida’s expanse. “When it’s done, millions of acres of new farmland will stretch from the Atlantic to the Gulf of Mexico, all the way from Lake Okeechobee to Cape Sable. Along both coasts there will be railroads and magnificent hotels, and the cypress and pine forests will be cut to provide the lumber. Florida will become the nation’s breadbasket, and a mecca not only for consumptives, but also for tourists.”
What he was saying was difficult to imagine. “That sounds wonderful, Mr. Flagler.” She wanted to ask how all this was to be done if