Deeanne Gist - Maid to Match

DEEANNE GIST

2010 by Deeanne Gist

Published by Bethany House Publishers
a division of Baker Publishing Group
P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287.

E-book edition created 2010

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meanselectronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwisewithout the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

ISBN 978-1-4412-1186-6

Library of Congress Cataloging-In-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

Scripture quotations are from the New King James Version of the Bible. Copyright 1979, 1980, 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

To my PIT Crew

(Personal Intercessory Team)

Larry and Donna Drake
Gary and Carol Johnson
Pat Kane
Linda Wiltze

Who for three months prayed for me daily when
I realized it would take a miracle for me
to finish my manuscript before the deadline.

Never have the words flowed so quickly and abundantly
as when yall stood in the gap for me.
Thank you for the incredible commitment you gave and
for seeing me through.

I love you so much,
Dee
P.S. So... yall busy next summer?

Contents

My big sisters glommed up all the smart genes. Fortunately, there were enough creative genes to go around, but not smarts. Never was this more clearly evident to me than when it was time to research and plot this book. I had called my big sister, Gayle Evers, and asked her to go along with me on my research trip to Biltmore. We met at the airport, and while we were in the waiting area, she said, I did some preliminary research on the Web and brought you a few articles to read.

She then proceeded to pull out this gigantic three-ring binder filled with articles on the Gilded Age, the Vanderbilts, turn-of-the-century servants, and all kinds of things. It was obvious shed read every single page. Some were highlighted. Others had notes in the margins.

She handed it to me. You might want to read this on the plane before we get there.

I just looked at her. There was no way. It was going to take me two months to read all that, not two hours! But I have to tell you, everything in that binder was solid gold. I think I highlighted the whole thing. Afterward, I went to her house and we plotted the book together. Her ideas were amazing.

When the manuscript was finished, she read it and critiqued it. Meanwhile, my assistant of seven years, Paula Wolsted, found a full-time job. (Love you, Paula. We sure do miss you. Theyd better be treating you right over there!) Before I started interviewing for a new assistant, I asked my sister if shed be interested in the position. And wonder of wonders, she was. (When the middle sister, Linda, found out I was going to be the boss of Gayle, she laughed and laughed and laughed. But the truth is, Gayles still the boss!)

I have to say, the year has been so special. The two of us have connected in ways we never had before. As I write this, Im sitting in front of a fire in my pjs at a B&B in Asheville, North Carolina. Across from me is Gayle, also in her jammies. We are working on a Readers Event that we are holding this fall.

I hope you will come. Not just because were going to have a blast info at GetawayWithDee.com but because then you can meet Gayle. The woman whom I pestered constantly when we were kids. The woman who gives and gives and gives of herself to any and all. The woman whom I have been mightily blessed to have as an assistant. And doubly blessed to have as my big sister.

Thanks, Sis... for everything.

BILTMORE ESTATE
NEAR ASHEVILLE, NORTH CAROLINA
AUGUST 1898

Like a butterfly breaking free from its confining cocoon, Tillie Reese emerged from the barren, tan-colored servants hall into the opulence of Biltmores main level. These predawn hours were her favorite. All was dark, no one stirred, and she had the entire floor easily a half acre in size all to herself.

Shed walked this path many times and could navigate it without candle or lamp. For just a moment, she imagined herself mistress of the chateau. Elegantly dressed, gliding across the parquet and trying to decide whether to have Chef prepare petites bouches or puits damour . Whether to spend the morning reading Yeats, Browning, or Dickens. Whether to call the carriage round for a drive through the country or ride one of the thoroughbreds waiting in the stable.

Tightening her grip on her housemaids box, she inhaled deeply. The polish shed made of linseed oil, vinegar, turpentine, and wine tickled her nose. She allowed herself a sneeze something strictly forbidden were anyone about.

The click of her heels echoed throughout the vast, wide-open area as she skirted the sunken atrium filled with palms, exotic plants, blooming shrubs, and a large fountain sculpture yet to be turned on. She finally reached the tapestry gallery and paused, listening to the silence, enjoying the anonymity of the dark.

Let there be light .

She pushed the familiar white button. Electric lights flared, illuminating a room so long it could hold two modest houses. Several groupings of sage brocade sofas and chairs filled the area. Huge tapestries lined one wall. Opposite them stood a wall of windows and French doors.

The soft hum of the Edison bulbs bid her good morning. The thrill and miracle of the electric lights never failed to stir her. But this morning something else warred for her attention, and suddenly, the light made her feel exposed, vulnerable, naked.

She touched the black button. Darkness slammed back down like a closing trunk lid. All was quiet again. Not a whisper of sound.

She held her breath. Felt her heart hammering in her breast. And allowed the thought shed been hiding since last night to fully form in her head.

Bndicte was leaving. Returning to France. Leaving the new Mrs. Vanderbilt without a ladys maid.

A ladys maid . Next to housekeeper, the highest-ranking position for a woman. The servant who had morning tea brought to her by the first housemaid while the second housemaid made up a fire in her room.

The servant who was free to take a bath as often as she liked. Who traveled with Mrs. Vanderbilt. Who read books books! aloud to Mrs. Vanderbilt. Who was required to dress in the same fashions as Mrs. Vanderbilt. Best of all, a ladys maid earned quite a bit more money, so she could help her family and others in the community who were in need.

Tillie, as head parlormaid, would surely be considered for the position. The housekeeper had requested a private audience with her before breakfast. Lord willing, it was to discuss just that.

After hugging the thought one last time, she carefully returned it to the recesses of her mind. Dawdling in fantasies when she should be setting the gallery to rights was no way to put her best foot forward.

Pushing the white button, she again flooded the room with light. If the entire first floor was to be in complete readiness before the master and his bride descended for the day, shed best get busy.