Chapter One
Tuesday, November 1, 1932
It was late morning and the weather had suddenly turned cold. Lily Brewster and her brother, Robert, were sitting in the dining room of the mansion known as Grace and Favor, arguing over Governor Franklin Roosevelt and the upcoming election. It was a fairly amiable tiff.
"But what does he really mean by 'the New Deal,' and 'the Forgotten Man'? And why only men?" Lily asked. "Why not 'the Forgotten People'?"
"It's political rhetoric. But it sounds good. And the word 'the' before it means 'mankind.'"
"Why isn't he explaining, at least a little bit, what he means? It couldn't hurt him to be a tiny bit specific, could it?"
"Why should he tell President Hoover what he's going to do? Hoover might have enough brain cells left to get in and do it first. Lily, even if Roosevelt wins next week, which he certainly will, he can't
Chapter One
Tuesday, November 1, 1932
It was late morning and the weather had suddenly turned cold. Lily Brewster and her brother, Robert, were sitting in the dining room of the mansion known as Grace and Favor, arguing over Governor Franklin Roosevelt and the upcoming election. It was a fairly amiable tiff.
"But what does he really mean by 'the New Deal,' and 'the Forgotten Man'? And why only men?" Lily asked. "Why not 'the Forgotten People'?"
"It's political rhetoric. But it sounds good. And the word 'the' before it means 'mankind.'"
"Why isn't he explaining, at least a little bit, what he means? It couldn't hurt him to be a tiny bit specific, could it?"
"Why should he tell President Hoover what he's going to do? Hoover might have enough brain cells left to get in and do it first. Lily, even if Roosevelt wins next week, which he certainly will, he can't do a thing until March. Which is so stupid."
"But won't he need some time to come up with a cabinet?"
"Not five months. There's already talk about moving the inauguration to early January. That would give an incoming president plenty of time. In fact, I'd bet Roosevelt already has his list ready right now. He's been in politics most of his life and has a huge circle of friends."
Robert was flipping through the latest issue of the Voorburg-on-Hudson Times. "I'm glad Mr. Prinney is no longer riding herd on Jack Summer. Young as he is, he's a good reporter. He's still dogging the Bonus March. According to his sources, Hoover said he would allow MacArthur and his toadies to use the Army to run the men out of Washington only if Superintendent of Police Pelham Glassford signed a statement that he was asking for the Army's help. MacArthur told the President that Glassford had done so.
"It was an outright lie," Robert went on. "Glassford hadn't even been asked to make such a request. Hoover should have busted MacArthur to private. Or pitched him out of the Army on his big fat head. But he did nothing."
"And does that surprise you?" Lily asked. "It's widely known MacArthur was forbidden to cross the Eleventh Street Bridge or use weapons. And MacArthur ignored the orders. Those pictures of the tanks crossing the bridge and Patton with his cavalry and swords drawn were horrifying."
Robert said, "But can't you just imagine MacArthur telling Hoover how the country was grateful to him, Hoover, for getting the commies out of the Capitol and Hoover believing it and taking the credit? That's why Governor Roosevelt is going to win the election. Hoover was wrong to take the credit for the traitorous acts of MacArthur. Whatever Roosevelt means to do, he means to do something. Hoover is a pushover.
"Putting the entire burden of the Depression on the Red Cross and private charities is ridiculous," Robert went on. "The Red Cross had already run out of supplies, and when they do have them, they don't know where they are. Banks are going down like ninepins. There's a drought in the breadbasket of the country, and farmers are losing their farms. So much for Hoover's statement about a chicken in every pot and a car in every garage. Not with Henry Ford shutting down his plants and laying off sixty thousand people. I don't care what Roosevelt does. It's necessary to simply do anything that puts people back to work and to get the crooked bankers in jail for putting their customers' money into the stock market."
"Okay, okay. You convinced me. But how do you think Governor Roosevelt is going to fix this?"
"Lily, you're not really paying attention. Roosevelt is the sort of man who tries things, and if they don't work, he tries something else that might. He's not a man who sticks to his guns when an idea fails. Hoover does nothing and pretends it works. I'm going to run down to Voorburg and talk to Jack Summer and see if he knows anything he's not printing in the paper."
"While you're there, would you pick up ten pounds of flour for Mrs. Prinney to make biscuits? She says the grocer has run out of yeast and doesn't know when he can get more. Hers died."
Robert looked puzzled. "Her what has died?"
"The yeast."
"Yeast is a living thing? Good Lord above. I'll never eat bread again."
"It's not still alive when you eat it. Are you going to give up all meat since it was once alive?"
Robert said, "I guess you have a point."
When he had gone, Lily was a bit at loose ends. She helped Mrs. Prinney in the kitchen for a while, but when the doorbell rang, she had to answer it because Mrs. Prinney was elbow-deep in a salad she was making for lunch and Mimi the maid was washing linens.
The man at the front door was wearing an enormously heavy, expensive-looking winter coat. His hat was pulled forward, and what little of his hair showed was obviously a cheap wig. His eyes were shaded with sunglasses.
"I'm James Smith. I understand you rent out rooms."
"We do sometimes. Would you like to come inside? I'm Lily Brewster."
Mr. Smith, if that was really his name, didn't remove his hat or glasses, but looked around. "I need to house three of my business associates and myself for a few days in privacy," he said.
"We have a large bedroom at the end of the second-floor hall that could serve as a meeting room, with attached bath and valet quarters. But your other people would have to stay in smallish rooms on the third floor ...
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Love for Sale by Jill Churchill Copyright © 2003 by Jill Churchill
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