* * *
I returned home one afternoon after tea and bridge at Billie and Flo’s place. Our house was quiet and cool, with the windows opened to allow in the pleasant cross-breezes of salty ocean air. I found Ned reclined on a lounger on the back terrace, his eyes shut to the sweeping vista of afternoon surf and brilliant blue sky. Let him sleep, I decided; he’d had a late night out the previous evening, gambling at Bradley’s Beach Club. I sat down on the lounger nearest him and looked out over the yard.
Several gardeners were at work a few feet away, sweating as they clipped our fruit trees. I watched the man who stood nearest, noticed how his shirt was lined with dirt and perspiration. Inside, the household staff was already bustling about with preparations for dinner. The house was full from the moment we awoke each morning until after we settled into bed—we had servants to clean our bathrooms, press our linens, clear the dishes from which we ate, wax our motorcar, and water our flowers. We came down for a brief and glorious season, Ned and I, but these staffers lived in the area all year. Of course they did; this wasn’t a vacation destination for them. While we were here to make merry, they had no choice but to work.
I glanced toward my husband, still asleep. It was in that moment that I began to feel those familiar stirrings, that bothersome malaise that always threatened to sprout up amid such seasons of excess and revelry. Happy as I was with Ned, I could not deny the nagging thought that there just had to be more to all of this than the dancing and dining and golf and gossip. I leaned closer to him. “Ned?”
My husband stirred, starting slightly when he saw me seated beside him on the terrace. “Oh! Marjie. Hi.” He sat up, blinking.
“Hi there,” I replied.
“How was…Where were you?”
“Billie’s.”
“That’s right. How was that?”
“Nice,” I answered. “She says hello.”
“Did you win at bridge?”
“Of course I did,” I answered with a wry smile. But then I sat up a bit taller, my mind turning elsewhere as I listened to the clip of the gardener’s shears. He was trimming the branches that grew heavy with guava and avocado, beautiful clusters that he would nurture and then harvest, plucking them at precisely the right moment for the kitchen staff. Cook would then prepare an array of colorful dishes with these rich fruits—meals that Ned and I would enjoy. I fidgeted in my chair. “Ned, I have a question for you.”
He yawned, his eyes still sleepy. “What’s that, my dearest girl?”
I raised my hand, swept it out over the grand view of blue and green that unfurled before us. “What is the point of all of this?”
Ned ran his fingers through his golden hair. “All of…what?”
Another wave of my hand. “This.”
“Well, if we’re going to be getting all philosophical, wifey mine, I’m going to need a cup of coffee.”
“This beauty, Ned. This wealth. I just mean…if we don’t use it for good.” An idea had begun to form in my mind. Billie had been talking just that afternoon about her husband, Flo, and his frustration that getting to the nearest hospital required a trip all the way to Miami. We need a hospital closer to Palm Beach, Billie had griped, taking a sip of tea.
I could not stop thinking about that as I sat there on my terrace that afternoon, the hired workers sweating just feet away from us, my husband still looking at me with his beautiful face full of confusion. A hospital. A medical facility in town that would benefit our wealthy friends, to be sure, but that would also mean improved care for those who lived here and worked here year-round. Those who could not afford a car and chauffeur, and had no way to get to Miami for treatment. Those who lived in the shanty villages just over the Intracoastal, in the significantly less prosperous town of West Palm Beach.
I felt my entire body thrum with excitement at the idea: we would raise the money to open a brand-new hospital. We’d throw a grand gala, a party so stunning it would be the most sought-after ticket of the season. We’d raise all of the funds for the entire facility in one glorious night. It would be a monumental task, but with Ned’s and my energy and the help of our friends, we could do it.
That night at dinner I continued to chatter excitedly about the idea, laying out more of my thoughts to Ned, who nodded slowly, seeing that I was determined to move forward with the plans. “We won’t build it in Palm Beach,” I said.
“We…we won’t?” Ned frowned. “I thought that was the idea.”