Even As We Breathe. Annette Saunooke Clapsaddle

I figured you weren’t checking in for holiday.” His eyes drooped in line with his tone.

      Essie leaned forward past me. “I’m Essie Stamper and this is Cowney Sequoyah.”

      She remembered my name again.

      “We just got here and need some direction. So please excuse us. We need to find the person in charge.” Essie’s cool demeanor fully returned. I think she may have scared me more than the guard.

      “Letcha off the rez, did they? In there.” He pointed.

      As we continued through the door, I leaned over to her. “How’d you know he wasn’t in charge?”

      “His rank.”

      “How’d you know his rank?”

      “My brother’s in the army. My brother orders flunkies like him around.”

      I felt strongly that she was about to order flunkies like me around, too.

      “Wait there.” A thin man in a tan linen suit sat at the desk in front of us. He held the black phone receiver to his ear and pointed us both to a couch with his other hand. As he talked into the device, he kept his eyes on us.

      The glassed room gave us a view to the sheer massiveness of the inn’s lobby. Great pillars formed an exoskeleton of dark wood, flecked with stone joints. Scaffolding lined the colossal windows, most likely to replace original ornate draperies with canvas tarps and to reach the delicate chandeliers so that they could be wrapped in protective sheets during the army’s tenure. In their desperate attempt to shield the resort from the economic laceration of the Depression by contracting with the US government, the inn’s owners would still go to great lengths to protect their architectural treasure from the scars of the war. I wondered just how much light, natural and otherwise, had been stripped from the palatial space when the military arrived. It was now hard to imagine the light ever being here.

      “Alright, what may I do for you?” the thin man asked briskly.

      “Yes, sir.” I wanted to speak first, before Essie had a chance. “I’m Cowney Sequoyah and this is Essie Stamper. We’re new employees.”

      “Sure. Sure. Well, come on. I will show you where you’re staying and introduce you to the shift managers. They’ll take it from there. Show you where to eat. Go over the rules. All that.” He opened a file in his hands. “You’re Indians from over in Cherokee. That right?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “Hmm. We’ll make sure you get a proper orientation then. Things are probably quite different.”

      “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

      “It’s late to start the day. Keep in mind you won’t be getting a full day’s pay today, starting so late and all.”

      “Yes, sir,” I answered and then immediately regretted it as I could feel Essie’s stare beating down on me.

      “But we have been traveling for hours!” she interrupted.

      The manager stopped shuffling papers and looked at Essie inquisitively. And then, as if it all made sense, he nodded vigorously. “Oh, yes, I see what you’re saying. Of course. The shift managers will give you your uniforms, so don’t worry about those wrinkled clothes. You can wash and iron them out later.”

      “Excuse m—” Essie began to push.

      I placed my hand around Essie’s elbow to calm her. She jerked her arm away, but let the comment drop nonetheless.

      “They’re prisoners, you know, but it’s our job to run this place just like they’re any other guests,” he continued. “Leave the politics to the military, I say. It’s much easier for everyone that way.” He returned to his papers, readjusting his wire-rimmed reading glasses. “Any other questions before we head off?”

      “Yes,” Essie answered. “The soldiers. Are we to treat them as guests as well?”

      “Of course. You are to accommodate their needs, but … word of warning, miss.” The thin man rose from behind the desk and walked around to the front, taking a seat on its edge. He removed his glasses and stared hard at Essie. “Don’t let them get too used to your accommodations. They do have a tendency to take advantage of the services here. And other things.” He paused as he turned to face me. “Well, let’s just say this crew should count themselves lucky that they’re spending the war at a resort. Most boys their age are out serving our country in foreign lands.”

      I rose, picked up my suitcase, and exaggerated my limp as we walked toward the door. Essie followed closely behind. Have you ever felt like everyone was staring at you, like every single pair of eyes in a twenty-mile radius was on you, but when you glanced to check your suspicion, you realized absolutely no one was looking? That’s how walking through the Grove Park Inn’s lobby felt—probably still feels. It was as if my bones were crumbling under the weight of an imperceptible gaze.

      After brief tours of our respective dormitories (spartan, dank, and lifeless), the thin man led us back to the main entrance of the inn. Waiting, arms folded, were a short, stout woman in an ill-fitting navy suit and a large burly man in khaki coveralls. Jet black wires sprouted from her pale chin. Her lips naturally curved downward in direct opposition to her eyebrows, which seemed frozen in constant disbelief or surprise. She held a clipboard in front of her rounded stomach and only glanced up from it when the thin man spoke. The burly man, in contrast, eyed us both from the moment we came into sight. He also withheld any hint of a smile, but his eyes rested on us in such a way to convince me that he was never surprised. Not ever.

      “This is Miss Ulana Parks and Mr. Iliam Jenkins.”

      “Call me Lee,” the burly man interrupted, thrusting out his hand to shake mine. I was relieved that Lee seemed welcoming, humble even. I worried that Essie was not likely to be greeted with the same kindness by her new shift manager. Ulana Parks’s demeanor was distinctly unwelcoming.

      “Pleased to meet you, Lee. Thanks for taking me on.”

      “Your good work will be thanks enough. Let’s go ahead and I’ll show you around and introduce you to the rest of the crew.”

      Essie nodded to me with reassurance that she was perfectly fine on her own and then turned to Ulana Parks with surprising readiness. As Lee and I walked off, I could hear only pieces of their introductions.

      “Pleased to meet … Miss Parks …”

      “Mrs…. Are we clear?”

      I looked back to read Essie’s face and watched as the confidence I had seen earlier fell away. I tried to share a smile with her, but her eyes were locked on Mrs. Parks. She didn’t appear scared or intimidated, exactly. It was as if she was newly poised, her core countenance bared. We were both starting a new life, one that demanded we forfeit certainty for opportunity. We had a chance to do everything new and fresh and start our lives away from the suffocating safety of the familiar. I saw in her what I hoped was in me—the courage to step into one’s true self, whoever that might be.

      Chapter Six

      I didn’t see Essie again for the rest of the day. I worried I probably wouldn’t see her again for most of the summer since my work would be outside and we likely would rarely see the sun touch any of the women’s faces except for the diplomats’ wives and daughters lounging on the back patio as they sipped lemonade.

      Lee was by no means chatty, but hints of Scots-Irish heritage twisted anything he told me into the most incredible story of Grove Park survival.

      “And over yonder’s the tool shed.” My head spun to follow each point of his finger, causing me to become both dizzy and disoriented.

      “Supper’s served in the mess hall at eighteen hundred hours for military and at 8 p.m. for staff,” Lee continued. “Guests eat in the dining room at 7 p.m. Go ahead and change into your coveralls. There’s a couple pairs