"Little" Sister Pt. 07

To me, a larger interest was Siemens International. Lars was permanently assigned to the New York office. While no one would ever confirm the relationship, this happened three days after the elections. He would take his new position two weeks after I was sworn into office. That early in my first session, I could not leave Washington. Lars was equally tied up in Manhattan. At least I could help with that. Given my connections, I expected to find a good real estate agent, so I made some calls. I was not expecting Donald Trump to call back.

My relationship with the Donald is ironic when you consider his later run for President. At the time, he was two years removed from almost running. I think Rudy Giuliani talked him out of it, but no one is likely to ever know for sure. In any event, Donald Trump is in real estate and also in entertainment. Francine asked him to call. I always assumed Sheila told Francine, but I never asked.

On the phone, Donald Trump was warm and witty, which you would expect from a salesman. He gave me the name of a condominium broker. I gave him Vincent's direct line. I explained that I needed to go to the City to meet Lars. The Donald promised us dinner. It was an enjoyable conversation.

In Washington, things were less friendly. All the freshmen Republican Representatives were herded into several "orientations", which were more like indoctrinations. Some of it was good. One of the speakers was former Representative JC Watts, who is black. He spoke of how the Congressional Black Caucus refused to allow him membership. I was already getting the cold shoulder from feminist groups, even ones I agreed with.

Outside the office, I was able to join up with the rest of New Hampshire's Republican delegation—1st district Representative Frank Guinta and Senator Kelly Ayotte. Former Senator John Sununu took the three of us to dinner at Smart's Chop House near Capital Hill. It was rather like dining with Francine, because of the way they each worked the crowd. The thought was comforting.

Eventually, the first push of the session wound down. There was a two-week break, beginning March 14th. I flew to Liberty International in Newark. I expected to meet Lars, Elspeth, Sean and Sheila. Instead, there was a crowd—Lars, Elspeth and my family from New Jersey, of course, plus senior employees from Boston and New Hampshire, Francine, Jason and their son, and a few others. Sean told everyone dinner was on him. In Newark, that meant paella.

As you might imagine, there was no chance to get alone time with Lars. Given that we were going to Casa de Espana, I could cope. Senior Ortiz had the true touch with a paella pan. Introducing Lars would be a privilege, but first things first. Once everyone was settled, Sean introduced Lars to Cindy. She asked, "Are you older than my Daddy? You grew up more."

Sean said, "No, Honey. Grown ups stop growing. We call them that because they have grown up as tall as they can. Lars grew taller before he stopped. That's why Jo is going to marry him. She needed someone to look up to." I did not know whether to laugh or punch him. My turn.

I said, "Cindy, it is not a person's height that makes you look up to them, except in the most boring sense. Many people look up to Francine. Your father even looked up to her once, before he married your mother. Mommy is the one to look up to. She will never show you wrong."

Cindy screwed her face in concentration. After a minute (literally), she nodded once. "Nanny CC looks up to Mommy, but Mommy looks up to Daddy. Doesn't Daddy look up to Mommy too?" She was four.

I said, "That's right. The best relationships are when both people look up to the other. Your Daddy has to be really special, for your Mommy to look up to him, because your Mommy is really special." Once again, Cindy gave a firm single nod. That settled, I looked around. No tears were falling, but eyes glistened around the table.

Francine said, "Damn Skippy, no wonder they pay you to talk." It was the best compliment I ever heard Francine Martel give anyone. I blushed. She said, "Don't let it go to your head. You have a long ways to go before you catch me."

I said, "I'll remember that, next time I need to pick you up." I once inverted Francine out a second story window.

Francine blanched. Sheila looked reproachful, but Christine mimed a camera shooting. Francine turned even whiter. Christine had videoed that event. Fortunately, we were interrupted by food.

Hours later, Lars had questions about the conversation. His written English was fluent, but his verbal skills lagged behind. Rather than explain, I pulled out my phone and replayed the conversation several times. Once he sorted all the references, Lars asked if this sort of arcana was normal. I told him it was, unless Sheila played. Lars was dubious that anyone would be that much better than the rest. Someday he would find out for himself. I hoped his ego survived.

Instead, I told Lars of the first time Sheila and Cindy met Adele Cabot. Cindy was a precocious two-year-old. She would ask a question about something in the room. Sheila would look at Adele, who generally nodded permission. Sheila would explain what the object was, often with comments about manufacture or something unique about the specific object.

For example, Cindy asked about the silver tea set. Sheila explained that it was a tea service, made by hand, in Boston, by the famous patriot Paul Revere. She paused while Adele supplied the year, then went on to discuss how silver ingot would be hammered thin, then shaped over a mold.

A few items had history specific to the Cabot family, e.g. Henry Cabot-Lodge's walking stick. In these cases, Adele would supply the answer. Invariably there was a drawing, painting or photograph which showed the item. Sheila pointed them all out. In one sepia colored photograph, Sheila pointed out a detail that caused Adele's brows to rise. Either Adele had not noticed, or almost no one else had.

The four of us were in the parlor from two PM til dinner was served at six. I said no more than ten words, mostly yes or no. As we prepared to leave, Adele asked Sheila to call her by name. Sheila thanked Adele for their conversation, though they had not spoken to each other.

Lars nodded understanding as I related this. His own great-grandmother had a reputation similar to Adele's. Reading between lines, Lars was one of her favorites. I resolved to introduce him to Adele, but that was for another day. More pressing were plans for the wedding.

I already had sufficient experience with big weddings. Sean and Sheila's enormous party was enough for two lifetimes. As an alternative, I suggested a judicial marriage in New Jersey. Representative Leonard was a judge before running for Congress. He was still authorized to perform weddings in his former judicial district. It would be easy to control the crowd and the press. For comparison, Donald Trump already offered the bridal suite at Trump Taj Mahal. Thanks, but no thanks. That was topical, because we were about to dine with the Donald.

I wanted to do dinner at Civitano's, but Donald Trump was showing us off. We had the command table at India House. The list of political, legal and financial people we met was intended to impress. It backfired on the Donald, because a full third of them had either been at the dinner in White Plains or worked closely with someone who attended.

The phrase of the evening was, "You may not remember me, but we met..." It was the perfect segue to, "This is my fiancé, Lars Gunter. He is the new systems manager with Siemens Financial." Business cards passed back and forth. After the fourth or fifth one, Mr. Trump asked how I knew Georg Karl.

Lars answered, "When we engaged became, my senior managers were, hmm, distressed. I, a meeting arranged. Herr Karl was with my Jo most impressed. He, my judgment commended."

It was the first time I ever heard him call me "my Jo", but it sounded habitual. In old Scottish, "jo" means dear or darling. Robert Burns used it in his poetry. As pet names go, one that translates "my Dear" is pretty harmless, at least from a spouse.

I had a warm feeling, but I had missed what Donald Trump was saying. So, I cocked an eyebrow. Rather than repeat himself, the Donald sat back in his chair and folded his arms. If you watch the show you know the pose. It is rarely bad for the person that inspires it.

He said, "He did. That crusty Prussian bastard called you impressive. And he was right. You worked the room for Lars better than I worked it for you. Too bad I can't have you on my show. You would kick ass."

After dinner, we went to a club for drinks. Still, it was before one AM when we arrived at Lars' hotel on Duane Street, in the Financial District. It was too late for me to spend the night, but I stayed the rest of the morning. We even managed some sleep, though not much.

For a while, I thought I managed to get pregnant. Oh well.

Chapter 35 – House and Housing

One thing about my whirlwind life was the trail of residences. I had, and still have, the Residence in New Jersey. My time in New Haven, Boston, Hanover and Hooksett had apartments, though the leases had expired. Not so Nashua, Concord and DC. I had active leases in all three. What's more, I used them all. The penthouse in Nashua was my official New Hampshire residence. The one in Concord was very useful. The one near Washington was necessary.

All that paled beside Cloudrest. After spending my time with Lars, Elspeth and I drove to New Hampshire. While we were in Nashua, I made time for a walk-through of Cloudrest. For a change, this tour was guided. Dr. James Lu of Yale was the official architect. Quentin, Maneesen & Cox did the hands on work, as general contractor and engineer. James Maneesen showed us around in person. \wile I had invested a year on the campaign trail vast changes had taken place.

The first thing I noticed was the pier. It was designed to handle a river barge and wide enough for forklifts. There was even a powered hoist. Upstream, the small boat dock had been updated with driven pilings and a handrail, but it bore a strong resemblance to the original Boy Scout project. Between the docks and the house, little else was familiar. A wide path, covered with crushed granite, wound up from the pier. Above the dock was a run of stairs, leading to a gravel covered walk.

When the crown of the hill became visible, my first thought was of log cabins. Mr. Maneesen later corrected me to log buildings, which is a more permanent structure. The ones I saw were the garage and machine shop. They were built on the site of the original hay barn and stable, because the underlying rock was most level there. During colonial times, they did not have our technology, but they were not stupid.

The garage was quite large, with room for at least five cars. At that time, it was used for generator trailers and equipment storage. One bay could handle a mobile home. It housed the satellite and uplink equipment. Next to it was the machine shop. I guessed this was for the metal work the blacksmiths could not do. There was a back door, with a path worn through the grass to the smithy.

That was another thing. When I was last on the hill, the smithy was just completed. This time there was smoke rising from the chimney and the clanging of hammer on anvil was common. Behind the building was a rail, to which three horses or mules were tethered. At a guess, we had a farrier working. Cool. I was about to investigate, when I saw a man waving. Elspeth waved back.

James Maneesen was about fifty-five. He was big, maybe 190 cm (6'3") and at least 115 kg (255 lbs). However, he did not move like someone that stayed behind a desk. After greetings were exchanged, he started pointing out the new construction. It seemed that rebuilding the house required several new structures. While temporary shelters could have been used, why not make an episode of a show?

PBS, Discovery, TLC, History channel, HGTV, TBS, even ESPN had gotten in on the project. I asked about ESPN. Lumberjacking was a recognized sport. Felling a seasoned hardwood tree with an ax or handsaw is not my idea of fun, but evidently someone thought so. The big gun was HGTV. They not only had shows about design competitions and house remodeling, they also had shows about logging and log house construction.

Mr. Maneesen introduced us to David Bromstad, one of HGTV's big stars. He had hosted an entire season of room design competitions for the big house. If you want details, go to the reruns of the season titled "New Hampshire Manor." My favorite is episode five, "Country Dining." It was where our tour started.

The kitchen was rustic, with both a wood stove and an LP gas stove. LP gas suppliers were a sponsor, so this was a theme. One pantry had been converted to a walk-in refrigerator and freezer. The refrigeration ran on LP gas. The central heat was LP, as were the on-demand water heaters. Most of the fireplaces had LP space heaters. There were even working gas sconces for lighting.

In the next room, David (he was easy to call by name) had done a fresco mural on one wall. The eight remaining contestants worked, in teams of four, to furnish and decorate the room for dining. The eventual winner of the season found a pair of enormous antique doors. The ornate central panels were framed as decorations. The rest was used to frame a large piece of countertop granite, to make a tabletop. Fully assembled, the table was gorgeous, indestructible and nearly immobile, weighing over half a ton.

After the massive table, the thing that caught my attention was the woodwork. It was everywhere. The oldest part of the Residence dated from the same period, but it was nothing like this. That was all native oak. This was oak, maple and black walnut, accented with beech, black cherry and hickory. The workmanship was not as good as in New Jersey, but the wealth of wood was amazing.

David saw where my eye was drawn. He told me everyone had the same reaction, sooner or later. I was ahead of the curve. Even the flooring was over the top. Normal upscale construction of the period was joined quarter sawn floorboards, usually pine. Cloudrest's common floors were jointed oak boards. Public areas used mixed woods. The main Parlor was tiger striped in beech and black walnut. There was an eight-foot wide starburst pattern inlaid in front of the main staircase. I had never noticed either under a century of grime and dust.

Paneling was even worse. At the Residence, the oak panels were quarter sawn but nothing more exotic. At Cloudrest, most of the paneling was rift sawn tiger maple, flavored with other woods. The trims were also of several different woods, including one I had never seen. When I asked, David became quiet for a moment. It was American Chestnut. A fungal blight in the late 19th and early 20th century had wiped out the mature trees. Heartwood like this was almost non-existent.

There was stonework as well, though not nearly as much. The kitchen floor was slate, as were the floors in front of the fireplaces. All the fireplace mantels and the entrance steps were granite, possibly from the property. Most of the fireplaces were simple fired brick, but the Parlor repeated the tiger stripe theme in limestone and slate.

More important were the exceptionns. The unpaneled walls were plaster, almost all of it crumbling. Many of these walls were removed to facilitate flow. The rest were stripped and redone. In keeping with the general theme, plaster had been manufactured on-site, using a traditional limestone and kiln method. The resulting wet wall was perfect for fresco painting. Enter David Bromstad.

David was an artist. He had used my whole house as his canvas. I was very grateful he was good at it, though a couple were a little crazy. Since he was there, showing me his work, I realized he craved validation like every other artist. I told him he was going to have to leave the frescoes in place. Pulling whole walls for a museum exhibit was not going to happen. He took me seriously for a moment, then started laughing.

What can I say about the rest of the house? It was not the way I would have done it. So what? Elspeth was my style guru. She had signed off on all of the work. You can see the pictures on HGTV's website. When it was done, I would have a furnished, six bedroom historical landmark, and much more.

David turned us back over to Mr. Maneesen. We pulled on coats and went outside again. Next to the Woodshop was the saw mill. The big ripping blade was installed early in the spring, because heavy timbers were the first necessity of the house. Once that was done, the permanent mill was constructed. In addition to the big ripping blade, a row of table saws cut normal sized boards for the kiln. Again, compressed air was used instead of electric power.

We took a quick look at the Woodshop and another into the kiln. Between the kiln and the smithy was row upon row of stacked firewood. Mr. Maneesen explained that Elspeth wanted normal commercial operations to begin as soon as possible. Tree removal had long been a priority, which meant large piles of trimmings. Cloudrest Firewood was a going concern, selling two boatloads a week to the citizens of Nashua.

Not all of the wood was sold. Some of it was boiling maple sap. The gathering of the sap was the subject of at least three shows. The copper rendering pans were a fourth. Cloudrest brand syrup would be available in another month. Mr. Maneesen said that inquiries for specialty hardwoods were getting serious. Demand from the shows had been substantial, but that was mostly complete. Cloudrest Mills would soon be selling to the public.

I was finally starting to understand that Mr. Maneesen had a problem he wanted me to solve. He did not own Cloudrest, I did. Too many of his decisions were at ownership level. Elspeth could cover some of it, but the decisions were becoming commercial, which was not her strength. Since I was tied to Washington, I needed a site manager right away. I would also need a house manager by summer. There was more, but those were the highlights.

In terms of the tour, we had covered most of the major items. The apple/cherry orchard had been difficult, but now looked like an orchard. A lot of the wood had been used in the various show, while apple firewood sold at a premium price because it scented the air. Elspeth told me that an Amish orchardman would be visiting soon, to supervise the final pruning. That was one more commercial project outside of Mr. Maneesen's purview. I could see why he was antsy.

A more pleasant prospect was at the far end of the trail. I had envisioned a picnic area near Knob Point, with a boathouse below. The path was unimproved but well worn. A lot of foot traffic had come this way. Still, what was at the end took me by surprise. There was a gazebo, as expected. Atop it, there was an observation deck, covered by a cupola. The view from the deck was worth every cent someone spent. I could see all the way to the County Courthouse in Nashua, which meant I could see Cloudrest from downtown. Cool.

I asked why the trail continued down the slope. Mr. Maneesen said that this was the best fishing spot on the property. The inlet was full of darters and sunfish, particularly the oddly named pumpkinseed. Naturally, larger predator fish, such as bass, would hang around. In addition, there were various overhangs, which catfish favored. Fish and Wildlife would be doing a salmon spawning report in a few weeks. Some Atlantic salmon had been spotted the previous spring.

The bad news was that the boathouse was still only an idea. Mr. Maneesen agreed this was an excellent location, aside from the impact on fishing. However, none of the producers had wanted to cover the costs of construction. It made me wonder how much money I had saved on the house. Other than the initial purchase, I had only invested about $100,000 more. Much of that was for the Woodshop, where I had supplied building materials, and the driveway. Yet, in another year, I would have a sizable home and at least three businesses going.