Mrs. Rittenhouse and Staff

Each August 1st, the island prepared for the arrival of Mrs. Rittenhouse and her family, her collection of show dogs, and her staff. It was very much like the circus coming to town.

The vacation home sat high on a ridge at the end of a dirt road overlooking the ocean from the back and the entire village from the front. Every window of the glassed in porch sparkled like a diamond by the last week in July, each room had been aired and given fresh linens, floors had been scrubbed, the lawn manicured, the garden planted, the kitchen stocked and the woodpile re-arranged. Mrs. Rittenhouse was particular and spared no expense to see that everything was in readiness for her annual visit - rich widows from New York were in short supply for the tiny village and her influx of cash fed many a family through the following winters. At one time or another, most every year round resident had put in his or her time on the house - although an intensely private and withdrawn woman, the Widow Rittenhouse was generous to a fault and the rewards of even part time employment with her were well worth the effort.

She came from upstate New York, Buffalo, some said, and why she had chosen Long Island was a long standing mystery. The house had been in her family for as long as anyone could remember and so it was thought that she was connected to the village in some long forgotten way - speculation being a popular and free pastime - but no one really knew her roots and neither she nor her family nor her staff were forthcoming with any manner of detail. She kept in touch only through telegrams, once to confirm her arrival and once to convey her thanks. Aside from that, she was never heard from and seldom seen, although as Nana pointed out, every village funeral was remembered with flowers delivered from the mainland - anonymously sent, no card, but originating from upstate New York.

During her month long summer stay, neither she nor her family ventured far from the house. When something was required, a well groomed servant might make an appearance at the post office or McIntyre's. The family lived quietly and apart - even the dogs were too well trained to stray from the property. Mrs. Rittenhouse conducted what little business she did by telephone, always courteous, always gracious, but never public, and the children kept to themselves, rarely seen except at a distance. The islanders respected their way of life and never interfered although the talk was fierce on Saturday nights at the barber shop with everyone having a different theory of why the widow came and what went on for the single month she was there. The likeliest to know turned out to be Willie Foot who was summoned once a week to wash the caravan of cars but poor, demented Willie with his crossed eyes and color of the month hair wasn't one to carry tales, A fact that Avery Rittenhouse knows perfectly well, my mother declared with a nasty smile, He's the perfect choice. For his part, Willie washed all the cars, then fully clothed, would turn the soap and water on himself and emerge drenched and sudsy and make his way home singing, pulling his wagon of rocks behind him, two brand new America five dollar bills pinned to his pocket.

Each September 1st, Mrs. Rittenhouse and staff departed as quietly as they had arrived, with no ceremony and no goodbyes. The house on the ridge was closed up and left to the current caretakers - the tall grass overgrew the path to the front door and weeds and wildflowers swayed in the wind, as if no one had ever been there.