Reluctant Deception - Cambria Smyth Page 0,49
play and his determination to bulldoze Harte’s Desire.
The drive south down the interstate went quickly, and as Libby crossed the Ben Franklin Bridge, she gazed with excitement at the tall city shimmering to her left. Philadelphia's towering buildings, crowded waterfront, and bustling streets filled with historic buildings never failed to stir her. As much as she enjoyed going into New York City, Libby loved Philadelphia more, finding its smaller scale more appealing and more intimate. Navigating the traffic-filled avenues with ease, she found the orphanage and parked in a nearby surface lot. Admiring looks from the parking attendant assured Libby she'd chosen the right outfit for the occasion.
The early evening air was sultry and filled with the clashing smells of acrid exhaust fumes mixed with the tantalizing aroma of soft pretzels emanating from the vendor's cart on the street corner.
Libby approached the orphanage then stopped, staring in amazement at its transformation. The building's handsome red brick and off-white sandstone exterior had been cleaned since her last visit and it fairly shone, now that the grimy layers of dirt and pollution had been washed away. Libby had cautioned the Sisters against sandblasting because the harsh process removed the naturally hard, protective coating from the masonry, causing irreversible damage to the soft surfaces underneath. Obviously, Libby noted, they used the low-pressure water spray cleaning she recommended, and the results were breathtaking. She hoped the Sisters were taking photos to document the dramatic change in appearance.
Libby walked up the steps and opened the massive oak doors which had been gently hand- sanded then refinished, and now gleamed under several new coats of varnish. The entrance vestibule and connecting hall were still undergoing restoration. A metal scaffold running from floor to ceiling obscured one wall, while heavy canvas drop-cloths protected the charcoal gray and white tile floor from damage.
Libby gently ran her fingertips along the hall's scagliola walls which were being lovingly repaired. Scagliola was created through an age-old process of blending colored plasters, which when dried, were highly polished to simulate marble. Restoring scagliola was virtually a lost art, but Libby managed to locate an eighty-year old Italian in New York City who, with his son, specialized in its repair. Paint pots, scalpels, and brushes were stacked against one corner in testimony of the artisans' presence.
One of the Sisters directed Libby down the hall to the spacious dining room which, Libby recalled, also served as a gymnasium and auditorium, depending on the occasion.
The tall-ceilinged room was filled with a few dozen large tables, festively decorated with colorful tablecloths and bouquets of fresh flowers. A dance floor was located at the far end of the room where a small group of musicians was setting up their instruments and sheet music. Multi-colored streamers hung from the walls, illuminated by sparkling flashes of light coming from a slowly rotating mirror ball suspended from the above.
Libby was pleased to see such a large turnout and she scanned the crowd of celebrants looking for Sister Mary Clare. Easily finding the six-foot tall woman clad head to toe in black and white, Libby made her way through the throng to the corner where the Sister was talking animatedly with a crowd of supporters.
Spotting Libby, Sister Mary Clare happily pulled her into the circle, giving her a big bear hug and a motherly kiss on the cheek.
"Libby, I am so glad you could come to our 'small' affair tonight," Sister Mary Clare greeted affectionately.
"And here I thought your order lived modestly," Libby teased, "but you've gone all out tonight, haven't you?"
"We're allowed to splurge every now and then," Sister Mary Clare confessed, giving Libby a broad smile followed by a friendly pat on the hand. "How often do we get to celebrate this magnificent restoration and honor the man who made it all possible? Of course, we couldn't have done it without your help either, my dear, which is why I have you seated at the head table with us."
Libby rolled her eyes at the compliment. "You didn't have to put me there, Sister. I'm just happy to share the evening with everyone else."
"Nonsense," Sister Mary Clare huffed. "I tried to convince the Monsignor to honor a man and woman of the year, but he wouldn't hear of it. A chauvinist at heart, he is, but a well-meaning one. He was afraid our generous benefactor would be slighted by sharing the spotlight. But I want you to know that I'm as grateful to you, Libby, as I am to our