Anita Diamant
I had driven past Rockport Lodge a hundred times without taking much notice. A three-story white clapboard farmhouse with a sign out front, it looked like other bed-and-breakfasts that line South Street in Rockport, Massachusetts.
One morning, I spotted a friend walking out the front door and pulled over. Pattie said she was working as the Rockport Lodge cook that summer – but it turned out that the place was nothing like other inns. It had been founded in the early 1900s to provide inexpensive chaperoned holidays to girls of modest means, and even in the 1980s the policy was still “women only” and the rates incredibly cheap.
The Lodge’s best days were behind it and over the next few years, I watched it fall apart. The paint peeled, the shutters broke, the lawn got shaggy and one summer, the doors stayed closed and weeds sprouted in the gutters. I peeked through the windows and shredded, sun-bleached curtains and saw heavy oak tables and chairs still waiting for the dinner crowd, puzzles and books stacked on shelves and magazines; hand-lettered signs were tacked up beside an ancient black telephone, but I couldn’t make out the words. The place was like a steamer trunk full of secrets – and stories.
One morning, I spotted a friend walking out the front door and pulled over. Pattie said she was working as the Rockport Lodge cook that summer – but it turned out that the place was nothing like other inns. It had been founded in the early 1900s to provide inexpensive chaperoned holidays to girls of modest means, and even in the 1980s the policy was still “women only” and the rates incredibly cheap.
The Lodge’s best days were behind it and over the next few years, I watched it fall apart. The paint peeled, the shutters broke, the lawn got shaggy and one summer, the doors stayed closed and weeds sprouted in the gutters. I peeked through the windows and shredded, sun-bleached curtains and saw heavy oak tables and chairs still waiting for the dinner crowd, puzzles and books stacked on shelves and magazines; hand-lettered signs were tacked up beside an ancient black telephone, but I couldn’t make out the words. The place was like a steamer trunk full of secrets – and stories.
More Answered Questions
A Goodreads user
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Anita Diamant:
Hey... Just finished The Boston Girl...was a like a movie going on...your book gave me an urge to complete it in just one go...very gripping piece...was my first novel written by you and simply cherished it...look forward to The Red Tent now....will start soon...:) ?
Phil Spevack
asked
Anita Diamant:
With Laban's family, the tree gives the Matriarch's mothers: Adah, Mer-Nefat, Huna, Tefnut, (Ruti?) (Kemuel)-(Ruti?) (Beor)-(Ruti?) In Parenthases, Ruti and two offsprings Kemel and Beor. 1 Are Laban's wives accurate, which would mean Leah and Rachel would be half-sisters? 2 Would Bilhah and Zilpah also be half-sisters and Laban's daughters? 3. Would Ruti here, be fiction?
Mish
asked
Anita Diamant:
Just wanting to thank you! I absolutely love this book and even discussed it with my husband, who is a philosophy buff + some interest in religions especially as related to philosophy. Since reading your book, I can't get enough of Biblical fiction AND I have researched the Old Testament, Judaism, ancient times, etc, AND both of those have led to many in-depth conversations with my husband! :) :?
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