The Diary of Ellen Rimbauer: My Life at Rose Red by Ellen Rimbauer Page A

intermixed,
    these “pinnacles” rising over ?ve stories into the gray,
    dreary sky.
    Our arrival at the gates of the Rimbauer mansion (for it is
    nothing less!) left me breathless. All these months of reviewing
    plans, moving walls, changing windows, even the photos delivered
    in New York, did nothing to prepare me for this moment! She is
    spectacular! Pretentious! Gorgeous!
    67
    The front of our stone and brick home stretches hundreds of
    feet, north to south, presenting one with a formidable wall of
    brick, roof, glass and chimney. If impression is what John was
    after, impression he accomplished. I could go on and on in my
    description—and perhaps I will when I am less tired—but for now,
    I wish to describe just one or two rooms, rooms that as wife to
    this man will be forever important to me.
    The dining room, to be called the Banquet Hall, is magni?cent,
    with the gleaming walnut table occupying its center. I estimate
    this table can accommodate roughly seventy or eighty dinner
    guests. Cabinets are built into two sides of the room, all with glass
    doors, and are soon to contain our vast collection of china. I
    envision the north wall holding John’s family’s collection of
    teapots, representing over sixty countries around the world. Fine
    paintings from the European masters adorn the walls: landscapes
    mostly, many of which we acquired on our honeymoon, so our
    guests can sit and dream of places far away while six-foot logs
    burn furiously in the ?replace. I can hardly wait for our homecoming
    party! We will ?ll this table and more with our dinner
    guests—what an occasion it is to be!
    John’s and my chambers occupy the entire West Wing of the
    second ?oor, each of us having six or seven rooms to ourselves
    when including parlors, dressing rooms and our studies and
    libraries. My bedroom, the Lady’s Chambers, is everything I
    dreamed it to be! It has a big bay window facing the courtyard and
    overlooking the glassed-in Solarium off the Kitchen, where
    botanical varieties of every sort are currently being planted. The
    windows of the room are hung with white silk curtains with overdrapes
    of heavy green brocade. The bed itself rises up three steps,
    and I can already imagine the staff making comments about my
    “throne.” No matter—I love the look! The woodwork in the room
    is decorated with hand carvings, most of which are from the small
    68
    town of Opede in the south of France, where John and I visited
    not six months ago. Installed into my bedroom, the craftsmanship
    looks sumptuous, ornate and quite rich! To the right of the
    bed, and down the steps, is a three-panel Oriental screen, behind
    which I can quickly undress. The doors of this screen carry fulllength
    mirrors so that I might view all sides before joining my
    husband in bed for his husbandly visits. (I must say that sight of
    this house has erased so much of our ugly past. John is so proud
    of it, and I of him, for this magni?cent accomplishment.) The
    opposite sides of the screen, those facing into the room, are of a
    dark green plush reminiscent of the forest behind our home.
    There are four area rugs, all from Persia, a green velvet recliner,
    two Louis XIV armchairs and a dresser from the Loire. I am ?t to
    be a queen!
    69
     
    16 january 1909
    I must report, Dear Diary, on the inaugural of the grand house
    and the night of divine romance that followed.
    First, to the weather. We must be being punished for our year
    away to mostly tropical locations. The heat of Kenya and Cairo is
    being more than made up for in the most bitter cold Seattle has
    suffered in memory. The freeze that gripped this city just days ago
    with a temperature of only twelve degrees above zero, and allowed
    skating on Lake Union for the ?rst time I can recall, was reversed
    less than a day later with temperatures in the mid-twenties. The
    cold-weather fun continued for all of that day, and into the
    night. And then tragedy as the thermometer soared to well