Ilsa

by L'Engle, Madeleine;

  “That’s still no reason for you to stay among them.”

  “If Brand marries Lorenzo, she has a chance of happiness, as long as I don’t ruin it. God! It’s amazing what a difference a wedding ring makes down here!… I love my child, and I want her to have her chance. And you. Franz Josef, my darling. The most important reason of all. The real reason. I’m not going to be a stone hanging around your neck. That would be a new part for me, and one I’m not going to play. I’m independent here and I’ve got to keep my independence. And I want to keep your love, too.”

  Werner started to speak, but Mattie Belle hurried in excitedly. “Miz Woolf, we purely don’t need that no-good girl. She’d do you for a fare-thee-well any day. The way she been carrying on is something scandulous. How she think she can talk! We get along fine without her. She’ll get her come-uppance, don’t you worry. I’ll shut anybody’s face who think they got anything to say.”

  “Thank you, Mattie Belle. Bless you,” Ilsa said.

  From somewhere down the block we heard Médor raise her voice in a long-drawn-out wail. Ilsa sighed. “She thinks she’s lost again.”

  “I’ll get her, Miz Woolf,” Mattie Belle said. She curtsied to Werner, grinned at him, and bobbed out.

  “Who’ll be next to leave, I wonder?” Ilsa lightly struck a discord on the piano.

  “Does it matter very much, when you lose roomers?” Werner asked.

  She shrugged. “The rooms fill again eventually.… I wonder if Joshua ordered a taxi.”

  “I’ll go see,” I said, reminding her of my presence.

  But just then Joshua knocked and came in. “The taxi’s here,” he said. “We’d better take the suitcases out and go.”

  “So soon!” Ilsa cried.

  “If we want to get seats,” Werner said gently.

  “I’ve taken my bag out. I’ll get yours, Werner,” Joshua said. “If you want to say good-bye—or are you going to the station, Ilsa?”

  She shook her head, without speaking.

  “I’ll wait in the taxi for you then,” Joshua said.

  “I’ll give you a hand with the bags.” I followed him out.

  67

  It was less than five minutes later that I burst back in.

  “Ilsa—oh, Ilsa—” I cried.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s Violetta—she’s coming up the path—”

  “Get rid of her, for heaven’s sake.”

  Brand pushed in behind me, her face strained and white; she must just have come back from Lorenzo’s, for she was still wearing her raincoat, dripping with rain, and her hair lay in sopping wet rings about her face. “Mamma, Aunt Violetta—” she cried. “I’m sorry.”

  “I know,” Ilsa said brusquely. “Tell her I died and was taken away in the night.”

  But there was no stopping Violetta, who broke upon us with the inexorability of a full-breasted wave. “Well, I bet this is a surprise!”

  Ilsa made no effort to hide her anger. “It certainly is.”

  Her rage was lost on Violetta. “I had to come over to this part of town this morning so I thought I’d just surprise Ilsa and drop in. Bet you didn’t expect to see me so soon. Well, Henry Randolph Porcher, what do you mean by turning tail and running like that when I wave at you? My land, am I busting into a meeting or something?”

  “Mr. Tisbury and Mr. Werner are going North,” Ilsa said between clenched teeth.

  “Oh!” Violetta exclaimed. “Brand, I don’t believe I know this gentleman.”

  “Violetta, Mr. Franz Werner. Franz, my sister-in-law, Mrs. Silverton,” Ilsa said harshly. Her clenched fingers were trembling.

  “Pleased to meet you, I’m sure.” Violetta said. “Are you one of my brother’s old friends? Monty had so many friends.”

  “My friend,” Ilsa said.

  “Why, Ilsa, you sly thing!” Violetta’s face beamed with joy and sudden recollection of the name. “I do believe you’ve been hiding something from us! Just wait till I tell Mrs. Jackson. Just you wait!”

  “I can’t,” Ilsa said.

  Joshua returned. “The suitcases are all in the taxi. We’d better go.”

  “Yes—” Ilsa breathed.

  “Going to be mighty hot on that train,” Violetta laughed gaily.

  “Good-bye, Ilsa.” Joshua pressed her hand and left quickly, nodding to Werner to follow him.

  I stood stock-still, trying desperately to think of some way to get Violetta out so they’d have a chance to say good-Dye; but of course my mind completely failed me. I waited for Ilsa to turn on Violetta with her usual violence and throw her out, but she did nothing, standing quite still in the middle of the room, breathing rapidly, her wide-open eyes seeming to stare above our heads.

  Werner walked restlessly over to the marble Othello and Iago and back again.

  And then, as I stood there helplessly, listening to the rain pour down upon us from a full heart, I seemed to hear again Myra’s voice saying scornfully, “Are you a complete fool?” And I knew why Ilsa couldn’t drive Violetta from the room, why she must stay and deal with her. She would hurt Brand as much by giving Violetta more food for gossip as she would by leaving.

  Myra came in, looking grimly determined. I guessed that Joshua had told her about Violetta’s arrival.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Silverton,” she said.

  “Why, Miss Turnbull, how you?” Violetta held out a fleshy, manicured hand which Myra ignored. “Not at school?”

  “It’s Saturday,” I said, pushing Violetta out of the room with my mind. Get out, get out, get out, I whispered, but she didn’t move. She seemed to fill the entire room with her corpulent presence.

  Médor catapulted into the room and threw herself in an agonized frenzy at Ilsa, who bent down and pulled her ear gently, then straightened and stood tense again. Médor crawled rheumatically under the table with the Othello and the Iago, almost upsetting it.

  “Why, so it is Saturday!” Violetta cried. “I forgot! The days go by so fast I can’t tell one from another. Now, if you’d asked me I’d have said it was Thursday.”

  “Won’t you come out on the veranda with me, Mrs. Silverton?” Myra urged tensely.

  “Out on the veranda? In this rain? What a peculiar thing, Miss Turnbull. Whatever for?”

  “Well—I—I though you might be interested in hearing some—some rather interesting things about the school. As one of the trustees—”

  “You can tell me right in here, can’t you; Miss Turnbull? I’m sure it would interest Ilsa, too. She’s so interested in everything!”

  “I’ve got to go now,” Werner said in a low voice.

  “I’ll go out with you,” Ilsa answered.

  “We’ll all go out!” Violetta exclaimed. “I love to see people off for things. Don’t you, Miss Turnbull?”

  “I loathe it,” Myra said.

  “But why? I think trains are so exciting. And good-byes always make me cry.”

  Myra’s hands were shaking with nervousness. “I don’t like people,” she jerked out.

  “You don’t like what?” Violetta tried to sound puzzled, though there was no mistaking Myra’s meaning.

  “People.”

  “Then you wouldn’t be here, Miss Turnbull.” Violetta was arch.

  “Nobody’d miss me,” Myra said angrily. “Look at the mess people have got things into. Much better to be a wisteria vine climbing up the white pillars of the veranda, or one of the sea oats waving golden tassels at the beach, right out with the wind and sun and rain and stars. Take away people and the world would be a happier place … much happier without people who think they’re so good and who breathe out evil as naturally as flowers breathe out oxygen. There shouldn’t be any people. Just trees and flowers and animals. Evolution’s a mistake.” She stalked to the door, then paused and said to the room in general. “I did my best. I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”

  We heard her hurrying upstairs.

  “My, she is peculiar, isn’t she?” Violetta’
s little eyes were eager. “Certainly makes me have a mind to believe the stories they tell about her drinking and everything. Well, shall we go out to the taxi? I’m so wet I don’t mind getting a little wetter for a few farewells.”

  “Yes, let’s go, Violetta,” I said quickly, trying to pull her out.

  “Come along, Ilsa,” she called.

  “You go, Violetta.” With a great effort Ilsa made her voice calm. “I’ll stay here.”

  “Now, I’m not going to leave you alone, Ilsa Woolf,” Violetta cried. “It’s not good for you to be by yourself so much. Either you go or I stay.”

  Werner raised his arms in despair. Then he went over to Ilsa and took her hand. “Good-bye.”

  “Good-bye,” she answered.

  He kissed her quick and hard on the mouth. Then he ran out. The rain came down in fresh torrents. It was difficult to hear above it.

  “I thought we’d settle down and have a nice chat this morning, Ilsa,” Violetta said, ignoring the fact that Ilsa was standing rigid as a statue, listening. “We haven’t chatted in a long time. Yesterday I was in such a hurry I didn’t have time to say a word.”

  The doorbell rang harshly. Ilsa moved slowly away from Violetta.

  “I’ll go, Mamma,” Brand said, and hurried out.

  Ilsa stood still, listening. Violetta’s words poured over her like rain, drenching her.

  “You seem real strained about something this morning, Ilsa.” Violetta’s face was eagerly prying. “What is it? I guess the heat’s getting you down. But this northeaster ought to break it, though I must say it feels mighty close. I had to keep the windows of the car closed on my way over, it was raining so hard, and I was like to stifle, it got so hot. It sure is going to be hot for those two men on the train. Summer’s over at any rate, though. It won’t be bad from now on, and about time. Now, Ilsa, I want you to tell me all about you and that fascinating Mr. Werner.”

  Brand came back in. “Mamma—”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s someone to see about a room, Mamma.”

  “Have they gone?” Ilsa stood clutching the back of a chair for support.

  “Yes. The taxi just drove off. Shall I see him, Mamma? Or will you tend to it?”

  “To what?”

  “The man who came about a room.”

  Ilsa straightened up. “I’ll tend to it. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait, Violetta.”

  “That’s quite all right, Ilsa, honey.” Violetta settled down, pulling her chair out of place.

  “Don’t move the furniture!” Brand cried fiercely.

  Startled, Violetta put the chair back. She called after Ilsa, “Don’t you give one little thought to me, Ilsa, sugar. You run along and rent your room and I’ll be right here when you come back.”

  Ilsa said nothing. Holding herself very straight, she went out, followed by the dog. Brand and I watched after her. We could hear her talking at the door, her voice low and steady.

  I turned, ignoring Violetta, and went out of one of the French windows into the rain.

  The long grass stroked my ankles and drenched them. The rain was clean and cool on my face. Far off I heard the long beseeching whistle of the train, calling its longing cry through the wet autumn air.

  A Biography of Madeleine L’Engle

  Madeleine L’Engle was the award-winning author of more than sixty books encompassing children’s and adult fiction, poetry, plays, memoirs, and books on prayer. Her best-known work is the classic children’s novel A Wrinkle in Time, which won the Newbery Medal for distinguished children’s literature and has sold fourteen million copies worldwide. The Washington Post called the science fantasy tale of an adolescent girl and her telepathic brother’s journey through space and time “one of the most enigmatic works of fiction ever created.”

  L’Engle was born on November 29, 1918, in New York City, where both of her parents were artists—her mother a pianist and her father a novelist, journalist, and music and drama critic for the New York Sun. Although she wrote her first story at the age of five and devoted her time to her journals, short stories, and poetry, L’Engle struggled in school and often felt disliked by her teachers and peers. She recalled one of her elementary school teachers calling her stupid and another accusing her of plagiarism when she won a writing contest.

  At twelve, L’Engle and her family moved to France for her father’s health (he had been a soldier during World War I and suffered lung damage), and she was sent to boarding school in the Swiss Alps. Two of her novels, A Winter’s Love and The Small Rain, drew on her experiences in Europe. She returned to the United States three years later to attend another boarding school in Charleston, South Carolina. L’Engle flourished during these years and went on to graduate from Smith College with honors in English.

  After college, she moved back to New York City and started work as a stage actress while devoting her free time to writing. During this time, she published her first two novels, The Small Rain and Ilsa, and wrote many plays that were produced in regional theaters. While touring in a production of Anton Chekhov’s The Cherry Orchard as an understudy, she met actor Hugh Franklin, and they married in 1946. After the birth of their daughter Josephine the following year, they bought an old farmhouse, which they called Crosswicks, in Goshen, a small town in rural Connecticut, planning on weekends in the country. When she became pregnant with their second child, Bion, they moved to Crosswicks permanently and ran the local general store. Their family grew with an adopted daughter, Maria. After nearly a decade in Connecticut, they moved back to New York so her husband, who would go on to star in All My Children, could focus on his acting career. She was happy to return and hoped that she would find success as an author again. Indeed, A Wrinkle in Time was published in 1962.

  The family often returned to Crosswicks over the years and these visits inspired L’Engle’s Crosswicks Journals, including Two-Part Invention, which tells the story of her marriage, and A Circle of Quiet, in which she explores her role as a woman, mother, wife, and writer.

  Back in Manhattan, L’Engle worked as a librarian and writer-in-residence at the Cathedral Church of Saint John the Divine, a position she held for more than three decades. Her lifelong fascination with theology and philosophy, and her personal faith, largely influenced her work. A Wrinkle in Time hints at many Christian themes, yet religious conservative groups have spoken out against the book, accusing L’Engle of misrepresenting God in a dangerous world of witchcraft, myth, and fantasy. It has been one of the most banned books in the United States. Apart from her religious influences, she said that Einstein’s theory of relativity and other theories in physics also served as inspiration. The novel’s combined use of both science fiction and philosophy established it as a sophisticated work of fiction, proving L’Engle’s belief that children’s literature deserves a place in the literary canon.

  However, L’Engle initially struggled to achieve success and recognition for her work, and she almost quit writing at forty. She finally broke out onto the literary scene in 1960 with Meet the Austins, the first in her popular young adult series about the Austin family, which includes Newbery Honor Book A Ring of Endless Light. Even A Wrinkle in Time was rejected by twenty-six publishers before being accepted by Farrar, Straus & Giroux. Although it was an instant commercial and critical sensation and has never gone out of print, the book’s strong female protagonist and intellectual themes were unusual in children’s fiction at the time.

  L’Engle’s long literary career expanded far beyond the publication of A Wrinkle in Time. Among her many books are adult novels dealing with relationships, faith, and identity, including Certain Women, A Live Coal in the Sea, and A Severed Wasp; several books of poetry; and more overtly religious works like her Genesis Trilogy of biblical reflections. She won countless accolades, including the Hans Christian Andersen Award, the Lewis Carroll Shelf Award, the National Religious Book Award, and a Lifetime Achievement Award from the World Fantasy Convention. In 2004, President Bush awarded
her a National Humanities Medal. L’Engle lived out her final years in Litchfield, Connecticut, and passed away at the age of eighty-eight on September 6, 2007.

  A portrait of L’Engle in her first years of life.*

  L’Engle ice-skating in Brittany, France, circa 1926.*

  L’Engle with her dog, Sputzi, circa 1934.*

  From July to September 1943, the Repertory Players at Straight Wharf Theatre produced two of L’Engle’s plays, The Christmas Tree and Phelia. She acted in both plays, among others.

  L’Engle with her husband, actor Hugh Franklin, in 1946.*

  L’Engle and her husband renovated and ran a general store in the late 1940s.

  L’Engle always illustrated her family’s Christmas cards, including this one from 1952.

  L’Engle with her granddaughters Charlotte Jones Voiklis and Lena Roy at the Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine, Cathedral Library, circa 1975.

  L’Engle in the library of the Cathedral Church of Saint John the Divine, circa 1977.

  L’Engle at a Manhattanville College commencement ceremony, where she received an honorary degree in 1989.*

  L’Engle with her granddaughter Charlotte Jones Voiklis the night before the young woman’s wedding on August 30, 1996.

  L’Engle speaking at a church in 1997.

  L’Engle at the Cathedral Church of Saint John the Divine, circa 1997.*

  *Photograph courtesy of the Madeleine L’Engle Papers (SC-3), Special Collections, Buswell Library, Wheaton, Illinois.

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