The Lilac Bush Is Blooming

by Jan Surasky

  “Freshman English is a course generally hated by all incoming freshman. Please give it a try, and please have fun with it.

  “There will be no assignment today to give you a chance to become oriented on the campus. Are there any questions?”

  After a short silence, Richard Anders dismissed the class, quickly going back to the papers carelessly strewn about he had left only minutes before. Students jumped up, anxious to file out and explore the eateries and student hangouts that dotted the campus and beyond.

  “How about that coke?”

  Jeb Westfield was nothing if not persistent. I buckled and agreed.

  “I know a great place just off campus. Are you up for a long walk?”

  “Of course. It’s a great day for a walk.”

  “Good. How about if you tell me your name as we go. We haven’t really been properly introduced.”

  “Annie May Parker. I’m from a small town not far from here. I’m a day student.”

  “I live off campus, too. I live in an apartment in the city with a couple of buddies from my days in Westchester County.

  “We’re headed for a small restaurant around the corner from campus called Jeremiah’s. The students pile in until closing time. It’s cramped but casual. I think you’ll like it.”

  Jeb attempted to slow his loping strides to match mine but it was me who had to catch up. “What are you taking?”

  “I’m planning to be an English major. I would like to teach.”

  “A noble ambition. I’m in engineering. I’m here to learn the tech part so I can get my dad’s company back for him. He’s a nice, mild guy who just happened to have a good idea and got taken advantage of by a giant firm with a lot of nerve and no ethics.”

  “He must be very proud of you.”

  “I don’t know. I’m pretty brash and he’s tried to tone me down but it hasn’t worked.

  “We’re almost to Jeremiah’s. You can really keep up for a girl.”

  “We’re tough where I come from. I’m here to make it and I’m not going to let a short hike keep me down.”

  “Good for you. Most girls fold at the first sign of trouble. I like your style.

  “We’re here.”

  At that, Jeb took my arm and pulled me into Jeremiah’s, already filled with students cramming up to the counter and shouting orders at a heavy-set man with a soiled white apron and a hamburger flipper in his hand. He was flipping hamburgers as fast as he could on a very used grill and mixing sodas and sundaes while the ground beef sizzled behind him.

  “Hey, Jeremiah, how about a couple of burgers and cokes?”

  “You’ll have to wait your turn, Jeb. Settle down and I’ll have them over to you at that table in the corner. It looks like somebody’s leaving.”

  Jeb rushed over and grabbed the table, motioning me to join him. “Hey, Annie May, get over here before we get trampled.

  “Jeremiah’s an ex-marine but he’s got a heart of gold. I came to Syracuse a few weeks ahead to get the apartment settled before Jackson and Ernie got here. I’ve hung out here just about every night for the last few weeks and become a regular. Jeremiah and I would talk into the night while I helped him close up. He’s got a lot of stories to tell.”

  “He looks like a nice person.”

  “He is. Do you mind if I ordered for you?”

  “A hamburger sounds great. I guess you could read my mind. First day is a bit of a hassle.”

  “You’re right. One of Jeremiah’s burgers is just the thing to get you settled into a new environment.

  “So, tell me about yourself, Annie May.”

  I hesitated, but continued, assessing this boy who was so brash but so intense. “Nothing much to tell. I’m a simple farm girl who lives near the town of Baldwinsville in central New York, not far from here. My folks were farmers generations back. My father was a farmer with big ideas he never lived to see. We lost him to a threshing accident some years ago.

  I have a sister at Wells College and a brother at home. I’m here to get an education so I can help out my family and follow my own dreams as well.”

  For the first time since I met him, Jeb was silent. Then, he spoke. “First, I’m sorry about your father.

  “You’re different, Annie May, than the girls I’ve known. They’re all out for themselves. Oh, they all know how to dress and look like a million bucks but there’s nothing inside.

  “I wish you a lot of luck here.” At that, our hamburgers and cokes arrived and Jeb became busy bantering with Jeremiah, his brash demeanor returning.

  As Jeremiah returned to his grill, Jeb turned to me. “You’re far from simple, Annie May.

  “I propose a toast.” He raised his coke. “To Syracuse and us. May we be great together.”

  As we finished our hamburgers Jeb bade a hasty goodbye to Jeremiah and we headed back to campus. “Gotta catch a two P.M. psych class. I figure if I’m going to outmaneuver the firm that stole my dad’s company I’m going to need a little help.”

  I smiled at Jeb’s dedication to a strategy he had no idea would work. “I hope you have a lot of success.”

  “You too, Annie May. You deserve it.”

  As we parted company, Jeb to his psychology class, me to an American history lecture I already felt I lived, Jeb took my number and promised to call with the hope we could start a study club.

  “Sounds great. That’s what I’m here for.”

  As I drove back home at the end of the day, the sun a brilliant, golden orb sinking into shades of red and mauve, I thought of the wonders the books I would study must hold and the secrets their authors held so tightly. Then, as the stars began to appear in a steadily darkening sky, I turned my thoughts to guessing what aroma would waft through the kitchen windows left open to catch the soft night breezes as I turned off the key in the truck and parked it safely in the old barn. As I turned the last corner, the lights of home visible in the distance, the weariness of the day settling in, I searched for the brightest star in the sky and wished upon it.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  By November, with the snow and the ice of upstate New York swirling about me on the Syracuse campus I had adjusted to college life but not to the whirl of the social scene. I had dated some, but none of the boys seemed my type.

  Most of the girls I saw at the few parties I attended wore heavy makeup and clothes that were obviously purchased in the upscale shops of Manhattan. Although Hank Peterson still gave me the pick of the new fashions that came in, his taste was more down home than urban.

  Without Carrie, I was all thumbs in applying makeup of any sort and the girls who I met during gabfests after hours and who kindly offered to help me learn the art and the tricks of eye liner and lip gloss lost my interest only a few minutes into our well-meaning sessions.

  I decided to knuckle down to the books as a way of coping. I soon became an expert in study habits and despite my off-campus status was sought after by the many elite who knew the names of every debutante who had come out that season but couldn’t cite the name of one great author, give a run-down on the U.S. Constitution, or even give a clear answer as to why Alfred Nobel set up the prize he did.

  Richard Anders’ class was as much fun as he had proposed. We read excerpts from writings around the world and wrote essays on them. Jeb and I drew funny pictures about each and every one and occasionally when we were close to the brink of overtired late at night in his apartment surrounded by our study club group we wrote skits and one-act plays presenting them to the delight of our overtired study charges.

  Richard Anders had also honored me with a request to fill the post of his research assistant for a grant he had received to launch a career in fiction writing. I spent many late nights filing his papers and putting them in order, a task he had never taken to. I also spent many hours at the Carnegie Library looking up details from how many spots a leopard has to how a whippoorwill makes his calls.

  Our study club was gaining ground on campus and our reputation for la
te nights along with it. As I got up to leave a particularly intense American history lecture I was approached by a very thin and somewhat bedraggled girl, pale cheeks and mousy brown hair, but with a determined look in her deep, brown eyes with the typical student dark circles beneath them.

  “Excuse me, are you Annie May Parker?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “I hear you have the best study group on campus.”

  “Well, thanks.”

  “I’m Josie Morton. Would you have room for me in it?”

  “I think so. We always have room for more.

  “How about if we go for coffee and discuss it. I’d like to get out of this crowd.”

  At that, some color came into her cheeks and she perked up. “Thanks. I’d like that.”

  As we trudged along the quad toward a small café I had mentioned, we were silent, our own thoughts swirling about in our heads, the leaves of the trees falling gracefully every now and then, hitting the ground, baring the branches, and suggesting the winter ahead.

  We entered the café and found a small table at the back, ordering coffee and two small pastries which arrived before the crowd pressed in and cleaned out the café’s daily cache. We sat as our coffee cooled before us.

  “What brings you to Syracuse, Josie?”

  “I’m here to get an engineering degree. I’m the only girl in my class.”

  “Well, it must get a little bit lonely at times. I give you a lot of credit. It’s hard to get in and break that mold.”

  “The boys do keep to themselves. But, I don’t care. I get most of my information from books anyway.

  “My problem is I like history more than engineering. But, my parents said that history doesn’t lead to a career and engineering does. I’m from Iowa and they’re very practical there.

  “My Uncle Charlie is an engineer at General Electric in Syracuse and they thought he could watch over me while I’m here. But, he has little time for me since he’s involved in research and development and can only think about the next invention and patent and stays late nights at the lab.

  “His wife is nice, but they have a passel of kids and she doesn’t have much time for me.”

  “I looked at Josie, her pale demeanor much like a delicate bird, and spoke. “My friend Jeb is an engineering major and his roommate Ernie a history major with plans to go to law school. Their third roommate Jackson, a preppie type but a serious pre-med, is a science buff. I think they could all be helpful to you.”

  “Thanks, Annie May. I’m kind of shy with boys but I think I can make it.”

  “Well, I’m sure they’ll fix that. They are none of them shy. In fact, they have complaints on a daily basis from their landlord who threatens them regularly with eviction. But, they manage to charm him out of it.

  “I need to get back to classes. Would you care to walk with me?”

  “Sure. I have one more myself.”

  As we crisscrossed the quad, Josie talked non-stop about her family and their farm. She had one older brother who had fled farm life for the city and who she missed dearly. Her folks were strict but kind-hearted and desperately wanted a better life for their daughter. “My father has struggled with making ends meet ever since I can remember. He has no knack for farming but he has a diligence to support his family. He was thrown into despair when Kenneth left for the city and still hopes he will return. But, Kenny is firm. He has no taste for farming.”

  “I’m sure they’re proud of you.”

  “Well, everything’s falling on me now and I’m not sure I’m up to it.”

  “We’re still new here. I’m sure you’ll find your way.”

  “Thanks, Annie May. You seem to have it all together.”

  “My older sister has been the flighty one so I always had to be the responsible one and somehow it stuck. But, I think I can follow my dreams at the same time. It just takes a little effort.

  “I hope you can come for supper some time. Mama loves to cook and now that Carrie is away I know she’d like the extra company.”

  “I’d like that. I’m pretty good on a tractor so perhaps I could help out at planting time.”

  “My Uncle John thinks girls get in the way but he’s a soft touch when it comes right down to it. I know he could use the help, at least for an afternoon.

  “Well, here’s my building. If you show up at the address I gave you on Wednesday evening, we can get a start on working you into the study club.”

  As Josie shuffled on to her own class I thought of how much alike we were in many ways. I hoped for her success and despite her shyness I somehow knew she’d find it. She had a determination that wouldn’t quit.

  As I found a seat in the statistics lecture, a class I despised but my advisor had insisted I take to fill a requirement, I thought of the winter coming on. I would take Georgie shopping in town for a snowsuit. He must have grown at least a foot since last Christmas. I would check his sled and repair all the scrapes and round up Jester so the three of us could go sledding on Strawberry Hill, make angels in the snow, and build a snowman as high as the barn with charcoal eyes, a carrot nose, and proper charcoal buttons causing Jester to run in circles around this curious newcomer while barking with delight.

  I pulled out my notebook, and a pen I kept handy for the occasion. I was prepared to keep up with the rapid pace of Professor Marsden and the speed he was noted for as his fingers held the chalk that flew over the large board behind him. As the sun streamed through the windows Professor Marsden tapped the podium, cleared his throat, and began his lecture.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The sturdy reddish-brown sandstone steps of the Brooklyn brownstone stoop that I sat on during the spring break of my sophomore year at Syracuse offered a view of the neighborhood and was a lovely entrance to the stately and gracious three-story building behind me. Children bicycled or roller skated over the concrete sidewalk below, played hide and seek or tag, some of them waving while trying to keep their balance or pleading with me to keep secret their obvious hiding place.

  Jeb had invited me for spring break, and his parents had done their best to treat me like an honored guest. Jeb’s mother Martha had gone out of her way to bring home the best pastries and chocolates Manhattan had to offer and sometimes the most wonderful meats and freshest fruits and vegetables from a Greenwich Village green grocer she was especially fond of.

  They had treated me to the best view of New York they could. We had seen a Broadway play with lavish dances and beautiful melodies, had toured the Museum of Modern Art where Martha worked as a research assistant, viewing furniture exhibits that foretold the future, wooden sculptures that were flat, wavy and curvy, and paintings of misty, pastel hues of violet and pink that represented gardens and bridges. We had gone to the Metropolitan Museum of Art where we viewed beautiful and enchanting bowls, vases, urns and plates of the ancients and the deep and rich colors of so many European painters.

  Jeb and I had eaten a hotdog purchased from a Manhattan street vendor and shared fluffy cheesecake with the most wonderful flavor in a famous restaurant called Lindy’s. We walked the streets of Manhattan and acted silly, drawing not a single look or stare from the rushing passersby.

  Martha was preparing a dinner of beef and country vegetables, a French provincial dish she was known for among her social set, and she had refused all help. I had come out to enjoy the brisk, evening air and to view the vagaries of a typical Brooklyn neighborhood. “A penny for your thoughts.”

  Jeb had joined me, his trademark grin in evidence, the evening gusts of wind ruffling his unruly tufts of hair. “I was just thinking how wonderful your parents have been to me. They have taken their time to show me New York, given me the use of a lovely guest room, and fed me the most wonderful food I have tasted outside of Mama’s cooking. I feel like a queen.”

  “You should be treated like a queen. You’re special Annie May.

  “Mom and Dad have enjoyed having you here. They’re New Yorkers through and through. They
’ve never been on a farm or ever seen one up close. The nearest they’ve come to one is in a Grandma Moses painting. You’ve changed their idea of a farm girl. They were certain you would arrive with overalls and a pitchfork.

  “Come on, I’ll race you to the corner and you can see the real Brooklyn. Abby’s Deli will be packed and Mrs. O’Malley around the corner who lives up over the pawn shop will be chasing her dog and cat and a large number of small children who will all be figuring out how to torment her next while she chases them yelling with a broom.”

  As we ran, the gusts of wind throwing off our pace, Jeb slowed to allow me to race past him, sending us into gales of laughter. As promised, Mrs. O’Malley was out chasing everyone who got in her way, and the windows along the narrow side street were open, letting in the fresh spring air and letting out the bickering and grievances of the day.

  As we returned to the brownstone, sprinting at top pace and avoiding a number of marble games and tricycles, the aroma of Martha’s casserole wafted about us, seeping through the cracks of the century-old front door and the windows slightly ajar, bringing a touch of France to the modest Brooklyn neighborhood. I rushed up the stairs hoping to be in time to set the table but Jeb’s father Peter had already set out the china and the silver under Martha’s capable supervision.

  Martha was carrying a lovely pottery casserole to the side buffet and Peter was bringing a variety of drinks to set beside it. “You’re just in time. Soup’s on.”

  As we sat around the large mahogany dining table, Martha’s favorite Beethoven sonata playing softly in the background, the conversation was lively and very much down to earth. Peter filled us in on his struggles of the day as an electrical engineer at a large Manhattan corporation where he was admired for his expertise but no longer owned the patents of his many brilliant inventions. Martha added her adventures in her attempt to track down a sculpture that was known to exist but had remained elusive to international museum staffs for years.

  For dessert, Martha flamed a brandied Cherries Jubilee alongside our table and dished it out in beautiful stemmed crystal. As we finished, she suggested Jeb and Peter, who were already lost in conversation, move to the study while we “girls” did the dishes.