“Why didn’t you explain to Fräulein Hauser?” Mlle Dragonet asked.
“I tried to, but she wouldn’t listen. I don’t think she knew I had anything to explain. And Madame Perceval said I shouldn’t say anything about her helping me. She said I should say it was just Paul, and I don’t think that would have convinced Fräulein Hauser, no matter how good a skier Paul is, because I was so awful before. That’s why I had to come to you, Mademoiselle.”
Mlle Dragonet picked up her pencil and twirled it. “So you’ve been keeping your skiing a secret?”
“Yes, Mademoiselle Dragonet.”
“Whose idea was this?”
“Paul’s. He thought it would be so much fun to surprise everybody.”
“Was he coming to the ski meet?”
“Yes, Mademoiselle.”
“I can see,” Mlle Dragonet said, “how Paul would think it was fun to surprise everybody, and how you would think it was fun too. But don’t you think it’s a little hard on Fräulein Hauser?” Her brown eyes looked mildly at Flip.
Flip countered with another question. “Don’t you think Fräulein Hauser should have noticed that my skis were too long? I know she has so many beginners she can’t pay too much attention to any one person, and I’ve always been bad at sports, but as soon as I got skis that were the right length for me I was better. I wasn’t good, but at least it was possible for me to learn.”
“And you think you have learned?”
“Yes, Mademoiselle. And it was Madame Perceval who said I should enter as an intermediate. I haven’t seen the others ski, so I wouldn’t have known in what group I belonged.”
“So Madame Perceval taught you, did she?” Mlle Dragonet asked. She put her pencil down and said, “Very well, Philippa. I’ll speak to Fräulein Hauser and explain the situation. It’s almost time for call over now. You’d better get downstairs.”
“Thank you, Mademoiselle Dragonet. Thank you so much. And you won’t say anything about its being Madame Perceval who found me the skis and helped me, please? Because she said it would be better not to, only I didn’t think she’d mind if I told you under these—these—imperative circumstances.”
Mlle Dragonet smiled. “I won’t say anything about her part in it. I promise.”
“I’m sorry to have bothered you,” Flip said. “I didn’t want to, but I didn’t know what else to do. I was desperate.”
“It’s what I’m here for, Philippa,” Mlle Dragonet said.
As Flip left Mlle Dragonet’s sitting room and started downstairs she wondered how she could ever live through the hours until the ski meet. The two months since the Christmas holidays had flown by like a swift bird, but the brief time until the next day stretched out ahead of her like an eternity.
Erna met her when she got downstairs. “You didn’t get your mail, Flip. I took it for you.”
“Oh, thanks ever so much,” Flip said. “Oh, wonderful! It’s a letter from Father. Thanks lots, Erna.”
There was just time to read the letter before call over if she hurried, and she was glad to escape the questions and exclamations of the girls who came clustering about her again, probing her about the ski meet, telling her that Fräulein Hauser had already crossed her name off the lists.
She ran down the corridor to the bathroom, locked herself in, and opened her father’s letter. I’m so glad it came today, she thought. I need it to give me courage for tomorrow.
“My darling champion skier,” the letter began.
How proud I am of the way you’ve worked at your skiing and I hope your triumph at the ski meet will be everything you and Paul could hope for. Now, please don’t be disappointed, darling—as a matter of fact maybe you’ll be relieved—but I don’t think I’ll be able to make it for the ski meet. You’ll probably do much better if you’re not worrying about my being there and the spring holidays will be here before we know it.
She sat staring at the closed white bathroom door in front of her, with the paint chipped off in places. She was filled with completely disproportionate disappointment. When she heard someone pounding on the door and calling, “Flip! Flip!” she could not keep the unwelcome tears from her eyes.
“Flip! Flip!”
She forced the tears back and opened the door and Erna and Jackie were anxiously waiting for her.
“Flip!” Erna cried. “You missed call over and Hauser’s simply furious and she wants to see you right away.”
“She says you’re sulking because she took your name off the ski lists. Oh, Flip, what do you want to be in the ski meet for anyhow when you can’t ski!”
“I can ski,” Flip said. “And I’m not sulking because of the ski meet. Father said he could come and now he can’t.” The tears began to trickle down her cheeks. “I haven’t seen him since school began,” she managed to whisper.
Erna patted her clumsily on the shoulder. “That’s awful, Flip. That’s an awful shame.”
“Maybe he’ll be able to come at the last minute,” Jackie said. “Don’t cry, Flip.”
The door opened again and Fräulein Hauser, looking extremely annoyed, stood in the doorway.
“Really, Philippa Hunter!” she exclaimed. “I have seldom seen such a display of bad sportsmanship.”
Flip drew herself up and suddenly she looked very tall and strong as she stood facing the gym teacher. “Fräulein Hauser,” she said. “I did not skip call over because you took my name off the ski lists. I didn’t even know you’d taken it off. I am crying because I expected to see my father and now I’m not going to.”
Fräulein Hauser looked at the tear-blurred face and the crumpled letter and at Erna and Jackie nodding in corroboration of Flip’s words and said, more gently, “I’m sorry I misunderstood you, Philippa.” And she smiled. “But you can hardly blame me.”
“Please, Fräulein Hauser,” Flip said. “I’ve been trying to tell you that I did learn to ski.”
“Philippa, we settled that question this morning. Let’s not reopen it.” Fräulein Hauser’s voice was short again. “Get along to your classroom, and quickly, all three of you. It’s almost time for the bell.”
At lunchtime Flip’s name was written in again over the heavy red line Fräulein Hauser had used to cross it out.
“Flip, you didn’t put your name back!” Erna cried.
Flip shook her head desperately. “I didn’t! It’s not my writing! It’s Fräulein Hauser’s writing! Mademoiselle Dragonet gave me permission to be in the ski meet. Paul taught me how to ski.” She put her hands to her head. “If I’d thought there’d be all this fuss and bother I’d never have entered the old ski meet!” Her head was a wild confusion of misery.
If I could just tell them it was Madame who taught me how to ski, that would make it all right, she thought.
“Hey, Flip,” Erna said. “If you don’t want your pudding, I do.”
After lunch Kaatje van Leyden sought her out. “Look here, Philippa, I hear you’re entering the ski meet.”
Flip looked up at the older girl. “Yes, Kaatje.”
“Fräulein Hauser says you can’t ski.”
“If I couldn’t ski, I wouldn’t have entered the ski meet,” Flip said. Her mind was beginning to feel cold and numb the way her hands did in the very cold mornings when she was out skiing.
“Did you know that the points made or lost in the ski meet count for the school teams?” Kaatje asked. “You could make a team lose for the year if you pulled it down badly enough in the ski meet.”
“I won’t pull it down,” Flip said, but she was beginning to lose faith in herself.
“Which team are you?”
“Odds. I’m number ninety-seven. Please, Kaatje. I promise you I can ski. I know I’ve pulled the Odds down in my gym work but I won’t pull them down in the ski meet.”
“But how did you learn to ski? Fräulein Hauser said you were so helpless she couldn’t teach you. Sorry, but that’s what she said and the ski meet’s tomorrow so there isn’t time to beat around bush
es.”
“Please, Kaatje,” Flip said, “Paul Laurens, Madame Perceval’s nephew, taught me every weekend, and he’s a wonderful skier, and we skied during the holidays all the time and I’ve practiced an hour every morning after breakfast. Please, Kaatje, please, believe me!” Flip implored.
Kaatje put her hands on her hips and looked at Flip. “I don’t know what to think. I’m captain of the Evens as well as school games captain and if the Evens win through your losing points, the Odds are going to blame me for it.”
“Do you think Mademoiselle Dragonet would have put my name back on the lists if she’d thought I couldn’t ski?”
“That’s just it,” Kaatje said. “I wouldn’t think so, but you never know what the Dragon’s going to take it into her head to do. If she’s given you permission and you insist that you can ski I suppose there’s nothing I can do about it.” Then her frown disappeared and she gave Flip a friendly grin. “Here’s good luck on it anyhow,” she said, holding out her hand.
“Thanks, Kaatje,” Flip said, taking it.
It couldn’t have been a better day for a ski meet. It was very cold and still and the sky was that wonderful blue that seems to go up, up, up, and the sun seemed very bright and very far away in the heavens. The snow sparkled with blinding brilliance and everybody was filled with excitement.
But Flip sat in the train on the way up to Gstaad and she felt as cold and white as the snow and not in the least sparkling. Paul left Georges Laurens with Mlle Dragonet and Signorina del Rossi and came and sat next to Flip. Erna and Jackie and the others greeted him with pleased excitement. Flip heard Sally whispering to Esmée, “Didn’t I tell you he was divine?”
“So you taught Flip to ski!” Solvei exclaimed.
“I didn’t have to do much teaching,” Paul said. “She’s a born skier.”
Esmée got up from her seat and stood by them, attracted to the male presence like the proverbial fly to honey. “I’m just dying to see Flip ski,” she said, smiling provocatively at Paul. “You were just wonderful to teach her.”
“Esmée, sit down,” Miss Armstrong called from the end of the car, and Esmée reluctantly withdrew.
Flip stared out the window with a set face. Her cheeks felt burning hot and her hands felt icy cold and she had a dull pain in her stomach. I’m sick, she thought. I feel awful. I should have gone to Mlle Duvoisine and she’d have taken my temperature and put me in the infirmary and I wouldn’t have had to be in the ski meet.
But she realized that the horrible feeling wasn’t because she was ill, but because she was frightened. She was even more frightened than she had been the night she went to the château to meet the man who said he was Paul’s father.
She was hardly aware when Paul left her to join the spectators, or when Erna pushed her into place to wait until the beginners had finished. Flip watched the beginners carefully and took heart. She was much more steady on her skis, they were much more a part of her, than they were on any of the girls in the beginners’ group, and she knew that she executed her turns with far more precision and surety than any of them. She looked at the beginners and she looked at the judges—Fräulein Hauser, and Miss Redford, who had turned out to be quite an expert skier, from the school; a jolly-looking Englishwoman who was sportsmistress at the English school down the mountain; and two professional skiers who sat smiling tolerantly at the efforts of the beginners.
After the beginners had been tested for form they had a short race which was won by little Lischen Bechman, one of the smallest girls in the school, and then Flip felt Erna pushing her forward. She stood in line with all the rest of the intermediates, between Erna and Maggie Campbell. One of the professional skiers stood up to give the directions. Flip snapped on her skis and pushed off with the others. She followed directions in a haze and was immeasurably grateful for the hours of practice which made her execute her christianias and telemarks with automatic perfection. The judge told half the girls to drop out, but Flip was among those left standing as the judge put them through their paces again.
Now all but five of the girls were sent to the side, Flip, Erna, Esmée Bodet, Maggie Campbell, and Bianca Colantuono. Flip’s mouth felt very dry and the tip of her tongue stuck out between her teeth. This time the judge only kept them a few minutes.
Jumping was next and only a few of the intermediates had entered that. Girls clustered around Flip, exclaiming, laughing, “Why, Flip, you old fox, you!”
“Why did you keep this up your sleeve, Pill?”
“Did Hauser really refuse to teach you?”
And Kaatje van Leyden came over from the seniors and shook her hand, saying, “Good work, Philippa. You really knew what you were talking about, didn’t you? The Odds don’t have to worry about your being on their team.”
Flip blushed with pleasure and looked down at the snow under her feet and she loved it so and was filled with such excitement and triumph that she wanted to get down on her knees and kiss it, but instead she watched the jumpers. She felt that Erna was by far the best and was pleased with the thought that she would win.
Then it was time for the short race. Flip stood poised at the top of the hill and launched herself forward at the signal. She tried to cut through the cold air with the swift precision of an arrow and was pleased when she came in fifth, because Madame had told her not to worry about the short race, to enter it only for experience, because she would do best in the long race.
While the seniors lined up for form, Flip and the other intermediates who had signed up for the long race got on the funicular to go up to the starting point farther up the mountain. Madame Perceval had taken Flip over the course of the race several times during the holidays so she was almost as familiar with it as the other girls who had been skiing it once a week with Fräulein Hauser.
They were all tense as they lined up at the starting point. Kaatje van Leyden gave the signal and they were off. Flip felt a sense of wild exhilaration as she started down the mountain, and she knew that nothing else was like this. Flying in a plane could not give you this feeling of being the bird, of belief in your own personal wings.
Before the race was half over it became evident that it was to be between Flip, Erna, and Esmée. Flip’s mind seemed to be cut cleanly in half; one half was filled with pure pleasure at the skiing and the other with a set determination to win this race. The three of them kept very close together, first one, then another, taking the advantage. Then, as they had to go through a clump of trees, Erna took the lead and pushed ahead with Flip next and Esmée dropping well behind.
Flip made a desperate effort and had just spurted ahead of Erna when she heard a cry, and, looking back, she saw Erna lying in the snow. She checked her speed, turned, and went back. As Erna saw her coming she called out, “Go on, Flip! Go on! Don’t worry about me!”
But she ended on a groan and Flip continued back up the mountainside. Esmée flashed by without even looking at Erna, and Flip, as she slowly made her way up the snow, thought, I’ve lost the race.
But she knelt by Erna and said, “What happened?”
“Caught the tip of my ski on a piece of ice,” Erna gasped. Her face was very white and her lips were blue with pain and cold. “You shouldn’t have come back.”
“Don’t be silly,” Flip said, and her voice sounded angry. “Is it your ankle?”
“Yes. I think I’ve busted it or something.”
Flip unstrapped Erna’s skis and took them off. “It may not be broken. It may be a sprain.”
Erna’s lips were white. “It hurts.”
“What’s up?” Kaatje van Leyden, who had been skiing down the mountainside with them, drew up beside them.
“Erna’s hurt her ankle,” Flip said. “I don’t want to take off her boot because it will keep the swelling down. But she certainly can’t ski.”
Now more of the racers came in sight, but Kaatje waved them on. “Esmée’s won but we might as well see who comes in second and third.”
“Flip lost
the race because of me,” Erna told Kaatje. “She was way ahead of Esmée but when I fell she turned around and came back to me.”
“And Esmée went on?” Kaatje asked.
“Sure Esmée went on,” Erna said. “Esmée’s Esmée. And Flip’s Flip.”
“Good for you, Philippa,” Kaatje said. “Hurt badly, Erna?”
Erna, her teeth clenched, nodded.
“Philippa, if we make a chair with our hands do you think we can ski down together with Erna? It will be quite a job not to jolt her, but I think we’d better get her down to Duvoisine as soon as possible. How about it?” Kaatje asked.
“Okay,” Flip said.
Jackie, trailing gallantly down at the tail of the race, stopped in dismay at the sight of Erna lying on the ground and helped her up onto Flip’s and Kaatje’s hands. Then they started slowly down the mountain. This was the most difficult skiing Flip had ever done, because she did not have her arms to help her balance herself and she and Kaatje had to ski as though they were one, making their turns and swerves in complete unison in order not to jolt Erna, who was trying bravely not to cry out in pain. Jackie had skied on ahead and Mlle Duvoisine was waiting for them with the doctor, and Erna was borne off to the chalet to be administered to. Flip looked almost as limp and white as Erna as she went to join the other intermediates who were eating sandwiches while they waited for the expert events to be finished.
So now it was all over. She thought she had done well in form, but she had lost both races. She felt too tired, and too depressed now that her part in the long-waited-for meet was over, to be elated simply because she had skied well.
Just as Kaatje van Leyden came swooping down to win the long race, Jackie said, “Here’s Erna,” and Mlle Duvoisine was pushing Erna, sitting on one chair, her bandaged foot in a green ski sock with a large hole in the toe, on another, across the snow to them. They all clustered about her.
And Both Were Young Page 20
