by Jan Surasky
“Caroline, you’re one of my best friends. You’re not supposed to get me in the halls.”
“How can I keep my place in the gossip mills if I don’t?”
“Okay, okay. We’re due for a talk, anyway. How about 2:30 at Embrey’s after school? I’m going to walk home today.”
“Good. See you there. I could use a coke. But, don’t let me eat those doughnuts. Gotta keep in shape for those college boys.”
As Caroline sped to her third period class, all the way to the end of the hall and up one flight, Jenny ambled to hers, just two doors down from her second. She didn’t want to be first in, because she knew Mrs. Ames would ask her about art school, and she didn’t want to tell her she hadn’t gotten permission yet. But, the fresh, spring air had kept the rest of the class around the open window at the far end of the hall, ready to sprint only at the sound of the bell. Despite her head bent over paperwork, the art teacher heard Jenny’s attempt to slip quietly in.
“Jenny, I’ve been waiting to see you.”
Jenny walked up the aisle and settled in the seat nearest Mrs. Ames’ desk.
“I have what I think is good news. I’ve been talking to Mr. Richards to see if there wasn’t a scholarship or some kind of grant we could use to help you go to art school. I know you’ve had a hard time convincing your parents. And, I know it’s hard for your folks to face the cost.”
“Well, it’s not only that, Mrs. Ames. Mother would like me to go to business school like Dotty Thatcher. She would like me to do something useful, like learning to keep books.”
“Art might not seem as useful as keeping books or typing, but it has its place. It brings beauty to the world and revives the spirit. You can’t put a price on that. You have real talent, Jenny. Not everyone can portray the beauty of a rose on canvas so that you can almost feel the softness of its petals or sense the rapture of its fragrance as you did with the scene of your Aunt Gert’s greenhouse. Or catch the antics of a cat knocking over a saucer of milk in pen and ink like your prize-winning sketch from last year’s art show.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Ames. I’ll try to talk to Mother.”
“This might help. Mr. Richards uncovered a scholarship that hasn’t been used in years. It’s not much, but it’s given every college year for four years. It was given with the stipulation that it be awarded only if there is a deserving student to receive it. Mr. Richards and I think you are deserving of that award. So would Mrs. Tewksbury, I think, if she were still alive. She left it to us in memory of her son who was lost in the Korean War. He was a brilliant art student here.”
“I know of him. He was engaged to my Aunt Gertrude.”
“Then, I guess your Aunt Gert would be very pleased if you accepted that scholarship.”
As Jenny rose to end the conversation, the quiet of the mid-morning interlude was ended by the jostling of a crowd trying to get through the door before the bell sounded. Its minute-long ring, its tone the same as it had been since Jenny entered high school, signaled the start of third period to the farthest corners of the school, even the annex. Jenny walked to her locker and pulled out her smock. As she set out her paintbrushes, she stared at the half-finished canvas set up on her easel. How would she make that snow look like real snow. How could she show its purity, the cold of the new fallen snow to the touch of a tongue. Or, did she want to take a snowflake, the brilliant facets of its design, and surround it with bursts of color. But, the assignment was a winter scene. With a sigh, Jenny lifted her paintbrush and set to work.
As she left school, Jenny looked down at the sidewalk on her way to Embrey’s, avoiding the cracks and the bumps of the newly poured squares of repair cement. The daffodils and the tulips were in bloom highlighting the fronts of the small frame houses and bringing bursts of red and yellow to the bases of maple and sycamore tree trunks. Dandelions were sprouting everywhere, forming a golden yellow blanket over the lawns turned newly green after the dingy brown of winter. The slight drizzle of rain caused mists everywhere, bringing small rainbows to the gardens as she passed.
Caroline was already at Embrey’s, seated in a slightly ripped red vinyl chair at a yellow formica and chrome table sipping a coke and reading a copy of Mademoiselle. Jenny slipped into the chair next to her.
“How’s the celebrity?”
“Caroline, you know Bud’s dated practically the whole school.”
“He hasn’t dated me. And, he never will. I’m not his type. How was it?”
“It wasn’t like anything. He hardly talked to me at all. He was more interested in impressing his friends. But, I did get to see Dotty Thatcher’s new interest.”
“Once she gets her claws into him, he won’t be able to get loose,” laughed Caroline.
“But, I did hear the boys talking about you, though. A little different than they usually talk about Bud’s latest conquest. I think he has respect for you, Jenny.”
“All I know is that it gave Mother more of a thrill than it gave me. She wouldn’t stop talking about it on Sunday. She insisted on getting to church early, and then she couldn’t get rid of the smug look all morning.”
“You shouldn’t put it off, Jen. Bud’s a good catch. His family’s well connected, and there’s money there.”
“Did you decide what you’re going to take in college?”
“I’d like to be a vet, but I lost out in the competition for those few places in pre-vet in the Ag School. I got into Hum Ec, though, so I think I might study nutrition.”
Jenny knew what a disappointment that was. Caroline loved animals.
“Maybe you can switch when you get there.”
“Maybe. I’ll just be glad to be there. I’ve had my heart set on that school.”
“I might visit you, depending on where I end up.”
“That would be great, Jen. Maybe we could double date, if the boys aren’t all dogs there.”
“Well, how could they all be dogs, Caroline? There are thousands of them there.”
“I hear from Sue who went there last year that a lot of them are from New York and pretty fast.”
“Then you’ll just have to find one from a small town like you.” She sighed, “I think I will have to get going. Mother will throw a fit if I’m not there to set the table.”
“I’ll write to you, Jen. We have to be friends forever.”
“I’ll write back.”
They embraced as they had done often on parting, picking up their books to go off in their respective directions. Today, Jenny’s mind was everywhere but here. How would she get Mother and Father to agree to art school? And, where was Jake? She had missed him for a week at their usual meeting in the hayloft. She quickened her steps to see if she could catch him.
Chapter Six
Jenny checked the hayloft before she started to take the lane to the Martin farm. Mother didn’t like her mixing with the Martins, and Mrs. Martin, small and meek, with wire-rimmed glasses, didn’t want to cross her “English” neighbors.
As she approached, she heard the sound of a whippoorwill, the distinct whistle that she and Jake had learned to make as children in the first few months after he had moved to the southern tier, a call that became their signal. But, they hadn’t used it since Jenny had entered high school. Out of practice, she called on every facial muscle to softly answer. The cheery, siren call of a bird, nearly invisible by day, the color of its shaggy feathers a blend of the woods it lives in, their softness a mark of silent, nocturnal flight.
As she entered the barn, she saw that Jake was already there, chewing on a piece of straw he had picked up out of the hayloft, his heavy-duty overalls stained with the sweat of planting.
“Hi, Jenny.”
She climbed the ladder to settle next to him.
“I hear you went out with Bud Anderson Saturday.”
She forgot how Jake might take it. He hated Bud. But, he seemed hurt as well. Not showing up for a week after she told Bud yes. News travels fast in a small community. Even if you’re homeschoole
d.
“Yeah. Well, you know, he’s asked about every girl in the school out.”
“But, you’re not every girl, Jenny. You’re special.”
“It wasn’t all that great. He paid more attention to his friends than he did to me.
“But, it sure was good for Mother. She hasn’t lost a chance to brag to every one of her friends. And, she’s glad I went out with somebody so respectable.”
“I’m not sure he’s so respectable.”
Jenny didn’t answer. She realized anything she might say to back up her statement might be thought of as a slight to Jake’s family.
“You have a mind of your own, Jenny. You didn’t have to go.“
Jake perked up, changing the subject. “What’re your father and Hiram planting this year?”
“He’s trying soy beans along with his usual feed corn and beans and cabbage. He’s heard it’s a good crop.”
“Pa puts in the same thing every year. Hay for the horses, feed corn for the few dairy cows, and peas, beans, cabbage and lettuce that we sell at the market. Ma tends her pickling cucumbers. We make a big profit on the dills and the sweets she puts up.”
“Have you told your father about wanting to go to Hobart?”
“Pa took it hard when I told him, barely speaking to me for over a week. But, when he recovered, he made me a deal. I could go, as long as I was there to help him with the crops. I think that hearing that I don’t want to be a farmer like he is hit him the worst. Amos Pearson and Ethan Eldridge both went into the farms with their fathers this year. I think he’s hoping that the fast pace of the school and its students will send me back to the fields.
“And you, Jenny? Have you thought about art school?”
“Mrs. Ames talked to me today. She found a scholarship if I study art. But, first I have to convince Mother. She thinks artists sit around studios growing their hair long, never earning a living. She would like me to take business so I can work a few years, marry a business executive and have an easier life than she’s had.”
“Well, it looks like she’s got your whole life planned out. What do you think about it?”
“I think I’d like to study art. If I promise to take business along with it, I think she’ll come around. Aunt Gert can get me into Keuka where I can take both. And, I’ll still be close enough to help her with the greenhouse.”
“I hope it works. You’re great at art.”
“Thanks, Jake.” Jenny paused. “I hear you had a church social over the weekend. Did you meet any girls?”
“I’m not interested in girls right now. All my cousins got married when they were eighteen, farming and making furniture and raising five kids by the time they were twenty-five. I don’t want that kind of life.”
“I bet there are a lot of girls after you already.”
“I would take you out if I could. But, I know what a fuss it would cause with your folks. And, mine too, I guess. I never wanted to cause any trouble for you, Jenny.”
Jenny looked at Jake. She had never considered him as a date. His background so different than hers, his beliefs a century away. But, she had always hoped that she’d find someone like Jake, with his kindness, his playfulness, and the special way he got serious when he voiced his convictions. But, whoever it was, he would have to fit the social mold set out for her from the beginning. Jenny was no rebel. She had always gotten her pleasures without making waves.
“I’d better go. I left the fields early to get here. Anne and Sarah took over my chores, but only if I promised to help them with their math and push Pa to let them go with us to the market on Saturday.”
“I suppose I’d better go, too. I better butter Mother up so I can talk to her about art school.”
As Jenny picked up her books, Jake glanced at her. He wondered why every boy in the school didn’t date her, not just Bud Anderson. She had so much more spirit than the girls he knew, all of them stuck in the beliefs of a religion that relied on the passivity of women, breeding large families, working long hours to care for and support them, and submitting to the uncontestable decisions of their husbands.
As he stood, he pulled Jenny up. Her hands were so soft, her hair the fresh scent of lavender. He carried her books down the ladder, handing them to her as they parted, each going off in opposite directions, heading toward home in time for an early supper, as they had done for years. But, this time they parted in silence.
Chapter Seven
Matilda Thompson added flour and milk to the sliced potatoes she had placed on top of the ham steak in the oblong Pyrex sitting on the wooden kitchen table. The tight waves of her permanent kept her light brown hair in a neat semi-circle about her firm face, her strands of grey covered by peroxide highlights. Jenny walked into the kitchen.
“Where have you been, Jenny? I had to peel the potatoes myself.”
“I met Caroline at Embrey’s after school. Then, I walked home.”
“Bud’s been calling you. He wants you to go out again. He’ll call back this evening.”
“I’ll be here. Mrs. Fisher gave us enough history homework to keep us busy for at least two hours.”
“I hope you’ll say ’yes’ to Bud. He’s a good catch, Jenny. Someday his father will own a large part of the southern tier.”
“He runs with a fast crowd, Mother.”
“Well, that shouldn’t bother you. You’ve had dancing lessons and piano lessons. You should learn to bowl, Jenny. It will make you more popular. Everyone knows how to bowl.”
“The last time I bowled at the youth center I nearly knocked over the set up boys. And, my ball always wound up in the alley.”
“Well, maybe you need a lighter ball. Or lessons. Mayva’s good at bowling. Maybe she can teach you after she closes her shop on Saturdays.”
“Mother, I wanted to talk to you about college.”
“Later, Jenny. I’m already late with supper. You weren’t here to peel the potatoes. We’ll talk about it at the table. Your father should be back from the fields in ten minutes. Now, you can put salt and pepper on the casserole and put it into the oven. Then, you can set the table. And, remember to put out the blue patterned dishes I got at the market.”
Jenny sighed, but obeyed. The earlier they ate, the earlier she could bring up art school.
“I’ll go up and get a start on my homework.”
“Okay. But, mind you come when I call you.”
Jenny bounded up the stairs toward the haven of her pink, flowered room. If she finished her homework early, she could lie out under the stars for a short time before going to bed, or perhaps she could call softly to Jake along the lane to see if he had slipped out as well. Sometimes, in the summer, when Jenny had no homework, they would stay up late, watching the stars together. It was with Jake she had seen her first shooting star and wished upon it. They were both certain it was good luck.
As Jenny finished the last part of the chapter on the French Revolution, she closed the book. She would answer the questions after supper. She could hear Father’s tired voice answering Mother’s persistent questions, and now she could hear her summons. She walked slowly down the stairs, trying to be soft about it, but despite a change into sneakers from her school loafers, the creaks in the hundred-year-old stair treads announced her arrival as loudly as when she had left.
“Hurry, Jenny, it’ll get cold.”
Jenny sat, waiting for her turn after Father first, then Mother. Mother made it clear that Father should have the first helping, taking as much as he wanted. He needed his strength for the long days in the fields. Ham steak casserole was a staple. It was easy. Mother hated to cook, as she often told Jenny.
“What did you put in today, Lyman?”
“Just the beans, Mattie. We didn’t get to planting the feed corn. Hiram could only stay half the day.”
“Well, you better get busy. I hear Jed Thomas and John Stewart are adding feed corn to their usual crops. And, I don’t see a lot of new cattle around here. In fact, Harold Neuberger i
s thinking of selling his herd and retiring.”
Father sighed. “I’ll look into it, Mattie.”
“And who’s minding the tire store?”
“Dick Putnam’s youngest. His oldest is running errands for the grocery, so if Jackson needs help, his older brother just stops by on the way to a delivery. It works out just fine.”
“Well, he doesn’t sound too bright. You better finish the fields and get down there. Memorial Day rush should start pretty soon.”
“I hear you, Mother. Now, could I get a bite of this delicious ham? It’s a mighty fine casserole, Mattie. “
Father was the only one who could shut Mother up, bringing a slight flush to her cheeks, and sometimes even a slight, shy look, even after twenty-two years of marriage.
“Mother, Mrs. Ames talked to me today. She mentioned a scholarship for art school. She said it’s not given every year but she and Mr. Richards think I could get it.”
“Oh, Jenny, not that art talk again. Your father’s sister fancied herself an artist and closed herself up in her room she called a studio. After making no money, she finally got out and sold linens at Harold Potter’s shop.”
“But, Mother, Aunt Eileen paints beautifully. Her winter scenes are the talk of the town. She’s even sold some at the art shows.”
“But, not enough to put bread on the table. And goodness knows they need it. Andy has been sick on and off for years.”
“Now, Mattie, you know Eileen has worked hard.”
“Mother, I would really like to take art.”
“Well, it won’t get you a job. And, the only boys you’ll meet will have long hair and sandals and talk nonsense. How will you meet a decent husband?”
“Well, now Mattie, maybe Jenny should take what she likes.”
“I’ll take business classes, I promise. Aunt Gert says they have typing and stenography just like Dotty Thatcher’s school has.”
“Well, alright. But, you’d better learn to type at least 140 words a minute. When I was in high school, I could type 160. I won the prize. Why, if I didn’t marry right out of high school I could be a pretty fancy private secretary by now.”
