by Jan Surasky
“Alright, it’s settled. But, you’d better get your application in right away. Your Aunt Gert says the deadline is only two weeks away.” Father kept his voice gentle, not to agitate Mother. He knew she liked to win.
“Let’s get these dishes cleared. Jenny, you wash. As quickly as you can. You have homework and school tomorrow. I’ll dry.” Mother got up from the table, ending the discussion.
As Jenny filled the sink with water and added the soap suds, scraping the garbage into a plastic-lined pail, the phone rang. Mother jumped to answer it, her voice perking up as she got an answer to her very dramatic hello, a rhythm she had picked up in her high school drama club which she felt gave her the social poise to hold her own in Penn Yan society despite her financial position.
“Hello, Bud. Yes, I’m fine. How is your mother? She seemed kind of peaked in church last Sunday.
“Oh, I’m glad she saw Doc Masterson. If anyone can cure her, he can.
“Yes, Jenny’s here. I’ll get her away from the dishes.”
As Mother handed the phone to Jenny, Bud’s voice came over the lines loud and confident, as deep as if he were still yelling after a touchdown. “Hey, Jen, a bunch of us are getting together Saturday night to drive to Geneva. A couple of parties there. Maybe a softball game. Or, maybe a Hobart baseball game. Some of the guys have friends on the team. Would you like to go?”
“Yes, Bud. Sounds like fun.”
“Okay. I’ll pick you up at six. We’ll grab a burger at Captain’s and then we’ll be off.”
“See you then.”
Jenny hung up the phone, making her way back to the dishes now soaking in the sink.
“Jenny, why didn’t you carry on a conversation with him. He’ll think you don’t like him. You have to learn how to make small talk.”
“I’m not interested in small talk. If a boy wants to take me out, he will. I’m not going to play up to him like Dotty Thatcher.”
“You could learn a few more social graces. I saw a few good articles on how to make conversation at Mayva’s shop on Saturday. Maybe she could lend them to you.”
As Mother dried, she entertained Jenny on the art of catching a husband. “Boys don’t like it if you act too smart, Jenny. You have to pretend that you don’t know anything.
“And, never call a boy on the phone or ask him out. Mary Lou Anderson says the phone is ringing off the hook with girls calling Bud after school. They have no shame. You’ll stand out Jenny if you’re not forward.”
“I think I’m finished now, Mother. I’m going upstairs to do my homework.”
“Don’t forget to go to bed early. Girls need their beauty sleep. Nothing scares boys away faster than dark circles under the eyes.”
Jenny made an attempt to answer her social studies questions, but the draw of spring fever outweighed the spirit of the French Revolution. The light, spring air wafting through her open window confused nobles with peasants, Marie Antoinette and Louis with Josephine and Napoleon. They all blended together as she thought about Jake. How they had watched the stars together under a full moon, the fields softly lit by its eerie glow. Ursa Major and Minor, the Big Dipper, and sometimes the North Star on a very clear night. He with his arm about her to keep her from the chill of the evening, she with his threadbare jacket about her shoulders.
She decided against slipping out after her homework was done. She would get up early and ride her bike to school. She really wanted that scholarship and she knew a good work ethic would help. If she beat the school bus crowd, she could be sure of a spot on softball.
Chapter Eight
The sun streamed in through the windows of Aunt Gert’s old farmhouse as Jenny tried to get the landscape right on the canvas set on the easel in front of her. Daubs of different greens brightened up the trees, but the newly planted fields still posed a problem. Depicting the delicate, young seedlings of the bean plants or the heartier sprouts of the feed corn was easy. But, the browns of the earth eluded her. She had always had trouble with brown. Should she add more burnt sienna? How could she get it to look like a fertile field without ruining it with too much yellow so that it looked like a field of mud?
She put down her paint brush, looking around the small room that was once a bedroom. The windows were still covered in the dotted swiss Aunt Gert had sewn into curtains when she first moved in. The room had been Jenny’s playroom when she was small, but at ten Aunt Gert had turned it into her “studio“, presenting her with a smock from the art store in Geneva, complete with her name embroidered on it in bright colors by the owner of the shop, and a table with a place for paints on it. Aunt Gert had watched her draw with the special pencils and papers she had bought her for her birthdays. At sixteen, she had bought her a beautiful wooden easel.
Aunt Gert knocked, pushing the warped door hard to get it to open. She surveyed the almost finished canvas. “Nice. It looks just like the bean field Charlie Potter put in. I don’t know what I would do without him. Between his rental money and my green house, and what I make at the college, I just make ends meet.
“I suppose I could sell this place and move into town into one of those new places Carl and Lyman Andrews put up. But, I wouldn’t be happy. This house has been my comfort and my salvation. When things get rough, I find peace in these old walls.”
“I love this place, too, Aunt Gert.”
“It’s been Chaucer’s home since he was a six-week-old puppy,” laughed Aunt Gert, as she looked at the sleeping dog who had found a patch of shade for an afternoon nap. “I think he would miss it, too.
“How was your date with Bud?”
“He asked me to the prom, Aunt Gert.”
“Are you going, Jenny?”
“I couldn’t turn him down,” Jenny laughed. “I think it’s been Mother’s dream since I’ve been in kindergarten.”
“How do you feel about Bud, Jenny?”
“I like the attention a girl gets as Bud’s date. But, he runs with such a fast crowd. Mother thinks I just need bowling lessons and some on how to make conversation.”
“I can help you with the conversation. We do a section on ice breakers that gives the girls a chance to learn social poise and how to be a public speaker.”
“Thanks, Aunt Gert.”
Jenny paused before she spoke. “Aunt Gert, why did you never marry?”
Aunt Gert looked thoughtful, a wrinkle furrowing her usually sunny brow. “I dated in college,” she said slowly. “I even dated men I met later on after I moved in here. I dated some nice men, some wild men. They were an interesting mix. But, none of it ever took. I never felt the same as I did when I was with Rafe.
“I had to make a decision. Rafe still had my heart. It wouldn’t be fair to give someone only part of myself. I decided to live with the memory of someone I truly loved, rather than with someone I didn’t.
“Jenny, did you get Mother to agree to art school?”
“Yes, Aunt Gert. She’s not pleased. But, Father helped.”
“Your father is a good man, Jenny. Your mother was lucky to get him. But, she hates that he has to farm for a living. Mattie always liked to put on airs.
“I’ll talk to the registrar on Monday. I’m sure they can find a spot for you. And, maybe we can find a way for a double major in business and in art.”
“I hate business, Aunt Gert. I made more mistakes in typing class than anyone, and the only lesson I liked was when we could make hearts for Valentine’s Day with X’s.”
“You might like shorthand, Jenny. It’s like your own private language. And, if you’re good at it, you can almost name your job.
“So, what should we have for supper? Mother said you could stay, as long as you’re home early. Why don’t you take Chaucer out for a run while I look in the fridge? He doesn’t get too much exercise anymore.”
Jenny rose, soaking her brushes in her can of turpentine and wiping up her splotches with a well-used rag. Then, she roused Chaucer, who was only too happy to follow her out the old screen door
with memories of his puppyhood lingering in his brain as he picked up his pace to chase her to the barn. If she could get this canvas finished by summer, maybe she could enter it in the art show. Mrs. Ames had encouraged her with the still life she had done, a class exercise, but she favored the landscapes she did after school, especially in the spring when the dogwood bloomed and the evergreens, steady in the winter, looked greener among them. And, the tiny seedlings sprouting in the newly plowed fields. They had been a staple ever since Jenny remembered.
She would get Aunt Eileen to help her enter the show. But for now, she just wanted to run with Chaucer. He had been her companion since she was six, but he had never made any demands on her, settling for a gentle pat on the head or a hearty romp in the woods whenever she felt like it.
She wondered what Aunt Gert was cooking for supper. Sometimes it was elegant, a paella pan full of the fresh seafood Aunt Gert picked up at the big market in Geneva, or roasted duck with an orange-current sauce she had learned from a gourmet magazine she found at the college, with a scoop of French vanilla in a champagne glass topped with fresh cherries and a brandied sauce Aunt Gert flamed for a dramatic finale under dimmed lights and the brilliance of the stars shining through the open windows, the lace curtains sometimes flapping with the breeze.
Or, it could be a meatloaf, or a simple beef stew, or in summer, a tuna salad and cold, boiled potatoes. But always there was conversation. Aunt Gert asked Jenny what she thought. About world affairs, about the latest trends, about politics in Penn Yan and the country. Sometimes Aunt Gert would give her a historical or cultural perspective.
Jenny held out the tug-of-war rope length to Chaucer, inviting him to pull hard as he could. He grabbed it, shaking his head and making fierce noises, causing her to pull back with some strength to keep her balance. She laughed as they put the toy back in the barn.
As they walked toward the house, Chaucer panting but happy, the aroma of pot roast simmering in its juices greeted them through the open front door.
Chapter Nine
Jenny looked up at the colored lights spinning and swirling above her. Put in by the prom committee the night before, they transformed the school gymnasium into a big-city disco. Music blared from the soundstage where a Hobart band shot out the latest sounds on two electric guitars, a great set of drums and a hot keyboard.
Bud had picked her up promptly at seven. Her limousine tonight had been a tiger-yellow corvette with black leather interior. Bud held the door, helping her in with an excitement she had rarely seen in him except on the football field.
“I’ve made reservations at Belham’s Castle-on-the-Lake. We’re meeting Whit and his date and Dotty and Jason. “Tiger” Lewis will drop in on us later. He’s picking his date up in Syracuse. Big city gal with lots of money, I hear.”
The drive to the restaurant was quiet. Bud took the back roads. The sun was setting, and its fading light barely lit the cornfields, giving way to shadows.
“Have you decided on a college yet, Jenny?”
“I’ll be going to Keuka, if I get in. My Aunt Gert will help.”
“You’ll get in. You’ve got everything going for you. That’s great. You’ll be near home.”
“That’s the plan. How about you?”
“I’m pretty close to picking Syracuse. They’ve got the best offer, and I’d be close to the agency if I had to get back on weekends. And, I hear the contacts are great.”
“Sounds good.”
“There’s only one problem. Studying. College football takes up most of your life. But, Jason said he could get me into his fraternity. Their old exam file is huge. And, sometimes guys will write your papers for you on the sly. It’s their way of supporting the football team.”
Jenny didn’t answer. She only thought about Jake who worked the fields by day and stayed up late hours at night to study. Jake would never turn in someone else’s paper.
“I don’t think I will join a sorority. I’ll have enough trouble keeping up with a double major.”
“Sure you will, Jenny. You gotta have fun. That’s what college is for.”
As they rounded the corner, they came upon Route 14 where Belham’s was, just down the road from Hobart, the college’s beautifully kept large, white frame former homes turned offices lining the shore of deep, blue Seneca Lake.
As they drove the long, curved driveway that led to the former mansion turned restaurant, it’s well kept blacktop shaded by enormous oaks and maples, Jenny felt a sense of awe, as if she could almost see guests promenading on the lawns in long dresses and parasols, the men in black tie, addressing each other in formal and elegant language.
Bud parked, turning off the ignition to jump out and help her out of the car. As they walked toward the front door, set above a half-flight of carefully chiseled steps, the red of the lavish Medina stone, the gables and the turrets, added to the imposing turn-of-the-century aura.
“Looks like Whit is already here. That’s his silver Jag at the end of the row.
“Have you ever been to the Castle before?”
“Not really.”
“Then you should be in for a treat. Their chef is great. And, famous. Paul Newman has left his autograph here.
“The view is beautiful. That’s why I chose it. My dad wanted us to go to the club, but there’s no view. I wanted us to have a good time tonight, Jenny.”
As they entered the restaurant, they spotted Whit and his date, already seated. Whit raised his martini glass in recognition. His date sat silent, somewhat stuffed into a very tight low-cut pink taffeta gown, shoes dyed to match.
Ushered to the table, Bud seated Jenny, taking care to leave her time to arrange the long skirt of the strapless, pale aqua chiffon and taffeta gown she had had her eye on since she had seen it unwrapped from the shipment at Martin’s hardware and apparel four months ago. Mother had approved it only because she deemed it almost as fashionable as they could find in a trip to Syracuse and it would show off Jenny’s figure to advantage. As Jenny arranged her dress, she took care not to disturb the delicate petals of the rare orchid wrist corsage Bud had had made up in Geneva, its deep purple dots and misty striations vivid against the purity of a snow-white background.
Whit introduced his date. Jane Colson from Dundee. Jenny knew her vaguely from football. As they sat, Dotty and Jason walked in, arms wound around each other, tipsy from a previous celebration. Tiger Lewis breezed in last, a sophisticated Amanda Kathryn Johnson from Westchester County on his arm, here to visit a cousin and look over Syracuse University, her dress an off-the-shoulder pure silk jade green, her heavy makeup light years away from the powder and lipstick of the rest of the girls.
Dinner went fast, Bud urging Jenny to try the signature soup, a lobster bisque, purported to be Paul Newman’s favorite. The boys talked college, football and basketball, but Amanda held the floor with her descriptions of her recent coming-out party, complete with an elite band no one had heard of that was booked at least four years in advance.
“Hey, Whit, have you decided on a college?” Bud shouted over the noise.
“I think I’ll play for Rochester. They offered me a good deal even though we lost the sectionals.”
“You better visit me often. I hear that school doesn’t know how to party.”
At the dance, as Jenny looked up at the lights, after a dinner that had gone all too fast, she realized that this would be the last time she would be part of a school event as a student. After the next few weeks, she would be an outsider, a visitor to these halls, an oddity to the regular students, a Martian-like intruder.
Bud touched her arm. “Would you like some punch? I hear it’s spiked. We’d better get it before old Richards finds out.”
“Sure.”
As Bud left, Jenny looked around. The room was a swirl of pink and yellow and blue chiffon and taffeta, and rented prom suits. As she stood, Whit ambled over, a bit unsteady on his feet. “Want to dance?”
“Where’s your date?”
&nb
sp; “Powdering her nose. I think she had a few too many martinis.”
“Do you want me to see if she’s okay?”
“Not necessary. She’s got a school friend in with her. But thanks, Jenny.”
“Bud will be back soon.”
“He won’t mind. It’ll give him a chance to show off on the dance floor.”
Whit talked while they danced. “Looking forward to going to college?”
“Yes and no. I’ll miss this place.”
“Me too. I’ll miss Bud. We’ve been friends since the cradle. I love the guy.”
“Hey, what are you trying to do, steal my girl?”
Bud cut in, steadying Whit as he tapped him on the shoulder.
“I hope your date’s alright.”
“She’ll survive. I just have to get her back in one piece so her whiskey-swigging old man doesn’t come after me riding shotgun.”
As they whirled about the dance floor, Bud adeptly leading, the music, Bud’s cheek smooth against hers, one arm securely around her, the other pulling her close, Jenny felt a feeling she had never felt before, but the moment ended. The band took a break.
“Let’s drink our punch. I put it on that table I staked out over there.”
As Jenny felt the warmth of the alcohol, a bitter taste over the sweetness of the fruit, Bud put his hand on hers. “What do you say we blow this place early? Whit’s gonna take his date home and meet up with us after and Dotty and Jason will join us at some good haunts he knows in Geneva. Then, we can find a breakfast spot and watch the sun come up.”
“Okay, if it doesn’t involve a lot of alcohol. I promised Mother.”
“I’ll take care of you, Jenny. I won’t get drunk.”
As the band returned, Bud led Jenny back to the dance floor. As the music played, the glow of the earlier moment returned. Bud held her close or twirled her about with the skill of a dance master, earning nearly as much admiration from their classmates as he did on the football field. As the band neared “Good Night Ladies,” the prom finale since the school had opened, Bud grabbed her hand, hastening her out the door as he picked up her wrap, a gift from Aunt Gert, the same white, crocheted shawl she had worn to her own prom.
