Afternoons with Emily (29 page)

I nodded, recognizing the name.

“I attended his geology classes at the college, with other advanced academy students,” Emily continued. “He made me aware
of the natural DESIGNS that surround us in life — in a rock or a pine needle. He was a dinosaur expert too, but that didn’t
APPLY. My other Mentor was Noah Webster, who was also a founder of both the academy and the college. He is my greatest resource.
His dictionary and my Congregational hymnal are my only reference books.”

I thought over the curriculum Emily had planned out for me and was pleased. “No mother could have advised me as well,” I told
her.

“That’s true.” She accepted my gratitude complacently. “This aspect of being a mother would have been very pleasing to me.
But, oh, the rest of it.” She shuddered dramatically. “I could little tolerate the ways of a small person, always needing,
always demanding, always THERE! It’s better I get my motherhood in tiny helpings, like today.”

As always, the maples blazed up to light my birthday. Emily gave me a romantic folder, printed in lilies of the valley and
tied with green ribbons, “for your correspondence.” This made me feel guilty. I really must tell her about Davy very soon,
I scolded myself.

Davy brought me an anthology of Latin lyrics, with charming engravings of the poets and their artfully undraped ladies, picnicking
among columns. He had been invited for my birthday dinner, which made turning sixteen all the more poignant.

The Howlands also came for my birthday dinner, and I was distressed to see that Kate was looking unwell. She gave me a pale,
odd smile. Aunt Helen seated her and called me into the kitchen. As I followed her, Davy and Ethan began a discussion of Greek
and Roman architecture, and Father joined in the moment he entered the dining room.

“I suppose you’ve guessed,” Aunt Helen said once she shut the kitchen door. “Kate’s baby will be born in March.”

“But it’s too soon!” I protested. I knew I shouldn’t have been so surprised. After all, married people do have babies. But
my Kate? Now? “She is just starting with her music in Springfield,” I said.

“I feel the same way, but we won’t tell Kate.” Aunt Helen sighed. “I was hoping they’d have a little time together first.
Her music will have to wait till it suits the baby, I’m afraid.”

I carried in the platter of vegetables, and Aunt Helen brought in the roast. I noticed that Ethan, who had always clearly
adored Kate, was even more solicitous toward her. Neither Father nor Davy seemed aware of any change in Kate.

As always, Davy was at ease and charming. I was pleased to see Kate’s obvious approval, and Ethan and Father’s interest in
Davy’s ideas and opinions. Although he was younger than both of them, they still treated him as an equal; his intelligence
and presence demanded it.

After dinner, we opened the French champagne Davy had brought with his parents’ compliments, and there were toasts to my birthday.
Ethan was gallant, and Kate and Aunt Helen were simple and genuine. Then it was my father’s turn.

“To Miranda, who grew up when I wasn’t looking,” he toasted me. I heard an edge to this, but I couldn’t define it. “In fact,
I almost missed the transformation entirely.”

I felt heat in my cheeks. I was confused and embarrassed by my father’s toast.

Davy pressed my hand under the table. He rose and locked his silver eyes on mine. “To Miranda, the girl I admire with all
my heart.” It was the perfect reply to Father’s flippancy, and as he lifted his glass and drank to me, our eyes never left
each other’s deep gaze.

Then his cheeks tinged pink. He lowered his glass and glanced around the table. “Many happy returns of the day,” he finished,
sitting back down. I dropped my eyes to my lap, my lips curling unbidden into a smile. My heart reverberated with the words,
the knowledge: Davy loved me.

Aunt Helen stood and began to clear the table, chatting with Kate brightly about Catherine Beecher’s latest article on housewifery
in
Harper’s.
“Jos,” she said to Father, “would you help me fetch fresh well water? I’d like to soak the pots.”

I was grateful for her graceful distraction.

With a sly grin at Kate, Ethan offered to show Davy the temple and to tell him all about our struggles with its infamous “rock.”
Davy seemed relieved and followed Ethan eagerly, leaving me alone with Kate.

Kate was breathless with curiosity and questions. “Miranda, what haven’t you told me? Did you know what he was going to say?”

“No, I didn’t,” I admitted. I grinned at her. “But I liked hearing it with all of you here. It was good for Father.”

“Well, he’ll certainly have to admit you are grown-up now,” Kate said. Her green eyes searched mine. “Are you . . . engaged?”

“No,” I said. I had not thought that far into the future, relishing the present. “We haven’t had time.”

Davy came to say good night, and I noticed a small coolness toward him from Father. Father too would need time to get used
to my new situation.

“I know I should have waited,” Davy said. We stood under the portico, saying good night. “My toast was something I should
have said to you alone. But your father made you sound so childish — somehow . . . not ready for this.”

“But I am ready, Davy,” I assured him. “I’m glad you said it and that you said it in front of my family.”

Davy gently tucked a curl behind my ear. “Whenever I say, ‘I intend to be a part of your life,’ I think of us as being engaged
already, but I’ve never really asked you — have I?”

I ducked my head and bit my lip, anticipating with pleasure what was about to come next. “Not exactly . . .”

“Then it’s time I proposed properly, Miranda.” He took my hands in his, and I marveled at their strength. “Miranda, will you
do me the honor of becoming my wife? I will do all in my power to make our life together happy and filled with adventure.”

I felt tears spring to my eyes. “Yes,” I whispered. And as Kate said, we were really and truly, although secretly, engaged.
We would keep it a secret, both knowing what storms would ensue.

Even so, I was faint with incredulous joy as he swept me into his arms, laughing. Somehow we had skipped all the usual doubts
and vacillations of young lovers and had reached the serene acceptance of a pledged couple. Could it be that already, like
Kate and Ethan, we had a shared lifetime ahead?

That night I did
not
write to Miss Adelaide. I didn’t want to put her in a position of knowing something so important that needed to be kept from
the rest of my family. Not even Kate could know — not yet. I had to go on with my life as though nothing had happened. My
letters to Miss Adelaide and to Mr. Harnett for the next few weeks were carefully all about my studies. With school starting,
I had a good deal to relate.

I had taken Emily’s good advice about my curriculum and dropped geography and botany. Instead I was taking ancient history
(which involved a lot of geography, I found) and doing two independent study reports. I was the first academy student who
had ever been allowed to work on two — and before my senior year. Just to keep me modest, the headmaster reminded me that
I was still a year behind in math.

My first report was to be on early childhood education. This subject had been very much on my mind ever since I started attending
a proper school. I could not help but notice that my many years with Mr. Harnett gave me not only a solid grounding of knowledge
but also a passionate eagerness to learn. I had not seen this quality in my classmates. What did Mr. Harnett and I do together
that was different or right?

To research this, I would spend an hour a day helping and observing in the youngest classes in my school. Also, I would take
a full day here and there at the primary schools in nearby towns and villages. I would go all over the valley, taking the
cars alone. Father thought I was grown-up enough for this, I observed.

My second report, a history of Greek drama, would be the result of my studies with Emily; she was pleased and proud. My ancient-history
teacher, Mr. Shouse, taught at both the academy and the college, so I accompanied him to his college lectures on the Greek
dramatists. I made myself invisible in class and saved my questions till later, at Mr. Shouse’s request.

When my new schedule seemed to mesh with Davy’s college classes, Aunt Helen announced rules for our studying together. These
appeared full grown, in armor, like Athena stepping from Zeus’s forehead.

“Two afternoons a week in the dining room — at opposite ends of the table. And Davy may come to supper Wednesday, and you
may work together until nine thirty. If Miranda cannot maintain her grades, then we shall have to reconsider.”

This seemed fair; we did not press for more. We smiled secretly when Aunt Helen passed the dining room and looked in. She
saw us, heads bowed over our work, each in a semicircle of books and papers — and ten feet of mahogany between us! This was
very far from the romantic tryst my classmates imagined.

Lolly and her crowd were critical of my changed life. They disapproved of my relationship with Davy.

“People say you’re much too young!” Lolly lectured, repeating, no doubt, the words of her parents. “Besides, why settle with
one boy when you should have many beaux? That way you can make a more considered choice when it’s time to think about marriage.”

Alice Fay and Melinda Carlyle nodded their agreement. Lolly was teaching them “feminine wiles,” and they were eager students.
I had witnessed Lolly flirting and heard rumors of several smitten swains, while she held herself aloof. It was an interesting
game to observe but not one I would want to play. How much more they would disapprove if they knew that Davy and I were already
secretly engaged.

But Davy wasn’t the only wedge between me and my schoolmates. They resented my new academic status, sniffing disdainfully
at my incessant thirst for education, at my — to them — overzealous academic undertakings. So the disguise no longer worked:
I was defrocked, seen to be what I had tried to hide. But at least I wouldn’t have to keep switching masks.

When I felt I could be discreet with my feelings, I wrote Miss Adelaide, telling her I had a beau and describing all of Davy’s
wonderful qualities and the manner in which we got to know each other. “All the letters to you,” I told her, “relating both
the important and the inconsequential details of my life, prepared me for such a correspondence. I had learned already how
to be my most true self on paper; this only became more true in writing to Davy.”

Miss Adelaide’s letters came directly from her generous heart: “You deserve this joy. You must use every moment in harmony
and understanding; a true love grows with loving. I am happier than I can ever say — for you and for Davy. I want so many
good things for you, and they’re starting to happen already!”

I had dreaded the inevitable moment when Emily linked her imaginary affair with my real one. But Miss Lavinia Dickinson was
in Aunt Helen’s sewing group, where the village telegraph circulated all the Amherst news. When I decided to tell Emily about
Davy, around Halloween, I learned she had known about him for weeks. Miss Lavinia had discovered Davy’s complete biography
before he had even unpacked.

“I didn’t speak of it till you were ready,” Emily stated. “Such matters get bruised and crushed in the telling. I do not discuss
my Master with anyone but you — and him, of course.”

I appreciated her sensitivity; I had been concerned that she would have seen my reluctance to share the news of Davy with
her as disloyal secrecy. I was curious about the status of her “relationship” with this Master; she hadn’t mentioned him in
some time. “Do you hear from your Master these days?”

The Dickinsons had brought on a hired girl, Nancy, whom Emily trusted to mail her letters now — so I did not know to whom
she wrote. This suited us both. Emily didn’t have to wait for my Monday visit to send a letter — she could be voluminous with
her correspondence when the mood struck her. I, never comfortable with my role as “spy,” had less awkward responsibility.
But I took my promise to Mrs. Austin seriously, so I paid careful attention to whatever Emily chose to reveal about her latest
passions.

“He is my SHEPHERD, my MENTOR; he counsels me,” Emily replied without answering my actual question. “It is a raising of the
spirit merely to write him. Sometimes I do, just to feel we are in touch — and then I don’t mail the letter.” She collected
some used papers that were strewn about her rug and fed them to her busy little stove.

I felt relieved by this news. The letters were obviously becoming less frequent. Mrs. Austin could be reassured. Perhaps Emily’s
interest was transforming from ardent lover to ardent student, far more appropriate roles for the recluse and the married
minister to play. As a
muse,
the Master was not the threat he could be as a
man.

Emily was cheerful today, with the maples’ October brilliance lighting her white walls. There were some bowls of blooming
narcissus on her windowsills; I leaned to breathe the scent.

“Miranda, tell me, do you and your beau exchange many sentimental letters?”

“Not really,” I replied. “We see each other so often now that we don’t write anymore. Last summer, it seemed more important
to really get to know each other. Our letters were more like autobiographies, I think.”

“Well, that’s not my STYLE of letter!” She was impatient at this. “A letter should convey feeling, not DATA. Here is MY sort
of love letter.” She handed me what was evidently a draft, for I saw many crossings out on the penciled pages. And I read
the salutation and winced.

Master.

If you saw a bullet hit a Bird — and he told you he was’nt shot — you might weep at his courtesy, but you would certainly
doubt his word.

One drop more from the gash that stains your Daisy’s bosom — then would you
believe?
Thomas’ faith in Anatomy, was stronger than his faith in faith. God made me — [Sir] Master — I did’nt be — myself. I don’t
know how it was done. He built the heart in me — Bye and bye it outgrew me — and like the little mother — with the big child
— I got tired holding him. I heard of a thing called “Redemption” — which rested men and women. You remember I asked you for
it — you gave me something else. I forgot the Redemption [in the Redeemed — I did’nt tell you for a long time, but I knew
you had altered me — I] and was tired — no more . . .