Authors: Leen Elle
At the other end of the table, Mary, Betsy, and Nora were involved in an animated discussion about the details of the wedding, with Betsy bubbling in happiness as she listened to all of Mary's plans. Ethan, meanwhile, was relating all the hidden secrets of the countryside to a very interested Gail. He told her of cool ponds surrounded by pine trees and stone walls encircling pretty gardens of wildflowers and even of a small, abandoned cabin located way out in a forest of aspen trees. John sat silently, as he often did, enjoying the newfound liveliness of his table and adding in a comment, every so often, to Ethan and Gail's discussion. And in the center of the table, Brook and Sara were getting reunited again, while Emy listened quietly.
"How was the ship you traveled over on? Have a good trip?"
"Yes, very nice," said Sara, sipping some of her tea, "It wasn't anything huge, but we didn't mind. We were just thankful to find a ride over here!"
"Well I'm glad you finally arrived. Aunt Betsy's been talking nonstop about how excited she is to meet you for weeks. And besides," he gave a sly smile, "I'm in need of a new model."
Sara giggled, "We're not going to start that again, are we? I've told you time and time again that I hate it when . . ."
"When I draw you," finished Brook, "Yes, yes.
I know. Oh but you do make such a lovely model. Especially when you're caught up in a novel and don't even notice me. Did you get to read much on the trip?"
"Of course.
Constantly.
And I've heard there's quite a library here that I look forward to seeing."
Brook nodded, taking a big bite out of his bread, "Uncle John's quite a reader himself. You two should get along fantastically."
And as Brook spoke, John finally decided that perhaps it was time he entered the conversation as well. He turned to Sara and asked her what her favorite books were, which she replied to with great enthusiasm and then returned the question back to him. He assured her that he would show her the library tomorrow and then began to describe it with a sparkle in his eye.
Thus, Sara had left Brook without anyone to talk to. And since Emy was sitting so modestly at his side, it was only natural that he should direct a question towards her instead.
"How about you, Em?
Did you have a good voyage?"
Emy
nodded,
her voice soft, "Yes, I had a very nice time."
"I know Sara was caught up in her novels, but what did you do to keep yourself occupied?"
"Well, Mary and I often sewed together and we took care of the majority of the meals. Plus, the sailors were always there to keep us busy. They'd tell us stories of the sea life or teach us to fish or invite us to play a game of cards. With sixteen sailors aboard, the trip was never a bore."
Brook was slightly aghast. In all the years he'd spent in the company of the St. James sisters, he'd never heard more than a few sparse words at a time from Emy. To hear her speak so much more, in that sweet, subtle voice of hers, was both
an astonishment
and a joy.
He chuckled, "I'm sure, I'm sure."
Emy bit her lip rather nervously but asked, "And have you been enjoying yourself at school? Is it everything you hoped it would be?"
"That and more.
I've got classes in sketching and watercolor and sculpture and history. History can be a bit boring at times, the professor's very old and monotonous, but it is all very interesting. Right now we're learning about several famous French artists."
"Really?
Oh I love French art! Degas and Toulouse-Lautrec and Caillebotte and . . ."
Brook grinned, "I didn't know you knew so much about art. You've heard of Caillebotte?"
Emy laughed and nodded eagerly, "Of course.
His
La Rue de Paris: Temps de Pluie
is my favorite.
I've always dreamed of buying a copy and hanging it in my parlor when I marry."
"And you like Degas too? I shouldn't be surprised, with all his paintings of ballet dancers. He seems to be a favorite among light-footed women. Who else do you like?"
"Monet, of course, and Henri-Joseph Harpignies, he does such charming and simple work, and Breton and Cezanne. Oh, and Camille Pissarro too! He's surely one of my favorites. But it's just so hard to choose."
And so they talked. On and on, about French artists and Brook's school and how lovely it would be to paint the landscape of Brighton, with its rolling hills and aspen forests. Brook had never known what an amiable companion Emy could make, for she had always been so bashful before, and Emy had never known what a giant rush could run through one's heart when one was speaking with the man they adored.
Brighton was certainly as wonderful, if not more so, than the sisters had hoped. With a welcoming family, a splendid house, and the beautiful countryside, the ship and sailors were long wiped from their minds. But as soon as they
laid
down to rest that night, and their surroundings were hidden in the darkness, three of the sisters became miserable once more, thinking of the men they had lost.
One week had passed and the Lindsey home still hadn't lost any of its initial charm as Brighton headed into the cold days of November. Almost all the leaves had fallen to the ground, where they now blew about with the wind, and the trees were left as darkened outlines and shadows. The countryside gradually lost its brightness as the green grass faded into yellows and the flowers dried up and died, not able to bear the chilly temperatures. But no matter how the landscape changed, the girls still thought it looked beautiful. No variation could sway their opinions.
On this particular morning, the weather wasn't quite so cold as usual and it was actually a rather sunny day. Ethan, with Mary's arm hooked onto his elbow, led the way out to the hills where the Lindseys and the St. Jameses would spend their afternoon. Behind them, Nora and Sara walked, carrying books, gameboards,
a
deck of cards to waste the hours away with. Then
came
Brook and Emy, laden with paints, a canvas, and a basket filled with their lunch. And finally, lagging near the end of the group, Gail dragged her feet onward and continually picked up pieces of wild grass, braiding them with nimble fingers.
As they reached a suitable spot to settle for the afternoon, the seven young people sat down in the shade of a giant beech tree.
Nora quickly engaged Gail and Ethan in a game of cards while Mary started stitching the corners of a quilt and Sara stuck her nose into a book. Brook, leaning against the trunk of the tree, was sketching in his notebook and Emy sat quietly, watching him work from the side.
As he noticed her wondering eye, he glanced up with a smile, "May I ask what you find so interesting?"
Emy blushed, "Oh, nothing, nothing. I just . . . I like watching you draw."
"Could I ever tempt you to act as my model? Landscapes are easy compared to the proportions of the human body. For some reason, no matter what anyone else says, I always find that my sketches of people are just a smidgen off. And without Sara to agree to help and . . ."
Sara, her face hidden behind the pages of her novel, lowered the book slightly to reveal a raised eyebrow, "Oh the memories, Brook," she laughed, "Oh the memories."
"Years and years of torment," Brook smiled, reciting the words as though he was the narrator of a story.
"Not years and years!
Three, at the most.
I haven't known you for more than four."
". . . Hundreds of pleas and endless begging . . ."
"When there were so many others available to choose . . ."
". . . And yet, in the end . . ."
"It's uncomfortable to have someone staring at you for such a long time! Anyone can agree to it."
". . . The lovely young girl with sparkling eyes, a head full of dreams, and her nose in a book . . ."
"Well that's awfully nice of you to say, Brook, but I . . ."
". . . Maintains her firm stance and refuses, absolutely repulses at, the idea of posing as my muse when it's really a very simple task . . ."
"Your muse?
When have I ever been your muse . . .
"
"When?"
Brook gasped, placing a hand mockingly on his chest, "When, you ask? My dear, my darling, my love, the question is not when have you ever been my muse, but when have you ever
not
been my muse. For, my dear Sara," he took her hand, though she gave it unwillingly, "I shall never find a model with as much grace or charm or . . ."
Sara giggled, using her free hand to slap her book jokingly upon his head, "Oh quit it already, Brook!"
He laughed as well, but kissed her hand lightly, "For the memories and
fragments
of drawings which shall last a lifetime."
Sara giggled, "
Your
very welcome."
For a moment the two were silent again, listening as Ethan and Gail fought over whose turn it was in their game, and then Brook suddenly stood up. He brushed off his pants, set down his pencil, and offered a hand towards Sara, asking as he did so, "Would you like to join me for a short walk?"
To Emy's disappointment, Sara set down her book and took Brook's hand, letting him lift her to her feet. It wasn't often that Sara would willingly stop reading and Emy didn't like that she should choose to do so after a simple offer from Brook. She'd been mourning over her miseries since they'd arrived. Why did she have to choose now, this afternoon, to start smiling again and run off with Brook?
Picking up a small dandelion as they walked, Sara struggled to blow off all the flimsy, feathery seedlings. Brook watched her with an amused smile.
"I do hope
you're liking
Brighton so far," he said as they parted from the group, heading off a little ways to the side for privacy.
"Oh course," Sara huffed, losing her breath from so much blowing, "How could I not?"
"I'm glad you think so. I've become quite partial to the town myself. Pity I have to spend so much time in Clarendon for school."
Sara didn't reply, but picked up two more dandelions from beside her feet.
"It was awfully hard to wait for you all to arrive," continued Brook, watching her carefully, "Even with my studies to keep me busy I couldn't help thinking of you and your sisters and if you would arrive quickly and safely. And you should have seen Ethan. He was a nervous wreck the entire time. Always worrying about the new house and whether Mary would like it and how you girls would like Brighton and whether the sailors were kind to you and if you would arrive in Brighton safely and . . . and . . . boy, was he nervous. I'm just glad everything turned out so well. I was afraid the poor boy might kill
himself
if it didn't."
Taking a break from her weeds, Sara replied, "Mary was awfully scared as well, I think. Scared but excited. I'm just glad they're finally together and happy. There's nothing more wonderful to see than a couple as happy as Ethan and Mary."