Authors: Leen Elle
Gigantic white tents, billowing structures that rippled in the wind, were set up in the fields of countryside behind the red-brick dormitories. There, hundreds, perhaps thousands, of pieces of artwork were set up on easels and tables to be sold. The students' work, not quite as developed as the experienced artists', was sold rather cheaply, while some of the most talented artists present were able to exchange their work for more than a thousand dollars apiece.
Inside the school, in the display rooms and dining hall and parlors and library, artwork was set up as well. But this art was most certainly not for sale. It was the accomplishments of some of the most famous artists our world has ever seen. Men and woman, never speaking more loudly than a whisper, walked by slowly to admire it, wondering which acclaimed artisans' work would adorn the walls this year.
Seminars and speeches were given in the auditorium, educating the listeners in all sorts of topics ranging from the history of pottery to the different types of paintbrushes available to the most famous works of the Italian renaissance.
The festival always beheld a magnificent display of work and thousands of people came to see. The school's students made up a large portion of the guests, but because the Institute didn't want their festival to become too crowded with only students and their acquaintances, each student was given only two tickets of entrance- one for themselves and one for a friend.
Those guests who were so consumed with the world of art that even after two weeks of a marvelous festival they were eager for more headed over to Norrance, a town north of Clarendon. It took nearly two days to arrive there by carriage, but it was worth it. Norrance was the home of many talented sculptors and potters as well as other patrons of the arts- poets, writers, actors, playwrights, musicians, and craftsmen. The streets were flooded with eager musicians, desperate to share their songs, and proud poets, desperate to share their words. At night the many theaters were flooded with guests, listening to talented actors performing the work of playwrights past as well as the newest playwrights around, and art auctions were a common occurrence. In
all the
nation, not a town nor province could compare to the brilliance of Norrance's museums and theaters. It was the mecca of artisans.
And Brook, although he'd been leaving so near Norrance for months, had been waiting until the festival to visit it. He couldn't wait to go. An entire month of art- the idea rang through his ears, echoing in his mind everywhere he went. It sounded perfect. It sounded like heaven. And he would be leaving in just two days time. Only one conflict stood in his way- Who should he take with him?
*****
The day was a cold one and anyone who chose to leave the warm comforts of their home to head outdoors was forced to
dressed
warmly or they would quickly catch pneumonia in the freezing winds and bitter cold. But no weather could keep Ethan and the St. James girls inside on a Saturday.
When Brook arrived that afternoon at the Lindsey's home, he was first greeted by Ethan, Nora, and Gail, who were engaged in a rather competitive and almost rowdy game of croquet in the front yard. From there his eye traveled to Sara, who sat lounging on a wicker chair upon the porch- her wool-socked feet in the air, her hair pulled back, and her nose stuck in a book- and Emy, sitting upon the front steps with a thickly knitted scarf of violet encircling her neck and the beginnings of a quilt to keep her occupied. And finally, he caught sight of Mary in the window of the kitchen, her sleeves rolled up and her hands stained orange and covered in seeds as she helped Betsy prepare a pumpkin pie for supper.
Each of the girls, as well as Ethan, wore their thickest coats and warmest mittens, as well as scarves and hats and earmuffs. One might have thought them all crazy for spending the day outdoors when a fire sat upon the hearth just inside the parlor, but they were enjoying themselves far too much to go back inside.
"Hey there, Brook!" called Ethan, "Care to join us?"
"We could use a fourth player," agreed Nora.
But Brook shook his head, "Sorry. Thought I'd head inside first though, get a little something to drink.
Coffee, perhaps.
My nose is so cold it's bound to fall off if I don't thaw it out a little."
Gail laughed, "Too cold for you?"
"No, no. But you might be a little frozen too if you'd ridden all the way here on horseback! The wind's the killer. Turned me to ice," he shivered, "Because you know it's quite a long way from Clarendon. Not just a little ride through the park."
"Oh, go in then!"
jested
Ethan, "We never wanted you anyway!"
"Fine!
I'm sure Betsy and Mary will be happy to see me! And I'd rather be eating their pie dough than playing with your silly wooden sticks!"
Brook headed up to the front door, tipping his hat to Sara and Emy as he did so, and entered the house, rejoicing in its warmth. He'd only just greeted his aunt and Mary and gotten himself a cup of coffee when Sara and Emy joined him, dropping their coats and scarves at the door before taking a seat in the kitchen.
"You poor boy," cooed Betsy, petting his dark hair, "Why in the world did you ride to Brighton when it's so cold out? If you're not careful you're going to get sick. Drink up and let me get you something to eat."
He really was a sorry sight. A ride to the Lindsey's from Clarendon was nearly a full day's ride on horseback. Brook had been riding through the bitter winds for almost eight hours and he looked it. His hair was sticking up in all directions, an effect of both the wind and his winter hat, and his cheeks and nose had turned as crimson as cherries. Although he'd taken off his hat, he didn't dare remove his coat, scarf, or mittens just yet. He was still shivering like mad.
"Want a blanket or something?" offered Sara, "Or we could go sit in the parlor, by the fire, if you want."
"No, no. I like it in here," he assured, his teeth chattering, "That pie smells wonderful, Mary, and the
oven's
nice and hot."
Emy was still working on her quilt, her needle gliding smoothly and quickly through the fabric, "If this quilt were done you could have it," she said, "But sadly, it's only a few squares big at the moment."
Brook smiled, "Well thanks anyway. I'm sure it'll be very nice once you've finished."
Emy blushed and returned to her work. Even the smallest compliment set her cheeks aglow.
Betsy set some bread and butter before Brook and Mary slipped him a bit of pie dough. Before long, he'd taken off his mittens and scarf. And then his coat came off as well. His cheeks returned to their normal paleness and his nose gradually lost
it's
color, though it still retained a soft pink hue. His teeth stopped chattering and he no longer shivered, the warmth of the house finally taking its effects on him. In no time at all he was back to normal and playing a game of cards with Sara at the kitchen table.
Once the family had eaten dinner and dined on Mary's delicious pumpkin pie, they separated out into their own areas of the house.
Betsy, Mary, and Emy went into the parlor with their sewing supplies and were soon joined by Sara, carrying several new books from the Lindsey's library. John took Nora and Gail into the library, where they all sat down upon the braided rug and were taught how to play backgammon. And the two cousins, Ethan and Brook, sat in the kitchen drinking coffee and scraping leftovers out of the pie pan as they played a game of poker.
"So why'd you come all the way up here anyway?" Ethan asked, flipping through his cards before drawing one from the deck, "You don't usually make a habit of stopping by on Thursday afternoons. Don't you have classes tomorrow you've got to get back for?"
"No, the school's closed tomorrow. They're getting ready for the festival so all classes
have
been canceled."
"Oh, I almost forgot about that. You've been talking about it for months though. When is it?
Saturday?"
Brook nodded, "That's why I came. I've got two tickets.
One for me and one for a guest."
"Why I'm flattered, dear cousin, but you know I'm really not a fan of the arts. I just can't understand all the silly splotches of color or why anyone would pay hundreds of dollars for some paint on canvas."
"Well then you should be happy that I've chosen not to bring you along. I know you'd be bored out of your mind and you'd bring me down as well, I'll bet."
"Then who are you planning on bringing?"
Brook shrugged, "That's why I came. I need to decide."
"One of the girls?"
"I suppose so. I feel bad only taking one though. I wish I could bring everyone along."
"Of course."
"I was thinking of asking Sara, but now I'm not so sure. Do you think I should?"
"I don't know. Do you want to?"
"Yes, of course. Of course I do. We've always been close friends. Well, not always but for quite a long time. And I'm sure it'd be fun to spend a few weeks with her- We really never grow tired of one another. But I'm just not sure if she'd even want to, if I should even ask. You know, because of the whole Charlie thing . . . Has she told you about all of that?"
"No, but Mary has.
Terrible pity.
Mary says they seem perfect for one another. She was disappointed to say it though. She was still dreaming that perhaps you and Sara would end up together as she'd always hoped, and I can't blame her for it."
"Well you should be happy to hear that we're engaged then."
Ethan's eyes widened, "You're engaged? But you . . . I never knew . . . Brook, when did . . ."
"Calm down, calm down," Brook chuckled, "It's only a last resort. If we're both not engaged by the time we're thirty-five then we're getting married. So you really needn't mark your calendars for it or anything. We've got quite a few years to go . . . But right now I'm really not sure if leaving her sisters and going to the festival and to Norrance would be the right thing to do. It'll be nearly a month, you know. Three weeks- half of those spent at the festival and half spent in Norrance. She's
been seeming
so solemn lately that I'm not sure how much fun she'd have. She's only thinking of Charlie, I'll bet. And who can blame her? But I don't know if the art festival would be the perfect thing for cheering her up or if she'd only end up bored and thinking of Charlie."
"If she doesn't come, who else would you want to take?"
"Well, I did consider you for a moment, but I didn't think you'd like it much. Plus, I wouldn't want to separate you and Mary. Then there's Nora and Gail. Nora, I don't really feel I know as well as the other girls, and I don't think Gail can appreciate art much either. So that leaves . . ."
"Emy," Ethan interjected, "Have you considered her?"
"Of course I have.
A lot.
And honestly, I . . . I think she'd probably be the best choice. I mean, if you'd ask me that three months ago back in Laraford I would have completely ruled out Emy. I would have said she was so reserved and so shy that she'd just be embarrassed that I even asked and I'd just feel uncomfortable the entire time. But, I don't know . . . She is awfully sweet. And she'd probably like the art a lot more than Sara. Besides literature, I don't even know if Sara likes much else art-related. But Emy does. I know she does. That first evening they arrived she showed me how educated she was in the area of French artists and, since then, she's always shown interest in my sketchbook. She's even started doing some drawings herself. They're not bad really. I have no doubt she'd enjoy herself. I'm sure of it."