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Book 1Nineteen
One hot morning in the middle of May, Lucy was putting fresh lavender bags in her bureau drawers. Lifting a pile of muslin underclothes, she came upon an unopened letter--a letter from Haverford, from Pauline! She laughed, but she was ashamed, really! It had come a week ago, when she was just beginning to practise in Sebastian`s studio, trying to feel at her ease there, and she was afraid of anything that might dishearten her. Pauline`s letters often had that effect, so she tucked this one out of sight for the moment,--and then forgot all about it. She thought, as she took it up and looked at it, that perhaps she hadn`t made a mistake in forgetting! The letter was thick and bulky (a bad sign), and the handwriting on the envelope looked, even more than usual, like eggs rolling downhill. Pauline had inherited so many German characteristics--what a pity she couldn`t have inherited a German script!
As Lucy opened the letter some newspaper clippings fell out. Pauline announced the theme at once. Harry Gordon was married! Married to Miss Arkwright of St. Joe, and they had started for Alaska on their wedding trip. Everyone in Haverford was "talking." People thought he had treated Lucy very badly. It was a great shock to her old friends. They had always believed his "intentions" were serious. They were asking Pauline what had happened, and she didn`t know what to say. What did Lucy wish her to say, "under the circumstances"?
Lucy tore the letter to bits and threw it into the waste-basket. So Harry thought he would show her, did he? Such haste must have inconvenienced Miss Arkwright a trifle; but that wouldn`t bother Harry, if he had his revenge. He must have given her about a week`s notice! The announcement in the St. Joseph Gazette said they were to live in Haverford! That would certainly be dull for the bride. She crumpled the clipping and threw it after the letter.
"It would be a joke," she said to herself, "if Harry has gone and married Miss Arkwright more on my account than her own."
She laughed, but all the same that announcement left a bitter taste in her mouth. As she got ready to walk over to the studio, she was thinking that she had lost an old friend; and she had told him the kind of falsehood that made her think poorly of herself.
When she reached the Arts Building the hall porter`s smile, hand to cap, changed the colour of her thoughts. George, the elevator man, held his car back to tell her there was a storm on its way from Duluth. The attendants about the place were devoted to Sebastian, and they admired Lucy. That was pleasant. They liked to see her come and go; so many of the studios were empty now.
Lucy hung her hat and jacket exactly where she used to put her winter things. Giuseppe had left one of Sebastian`s rain-coats hanging in the entry hall, and a collection of walking-sticks in the rack. She went into the music room, opened the windows, and stood breathing in the fresh air and looking out at the glittering blue water.
She had not begun to come here at once after Sebastian went away,-- not, indeed, until she had a note from him, written on the boat and sent back by the tug. He began:
"It is eleven o`clock here. That means that you have just got to the studio and are opening the piano. I shall listen to hear that you do not begin lazily. I still feel more there than here."
An hour after that letter came, she used her latch-key for the first time. Not for a moment had the place seemed forlorn or deserted. To her it was full of the man himself. All her companionship with him was shut up there, and the future was beginning to live there,--the future in which she couldn`t help believing. She came here by his wish; the quiet and comfort of the place were his kindness. She was thus lifted up above the sweating city streets because of his concern for her. Those ardent early- summer days, with heat that still had an edge of freshness, were glorious days for work. She had never had such a piano at her command, or so definite a purpose to direct her.
The weeks flew by, but Lucy flew faster than they. The heavy July heat made no drain on her vitality. This was the first summer she had spent in the city, and she found it stimulating; no hotter than Haverford, and God knew how much less dull! She seemed to be carried along on a rushing river, and was constantly saluting beautiful things on the shore. She couldn`t stop to see them very clearly, but they were there, flashing on the right or the left. And when the morning was over, and she was tired, she was glad to creep home through the heat and do her darning or put ribbons in her nightgowns.
Auerbach had very few pupils in the summer months, and he gave her a great deal of time. He liked to have her with him, and urged her to spend her week-ends with his family. He had a house of his own out on the South Shore, and a garden. From the first green of spring, he rose very early and worked for two hours in his garden before he went into the city to his classes. His wife got up and made his breakfast, long before the children or the housemaid were awake. She told Lucy that as you got older there wasn`t so much you could do for your husband any more, and it was nice to give him a good breakfast while you had the house to yourself.
Auerbach inquired after Harry Gordon occasionally. He liked the young man, and he had hopes for Lucy in that direction. She never told him of Harry`s marriage. She was hurt, though she pretended to be scornful. He hadn`t really a right to marry; he had belonged for years to Lucy Gayheart!
One Sunday morning they were sitting in the shade under Auerbach`s grape arbour. Auerbach, in his shirt-sleeves, began to question her.
"I think you have changed your mind, Lucy. You would rather go on with the kind of work you do with Clement than teach?"
As Lucy made no reply, he continued.
"You must remember that Clement is very exceptional. Most singers are not interesting to work with, and they don`t want to pay much. For the platform they always have a man."
Still Lucy said nothing. She bit her lip and looked out of the end of the arbour at the yellow squash blossoms. Auerbach smiled.
"Perhaps you have another plan, eh? The big Westerner? That would please me very well."
"You are mistaken, Mr. Auerbach. That is only a friendship."
"Maybe so. But I wouldn`t be sorry to see it come to something else. In the musical profession there are many disappointments. A nice house and garden in a little town, with money enough not to worry, a family--that`s the best life."
"You think so because you live in a city. Family life in a little town is pretty deadly. It`s being planted in the earth, like one of your carrots there. I`d rather be pulled up and thrown away."
Auerbach shook his head. "No, you wouldn`t. I`ve heard young people talk like that before. You will learn that to live is the first thing."
Lucy asked him if there were not more than one way of living.
"Not for a girl like you, Lucy; you are too kind. Even for women with great talent and great ambition--I don`t know. Some have good success, but I don`t envy them."
The next morning, when Lucy opened the windows in the studio and looked across at the Lake, she told herself that she wasn`t going out to the Auerbachs` any more. It dampened her spirits. He was a heavy, thorough, German music-teacher, and there he stopped.
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