Afternoons with Emily

by Rose MacMurray

  “I will be this fall.”

  “Do you know what Austin said at Kate’s wedding? He told me, ‘I knew Miranda would be a beauty, but not this soon!’ ” She placed her glass of syllabub on the side table and gave me an appraising look. “He’s right. You have blossomed. But it’s something more than that. And you look as if something has changed, something has happened. Has it?”

  I nodded, but I wouldn’t say more — not to her, not to anyone. Not while I was still trying to understand the changes in myself.

  “Have a good summer, my dear. And don’t forget what a valuable friend you have been to our family. The Dickinsons always acknowledge their debts!”

  As the hot days stretched on, suspended in summer, I felt embraced in a drowsy interlude between two stages of my life. My childhood was over; my years as a young woman were almost under way. I found I was restless, aimless, bored without school. I even missed Lolly. Her previous pique over my resistance to her orders had vanished as quickly as it had appeared; we had finished the term amicably. But she and her family had gone to the shore to visit her married brother, and without her as the social linchpin, the rest of the “set” scattered.

  I still visited Emily almost every week, but now I spent the whole afternoon at The Homestead. Gradually, the gap between us narrowed. She stayed her same unique age, whatever it was, but I was gaining on her.

  I took the cars to Springfield every two weeks or so during the summer to spend a night or two with the Howlands. I loved having Kate so close, so easy to reach. Aunt Helen visited often as well, which softened the blow of Kate’s departure. Kate had settled into her little house, among her wedding presents and Aunt Helen’s furniture.

  I helped her paint the kitchen pale yellow; then we dug a vegetable garden together. The tiny apple trees that bloomed for her wedding were promising real fruit by autumn.

  “I never knew I could hold so much happiness,” Kate told me. “I’m afraid it will spill! I wake up knowing I have a whole lifetime ahead — years and years to love Ethan and be with him.”

  Kate practiced two hours every morning and often sang for Ethan after dinner. They were planning a musical soiree for September. Kate had been engaged as a soloist in the Presbyterian church and was learning new music for the services. I warmed my hands at her joy.

  July vanished, August lumbered along; Amherst was a dusty green sameness, and I longed for the clarity and brilliance of autumn. My Greek studies were not enough to quench my restlessness, nor could books calm my ardor. I imagined I was a lady shut up in a tower until autumn came, when my knight would return from afar and release me from this exquisite torrent of new feeling.

  The Austin Dickinsons had seen what the others had not. I had crossed a threshold; I had fallen in love.

  Book VI

  AMHERST

  1859–1861

  September approached, and I grew uneasy about Davy’s return. Although we had exchanged many letters, we had met face-to-face only that one evening. Did I imagine our extraordinary harmony? I felt as Emily must, preferring to keep a man at arm’s length rather than to confront his male reality. I considered confiding in Kate, even in Lolly, who had more experience with beaux than I, but finally decided to brave Davy’s upcoming return on my own. I found myself sleepless some nights, and I wrote drafts of letters to him confessing my fears, none of which survived the next morning’s breakfast fire.

  Then Davy arrived unannounced a week early — “to buy my books and make friends with the library!” — and when he called, we chattered like old friends reunited. All my nerves had been unwarranted. We had learned so much about each other from our letters that unease was impossible. I was secretly pleased that Father was out when Davy came to call. I didn’t want to share this time of becoming reacquainted with Davy with anyone, and I knew Father would entice his new student into his study and regale him with tales of Aristophanes. Aunt Helen, after helping me with a tray of lemonade and ginger biscuits, left us alone in the front parlor.

  “I love the color you turn in summer.” Davy smiled.

  I wondered what color I’d become now as I flushed with pleasure at the compliment. I studied his handsome face, enjoying his open smile, his smooth forehead, his resonant voice. I watched his hand reach for a glass of lemonade, admiring those elegant fingers. He was exactly as I had remembered him; I hoped I was living up to his own memories of me.

  “I’ll bring my Ovid next time,” he suggested. “Is four thirty all right, on weekdays?”

  “Four thirty would be fine,” I replied. I took a sip of lemonade. “Except Mondays, of course, when I visit Emily.”

  Davy nodded. “Yes, ‘the myth.’ Your letters made her sound fascinating.”

  “Did they?” I wondered what interested Davy, what details had caught his attention. Then I had the unworthy concern that Emily was more fascinating than I. I pushed the anxiety aside to concentrate on my guest.

  “Amherst is a lovely town,” Davy said, standing. He crossed to the large windows and gazed out. “It will be a pleasure to live here.” He turned to face me. “I’m going to find a place on the river where we can swim next spring.”

  Next spring? I realized then that Davy was not concerned about next week only; he was planning our whole year — and perhaps even beyond that.

  Aunt Helen returned to the parlor “to retrieve the tray,” but both Davy and I knew it was her subtle way to suggest our visit come to an end. On leaving, Davy took my hand and repeated what he had written at the close of every letter: “I intend to be a part of your life.”

  The door closed behind him. I spun around and leaned against it, needing the solid wood to hold me up. Crossing my arms over my chest, I took in a deep breath. Life is about to become very different, I realized. I was eager to face those changes.

  I spent an afternoon with Emily before the academy opened, and I was flattered to learn that she had given a great deal of thought to my last two years of school.

  “You must use this time to the fullest, Miranda,” she advised. “It comes only once. My years at the academy were the CREAM of my life and the only mental training I ever had. You must not waste a second!”

  “I promise,” I vowed solemnly, barely hiding my amusement at her intensity. “I will use my time wisely.”

  “I’m serious,” she protested, but with a smile. “Now — I have decided you must drop geography and botany, which you can pursue on your own. You must take as much Greek and Latin as you can, and history — you should be SATURATED in history. And take every course there is in grammar and USAGE, in order to speak the language of the greatest minds, the greatest men.”

  I was touched that she was so concerned about my studies. “Emily, I truly value your interest.” I tucked my feet under me, curling up on the settee. “Who were your best teachers?” I was curious about what Emily found valuable, now that she had some distance from her school days.

  “Professor Hitchcock,” she responded without hesitation. “The greatest natural scientist of his day — and a president of the college.”

  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 relatio
nship 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.