In the Great Green Room

by Amy Gary

  She used the quiet hours to read in the family’s large library. The Kelly green of the golf course outside its windows blended smoothly into the same shade of green on the walls in the calm, quiet room. She read a memoir of a nurse in the Great War and wondered if she would have been as courageous in the same circumstances. She also read a biography of Robert E. Lee, then letters of her ancestors who fought with him. She found wrenching letters from her grandfather, who fought on the side of the Union in the Civil War, to his brother, a Confederate officer. She studied the family scrapbooks and read her grandparents’ journals. There was a streak of boldness that coursed through her family’s blood. Rules, one ancestor said, were made for people too afraid to bust them. This inspired Margaret. She, too, had a sweeping style, and conventional thoughts weren’t for her, she decided. She wanted to make her own mark on the world. She was headed to the state her ancestors once called home, and she was going to make herself worthy of her distinguished family.

  * * *

  On her last night at home, Margaret took a stroll along the shore and watched the moon rise as the stars slowly appeared in the night sky. Earlier that year, her astronomy teacher had lectured on the formation of the galaxy. His talk had disturbed Margaret deeply. The joy of observing the stars through telescopes, memorizing their names, and spotting the major constellations vanished when the professor gave a visual demonstration of how minute the earth was in comparison to the known universe. Margaret had suddenly felt insignificant. If the earth was a mere drop of water in the vast ocean of the cosmos, then her life must be of little matter, she had thought. She desperately tried to make sense of her place in this unfathomably large world. She became obsessed with looking at the stars. One night, it occurred to her that the stars seemed to have individual personality traits. Some were slow to appear, some emitted a bright steady light, while others twinkled in apparent excitement. Eventually, Margaret stopped calling the stars by their proper names and instead renamed them after people she knew who exhibited those same characteristics.

  As she left the beach and returned home on her last night in Long Island, she wasn’t ready to leave summer behind quite yet. She climbed onto her balcony and slept in the light of the moon, underneath the blanket of her friends, the stars.

  Five

  1929–1932

  Rush

  Knees

  Part of a horse

  Own body gone now

  Part of the horse

  Air comes upward

  Up from the chest

  Into the wings

  Part of the horse

  Breath suspended

  Part of the horse

  Gather

  Sail away

  Over

  UNPUBLISHED

  In her junior year at Hollins, Margaret was chosen for the coveted role of Mary in the annual Christmas pageant. It was commonly known that being chosen to play the Madonna was akin to a beauty contest at the school. The casting was turned over to the whole student body, who could vote for any girl to fill the part of Mary whether or not she was part of the drama club. Margaret was an active member of that club, though, so she felt confident stepping onto the stage as the pregnant Mary. The play was written by another student and the role of Joseph assigned to a fellow classmate. At the all-girls’ school, it was common for girls to play the male roles onstage and even at the spring cotillion at which many of the girls dressed in men’s tuxedos and donned fake mustaches. Others dressed in formal gowns and were escorted by their “dates” to the dance.

  As Mary, Margaret wore a shapeless white dress. Her locks of blond hair were left loose, and a silky blue scarf was pinned at the top of her head. In the play, a young girl happens into conversation with Mary outside the walls of Bethlehem as Joseph seeks shelter for them for the night. The girl is in despair and seeks meaning in life. Mary consoles her, and in exchange, the girl offers her stable as a place for the expectant couple to rest. With her fair complexion, Margaret resembled the Virgin Mary only in pious expression, but her performance was very well received.

  Margaret thrived on the social scene at Hollins. In addition to the drama club, she was a student government representative, wing on the hockey team, and charter member of the riding club. On her first visit to Hollins, she had seen some run-down stables on the far side of campus. She convinced the headmistress that an equestrian team, like the one she had belonged to at Dana Hall, would be a desirable addition to the school. Her mother’s sway as an alumna and her father’s checkbook had helped turn the shabby shack into a line of stalls reminiscent of those she’d seen at a Kentucky racetrack.

  The Hollins campus suited Margaret’s desire to be physically active in the outdoors. The school’s buildings were nestled into rolling hills against beautiful mountains. Carvin Creek ran alongside the campus, and a stream meandered through ancient willows and oak trees. Margaret loved how each season brought changes to the valley. Colorful fall leaves gave way to quiet blankets of snow. Spring brought flocks of robins, bursts of cherry blossoms, and luminous greens of new leaves. She waded in the creeks, noted the arrival of different birds to the campus, and could watch the sun set on the shimmering trees of Tinker Mountain from her dorm window.

  She loved the school’s many traditions and that her mother often came to campus to share them with her. The school was initially a coeducational seminary but in 1852 became the first chartered school for girls in Virginia. Charles Lewis Cocke was principal of the seminary and, when faced with overcrowding, saw a golden opportunity. He had long believed in the importance of educating women even though many believed that to be futile, if not dangerous. Charles thought a better society could only be attained through providing young women the same academic opportunities as young men—and holding them to the same high standards of achievement. He was considered a forward thinker, even if grace and refinement were part of the school’s stated educational requirements when Margaret’s mother was a student in the School of Elocution and Physical Culture. By the time Margaret arrived at Hollins, they offered a variety of degrees in the sciences and arts. Her science grades were too low for her to receive certification as a landscape gardener, so in her junior year, she entered the English literature and psychology programs.

  Margaret had come to Hollins with every intention of being an excellent student, but her enthusiasm faded after her first semester, when she failed freshman English. She was an avid reader, and she loved to write, but having learned punctuation in the minimalist French style, she received low grades from her English professor. He had refused to accept her French-based education as an excuse for poor grammar, punctuation, or spelling. She took that class again the next year and learned to follow his rules for writing. Proper spelling still eluded her, but she made passing grades.

  At the end of her junior year, Margaret’s inability to balance her schoolwork and social life almost brought her college days to an end when she failed chemistry. As was proper, she wrote a letter to the dean withdrawing from the school. Margaret got lucky, though. The Depression had taken a toll on the school’s attendance, so the dean was more lenient than she might have been in previous years. Margaret was assured that her academic issues could be corrected if she took chemistry again in her senior year. The dean urged her to direct her attention to her schoolwork instead of sports. She suggested Margaret seek assistance from her teachers if her grades slipped again. Most of the professors were eager to help the bubbly girl, even if she valued her popularity more than her grade point average. One professor in particular recognized Margaret’s creative potential. Dr. Marguerite Hearsey, another English professor, encouraged Margaret to polish her writing skills. She assured Margaret that her depth of literary knowledge and vivid imagination could take her far as a writer, but she needed to be more disciplined with her grammar. Dr. Hearsey assigned Margaret articles to write for the yearbook and alumnae quarterly—tasks the young student relished. Margaret loved seeing her words in print. She never gave up fiel
d hockey or the riding club, but she did learn to work more efficiently, and her grades improved.

  * * *

  She spent most of the summer between her junior and senior years in Kentucky. She’d gone there hoping to see Morrie. He and Kitty had broken up years before, and in Margaret’s sophomore year, he enrolled at nearby University of Virginia. She took the train to Charlottesville a few times to see him, and by Christmas, she considered him to be her boyfriend. By the new year, though, he had suddenly ceased all communication with her, and she had no idea why. When she arrived at the Johnstons’ home in Kentucky, she found out he was engaged to be married to another girl. She was crushed but kept her spirits up through the summer party circuit. Her dance card was always quickly filled with eligible young men, and she soon met George Armistead. His family, like Margaret’s, was an early arrival to Virginia. George’s namesake was a relative who commissioned a garrison flag that could be seen from great distances at Baltimore’s Fort McHenry during the War of 1812. When the fort was attacked, he successfully commanded the defense of the fort through the British assault. As the British ships retreated, Major Armistead ordered the massive flag raised. Eight miles away, Francis Scott Key saw the flag and knew that the fort and Baltimore, and thus the nation, had been saved. The sight inspired Key to write a poem depicting that moment, “The Star-Spangled Banner.”

  George Armistead was dashingly handsome. With his blond hair and bright blue eyes, he and Margaret made a striking couple. He went to college in Texas, but they had plans to meet at school breaks. In between, letters sufficed, and by the new year, they were engaged.

  * * *

  A formal engagement party was planned in Kentucky over their spring breaks. Margaret’s family traveled from New York and George’s from Texas to toast the couple. However, soon after arriving in Kentucky, Margaret told George that she could never marry him. She told him she loved him, but she longed for something more than being a cattle rancher’s wife. She didn’t tell him that she knew he was exactly the kind of man her father wanted her to marry and that she had overheard the two of them sharing a laugh over how to control her. She had thought George would stand up to her father instead of colluding with him. That moment showed her who George really was. When she returned to Hollins, she burned all his letters.

  * * *

  The week of her graduation from Hollins, Margaret competed in the school’s final equestrian event of the year, hoping to impress her mother and sister who were part of the nearly one hundred spectators. The crowd was larger than normal due to the upcoming commencement. Some spectators sat on the hoods of their parked cars, while others leaned against the fence.

  Margaret sat erect in the saddle, heels down in the stirrups and hands poised. A press of her legs was all it took to urge her horse through the open gate and into the riding ring. The larger pieces of charcoal in the ashy ring crunched underneath her horse’s hooves as she led him around the rail to prepare for the first jump.

  Margaret was the most experienced rider on the Hollins equestrian team. She also had designed her school’s flashy riding jackets. Their coats of white silk with bright blue felt letters sewn onto the back stood out against the prominent brown tweeds or black velvet customarily worn by the other teams. Margaret had known her design would catch the judges’ eyes. She also knew that the best way for her to be noticed was to remove her hat as she entered their view, allowing her hair to fall free. This trick, along with her considerable talent, had earned the golden-haired beauty on the golden palomino many ribbons over her four years at the school.

  Margaret was glad her mother was there, but it felt odd to have Roberta at Hollins. The sisters had grown apart these last four years. The little time they spent together on Christmas break or on vacation in Maine only seemed to emphasize their differences. Hollins was something Margaret alone had shared with her mother. Her sister felt like an interloper.

  The graduation horse show was going far better than the previous year’s event, when a car had startled one of the horses. At the time, the riding ring’s fence was only partly finished, and the small pine trees they had used to outline the oval couldn’t contain the frightened mare when it bolted. The runaway horse didn’t stop until it reached Carvin Creek, where it dumped its rider into the water with an abrupt halt. It had been the first competition for several of the girls, and more than a few had fallen from their horses. The ashes the equestrian team shoveled into the ring fortunately softened their spills.

  Margaret’s first jump was effortless, and she kept her horse at an easy canter as they flew over the next fence. She loved the feel of the horse as it lifted itself off the ground. It was up to the rider to position and pace a horse and then relinquish control to the horse as it carried them into the air and over the gate. It wasn’t the horse’s ability to leap over the jumps that was in question but the rider’s ability to become one with the horse at just the right moment. Margaret loved that moment.

  Lately, worry had wrapped itself around her. She was leaving college with no certifications that would earn her a respectable job. She hadn’t applied to graduate schools because of her engagement to George. Margaret wondered what was wrong with her. Why couldn’t she be like most of her friends who were happily preparing for marriage? She wanted, more than anything, to be a writer, but that seemed entirely unlikely. She felt like a candle burned at both ends. Her only option was to move home and look for work.

  Margaret and her horse faced the last two jumps. This was the last time she would compete in this ring she had helped to build. She was going to miss this school, her friends, and her teachers. Hollins felt more like home than the big house on Long Island. She desperately wished she could stay on there instead of returning home. Barely a single civil word passed between her mother and father anymore. Bruce’s de facto home was his large boat anchored close to the Brown house in Great Neck. Margaret would have no such escape available to her when she moved back. Perhaps she had given up the fairy-tale wedding because she was afraid of repeating her parents’ miserable marriage.

  Margaret refused to let her friends or family know how much she feared failing as a writer, nor would she let them see the waves of regret that flooded over her every time she thought about George Armistead. Humor, she decided, was the best way to deflect doubt and fear. She laughed off her broken engagement in front of her friends but was angry with herself for being the oddity instead of the norm.

  Of course, there were moments when that strategy failed and her heart ached. But she didn’t want to think too deeply about that now. She settled herself in the saddle and sped the horse forward. They cleared the last jumps with ease. Their performance was certainly worthy of a ribbon, if not the trophy. Margaret looked toward her mother and sister along the rail, then slowed her horse to a walk as she led him slowly out of the gate.

  Six

  1934–1935

  Black and yellow

  Little fur bee

  Buzzing away

  In the timothy

  Drowsy

  Browsy

  Lump of a bee

  Rumbly

  Tumbly

  Bumbly bee.

  Where are you taking

  Your golden plunder

  Humming along

  Like baby thunder?

  Over the clover

  And over the hay

  Then over the apple trees

  Zoom away

  BUMBLE BEE

  Every seat in the auditorium was taken, but people continued to file in. Gertrude Stein had requested that only five hundred tickets be sold to the lecture, but it appeared the struggling Brooklyn Academy of Music was reluctant to turn patrons away. Chairs lined the aisles, and people perched where they could in the slivers of space that remained.

  The audience was primarily comprised of women, although Stein’s arrival in America had been widely heralded to all. Newspaper headlines and an electric sign in Times Square welcomed the famous author home from her self-imp
osed exile in France. The academy was her first stop on a thirty-seven-city lecture tour. A radio interview, the only one she had ever given, had been broadcast two weeks earlier from NBC’s studio. Margaret and another Hollins alumna listened to the broadcast at Margaret’s Greenwich Village apartment. They shared an admiration for Stein’s work while at Hollins, unlike most of the girls at the school who found the writer’s work perplexing. Stein’s repetitious style was meant to evoke clarity, but her use of minimal punctuation frustrated many American readers. In the interview, Stein claimed that punctuation crippled deep understanding of the written word. Margaret wanted to take colored chalk and write that theory all over the blackboard of the professor who had made her repeat freshman English.

  Both of the girls were living in New York and attempting to write for a living. Neither was succeeding. Her friend had sold only one poem, and Margaret hadn’t sold a single piece. Her work as a nanny and shopgirl didn’t cover her living expenses, but an allowance from her father gave her a comfortable enough life. Her apartment didn’t have hot water, but she always had enough money to dine out, see plays, and attend lectures like the three that Stein was to give at the academy.

  Newspaper reporters took pleasure in taunting Stein’s style in their pun-riddled copy, but the author’s celebrity status and carefully orchestrated interviews drew enormous crowds to her events. Her first lecture was about her most recent book, The Making of Americans. In the semiautobiographical novel, Stein chronicled three generations of a family. She described how the characters’ personalities were formed by their choice to repeat the actions of their parents. Those repetitions shaped their own lives and the lives of their children. Like wave after wave, each generation was formed by the previous generation, which created a collective family culture. The next generation had the choice to carry on the family’s culture or break away. Breaking away was difficult because it fragmented the family.