Free The Joys of Love by Madeleine L'Engle Page B

stained
with sadness. Her mother, in the newspaper picture, had a boyish bob and a gamine’s face with huge grey eyes like Elizabeth’s. In spite of the fact that her mother’s hair was straight and obviously blond, as blond as Jane’s, and Elizabeth’s was reddish and wavy, Kurt had assumed, the first time he had seen the picture, that it was Elizabeth.
    â€œNo, it’s my mother,” Elizabeth had said. “She—she’s dead.”
    â€œShe looks like an actress,” Kurt had said, and turned to the pictures of Jane’s parents.
    Behind the pictures of her mother and father Elizabeth had a picture of Kurt from a publicity release, looking handsome and blasé and also rather sinister with a slight droop to one eyelid. Next to Kurt’s was a picture of Valborg Andersen as Shaw’s Lavinia, simple and serene and shining. Elizabeth looked at the two of them, Kurt posing as the worldly director and Valborg Andersen as the early Christian martyr. If only I could stay, she thought passionately. If only I could stay!
    She would have liked to fling herself on her bed and weep with rage at her Aunt Harriet and disappointment in general, but she felt that crying was a sign of weakness and she had had more than her quota for the day, so instead she reached for her volume of Chekhov, from which they were rehearsing The Seagull in their informal afternoon sessions, and began studying her role. She concentrated with a kind of desperation until John Peter knocked on the door.
    â€œLiz!”
    â€œI’m here.”
    â€œAre you decent?”
    â€œYes. Come in.”

    John Peter and Jane, arms entwined, entered and sat on Jane’s bed.
    â€œWe missed you this morning,” John Peter said.
    Elizabeth shut her book. “Learn anything new?”
    â€œNot a thing.” Jane leaned back against John Peter. “Did you ever get your telephone call?”
    â€œYes.” Elizabeth stood in front of the bureau and began to brush her hair.
    â€œWhat did Auntie want?” Jane asked.
    â€œI have to go back to Virginia.”
    Jane was appalled. “What do you mean?”
    â€œJust what I say, unfortunately.”
    â€œBut why?” John Peter asked.
    Elizabeth hesitated. “Well—Aunt Harriet isn’t sending me any more money for room and board.”
    Jane pushed away from John Peter and stood up. “But, Liz, you can’t leave! When do you have to go?”
    â€œTomorrow, I guess. I’d been kind of wondering why my check for next week hadn’t come.”
    â€œBut, Liz, you’ll miss Macbeth ! You’ll miss seeing Andersen!”
    â€œYou’re just making it harder for Liz,” John Peter said.
    Jane sat down again and asked, more quietly, “What are you going to do?”
    â€œI’m going to Jordan. I’m going to get a job. I think I can get work at the lab at the hospital. Maybe there was a real reason to all that chemistry in college. And when I have enough money saved, I’m going to come to New York and get another job until I can find work in the theatre.”

    John Peter reached over and took Elizabeth’s hand. “Liz, it’s a shame. Isn’t there anything we could do to coerce the old girl into letting you stay?”
    Elizabeth shook her head. “It’s not Aunt Harriet’s fault. It’s my fault for ever having asked for this summer in the first place. I can’t give her anything in return—if I make a success in the theatre it will pain her and not please her—so why should I expect her to help me in something she dislikes so intensely? I shouldn’t have let my wanting it so much make me want or hope for help from her. Well, the world won’t come to an end just because I have to go back to Jordan, Virginia, where Aunt Harriet thinks I belong. I’ll see you in New York anyhow.”
    â€œDid you tell Mr. Price?” John Peter