Chapter Four
Leola Smith looked up from her novel as Anastasia entered her parents’ hotel room. “Did you have a nice afternoon? Oh, gracious. Don’t tell me you forgot to wear your hat again.”
“I didn’t forget—I chose not to wear it.
” Anastasia ignored her mother’s exasperated look.
It was a conversation they’d had many times, and she imagined they’d probably have it dozens more times in the future.
Hats made her feel confined, unable to be creative.
How could she look up at the trees and the sky and the stars with a brim in the way or a bow flopping in her eyes?
“How was the rest of the museum? And where’s Father? ”
“He’s still there discussing the Renaissance with a gentleman he met while we were in the second exhibit room. I should have come with you instead. I’m sure your day at the park was much more interesting.”
“It was interesting, actually.” Anastasia flipped open her sketchbook and showed it to her mother. “I believe I captured his brow correctly, but there’s something about his eyes that isn’t quite right. Overall, I’m pleased with it.”
Leola looked at the drawing with curiosity. “This is a man you met at the park?”
“Yes. He was having his lunch on a bench nearby. I thought his features were quite distinct.”
Leola smiled. “I’d say they’re more than distinct. He’s very good-looking. Is he married?”
“He said he wasn’t. I think it’s a shame—his children would certainly inherit those nicely symmetrical features.
” Anastasia caught a glint of humor on her mother’s face.
“Well, goodness, Mother. You don’t suppose I’d flirt with him, do you?
The thought never entered my mind! I was there to draw, nothing else. ”
“Yes, I know. Put a pencil in your hand, and that’s the end of it.”
“The end of what?” Anastasia sat down across from her mother, fixing her with a look. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s just . . . Well, your father and I would like to have grandchildren someday, and if you never pay attention to young men except to draw them, how will you ever marry?”
“But . . .” Anastasia spluttered. “I’m not sure that’s fair, Mother. I haven’t even drawn that many young men. That’s why I need the practice.”
“You need practice with more than drawing!” Leola sighed. “Perhaps we shouldn’t have sent you to a ladies’ only college. If we’d sent you to a coeducational school instead …”
“I didn’t want to go to Oberlin, and there are so few other schools that accept both men and women. Vassar was a good choice for me.”
“But there were no young men!” Leola sighed again. “Couldn’t you possibly put your sketchbook aside just long enough to get married? Focus on him and his potential instead of his well-balanced features or the shade of his hair?”
“I thought you and Father wanted me to pursue my art. Isn’t that why we came on this trip? So I could see and experience and create?”
“Yes, but now with your father’s health declining . . .”
“You’d like him to see a grandchild before he passes on,” Anastasia finished when her mother trailed off.
“Exactly. The more we talk about it, the more we realize all the things we’ll miss doing together. You can’t blame us for wanting to see you happily settled. It would bring your father so much joy.”
“I don’t blame you, not in the slightest. But wouldn’t it be foolish for me to marry the first man I see just to give you a grandchild?
That sounds utterly miserable. I need to marry someone who understands and supports this contrary side of me, the side that does notice someone’s eyebrows or the slope of their shoulders before anything else.
And I know it might take a while to find such a man, but I’m content to wait because I’d rather be sure than be sorry. ”
Leola sat back and regarded her. “You’re right, of course. I would never want you to marry in haste or for convenience. You should love the man you wed, and he should love you just as much in return. I’m sorry for trying to rush you. I just wish we knew how much time we have left.”
Anastasia touched her mother’s arm. “Let’s take it one day at a time, all right?
Let’s enjoy Father’s good health while he still has it, and from there—well, we’ll make a new plan when we need one.
And I’ll try not to hide behind my sketchbook so much.
If someone catches my eye for more reasons than just his aquiline nose, I’ll strike up a conversation. ”
“Thank you, my dear. That’s a step in the right direction.”
Leola returned to her novel, and Anastasia went into her own bedroom to lie down until supper.
She’d never admit it, but sitting in the sun without a hat had given her a slight headache.
She tucked a pillow under her head, then opened the sketchbook again to study her drawing of Mr. Kendall.
Yes, she’d done a good job with everything but his eyes.
She’d try again later—surely with some effort, she could achieve the haunted look that lay behind his mask of reserve.
***
“And then he had the gall to say that my theory was incorrect,” James went on, spearing a piece of lettuce on his fork to emphasize his words.
“I had explained my position to him most carefully, but he discarded it almost immediately. If we hadn’t been standing in the middle of a museum at the moment, I might have rolled up my sleeves and punched him in the nose. ”
Anastasia tried not to chuckle at the thought of her mild-mannered father doing something like that.
“I know you take history very seriously, my dear, but surely punching him wouldn’t have proven your point,” Leola said. “Eat your supper. You’ll feel better afterward.”
“I’ll feel better when they bring the steak and potatoes around. What is this, anyway?” He lifted his fork into the air. “This sort of thing is meant for rabbits and rabbits only. The last I checked, I am not a rabbit.”
“True, my dear, but you are becoming a bit rabid. Please lower your voice.”
“What?” He glanced around the hotel dining room. Anastasia had noticed some of their fellow diners glancing their way curiously, but it didn’t bother her. She’d rather be one of the interesting families than one of the boring ones. “My apologies. I forgot that we’re not alone.”
“That’s all right. So, will you be meeting up with this gentleman again to discuss some other topic of interest to you both?”
“Absolutely not. If I can’t trust him with my most basic research and conclusions, how would we ever have a civil conversation about anything else?
Ah, here’s the waitress now with the rest of our meal.
Thank you, young lady, and please take this salad plate away and give it to some deserving furry animal somewhere, would you? Good girl.”
Anastasia handed her plate to the waitress as well, but hers was empty. She’d enjoyed her salad even though she too was not a rabbit.
Her father chewed and swallowed a few bites of his roast beef, then turned to Anastasia. “How was your day, my dear? Did you get any work done?”
“I did. I began a sketch of a young man I met in the park, and when he went back to work, I began an outline of the mountains. They’re quite jagged and stark compared to mountains I’ve drawn in the past—I’m looking forward to taking my work from sketch to easel and seeing how the paint translates that texture. ”
“A young man, you say?” Just like her mother, her father had chosen to focus on something besides the art. “Some gangly twelve-year-old or something?”
“No, dear. He’s quite handsome, likely around twenty-five or so. I saw the sketch,” Leola told him.
“And Mother already spoke to me about marrying and having children, so I believe we can skip over that part of this conversation,” Anastasia said. “I have the strongest feeling that you’re going to bring it up again, though—I know I’m not off the hook.”
“Not by any means. I wouldn’t suggest that you become attached to anyone on this trip, though. We’ll be returning home, and you can set your sights on some lucky fellow there.”
Thankfully, a moment later they began talking about something else, and Anastasia was free to let her mind wander.
Not surprisingly, it wandered back to the question of Mr. Kendall’s eyes and how to fix them.
She couldn’t help it—art interested her like no other subject, and until a young man came along who could change that for her, she didn’t think she’d ever marry. She’d likely be happiest that way.
If only it wouldn’t mean disappointing her parents.