The Boston Girl(9)

I didn’t understand what that meant until a few days later, when we went to the Headlands, which Miss Holbrooke said was the most beautiful view on Cape Ann.

Irene rolled her eyes. “Stone soup, anyone?”

But Miss Holbrooke was right about the Headlands. It’s a special place—up high, maybe a hundred feet above the sea, with water on three sides.

You know where I’m talking about, right, Ava? It’s the place I always bring people who’ve never been to Cape Ann. You can see for miles up and down the coast. It’s got a nice view of the boats in Rockport Harbor and most of the town, too. The first time I saw all those white clapboard houses and the church steeple I thought about how much I owed to Paul Revere for getting me there.

Miss Holbrooke called it picturesque and I knew exactly what she meant without having to look it up. It was like one of those tinted picture postcards: a perfect blue sky and fluffy white clouds, sailboats, and even a few ladies with parasols.

The lodge girls scattered around to pick flowers or sit on the rocks and talk. Rose and Irene climbed halfway down the bluff, which almost gave Miss Holbrooke a heart attack. Filomena went off by herself to draw, but I tiptoed over and peeked at her sketchpad.

She was drawing the pile of rocks in front of her, which seemed like a dull subject. But when I looked again, I saw she had made the same shapes into a woman’s body, lying on her side, completely naked. I’d probably never seen a nude picture before and I must have gasped. Filomena turned around and held it up so I had a better view. “What do you think?”

Before I could answer, Miss Holbrooke came running toward us, yoo-hooing for Filomena to come with her. Two ladies had set up easels to do watercolors of the harbor. “You should meet them; they are painting the most charming little harbor scenes.”

Filomena wrinkled her nose. “Miss Green says ‘charming’ is a trap that women artists should avoid at all costs.”

Miss Holbrooke said, “These ladies are very accomplished, I assure you.”

Filomena stared her in the eye and said, “Miss Edith Green is an instructor at the School of the Museum of Fine Arts and she is the one who told me to focus all my attention on drawing this week. I’m sure you agree I should take her assignment seriously.”

Miss Holbrooke couldn’t say no to that and walked away with her tail between her legs.

“Did Miss Green really say that?” I asked.

Filomena laughed. “She could have. Edith Green thinks everything rests on drawing. You can see it in the designs on the pottery.”

“I like the way you do the trees,” I said. “It’s just a few lines but they seem alive.”

“That’s exactly right,” Filomena said. “You have a good eye.”

That was a compliment I never forgot—obviously.

Toward the end of the week, Filomena switched tables and joined the Mixed Nuts. Gussie teased her and asked if she’d gotten kicked out of the Italian club for hanging around so much with the Jews and the Irish.

“I just need to talk about something besides weddings,” Filomena said. “They’re getting married this year! All of them.”

Helen said, “Your time will come.”

“Not me,” said Filomena. “I’m never getting married.”

Rose said she was too pretty to be an old maid.

Gussie didn’t like that. “Filomena may want to do other things with her life. For example, I am going to college.”

“And after that, she’s going to law school,” said Helen.

“But don’t you want a family?” Rose asked.

Gussie said, “Helen’s going to have children; I’ll borrow hers.”

Helen blushed and Irene said, “Looks like she already knows who the father’s going to be.”

“Don’t embarrass her,” said Rose. “Besides, she’d tell us if there was someone, wouldn’t you, Helen?”

“My sister can have her pick,” said Gussie. “What about you, Rose? Irene? Any prospects? Addie?”

“Addie’s too young to think about that,” Filomena said.

I was too young but it was impossible not to think about marriage. Mameh talked about Celia’s “prospects” all the time, and at every Saturday Club meeting, there was talk about weddings the girls had been to or weddings they were going to. Even the Ediths, when they heard about an engagement, acted like it was some kind of victory—and they were all for women’s rights and education.

I wasn’t so sure about marriage. I knew my parents were miserable, and from what I heard in the air shaft, other married people said horrible things to each other all the time. On the other hand, who wouldn’t want to be in love and have a man look at me the way Owen Moore looked at Mary Pickford? I used to leave those movies feeling sad that nothing like that would ever happen to me, but I always went back for another happy ending.

In the magazine stories, I could imagine myself as one of the smart, spunky girls chased by men who loved them for their brains and gumption. Those girls were airplane daredevils, or race car drivers, or even doctors, but in the end they gave it up for love and marriage.

When I asked Filomena what she would do if she fell in love, she shrugged. “I know that being a wife would mean giving up art, which is what makes me happy. When I say I don’t want to get married, my sisters tell me I’m being selfish, and maybe I am. Or maybe there’s something wrong with me.”