The Hired Girl(83)

I was so excited, I exclaimed. David led me to a bench and set his portfolio on my lap and told me to draw the dandelion. It looked just awful, because I couldn’t figure out whether to draw the flower from the side or the top. With a few deft strokes, David sketched it for me, so that I could see the basic shape. He told me to copy his shape and concentrate on the colors. So I began again.

It’s funny, because then I was like an artist. I forgot about David. I loved it so much, trying to draw and seeing the dandelion the way I’ve never seen one before. I glowed when David praised me, but at that moment he was like a teacher, not a man — I mean, I forgot he was a man. I didn’t quite forget; I was purely happy when he praised me. But when he guided my hand, I didn’t think about him touching me. And when he leaned over me, I didn’t feel scared, because my mind was on the dandelion.

Oh, but the time rushed by on winged feet! At last David said that if I wanted a drive or a trip on the boat lake, we should move along. (Last night I’d made up my mind to choose the boat trip, because if we went driving, we might run into Mrs. Mueller or even Nora Himmelrich — how horrible that would be!) So I said I wanted to go on the lake. He put away the chalks while I tried to tidy myself. I buttoned my collar. My hair gave me trouble, just as I knew it would. I gave up trying to make it puff and secured it with a slipknot.

By the time we reached the lake it was almost noon, and there was a line of people ahead of us. It was such a fine September day; everyone wanted to go on the lake. I was disappointed because I’d had this picture in my mind of me floating over the water with my rose-colored parasol, and David looking graceful and manly, with his sleeves rolled up. He has the most beautiful forearms I’ve ever seen.

He asked if I had time for an ice-cream sundae at the pharmacy, and I said sadly that I didn’t think I had. I suppose I must have looked wistful, because he put out one forefinger and touched me on the nose — which was not dignified or romantic. But then he charmed me by saying that he was going to buy me a sketchpad of my own, so I could practice drawing.

I hope it isn’t improper to accept a sketchpad from a young man, because if he remembers to buy me one (he might not remember), I mean to accept it.

As we walked home together, I remembered he was a man. I felt proud, walking with a man, but I also felt shy. Then I had a brilliant idea; I asked him if he knew that bridge in Florence where the poet Dante met his beloved. That got him started on all the things he’s seen abroad. Oh, how I envy him! He hasn’t really seen the Alhambra — he confessed that he made up the ghost stories he told me, because he wanted to impress me. But he’s seen the Swiss Alps and Venice and other places where there’s real life. Once he lived in Paris for a whole month, just the way the natives do. He told me about his favorite café in Paris — he used to sit in a café and draw. I wish I could draw in a café in Paris.

Outside the park, we ran straight into Mimi. It wasn’t as bad as if she’d been Nora Himmelrich, but she grinned at me in the most provoking way and said she’d thought I was at Mass. I was too mortified to answer.

David answered with aplomb. “I persuaded her to help me instead. I need a model for my new painting — Janet’s going to be my Joan of Arc.”

He showed her the sketches he’d made — he calls them studies. Figure drawings, those are the charcoals; and color studies, that’s what he called the pastels. I wish I looked better in profile. There was one sketch where I thought I looked pretty, and I said I liked that one, and he said briskly not to be silly; that was the weakest one of the lot. Then he ruffled Mimi’s hair and asked her if she’d like an ice-cream sundae. He asked me if I couldn’t be a little bit late, just this once.

I said no, because I was already late, and how would I explain to Malka? But Mimi said yes. David asked me if I’d take his portfolio home, so he wouldn’t have to carry it to the pharmacy, and the two of them sauntered off together. He said we’d have our ice cream another time. Another time, another time! That’s the phrase that sang in my heart as I walked home, carrying the sketches and the portfolio — it was heavier than it looked — and my parasol.

I think David must like me pretty well if he’s going to buy me a sketchpad and see me another time. Perhaps he will teach me more about how to draw.

I was nervous when I went inside, because I didn’t know what Malka would say if she saw me with Mr. David’s things, but she was dozing with the cat in her lap, and I crept past her on tiptoe. I put David’s things back in his room and went to tidy my hair. My skirts were grass stained and there were chalk streaks on my dress, but they’ll wash out, I’m sure. At any rate, my apron covered them, and Malka didn’t notice. Once she woke up, she scolded me dreadfully, because last night I forgot to scald the dishcloths, so this morning they smelled.