Part 13

“Yes.” He stood there awkwardly. “Good-bye, Judy. Say good-bye to your mother for me. I’ll see your father every day, I guess. Good-bye again—” He bent down and kissed her on the mouth, holding her tight. Without another word he rushed down the path.

As in a trance, Judy walked into the house. The guests were gone. Only the hall was lighted. She climbed the stairs to her room.

“Is that you, Judy?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“I was just beginning to worry what was keeping you so late.” Her mother spoke evenly but Judy could detect the annoyance in her voice.

“Get to sleep quickly, dear.”

Judy lay huddled on her bed, her clothes negligently tossed on a chair. She murmured to herself, “He loves me—thank Heaven, he loves me—” She closed her eyes to live over again this last wonderful hour.

Between half-consciousness and sleep, she saw Karl bowing before a great audience in Carnegie Hall, a Stradivarius under his arm. She, looking beautiful and elegantly dressed, sat in a stage box. As the wife of the newly acclaimed artist—her lips trembled, overcome with joy.

A hand lightly touched her forehead. “Feel all right?” It was her mother. “I got up to get a blanket and saw the light on in your room—”

“Forgot, I guess,” Judy’s eyelids flickered for a second. She turned on her side to continue dreaming.

Mrs. Lurie, sighed, shook her head, and turned off the light.

19 FAREWELL TO ASPEN

Pale and apathetic, Judy waited on the porch for the Little Percent to take them to Denver. It was cold. A mist hung over the valley. The elation of the previous night was gone. Through the open door she could hear her parents talking. What can she know of life ... hardship ... disappointments ... give her stability, direction—They mean me, she thought bitterly. Then her father’s comforting words about Grandfather—

The car swung briskly before the house. Fran jumped out, picked up the suitcases from the porch, and hurriedly whispered to Judy as he passed, “Sit up front with me. You don’t want to sit with them,” indicating with a nod the other passengers in the car.

While Fran stowed away the luggage, the Luries stood at the curb. John kissed his wife and helped her into the car. Judy still gazed at the mountains, overhung with low clouds. She sighed heavily. She felt her father’s hand. He started to say something about Karl. Instead he took her in his arms. “Clouds have a way of disappearing,” he said gently, “just as yours will.” He wanted to see her smile. “You’ll soon get a glimpse of the two characters on the back seat. They’re smothered in robes and scarves all set for a polar expedition.” He chuckled. “The ladies may be young and beautiful, but who can tell?” Judy returned his smile.

Mrs. Lurie was already seated with the two characters—caricatures would more aptly describe them, Judy thought. Yet they looked vaguely familiar.

“Would it be all right, Mother, if I sat up front with Fran? This little straight-back seat doesn’t look too—”

“Of course, dear. You’ll be more comfortable.”

The car rushed forward in a cloud of dust with Mr. Lurie’s voice trailing it, “Don’t forget to send me the wire when your plane reaches New York.”

Aspen was soon left behind. From the back seat came a continuous stream of talk. Whenever her mother addressed her, Judy turned with a dull, indifferent glance. It was during one of these fleeting moments that Mrs. Lurie attempted an introduction to their fellow passengers. “This is Miss Simms and Miss Clark—” Judy, wrapped in her own thoughts, couldn’t care less.

The sun broke through the heavy mist and the two ladies peeled off several layers of covering. For all Judy’s abstraction, she couldn’t help identifying them through their formal address of each other.

“Miss Simms, that mountain is Granite.”

“Look at the map, Miss Clark, it’s Mt. Massive.”

The gray, fuzzy ringleted Miss Clark in her mouselike turban was still cheering for Granite. Miss Simms, her hair a shiny black, two spots of rouge giving her an odd, clownlike look, stoutly maintained otherwise. Suddenly Judy remembered: These were the two birdlike visitors whom she had tried to sketch at the Seminar Building.

“I see you lost your job as guide,” Judy remarked to Fran.

He nodded, “Teachers are smart but queer. Imagine, they came to the office yesterday just to find out the exact route so they could be prepared with maps and things.”

“Not music teachers?”

“No, High School. They were in Aspen three weeks and took in every lecture night and day and concerts in between.” Fran shook his head over such incredible industry. “In the fifteen minutes they were in the office they gave me advice as if I were their long lost brother.”

“About what?”

“About learning. ‘You don’t want to be a cab driver all your life? How about studying at night? Or taking correspondence courses. There are some good ones.’” Fran shrugged his shoulders. “I told them I like what I’m doing—making money, helping Mom out with the kids, skiing in winter, and I make money then too, enjoying life. They looked kind of disgusted or maybe just disappointed. ‘Where’s your ambition?’ they asked.”

The car made a turn skirting a deep precipice. Accustomed to Fran’s sadistic pleasure in scaring his passengers, Judy repressed her own impulse to cry out. Besides, there had been enough terrified “Ohs” during the last two hours.

“Will I be thankful when we get to Leadville,” Miss Clark said resignedly. “I understand we can get an excellent meal there—a restaurant famous in the old silver-mining days.”

“I’m hungry too. How much longer will it be before we get there?”

Fran turned around squarely, an old habit of his. “In about an hour or so.”

“Don’t you dare turn around like that!” came the stern rebuke. “Look, another car’s approaching.”

“Don’t worry, Miss Simms, that car’s not moving, waiting for us to pass, I guess.”

They approached the waiting car. It rested precariously on the edge of the road, part of it in the deep gully. A young man stood beside it, an anxious smile on his unshaven face.

“What’s the trouble?” Fran asked, sticking his head out of the window.

“I hit one of those rocks.”

Fran didn’t wait to hear any more. He got out, followed by all his passengers.

“The rocks must have fallen during the night,” the man went on. “I was trying to steer clear of one boulder when I hit the other. The tire blew. I guess we were lucky at that.”

A baby’s wail startled the group. “Is that a baby crying?”

The man pointed to a piece of flat ground partially hidden by scrub and trees. “My wife’s over there. The little feller hasn’t stopped yelling for an hour.”

Mrs. Lurie started toward the clearing, followed by the teachers and Judy.

“Can we be of any help?” Mrs. Lurie timidly inquired.

The young woman looked up, a radiant smile transfiguring her thin face. She was sitting on a rug untidily surrounded by cans, pots, and zippered bags.

“Awfully nice of you folks to stop,” she said, talking over the head of the screaming child. “I was beginning to think ours was the only car on this terrible road. Your driver going to help my Jim?”

“Of course,” Judy said quickly. “He’s getting the tools out of the trunk right now.”

“What a beautiful baby!” cooed Miss Simms.

“Beautiful,” echoed Miss Clark.

“I was just thinking maybe I should warm some milk. He won’t touch the nice bologna sandwich we brought along.”

Miss Simms shuddered visibly. “Maybe it’s just as well the little man refused it. Why don’t you and Mrs. Lurie see about the milk. Miss Clark and I will amuse the baby.” She firmly took hold of the protesting child.

“High-diddle-diddle, the cat and the fiddle—” on and on went the strangely sweet tones, while Miss Clark bounced the baby up and down in what even Judy knew was thoroughly unorthodox fashion. The baby quieted ... smiled.

“Judy,” Fran shouted. “Come over here and lend a hand. We’ve got to get the car squarely on the road before we can take off the tire. Lucky she’s light. You, Judy, grab the front with Jim. I’ll take the ditch side. One, two, three, heave—” The car was set on the road.

In half an hour tube and tire were patched, air pumped in, and the spare examined.

“Everything’s O.K. Where’d you say you were heading for, Jim?”

“Los Angeles. I’ve a good job I’m to take over in two weeks. A lucky break. I was laid off back in Detroit for two months.”

Mrs. Jim joined them and placed the sleeping baby into the car bed. Her bundles, neatly packed by the faithful, were beside her.

“Our only worry,” Jim went on, “is where we’re going to live. The company couldn’t promise a thing.” He shrugged his shoulders. “We’ve got to take our chances.”

“Not have a place to live—and with a baby—that’s awful!” Judy exclaimed involuntarily.

Mrs. Jim turned. “No, it’s not awful. Jim’s got a job and we’ve got our health. The rest is in the Lord’s hands. Didn’t He send you good people along?”

A few minutes later they were saying good-bye after having wished each other well. They drove off in opposite directions.

For a while something intangible silenced the energetic teachers. Perhaps they and Mrs. Lurie were weighing the possible hazards that still awaited Jim and his family.

Fran finally found his tongue. “I think it’s putting quite a strain on the Lord to expect Him to send a car along—or find sleeping quarters! Don’t you agree, Judy?”

“Maybe.” She was thinking of her own problems now dwarfed by the recent encounter. “Faith is beautiful,” she said dreamily.

“Beautiful, but not sensible,” Fran answered with a skeptical grin.

An hour later they reached a town. Passing warehouses and unpretentious stores, Fran drove straight to a plain-looking restaurant with an enormous sign, “Welcome to Leadville and Walker’s Cafe and Bar.”

“Here’s where we eat,” Fran told the crestfallen Judy, who had envisaged a gilded palace.

Seated at a longish wooden table, each studied the oversized menu card. Next to such tempting items as sizzled hamburgers with Western trimmings, steak hunter style, and the like were pictures of once famous mines and in fine print, the history of Leadville. Judy, her appetite for the printed word unimpaired, read avidly while munching her food.

“The population of Leadville, once sixty-five thousand, has dwindled to five. Look, here’s a picture of Matchless that Horace Tabor gave to Baby Doe!”

“What, another baby?” Miss Simms innocently inquired.

Judy shrugged her shoulders.

“Why of all things!” Miss Clark eagerly turned to Fran. “Climax is only fifteen miles from here. Any chance of our passing it? It’s the biggest molybdenum mine in the world.”

“No, I’m afraid not. What kind of a mine was that you mentioned?” Fran asked, stumped for once.

“You mean molybdenum? It’s a metal used in steel. You see, being a chemistry teacher, I happen to know about it.”

If there was anything left of the glamour of the old silver-mining days, the Little Percenters got no glimpse of it. On they traveled over the winding road, seven thousand feet high, the ravines dotted with mines worked today for uranium and other strategic metals.

Barely leaving the towering peaks behind them, they drove into the shining city of Denver, as impressive in its setting of modern skyscrapers as Leadville was mean and dingy.

“We’ll soon be getting to the airport, Judy—”

“Yes, Fran.”

“I just wanted to tell you that Karl promised to write to me. Could you—that is when you have time—would you—”

“Of course, I will. It’ll sort of be a link between us and Karl.”

“Thanks. I want to ask you something else. Do you think I should study the way those teachers said?”

“It would be wonderful if you can manage. Why don’t you speak to them before they go on the train? They’re very nice and kind. They like to help people.”

“I will. One thing more. Books, the kind you and Karl go for—” He paused, then smiling sheepishly, said, “Maybe I’m biting off more than I can chew.”

“No. Books are wonderful. I can send them. We’ve shelves and shelves filled with them. And I’ll get the list from our librarian. You’d be surprised at the wonderful books there are, in the libraries just for the asking.”

“You see, I don’t want Karl to be ashamed of me—when he comes back—maybe famous.”

“When Karl comes back,” Judy’s voice shook a little, “we’ll have a grand reunion in Aspen!”

At the airport, Mrs. Lurie shook hands warmly with the teachers, whom she had gotten to know and like. To Fran she said, “You’re a fine driver and a kind and capable young man.”

Judy too made amends for her early indifference. “We’re like ships that pass in the night,” she told the astonished teachers, “friendly, helpful ships,” and she smiled enigmatically.

The Little Percent with its remaining passengers drove off.

20 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER

Judy, seated next to her mother, watched as the plane raced along the runway and without a tremor felt it rise skyward. Experience had already dulled the fine edge of wonder.

The girl slumped in her seat, closed her eyes, pretending to sleep. She had to think. Her mother tentatively turned the pages of a book.

Judy’s brows were knitted, her lips moved wordlessly. Think things out—face reality! How often in the months ahead could she see Karl? She knew his demanding schedule: newspaper route ... final year at school ... homework ... violin lessons ... practice ... practice. The lone pupil anxiously retained ... concerts ... people to see ... Mr. Werther ... preparations to leave ... when would there be time for her?

She had recoiled from the thought of the vast Atlantic Ocean dividing them. But what of the hour and a half journey from his home in Washington Heights to hers in Washington Square? No more would there be the casual dropping in as at Aspen. No time for soul-searching talks, their dreams and hopes: books, America, Israel, even religion! No, nor hear him play some new, aborted little tune he’d just composed!

She recalled the romantic stories in magazines she affected to despise but frequently enjoyed. “True love never runs smooth!” The magazines, she acknowledged, had cheap, lurid covers but they tell the truth about love! Her shoulders sank even lower nor could she restrain a deep sigh.

Mrs. Lurie let the book slide from her hands. She put an arm around her daughter. Her heart ached for her and she wanted to say something. But what? I can’t tell her she’ll probably get over it like a case of measles! Mrs. Lurie blushed at her own callousness. Her fingers pressed the girl’s shoulders, each finger saying, “I love you. I want to help you. I want you to talk to me.”

Her eyes no longer pretending sleep, Judy responded to the unspoken tenderness. “Mother, did Father tell you that Karl is going away for perhaps years?”

“Yes, he told me last night.”

“And in the months before he goes, how often will I be able to see him? He’s so busy,” she said dejectedly.

“If he wants to see you, he’ll make time somehow. Nothing will stop him.”

“You think so?” A quick smile lighted the girl’s face, only to vanish a moment later.

“He’ll be in a foreign country, meeting students from every part of the world, maybe travel, get to know clever, sophisticated girls like Marian—while I remain a dull schoolgirl. What is there so special to remember about me!”

“You’re far from dull, Judy, and so much humility isn’t exactly becoming to you or in character. Remember all the things you threatened to do! Paint, write—”

She patted her affectionately. “Besides, Karl isn’t going on a picnic exactly or touring Europe in the grand manner. He’ll have to work hard, harder than ever. It isn’t only his violin technique, but studying and understanding the great music of the old masters as well as the moderns. He’ll need every ounce of concentrated effort. Since you love him and he loves you, be content with that! Have faith in each other—”

Judy pondered. Faith—that’s what Mrs. Jim has.

Aloud she said, “A week ago, Mother, you spoke very differently. You dismissed me and Karl as if—”

“I know.” Mrs. Lurie hurriedly broke in. “I didn’t believe you were old enough or capable of feeling so deeply about a boy. I’ve done a lot of thinking since then. Besides, you’re not going to sit idly waiting like a lily in a pond, looking pale and wistful. In your way you’ll be as busy as Karl.”

“You mean college?”

“Yes. Major in English as you so often said, or sociology. You seem to have a curious bent in that direction, a heritage, no doubt, from your grandmother. And you said you wanted to take up your music again—now it’s sort of inevitable,” she laughed, “if only to keep pace with Karl.” Mrs. Lurie paused. “Karl will meet young people and,” she added cautiously, “so will you. You’ll have dates, have fun, and live the life of a normal young girl. With work to do and plans to make for yourself and others, the few years of so-called waiting will pass more quickly than you now think possible.”

“I hope you’re right, Mother.” Judy’s spirits lifted.

In a crisp, matter-of-fact voice Mrs. Lurie went on, “Most young people today have to endure separation before they are ready to make a life together. They go to different colleges, are often compelled to take jobs that take them far from their home moorings, like your Cousin Robbie who got his first opportunity at engineering in South America. And, of course, today young men have to serve in the armed forces, usually overseas, even in peacetime. Yet, most of these early loves endure.”

“I’m glad you say that, Mother,” Judy’s eyes shone.

Mrs. Lurie pressed the girl’s shoulder lovingly. She smiled a little self-consciously. “It wasn’t only your grandparents whose love, as the novels say, overcame all obstacles—”

“You and Father?”

Mrs. Lurie nodded.

“Funny, I never heard you speak about your romance. Why?”

“I don’t know. You never asked and we’ve been busy being happy and enjoying our work. We never think of the past. Maybe when you’re old, memories are more important. But as I look back, the years of waiting didn’t hurt us. I saw many of my friends marry while still at college, the boy and girl graduating together, sometimes with a baby on the campus. Maybe we would have liked that too, but John was studying and playing the viola in Philadelphia and getting his M.A. at the same time. I had school and was studying voice in New York.” She smiled at the recollection. “It only toughened our resolution to marry as soon as we could.”

“I think it’s exciting to know about you and Father. It makes me happy. If you could do it, so can I.”

“Of course, you can. There’s only one little difference. When your father and I went together, what you youngsters call ‘going steady,’ I was nineteen and your father, twenty-two.”

“Oh, Mother, what difference does a few years make! The main thing is that we love each other. Karl is mature, much older than his years. Why wouldn’t he be with all he’s gone through and endured? He’s not like the boys who only live for a football game or having a good time.” She clasped and unclasped her hands, then said quietly, “I want to be perfect, be all that I know Karl admires. Of course, I won’t be able to, not always. Maybe never. But I’m going to try.”

At her mother’s look of slight alarm, Judy laughed. “Don’t worry, I know I can’t live like a hermit. I’ll go places and to parties when I’m invited. But,” and she shook her head emphatically, “every boy will know in advance I’m going steady, at least in spirit!” She laughed gaily at her little joke.

It was now Mrs. Lurie who sighed, but with relief! Judy, for all her acceptance of the role of waiting for her hero to return, would be no princess locked up in her lonely castle. Her self-pity had vanished. She was ready to admit that life wasn’t finished at sixteen.

Mother and daughter leaned back in their seats, relaxed, conscious of a new closeness. Mrs. Lurie was wise enough to know there would not always be clear and easy sailing in the months and years ahead. There would be other storms, other moments of anger or dispute. But the basis for understanding between them was deep and could never be shaken.

DISCOVERY AT ASPEN

_By_ SOPHIE RUSKAY

_Illustrated by Janet D’Amato_

Judy is a young girl just past her fifteenth year. Her parents are musicians—staff members at the Music School at Aspen—and they are anxious for her to share with them some of the enchantment of the famed music festival in Colorado.

But for Judy other plans and other dreams are more important. A part in the new theatre group? Romance? Adventure? Anything but the dreary routine of piano lessons and practice. In her attempt to escape the discipline of the musician’s life, she explores Aspen and inadvertently finds herself caught up in the lore of the early mining history of that community. Baby Doe, the old Opera House, the ghost town of Ashcroft are mysterious wonders which begin to awaken in her a new interest in her surroundings. Her meeting with Karl, a talented refugee from Nazi Austria, and their adventures together on the snowy mountain cliffs help to fulfill her dreams of romantic love—an experience through which she attains not only the depth and understanding of her parents but her own maturity.

What threatens to be a dismal summer for Judy becomes a time of discovery of herself, of music and of America.

_A Wonderful World Book_

Teenage

_About the Author_

Sophie Ruskay enjoys a family life very much like the one she creates in _Discovery at Aspen_. Having raised a family of five children, she has now added twelve grandchildren, many of them teenagers who consider her their friend and compassionate advisor. She is the author of _Horsecars and Cobblestones_, a warmly received novel of immigrant life in New York at the turn of the century. The same understanding which she showed in that work, she now applies to the story of a young teenager whose problems and frustrations she depicts with deep sympathy.

Mrs. Ruskay writes of the world around her with an eager eye and a responsive spirit. The grandeur of Aspen, its natural beauties, its cultural life as well as its historical heritage—all are graphically described. It is in this setting that we see the young generation of today striving for self-realization, often in rebellion against their parents during this trying period of adolescence.

Mrs. Ruskay has been a beloved figure in her community for many years, participating in the cultural, philanthropic and civic activities as a creative and energetic leader. She has written and directed a large number of plays which have been notable for their humor and social awareness. Perhaps the most significant demonstration of Mrs. Ruskay’s life-long devotion to literature and drama is seen in her formation and leadership of a literary class in the Women’s House of Detention in New York City.

Also by Sophie Ruskay: _Horsecars and Cobblestones_ Illustrated by Cecil B. Ruskay

PRINTED IN U.S.A.

_Other Wonderful World Books_

THE PERSIAN DONKEY BEAD _By_ MARGARET KRAENZEL _Illustrated by Peter Fellin_

The rich and moving story of a young Iranian boy who leaves his small farm village to search for his father, with help of an Arab girl, in the crowded squares, the apartment houses and slums, and even the great underground bazaar of Tehran.

FOR LIFE AND LIBERTY _By_ JANET NEAVLES _Illustrated by Delia Marcel_

Nate rides his thoroughbred filly Liberty Maid on a race to save his family’s farm from Joseph Brant’s Indians in this fine historical novel set in upper New York State during the Revolutionary War.

THE SLAVE WHO SAVED THE CITY and Other Hassidic Tales _By_ HARRY M. RABINOWICZ _Illustrated by Ahron Gelles_