Katherine Keenum by Where the Light Falls Read Free Book Online

New York. Susie, this is Mrs. Palmer and her daughter and my friend Miss Pendergrast from the Children’s Aid Society.”
    Miss Whitmore was not quite as pretty as Mr. Moyer’s portrait of her, but almost. Jeanette decided to be in love with the pair of them and not him alone. “We want everyone to come in and see that they can—and should—own original art,” said Miss Whitmore, with a sweep of her arm to encompass the exhibition. “Would you like to look around?”
    “Not now,” said Mrs. Palmer. “I’ve put on enough meetings to know how much we’d be in the way at this stage.”
    “We’ll come back when the show is open,” said Jeanette, quickly. “And please, Miss Whitmore, may I stand off to one side and make a quick sketch of the scene to remember it by?”
    “Do you draw? There’s some scrap butcher’s paper around here somewhere.”
    “I have a sketchbook,” said Jeanette, pulling one out of her coat pocket. It was three inches by five, too small for most work but useful for jottings.
    “Here! Just see what she can do,” said Cousin Effie. She startled everyone by whisking Jeanette’s picture of herself out of a handbag.
    Jeanette’s chagrin turned into excitement when Mr. Moyer held it for Miss Whitmore to see. “Do you have a teacher?” he asked.
    “No. I’ve been told the best place to study is New York or better yet in Paris.”
    “Is Will Sartain taking on pupils, Susie?”
    “It’s worth asking. But if Paris is a possibility, then go,” said Miss Whitmore to Jeanette. “I was at the Académie Julian. There’s nothing like it here to prepare a woman for a career. It has the same curriculum as the École des Beaux-Arts.”
    *   *   *
    “Oh, it was so inspiring, Aunt Maude!” exclaimed Jeanette, when they returned home for lunch and found Mrs. Hendrick in her upstairs sitting room.
    “What did I say about gush, young miss?”
    “Not to do it,” said Jeanette, in no mood to be suppressed. She knelt down by Mrs. Hendrick’s chair and crossed her arms on the armrest. “We went to some of the dealers’ galleries, but first we met Cousin Effie’s friend, Mr. Moyer, who introduced us to his fiancée, Miss Whitmore. She’s an artist, too, and awfully good; I want to be as good as she is.”
    “And what about him?” asked Mrs. Palmer, in a tired voice. “If you are going to measure yourself, Jeanette, measure against the best.”
    “Him, too. He
is
good, Aunt Maude. It’s scary to see how accomplished they are! Such competition! But Cousin Effie brought out my picture, and I showed Mr. Moyer and Miss Whitmore my letter from Professor van Ingen. They said maybe I should show samples of my work to a Mr. Sartain, and—”
    “That was only politeness,” put in Mrs. Palmer.
    Jeanette clutched the armrests tightly. “Why should it be?” she asked, in a strained voice, without looking around at her mother. “And even if they were only being polite, it wouldn’t hurt to try.”
    “It would hurt to be rejected, Jeanette. In any case, there’s no point in wasting a busy man’s time. You don’t live in New York.”
    “If he agreed to teach me, Mama, that would be reason to stay.”
    “Let
us
see how good you are,” commanded Mrs. Hendrick. “Bring down your best work, Jeanette. Put on a private exhibition just for the three of us here. Sarah, you must be curious about your daughter’s progress.”
    “Maybe after lunch, Maude.”
    “No time like the present,” said Mrs. Hendrick, who had had the advantage of morning coffee.
    Jeanette knew her mother was hungry and the time unpropitious, but Aunt Maude was only too likely to lose interest by afternoon. And she wanted to show them her work, to show her mother why it mattered. Upstairs, she quickly gathered some samples and, with a flash of determination, snatched up her unfinished
Shrine of Shakespeare
. Mrs. Hendrick made a point of going through everything at a leisurely, admiring pace. She held up a page with