And Both Were Young (11 page)

Here the trees were taller and of greater girth than the trees in the woods behind the school, and the sun came through them in delicate arrows, piercing the dark iris of Jackie’s left eye, bringing out the ruddy lights in Madame Perceval’s hair, striking the gold of the braces on Erna’s teeth. Then at last they emerged beyond the forest and came out into pastureland. Now, as they climbed, the trees would be below them; when they were high enough the trees would seem like a girdle about the mountains. The rough grass was broken here and there by rocks and the girls would climb onto them and leap off, laughing and shouting. Sometimes they passed cows or goats; constantly Flip could hear the faint ringing of the animals’ bells.

Fräulein Hauser blew her whistle. “We will stop here for lunch,” she announced.

They sprawled about on the largest rocks, opening their
lunches. They had bread and cheese, an apple and an orange, some sweet biscuits, and a little twist of paper containing salt and pepper for the hard-boiled egg in the bottom of the bag. Madame Perceval carried a canteen of coffee and a flask of brandy in case of emergency, and they each had a canteen filled with fresh water from the school.

Flip sprawled on a small rock near Madame Perceval, who was laughing and joking with a group of girls. She smiled warmly at Flip and tried to draw her into the conversation, but Flip sat there shyly, afraid that if she spoke she would say the wrong thing and someone would laugh at her. One of the girls was missing salt and pepper from her package, and Flip offered hers. At the careless “Thanks, Pill,” Madame Perceval looked at Flip intently, not missing the quick flush that always came to her face at the use of the nickname.

After they had finished eating they started to climb again. Now the way became rockier and steeper, and Flip and several of the less athletic girls were panting and ready to flop down on the turf long before they reached the flat plateau of the Col. Flip’s throat was dry and aching and her heart thumped painfully against her ribs.

But when they finally reached the summit, she realized that the climb was more than worth it. She dropped onto a patch of rust-colored grass; the sky was incredibly blue above her and the Dent de Jaman rose out of the Col like a white castle, like the home of the snow queen in Andersen’s fairy tale. A small wind blew across her hot cheeks and the ache in her knee dwindled and the sunlight made the old, rusty grass seem almost golden. She closed her eyes and the sunlight flickered over her eyelids and the grass pricked through her uniform into her skin and she rolled over and laid her cheek
against a flat grey rock and somewhere, far off, she heard a bird singing.

Although it was not anywhere near tea time according to the school clock, they had eaten lunch shortly after eleven and Madame Perceval and Fräulein Hauser started handing around packets of marmalade sandwiches. At the sound of the whistle Flip rose and straggled over to the girls surrounding the teachers. She stood on the outskirts, still looking about her at the sky and the mountains and the snow, and feeling that wonderful surge of happiness at the beauty that always banished any loneliness or misery she might be feeling. Somehow a miscount had been made in the school kitchen when the tea was packed and Solvei and Jackie, and of course Flip, the last one on the outskirts, found themselves without anything to eat for tea. A small chalet stood across the ridge and Madame Perceval said, “I know Monsieur and Madame Rasmée. They’re used to serving meals to amateur mountain climbers and I know they could take care of these girls. Suppose I take them over.”

“It seems the only thing to do,” Fräulein Hauser agreed.

So Flip found herself walking across the rough ground with Madame Perceval, Solvei, and Jackie, her pleasure in this unusual adventure marred by her awareness of the longing glances Jackie cast at Erna, and Solvei at her best friend, Maggie Campbell.

Madame Perceval said a few words to the pleasant woman who met them at the chalet and in a few minutes the girls found themselves sitting at a small table in front of an open fire. They stripped off their blazers.

“All right, girls,” Madame Perceval said. “Have a good tea and come back as soon as you’ve finished.”

“Oh, yes, Madame.” They smiled at her radiantly as she left them. Only Madame Perceval would have allowed them to enjoy this special treat unchaperoned.

“I wish Percy taught skiing instead of Hauser,” sighed Jackie. “She’s much better.”

Solvei nodded. “Once, last winter when Hauser had the flu, Percy took skiing and it was wonderful.”

“She’s always one of the judges at the ski meet,” Jackie continued, “and then there’s Hauser, and the skiing teacher from one of the other schools, and two professional skiers. It’s wonderful fun, Pill. There aren’t any classes, like today, and we all go up to Gstaad for the meet and have lunch up there and there are medals and a cup and it’s all simply
magnifique
.”

Flip thought of the skis Eunice had given her and somehow she felt that she might be good at skiing. And she was happy, too, because suddenly Jackie and Solvei seemed to be talking to her, not at her and around her, and she opened her mouth to tell them about the skis Eunice had given her, skis that had belonged to Eunice but which she had discarded; Eunice did not really care for skiing.
Because she doesn’t look her best in ski clothes
, Flip thought unkindly. “My skis—” she started to say to Solvei and Jackie, when suddenly she closed her mouth and she felt the blood drain from her face and then flood it, because there, coming in at the door, was a tall stooped man, and with him, slender and dark, was Paul.

P
AUL SAW HER ALMOST AT ONCE
and quickly shook his head, and Flip heaved a sigh of relief. Thank goodness, oh, thank goodness, Jackie and Solvei had their backs to the door and had seen neither Paul nor his signal.

But Jackie said, “What’s the matter, Pill? You look as though you’d seen a ghost.”

Flip pretended to choke and said, “I just swallowed the wrong way. May I have the butter, please, Solvei?”

On Thursday Flip received one of the proprietary letters from Eunice that always upset her. Luckily she was assigned to Madame Perceval’s table that day, and this special stroke of luck cheered her a little, for Madame Perceval’s tact and humor seemed to act like a magnet drawing everyone into a warm circle of friendliness and sympathy. Erna was with her again and said as they sat down after grace, “We seem to stick together like glue, don’t we, Pill?”

Flip nodded and grinned, because Erna’s tone had been friendly.

During dinner they began discussing their parents. Esmée Bodet’s father was a lawyer. Erna’s father was a surgeon and had done operations on the battlefields. Polly Huber, an American girl from Alabama who had been at the school for three years, had a father who was a newspaperman, and Maggie Campbell’s father taught Greek at the University of Edinburgh.

“And your father’s a painter, isn’t he, Pill?” Erna asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, our house needs painting. Do you think he’d do it cheap for us since I know you?”

All the girls laughed loudly except Flip, who colored angrily and looked down at her plate with a sulky expression.

After dinner, when everybody stood up, Madame Perceval said quietly to Flip, “Please wait, Philippa.” And all the girls exchanged glances, because that was the tone Madame used when she was not pleased and intended to say so. Flip stood nervously behind her chair and looked down at the table with the empty dessert dishes and the crumbs scattered about and at Madame Perceval’s coffee cup with a small amount of dark liquid left in the bottom.

“Philippa,” Madame said gravely when they had the dining room to themselves except for the maids who were clearing away, “I haven’t seen you a great deal with the other girls, but several of the teachers have told me that you are always off somewhere sulking and that your attitude is unfriendly in the extreme.”

“I don’t mean to sulk,” Flip said. “I didn’t know I sulked. And I don’t mean to be unfriendly. I don’t, truly, Madame.” If I had been thinking of Paul instead of Eunice I wouldn’t have behaved the way I did, she thought.

“When Erna suggested that your father paint her house she was making a joke and you took it seriously and looked hurt and wounded.”

“I know,” Flip said. “It was stupid of me.”

“But you always do it, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Flip admitted. “I guess I do, most of the time.”

“I know you’re not happy here, Philippa, but when you make it so easy for the girls to tease you, you can’t blame them for taking advantage of it. Girls can be very cruel, especially when they get the idea that someone is ‘different.’ ”

“But I
am
different,” Flip said desperately.

“Why?”

“I’m so clumsy and I’m the tallest girl in the class. I’m as tall as lots of the seniors. And I fall over things and I’m not good at athletics, and I wasn’t blitzed or underground or anything during the war.”

Now Madame Perceval sounded really severe. “I didn’t expect to hear you talk quite so foolishly, Philippa. You are tall, yes, but you can turn that into an advantage later on. And perhaps right now you’re a little awkward, but you’ll outgrow that. Incidentally, have you forgotten that Maggie Campbell’s sister, Liz, has a brace on her leg? And she’s one of the most popular girls in her class. And as for being blitzed or underground, remember that the girls who are in the difficult and defensive position are the German girls. They’ve had a hard time of it here, some of them. It wasn’t easy for Erna, for instance.”

“Yes,” Flip persisted stubbornly, “but they were all in it and I wasn’t in it at all.”

“Neither were the other Americans,” Madame said sharply. “I’m beginning to realize what the other teachers meant.”

Flip looked as though Madame Perceval had struck her. She pleaded, “Please don’t hate me because I’ve been the—the way I’ve been. Please. I’ll try not to be. I’ll try to be different. I do try. I just don’t seem to know how. But I’ll try harder. And I know it’s all my own fault. Truly.”

“Very well,” Madame Perceval said. “Go on back to the common room now until time for study hall.”

“Yes, Madame.” Flip started to leave, but when she got to the dining room she turned and said desperately, “Madame, thank you for telling me. I—I guess I needed to be told how awful I am.”

For the first time, Madame Perceval smiled at her, but all she said was, “All right, Philippa. Run along.” And she gave her a little spank.

Flip spent the rest of the week waiting for Saturday and sighed with relief when Paul was at his usual place by the shutter when she reached the château. Ariel ran dashing to meet her, jumping up and down and barking. I feel as though I’d come home, Flip thought as she waved at Paul.

“Hello, Flip!” Paul called. “Down, Ariel! Down! Come here this instant, sir!”

Ariel went bounding back to Paul, who held him by the collar and Flip thought again how much he looked like the page in the tapestry.

“Hello,” she said, her heart leaping with pleasure because Paul was so obviously glad to see her. She had dug Eunice’s gift of Chanel No. 5 out of her bottom drawer and put a little behind her ears and had brushed her hair until it shone.

“Come on,” Paul urged. “I want to show you something.” He went into the château and Flip and Ariel followed. They
went across the empty hall and up the wide stairs, then down a broad corridor and up more stairs, and it seemed that every time Paul led her down a dim passage there was another flight of stairs at the end. At last he opened a door and started up a very steep, circular iron stairway. Openings were cut in the thick stones of the walls and through them Flip could see the sky, very blue, and puffs of snowy clouds. The stairs were white with bird droppings and Flip could hear the birds just above their heads. A swallow sat on the stones of one of the openings and watched them. Ariel laboriously climbed up three steps, then sat down to wait, a patient expression on his ferocious bulldog’s countenance. Flip followed Paul on up. At the top of the stairs was a small platform and more openings looking out over the country on all four sides. The birds flew in and out, scolding excitedly. Flip rushed to one of the windows and there was the valley of the Rhone spread out before her, Montreux, Vevey and Lausanne, lying in a pool of violet shadows, and the lake like melted silver, and across the lake the mountains rising proudly into the sky, with the snow descending farther and farther down their strong flanks in ever-lengthening streaks.

“Like it?” Paul asked.

“Oh, yes!” Flip breathed. “Oh, Paul—”

“This is my place,” Paul said. “I never thought I’d bring anyone here. But I knew you’d feel about it the way I do.”

Paul leaned back against the cold stones of the turret wall, his scarlet sweater bright against the gray stone. “Still worrying about that Eunice?”

“I can’t help it,” Flip said.

“School any better?”

“No.”

“Still hate it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I don’t blame you. It must be very unpleasant living in an institution.”

“I don’t think it’s the school,” Flip told him with unwilling honesty. “I think it’s just me. Lots of the girls love it.”

Paul shook his head. “I don’t think I’d ever like a place where I couldn’t leave when I chose.”

“I’d like it better,” Flip said with difficulty, “if anybody liked me. But nobody does.” She leaned her elbows on one of the ledges and stared out over the valley toward the Dents du Midi so that she would not have to look at Paul.

“Why don’t they like you?” Paul asked.

“I don’t know.”

“But I like you.”

Flip did not insult him by saying “Do you really?” Instead she asked, “Why do you like me, Paul?”

Paul considered. “I knew right away that I liked you, so I never bothered to think why. I just—well, I like the way you look. Your eyes are nice. I like the way you see things. And I like the way you move your hands. You could be a surgeon if you wanted to. But you want to be an artist.”