Part 8 (1/2)
Aletta's piece came to an end and there was enthusiastic applause. Then she and Sybylla began to play together. Sybylla's viol produced a soft resonance and was really an instrument more suited to Aletta's temperament than to hers, for even when the music was fast it sounded placid. Perhaps that was why it appealed to Sybylla, who was unable to moderate her own emotions, but at heart she was a true musician. She had her eyes closed as she played, lost in the music, the bow in her hand held from underneath with her fingers touching the stick, each note beginning and ending in gentleness.
Francesca's artist's eye was struck by the picture her sisters made and her fingers itched for paper and pencil. Tonight, no matter how late the guests left, she would make a sketch while this view of her sisters was sharp in her memory. Then in the days ahead she would set them on canvas. Aletta would be seated at the virginal, which was painted green and decorated with Dutch scenes on the raised lid. The back lacing of her figured silk gown was as straight as her spine, her oval face reflected in the mirror sloping from its nail in the wall above the instrument. Sybylla, who though not having received either of the new garments she had hoped for, would appear as now, wearing Maria's gift of a deep lace collar, which had been added to her rose silk gown shortly before the guests' arrival. It lay on her shoulders, delicate as frost.
Then, shattering Francesca's concentration, Pieter took hold of her hand. He must have felt her whole body jerk in reaction, for when she would have pulled her hand away his cool, strong clasp tightened and her hand was trapped, palm against palm, fingers entwined. She sensed that he glanced sideways at her, but she kept her gaze rigidly on her sisters, nothing to show the effect the meeting of his hand with hers was having on her. She had no idea that handholding could be so sensual or so curiously intimate, aided as it was by the shadows in which he and she sat and the little distance that shut them off from the rest of the gathering. Even the music helped, as if it were being played specially for them. Her pulse was racing and when he moved his hand slightly, making a caress of his clasp, she was aware more strongly than ever of some intangible bond by which he was seeking to draw her wholly to him.
He released her hand only to let her applaud and then regained it, even though she tried to keep it from his reach. When he took it from her lap she gave up the contest.
As soon as the concert was over she sprang to her feet. ”I must check now to see that everyone gets more refreshment.”
He grinned as she flew from him to busy herself among the guests. Sybylla had vacated the chair on which she had been playing and he took it to speak to Aletta, who sat sideways to the virginal, thanking people for their compliments. When they had moved off, he added his own.
”You play so well. I admire such musical talent.”
”I thank you,” she said shyly. ”Are you traveling all the way back to Haarlem tonight?”
”No. I've a house here in Amsterdam,” he answered, ”which I bought two years ago. I shall be staying there.”
”It's as well you have two homes in this case. I peeped out of a window before Sybylla and I sat down to play and I was going to warn you that it is snowing hard. I'm still marveling over the hyacinth you brought us.”
”It was an experiment in culture and some interpollination that I'll not make public again. Several people here were at pains to point out to me that a house is no place for plants of an experimental nature or otherwise.”
”Nevertheless, the hyacinth will be appreciated by my family. I shall make it the subject of a painting before it fades.”
”Francesca intends to do the same.”
”I thought she would, because she loves flowers so much.”
”She has promised that I shall see her painting when it is finished. May I see yours too?”
”Yes, indeed you may. Please tell me more about your plants and bulbs and flowers. Do you have stalls other than the one here in Amsterdam where my father ordered the bulbs?”
”Yes, I have another stall at Haarlem and at a couple of towns within easy reach. I take every outlet I can for my produce.” He smiled slowly, his eyes narrowing. ”I'm as ambitious as you and Francesca. I leave no stone unturned to get my name known.”
Sybylla had returned to pull up another chair and sit on his other side. ”You're aiming to be a rich man, are you?” she asked with a giggle, having just caught the tail end of what he had said.
He gave her a dancing glance. ”I intend to be successful and if riches come with that state of affairs I'll be well satisfied.”
She tossed her head provocatively. ”That's too long for me to wait. Plants and flowers can't be hurried out of the ground.”
”So you wouldn't want to invest in my venture, Sybylla?” he joked.
”No!” she squealed back delightedly. ”Or to be your wife either! Whoever you marry will have to help you weed and sow and snip off the tulip heads. I want an idle life where I'm waited on hand and foot.”
He laughed, entertained by her. Normally Aletta would have checked her sister severely for her behavior, but something Pieter had said seemed to offer a solution to a certain problem that somehow she had to solve. It had come like a ray of light, but she could not talk about it here.
”How often do you have your stall in Amsterdam?” she inquired.
”Not at all now until the spring.” He saw disappointment pa.s.s across her face and wondered what lay behind her question, but she gave no clue and let her sister dominate the conversation.
Guests had begun to rise to their feet to leave and Pieter did the same. Outdoor garments were fetched and donned. Aletta seized the chance to speak to Pieter more privately.
”Is there somewhere in Amsterdam where I might find you one day soon? I can't make it any more definite than that. I should like to seek your opinion on a certain business venture.”
He looked at her searchingly. Since she obviously intended to come on her own he could not invite her to his home, but must keep the rendezvous to some public place. ”I go to the Exchange at noon on the last Wednesday of every month.”
She nodded gratefully. ”I'll remember that.”
Francesca stood at Hendrick's side to bid each guest good night. Farewells were quickly said and there was no lingering on the stoop outside, because each time the door was opened the snow swirled in. Pieter stood ready to depart.
”May this evening have seen the first of many such hours that we shall spend in conversation together, Francesca.”
She shook her head slightly. ”Although it will always be a pleasure to see you at my home, I have to say again that my time is completely taken up.”
”Nevertheless, I remain hopeful. Good night to you.” He moved on to thank Hendrick for his hospitality and gave a last long look in Francesca's direction before he clapped on his hat and went out into the swirling snow.
When the door was finally closed on the last departing guest, Francesca's thoughts turned to the clearing up, but Griet's married sister had been hired to be in the kitchen that evening and once the gla.s.ses had been gathered up from tables and ledges there was little left to be done. Maria was persuaded to go straight to bed and Hendrick followed shortly afterward, reeling slightly and having difficulty in placing his feet on the stairs. By the time Griet's brother-in-law arrived to escort his wife home there was hardly any sign that a party had been held. Francesca locked up while her sisters and Griet went yawning to bed.
Alone in the warm kitchen, having brought a sketchbook and pencils from the studio, Francesca settled down to draw by the rosy glow of the firebox. She did not feel in the least tired, too stimulated by all the happenings of the evening. An image of Pieter persisted in coming between her and her drawing, as if he had gained a mental and physical grasp on her. Eventually she stopped what she was attempting to do and deliberately sketched him instead. Her pencil seemed released, almost as if it were following familiar lines by its own volition, and the result was a startling likeness. She covered the drawing over quickly, knowing she would never be able to complete what she had intended to do with it in front of her, still more vivid now than he had been in her mind's eye. Then she found that having exorcised his haunting, she was able to finish her sketch of her sisters to her satisfaction.
Then suddenly she was tired. She blew out the kitchen candle lamp and took an extra candlestick that had been left for her to light her way to bed. At the foot of the stairs she hesitated, feeling herself drawn to look once more at the plant that had been forced into growth especially for her. She retraced her steps into the side room. This time she took notice of the pattern on its Delft pot. She saw that it depicted sailboats and rowboats on a river.
Chapter 6.
AS THE DAYS WENT BY FRANCESCA TENDED THE PLANT AND called everyone in the house to see each stage of advancement as the budding flower thrust strongly through the waxy leaves. Maria had distrusted it from the start.
”It's a heathenish growth,” she muttered, but her curiosity was such that she still viewed it daily. Griet also never missed, her work taking her into the room each day in any case. On her own she would regard the plant wistfully, wis.h.i.+ng it had come as a personal gift for her instead of to the family. She had her share of beaux, but the only one she cared anything for was at sea and there was no knowing when he would be home again.
There were few special Christmas preparations in the house apart from an extra-thorough cleaning from cellar to attic with every curtain and all bed drapery freshly laundered. With all the jollity and giving of gifts having taken place at the Feast of St. Nicholaes, the Holy Day of Christmas was a quiet family occasion with church attendance and Bible reading at home.
The hyacinth flowered fully on Christmas Day. It was short and small-sprayed, but of a deeper blue than anyone had expected and with a sweet scent. Maria was won over in spite of herself.
”I must admit it is lovely to behold,” she said, inhaling the perfume and deciding it had absolved itself from its unnaturalness by giving forth its beauty for the Holy Day. It was her suggestion that it be placed in the reception hall, where it could be admired by all in a place of honor.
Francesca had begun her painting of her sisters the morning after she had made her sketch, but that was put aside for the priority painting of the hyacinth once Christmas Day was over. It had to be painted while it was still in its prime. She placed it on a stand in the studio while Aletta arranged some drapery of green and gray behind it. The snow-bright light through the window heightened the bloom's sapphire brilliance. In silence both girls began to paint.
By now the weather was bitterly cold. Since before Christmas ice had closed the river. Small boats rested at odd angles along the banks, cus.h.i.+oned in the snow with their masts and rigging lacing the skyline. Sleigh bells jingled everywhere and people of all ages skimmed along on long wooden skates, twice the length of their feet, the metal runners curling up in the front like s.h.i.+ps' prows. Speedy traffic on runners had turned many of the ca.n.a.ls into fast highways, and quieter areas were chosen by those wis.h.i.+ng to play ice golf and other such sports.
Sybylla skated at every opportunity. It was exhilarating to speed away from Maria's watchful eye, although even then she had to stay with approved friends. Sometimes Francesca would join them and they would form a snake, one behind the other, and have a merry time. Aletta never came with them. Often she was absent for hours at a time, carrying a linen bag full of her sketching materials, but when her mittened hands were so cold that she could barely grasp a pencil, all outdoor sketches were rapidly and roughly executed and she would return home to paint in the warmth of her studio-parlor. Since Hendrick never went to his daughters' private rooms and had made it a rule never to be bothered with any domestic details, he knew nothing of this pattern of work Aletta had set for herself.
It was as Francesca skated on her own one day, coming home from the fish market, that she happened to see Aletta coming out of the shop of an artist's supplier with a roll of canvas under her arm. When Aletta arrived home some time later she found Francesca waiting to challenge her.
”Why are you buying your own canvas? I pay these days for everything that is needed for work and you have always been able to take whatever you wanted for your studio-parlor upstairs.”
”I want to be independent,” Aletta replied defiantly. ”If it's my own canvas I can use as much as I like and make my paintings the size I prefer.”
”I wish you'd show me your current work. You lock yourself away in that studio-parlor and n.o.body else ever enters it, not even Griet since you have taken to cleaning it yourself. I respect your wish for a sanctuary, but why are you so secretive? You painted the hyacinth still life at my side in the studio, and whenever you carry out any other work there you are open enough about it. I simply don't understand.”