Page 58 of One of Them

The chapel doors were open, and though she could not see inside, Anne knew that the space was decorated with the daisy chain, a tradition in which the sophomores—their sister class—used the flowers to honor the older girls.

Years ago, the sophomores had actually picked the daisies from a field where the quad dorms now stood and woven them into a chain to mark off the section of the chapel reserved for the seniors.

Now a local florist handled the whole thing, though there were still sophomores in white dresses—chosen by the seniors; it was an honor to be asked—who carried the chain.

Anne had not been chosen when she was a sophomore, though Virginia Worthington had.

She remembered feeling envious back then, but Virginia Worthington no longer inspired her envy.

Anne turned away from the window and toward the mirror.

Yesterday she’d gone to the Glamour Girl beauty parlor in town, where she’d sat under a stiff pink cloth and had a trim, after which her hair was parted on the side and coaxed into soft, natural-looking waves that framed her face.

Of course the waves weren’t natural at all, and she’d had to sleep with a fat, padded cap—also pink—to keep her new coif from getting mussed.

It had been uncomfortable, but it was worth it, because today her hair was perfect.

She went down the hall to take a shower and found the communal bathroom filled with steam, high voices, and giggling.

Four other seniors were already there, brushing their teeth, combing their hair, putting on cologne, lipstick, rouge, mascara.

It reminded Anne of the nights before a dance, though today’s excitement wasn’t about boys or romance.

Just as well; since she broke up with Drew, there hadn’t been anyone else.

Or at least anyone else she liked nearly as much.

He hadn’t written or called. Of course she hadn’t written either, though she had badly wanted to.

But reaching out invited the possibility of rejection, and Anne didn’t think she could endure that.

Why was she brooding about this? Today was her graduation day, a time to celebrate.

Barney Weiss and his wife Ida would be here, as would her aunt Betty, her uncle Sol, and her three cousins.

They would watch her walk across the stage in her cap and gown, mingle at the reception, and then take her to lunch at the Beekman Arms in Rhinebeck.

She got ready and made her way over to the chapel. The program would begin at ten o’clock.

First there was an organ recital, through which Anne fidgeted.

She’d never liked organ music—she found it too somber and pretentious— and she liked it even less today.

It was warm in the chapel, so she used her program to fan herself as she waited for the organ to finally be still.

Then the calling of the names began. Good.

It wouldn’t be long; the degrees were presented alphabetically.

When she heard her name, she stood up and walked across the stage.

The furled-up roll of paper, tied with a ribbon, was not the actual diploma; that would come a little later on.

She’d made sure it would say Miriam Anne Bishop.

She’d been Anne since she got here, but Miriam for the prior eighteen years; she wanted the diploma to encompass both.

She sat back down on the other side of the stage, faux diploma in her lap.

Now she could relax a little, and she let her gaze stray out over the audience assembled in the wooden pews.

There was Aunt Betty, dabbing her eyes with a hankie.

Uncle Sol’s eyes were closed; was he actually asleep?

Her cousin Arthur was whispering something to his brother Ben, and Ruthie, the youngest of the three, was leaning over, straining to hear what Arthur was saying.

Uncle Sol’s eyes opened, and he shushed the three of them.

Barney and Ida were sitting on the other side, and he gave her the smallest wave, a mere flutter of the fingers.

Barney had been good to her, and she was very fond of him.

Yet though Barney and Aunt Betty had each invited Anne to spend the summer at their respective houses, she’d turned down both invitations.

Instead, she was going to spend a few weeks in Maine, with Elizabeth and the rest of the Hunnewells, of all people.

Over the winter break, Anne had been in New York and stopped in at Lord she didn’t trust herself to speak, because her eyes had filled with tears. Priscilla reached over and took Anne’s hands in hers. “I do hope you’ll be in touch with Elizabeth—I know she’d love to hear from you—and that we’ll see more of you in the future.”

Anne had called Elizabeth that very evening, and on a gray day in early January, they met at Rumpelmayer’s, a café and ice cream parlor in the Hotel St. Moritz, overlooking Central Park.

Most of Elizabeth’s birthday parties—skating at the Rockefeller Center, a Broadway matinee, a visit to the zoo—would conclude there, the girls digging into the thick, almost-have-to-eat-it-with-a-spoon hot chocolate, or sharing the outsize ice cream sundaes.

Looking around, Anne saw that the walls were still pink and still adorned with Egyptian-style mosaics.

There were still shelves filled with stuffed animals; you could take down a teddy bear and hold him while you ate.

Being back there with Elizabeth felt a little bit like coming home.

“You were right,” Elizabeth said. “I shouldn’t have gone to the Colony for that lunch. None of us should have. I somehow thought that once it was over, everything would go back to the way it had been, that we’d never have to think about it again.”

“And it seemed like it was all I could think about. I brooded over it for a long time. Too long,” said Anne. “And even when I stopped thinking about it so much, it kind of burrowed into my mind. It warped things for me.”

“Warped? How?”

“When I got to Vassar, I let everyone think I wasn’t Jewish.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I just never let on that I was a Jew, and no one assumed I was. My last name threw people off track, and I used my middle name, so I became Anne Bishop. I never came out and said I was Christian, but I never said I wasn’t either, so I sort of slid by.”

“So that night at Yale, at the dance... you were there.”

“I was. But I couldn’t admit to knowing you, or even take the chance of seeing you. I was afraid you’d say something that would give me away. I couldn’t have that.”

“And that’s why you never answered my letter.”

“That’s why,” Anne said. “I behaved badly.”

“We both did.” Elizabeth looked straight at her. “But that was the past. We can do better. We will do better.”

“Do you think so?” Anne asked. And returning Elizabeth’s frank gaze, she thought, Yes. Yes, we will.

When they got to the G ’s, Anne thought of Delia, whose name was not called out.

She should have been here, not only today, but last month too, at the opening of the show.

But Delia hadn’t responded to either Anne’s letter or the one sent by Miss Grayson.

Now they were at the M’s, and as Dominique Martin crossed the stage, followed by Sarabeth Miller and Constance Moody, Anne looked upward, at the towering interior space with its brilliantly blue Tiffany rose window.

This was quite different from any window she’d seen at Chartres, but mysterious and beautiful in its own way.

Chartres. It was coming back from the cathedral that she’d first met Drew.

And in an instant, she was back on that Parisian street, watching as he hugged Nancy, her heart doing an unexpected flip when he turned her way.

Now they’d gotten to the T ’s—there were quite a number of those: Taylor, Tellin, Thomas, Travis.

.. Anne shut her eyes, and the blue of the window disappeared.

When she opened them again, she looked for her family.

Now Uncle Sol really was asleep, his head tilted back.

Ruth was leaning against Aunt Betty, who was stroking her hair.

Anne was getting impatient too. The chapel was stuffy; she wanted the ceremony to be over.

Longingly, she looked at the closed doors and imagined them wide open to the soft spring air, the sunshine.

She wanted to walk out into this glowing day, college and graduation behind her, and walk straight toward her future.

Only what would that be? She had plans for the summer, but that was all.