Nogales international., 1935-04-20
First Instalment
&5.fS
PROLOGUE

Ellen Church was posing for her
rGothcr. Posing - slim, wisttul
agure-against the dying glory OF
the autumn garden. Her slender,
seventeen-year-old arms were out
Hung to the gold and crimson OF the
falling leaves.
Her mother said suddenly
Get a little more timber, Ellen.
You're tightening UP. Remember
that you're the spirit of youth.
lust now, and loveliness, and new
dreams. Remember that you're a
magazine covert Remember that
vou're our bread and butter for
next month. And perhaps" her
mother sighed, "for the month
after, ard the month after that!'
Tllen faxed her stiffening fingers
and dragged her eyes away from
the land into which they had been
Z peerino. Ellen obediently let her
self go limp, inside as we'll as out
side. She wasn't self-conscious
about it, not Ellen. All OF Ter life,
YOU see. she had been posing tor
her mother. AS a new baby, round
and rosy and naked, in the spring
sunshine. AS wee tot, in rompers,
making mud pies that would be
transplanted to canvas. AS a child
Of seven, reading from green and
silver story book AS an older child,
sewing a long, tiresome seam. Oh,
Ellen was used to posing-it was
her life!
She answered, now, in kind. Ans
:wered with question.
And jarn?" asked Ellen, idly.
Ellen's mother squinted at her,
over the smudged top OF the can
vas. And, squirting, brushed the
fluff of white hair away from her
brow. AS far back as Ellen could
remember, her mothers hair had
been white.
"But certainly jam!" answered
the mother. And smiled with sud
den brightness that made Ellen's
breath catch in her throat; that
made her speak swiftly, despite the
catching breath. 1t was almost as if
khe smile needed an answer.
'tQh. Mother" she said. and the
words came from the depths of a
worshipful young heart, i love
you! love you very hitch. Very
much, indeed!"
'Yo. mustn't, Ellen" said tie
n,othor. love me so much, mean
Love-don't ever be intense about
it, child! Love, if you must love at
all lightly! Giving nothing. Taking
al! that's offered but expecting
nothing.
Ellen's young eyes were search
ing, keen No longer were they lost
i. a far place OF dreams.
It's what you always say about
love" she told her mother. Its
what you always say! When | was
a cllld.' (Ah. the quaint soptisti-
eaton OF seventeen!) ''it didn't seem
to mean anything. But now that I'm
grown up-well, it's strange you
should talk So Because you don't
!o;c that way yourself. Lightly, l
mean
With a small gesture CT fnality,
the woman at the easel was wiping
a bru5 4 on a dingy cotton cloth-a
cloth that held vivid reminders Of
many another brush Her gesture
meant that posing for this day was
over Ellen knew that her own per-
sistence had made the work stop sc
abruptly, and she was sorry. For
winter was near. Beside the bread
and butter there was department
store bill! Ellen was so1ry-and
yet she was so weary of eva5ions,
Of being put off!
Not me, Mother" she insisted
But, OF course. 1 love you
lightly" she said, with an aching
sort Of forced gayety. You ought
to know thatI If l loved you any
other way, I'd spoil you. And even
you, Ellen, must admit that l don't
spoil you. Do I ever give you new
hats for Easter2 Or seed pearls. for
Christmas? Have I ever, even once,
taken you to the city? Have you
ever seen a skyscraper, or hotel
or even tea shop? Have you--"
How about the time, year ago,
when I had typhoid-and the doc
tor said | rnightn't liver"
Ellen's mother was looking up
swiftly, through tears. Her voice
quivered very much. All of the
laughter had been drained from it.
But, my darling" she said, "ot
course, / don't love yoa hghhy'
love you so much, whether you're
desperately ill or annoyingly well,
that it hurts! didn't want to love
YOU so - why, there were times
when I didn't even otdat you'll For
I knew that you'd get me, that I'd
never be free, or myself, as long
as I cared for someone. Your father
taught me that. loved him, too, so
much that it hurt-so much that it
still hurtsl'
Rapidly she was gathering up the
twisted tubes of paint, the canvas