We were up early. Gwen was ravenous again at breakfast, though I barely noticed.
The train arrived at 9:45 AM. A porter pushed a cart with our bags to the street. Gwen's father was waiting for us beside his car. The porter loaded our bags into the car. I slipped a five into his hand. He thanked me and headed off to help other passengers.
Her father was a little taller than Gwen in her heels. He had dark hair and blue eyes, deep-set under bushy black eyebrows. He was clean-shaven but already had the beginnings of a five o'clock shadow. He wore a knee-length, black wool overcoat and rubber galoshes. Under his coat, he wore a suit and tie. He was a couple inches shorter than me but stocky and muscular.
Gwen squealed, 'Daddy!' jumped into his arms and wrapped her arms around his chest. Gwen's father was clearly excited to see his daughter and embraced her affectionately.
After greeting his daughter, he turned his attention to me and extended his hand. He introduced himself and told me to call him Ian. He saw the cast but still took my hand. He held the cast between his and shook cautiously.
'What happened?' he asked.
Gwen quickly related our encounter with the rude actor.
Ian wore a concerned expression as she related the events. He shook his head and muttered something about the actor not having the honor of the characters he portrayed.
I hadn't been particularly nervous up until then, but that ease evaporated now that being among Gwen's family was a reality.
Understandably, Gwen's father focused his attention on his daughter as he drove. When he asked me about my studies, I spoke only in general terms. Ian was well-spoken and intelligent with a quick wit, but I was certain he had no more understanding of thermodynamics, the properties of light, wave-particle duality, or Einstein's theories than I did expressionism, cubism, impressionism, or surrealism.
When we arrived at the house, I felt a strange sense of familiarity, though I remained uneasy. Ian easily carried my trunk. Gwen grabbed her bag and ran into the house to greet her mother. I was led to a large downstairs guest room in its own wing. It had a Franklin stove to provide heat and its own bath. Ian set my trunk down, I dropped my bag and then followed him back to the front of the house.
The house, which I was told was built in the mid-18th century and expanded several times, was warm and inviting. A large fieldstone fireplace featured prominently in the center of the house. Logs burned energetically behind the screen. Gwen came out of the kitchen followed by her mother.
My head swiveled back and forth between Gwen and her mother. Gwen and her mother were the same height with the same trim figure. Their hair had the same large, loose corkscrew curls, though her mother's hair was now more brown than its red. She had the same green eyes and fair complexion. I wanted to kick myself for wondering if there was a similar spray of freckles across her upper chest. She had a few creases at the sides of her eyes and mouth. I was staring at two versions of the same woman, twenty-five years apart in age.
Gwen's mother was smiling. She reached out and took my left hand and pulled me into a motherly hug before stepping back to look at me.
'It's nice to meet you, Jonas. Gwen has told us all about you,' she said with a sweet smile. Her voice was completely different. Her mother's voice was smoky, with a deeper timbre. Gwen's spoke at a somewhat higher pitch.
Gwen nudged me with her elbow. 'Aren't you going say anything, Jonas?'
The jolt to my ribs broke the fog. 'I'm sorry, it's nice to meet you Mrs. Kenrick.' I was taken aback at how much alike they looked.
'Call me Edith,' she told me. 'Or Mom, if you like.'
I just smiled.
'Lunch will be ready in a few minutes. I hope you're both hungry. It's just leftover beef stew and fresh-baked cornbread. But there's plenty of it,' she told us. 'Come, Gwen. Help me set the table and check the cornbread. Let our men get acquainted.'
I turned to face Ian. He looked amused.
'The resemblance is amazing, isn't it?' he said, wearing a barely detectable smile.
'I'm sorry I stared. Gwen never told me she looked like her mother. The resemblance is uncanny.'
'I don't have to worry about you do I?' he asked.
'What do you mean?' I didn't understand.
'You won't try to steal my girl, will you?' in mock seriousness.
I smiled at him. 'No, sir. I don't think that will be a problem.' We both laughed.
We ate the hearty beef stew and had an animated conversation over lunch. Gwen's mother was a hoot. She had a devilish sense of humor and teased her husband mercilessly. Ian could hold his own. Instead, he played at being offended. He loved every minute of her ribbing. I ate a big bowl of stew and a generous hunk of cornbread. Gwen ate two bowls of stew and continued to pick at the cornbread after everyone else was done.
After lunch, Gwen and Ian went out to his studio, a converted barn a short walk away. Edith drafted me to help with lunch clean-up. I wasn't much help. Edith washed and dried. I put away. It probably would have been easier for Edith if she did everything.
Edith proved to be very perceptive. As we talked, she said things that suggested she already knew my mind. She soon confirmed my suspicions.
'You came to ask if you can marry our baby.' It came out of the blue and it wasn't a question.
'Why do you think that?' I asked. I didn't confirm or deny.
'I can see, Jonas. The way you two looked at each other during lunch. Your nervousness every time you talk to my husband. You might as well have it flashing lights on your forehead.'
'I didn't realize I was that transparent. I do want to ask her to marry me.' I admitted. 'I'm sure she'll say yes. But I wanted to speak with you and your husband first.'
She stopped washing dishes and looked out the window at the snowy landscape. 'I'm not sure what to say, Jonas. You're the first young man that Gwen has ever brought home. She dated during high school and college but never once invited one home for dinner. That says something for you. My husband is very attached to Gwen. I don't think any father is ever ready to let go of his little girl.' She hesitated before continuing. 'I'm going to give you a little advice. Be direct when you talk to him. He can be very temperamental. He can be brusque, obstinate, and more than a little intimidating. I can also tell you he loves his daughter deeply and values her happiness.'
Gwen returned shortly after we finished in the kitchen. 'Daddy asked me to go to the post office to mail a package for him. I'll only be a few minutes, Jonas. Why don't you go out and see Daddy's studio. It's OK to go into the building. But don't go into the workshop unless he invites you in. I'll meet you there.'
She was gone before I managed a word.
Edith smiled at me. 'No time like the present. Gwen will be at least a half hour. I'll call Myron, the postmaster. She loves his jokes. He'll easily keep her there an hour while they laugh their fool heads off,' she told me. 'The studio is a short walk. Wear a coat, it's cold. Turn left out of the back door. There's a path leads to the studio. It's about a five-minute walk. Enter through the white door. Do not enter the red one. That goes directly into the work shop. I don't even go through the red door. Ian gets very angry if someone enters his workshop unbidden.'
I grabbed my coat and headed to Ian's studio. It was a converted barn, probably a hundred feet long and forty feet wide. It was painted a dull, faded red. Smoke escaped a chimney that pierced the roof just below the peak. I entered the white door as instructed.
The room I entered was a large space converted into a gallery and reception area. One corner of the large room I entered was all window, looking out on a large, frozen pond a short distance away. Cat tails grew at one end. A massive fieldstone fireplace, open on two sides, stood off-center in a large open space that soared to the vaulted ceiling. The space was heated by several long banks of cast iron radiators.
A half dozen massive vertical beams supported the roof. Several large mobiles suspended from the ceiling drifted lazily. The floor around the fireplace was slate. Wide, well-worn pine boards with a patina of age made up the floor in the rest of the space. Numerous paintings hung on the walls. A few sculptures occupied strategic locations. A leather couch, four matching leather wingback chairs and a coffee table were arranged in front of one side of the fireplace.
Most of the ground level was empty floor space. A spiral staircase, just to the left of the door I entered, climbed to a loft that ran along three sides of the room. The short wall served as a library with bookshelves, a desk, a table and a few chairs. The rest of the loft held racks of artwork.
