*
Margaret’s cadre of friends and colleagues came and went that summer at her rented cabin in Maine. Posey Thacher, her friend and fellow writer at Bank Street and W. R. Scott, had married the illustrator Clement Hurd the previous year. The trio carved out time to write, encourage, argue, and create together. Margaret threw out ideas constantly, and her enthusiasm was contagious. Working with Margaret could be exhausting and infuriating but extremely satisfying and never dull. Clem often found himself serving as mediator between his wife and Margaret. Nevertheless, their time together was always productive.
Esphyr “Phyra” Slobodkina, an illustrator Margaret had first hired when she started working for Scott, also visited Maine that summer. Three years earlier, Phyra had walked into Margaret’s office at the insistence of her boyfriend, who needed money. He had heard that the pretty blonde at Scott was paying artists advances on books, which meant fast money. Phyra didn’t want to disappoint her boyfriend, so she brought Margaret a manuscript illustrated in her collage-style art.
Phyra’s style was abstract, somewhat reminiscent of Pablo Picasso’s style. Margaret had seen his enormous mural Guernica, which depicted the Nazis’ Luftwaffe attack on a Basque village, when she visited the Paris Exposition with Roberta and Basil.
As a young girl, Margaret had toured the art museums of Florence, Italy, and she asked the guide why the faces on some of the paintings looked so odd and others so realistic. She was told that artists’ perceptions—and mankind’s—were always evolving. When she saw Picasso’s mural, she finally understood what that Italian museum guide had meant. Picasso’s style changed people’s perception of art. Margaret hoped that Phyra’s art could do the same for children’s books.
Margaret didn’t buy the manuscript Phyra had so carefully crafted, but she did hire the artist to illustrate one of the first books on the Scott list, The Little Fireman. By the time Phyra visited Margaret in Maine, her career was well established. Critics raved about her unique style. But she was struggling to complete one of Margaret’s texts for Doubleday; she came to Maine to get help from her favorite editor.
That summer, the nation was deeply divided on whether to join in the European war. Anti-Semitic broadcasts and articles claimed the Jews were forcing America into the war for their own selfish interests.
When Margaret learned that Phyra was Jewish, she confessed that she had to fight her prejudice after listening to those broadcasts. Her confession upset Phyra, who thought of Margaret as one of her closest friends. Margaret’s fumbling defense, that she simply didn’t know any Jews because there hadn’t been any at her schools or in her social circles, only cut Phyra more deeply. The next day, the artist took an early leave from Maine.
Margaret was distraught. She sincerely believed she was democratic and fair-minded, but her conscience bothered her. The sad dismay on Phyra’s face even haunted Margaret at night. She dreamed she was on trial for her prejudicial rant, trying to defend her words. In the dream, a wounded Phyra sat in the courtroom, accusing Margaret of never really having been her friend after all. Margaret knew that she would have to make amends, and she hoped Phyra would listen to her sincere apology.
*
At the end of the summer, Margaret and Leonard walked to the small café at the center of Vinalhaven. On most summer nights, a small crowd gathered at the town’s single restaurant, but the busy season was over and the café was empty. Margaret didn’t even see the owner, who usually stood behind the long counter, bellowing greetings when customers walked in the door. Instead, Margaret and Leonard were greeted only with complete silence, and for a moment Margaret wondered if the café was already closed for the season. The sound of a door slamming at the back of the kitchen let her know someone was still there.
The owner’s wife came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron, and told them to sit anywhere they wanted. She looked much younger than her husband, Margaret thought, as they chose a table. The woman explained that she rarely worked there, but her husband had gone fishing with some friends. End of summer, he always left and she closed up, she explained. She asked where they had come from, and Margaret told her they had walked over from Long Cove. The woman nodded and said there wasn’t much left in the kitchen, but if they liked steak and tomatoes, she could make them a fine dinner.
Margaret and Leonard gratefully accepted. It had taken them over an hour to get to town, and they were ravenous. Margaret had hiked across the island before, but it had been in daylight, and she had stopped along the way to pick berries. She was surprised by how much farther the walk seemed on a moonless night.
A young couple strode in the door, and the woman came out from the kitchen. The smell and sound of steaks cooking were unmistakable, but the woman told the couple she was closed. They looked quizzically at her, the kitchen, and Margaret, but thanked the woman and left.
The woman brought out Margaret’s and Leonard’s steaks and pulled up a chair to sit down with them. Knowing they had come from Long Cove, she asked if they knew Bill Gaston. Margaret kept her composure and told her she did, indeed, know him. The woman said she had been good friends with Bill’s former wife, Rosamond Pinchot. They used to swim together, back and forth up the slough for hours, talking about children and Maine and most anything. She was the kindest person, the woman said. What a tragedy, and now those poor Gaston boys were losing another mother.
She saw Margaret’s surprised face and reported that Bill’s new wife had filed for divorce. Margaret and Leonard exchanged knowing looks but asked where she had heard this tidbit. She read it in one of the tabloids, she said, but she couldn’t remember which one. She had cut the article out to add to a scrapbook she kept about Rosamond. She could go find it, if they wanted. Margaret said not to bother but that it would be nice to see the scrapbook; she had heard such nice things about Rosamond. The woman assured Margaret that Rosamond had been a wonderful woman, that she treated everyone the same—always a kind word for everyone. And such a good swimmer, she could swim for miles.