must have stayed within earshot because Kelly was ickily polite.
“Well, thanks a lot, Martha,” she said. “It sure is nice of you to ask me, and I’d just love to, but today is the day that Janine is having her big roller skating party, and I already said I’d go to that. Da-a-rn!” she drawled with exaggerated regret, and the word phony leaped into Martha’s throat in such solid form that it almost choked her. But, like always, she didn’t say it.
Then Mrs. Peters must have left the room because Kelly’s voice crisped, and she said, “I thought you knew about Janine’s party. Nearly everybody is going.”
So Martha reported to her mother that Kelly had another date and suggested, not too hopefully, that maybe Ivy could go. Somewhat to Martha’s surprise, Mrs. Abbott agreed.
Martha had known that Ivy would want to go, but she was really surprised by the extent of Ivy’s enthusiasm. She arrived early, combed and dressed so carefully that she hardly seemed like Ivy for a moment. On the way into the city Ivy told Martha and her mother that she had never seen a real ballet before—and not even very much on television. Aunt Evaline had no T.V., and the Carsons’ set was always either broken, or being used by someone else.
“But I know a lot about it,” Ivy told Mrs. Abbott. “I took lessons the last time I was in Harley’s Crossing from a friend of my aunt’s. And I’ve read books about it—and I know in other ways, too.” When she said the part about “other ways,” she looked at Martha and grinned. Martha grinned back, knowing that Ivy meant about having been a ballet dancer in another reincarnation.
Ordinarily, Ivy probably wouldn’t have bothered to leave out something just because it might sound too unusual for an adult. Martha had heard her say some pretty fantastic things, even in front of teachers. But that day Ivy was on her most careful behavior, at least until the ballet started. From the moment that the first dancer leaped on stage, Ivy forgot about proper behavior and everything else.
Not that she did or said anything shocking, it was just that she stopped doing or saying anything at all. She just sat in her dusty red plush seat, pushed way back so far that her feet stuck almost straight out, and barely moved during the entire performance. In fact, she hardly seemed to breathe. During the intermission she managed to say, “It’s wonderful,” when Mrs. Abbott pressed her for a comment, but then she sank back into silence. She stayed that way all the way home.
As soon as they got home, Mrs. Abbott had to leave again to pick up Cath from where she was decorating for a dance at the high school, so Martha walked with Ivy as far as Bent Oaks. When they were almost to the grove, Ivy began to run. Martha ran after her, and when she caught up Ivy was sitting flat on the ground in the middle of the grove in her only good dress—taking off her shoes. Then she tucked her skirt up inside the legs of her underpants and began to dance.
Martha had seen Ivy dance many times before. She was always making up dances for a ceremony or ritual, and Martha had always loved watching her. Ivy danced with a wonderful kind of unity—as if no part of her existed outside of the dance—no part of her stood back to wonder how she looked. But this time the dancing was not as much fun to watch. This time, instead of just dancing, Ivy was trying to do some of the things she had just seen the ballet dancers doing. And, of course, she couldn’t.
She kept trying things over and over, sometimes stopping to clench her fists or stomp her foot. Finally she came over to where Martha was sitting and dropped down beside her. Her face was flushed, and her voice sounded almost as if she were about to cry.
“It was so beautiful,” she said. “And I was so sure that I could do it. I could just feel how in my arms and legs. I could feel just exactly how it would be to do such perfect— perfect —things, so easily
“Well, thanks a lot, Martha,” she said. “It sure is nice of you to ask me, and I’d just love to, but today is the day that Janine is having her big roller skating party, and I already said I’d go to that. Da-a-rn!” she drawled with exaggerated regret, and the word phony leaped into Martha’s throat in such solid form that it almost choked her. But, like always, she didn’t say it.
Then Mrs. Peters must have left the room because Kelly’s voice crisped, and she said, “I thought you knew about Janine’s party. Nearly everybody is going.”
So Martha reported to her mother that Kelly had another date and suggested, not too hopefully, that maybe Ivy could go. Somewhat to Martha’s surprise, Mrs. Abbott agreed.
Martha had known that Ivy would want to go, but she was really surprised by the extent of Ivy’s enthusiasm. She arrived early, combed and dressed so carefully that she hardly seemed like Ivy for a moment. On the way into the city Ivy told Martha and her mother that she had never seen a real ballet before—and not even very much on television. Aunt Evaline had no T.V., and the Carsons’ set was always either broken, or being used by someone else.
“But I know a lot about it,” Ivy told Mrs. Abbott. “I took lessons the last time I was in Harley’s Crossing from a friend of my aunt’s. And I’ve read books about it—and I know in other ways, too.” When she said the part about “other ways,” she looked at Martha and grinned. Martha grinned back, knowing that Ivy meant about having been a ballet dancer in another reincarnation.
Ordinarily, Ivy probably wouldn’t have bothered to leave out something just because it might sound too unusual for an adult. Martha had heard her say some pretty fantastic things, even in front of teachers. But that day Ivy was on her most careful behavior, at least until the ballet started. From the moment that the first dancer leaped on stage, Ivy forgot about proper behavior and everything else.
Not that she did or said anything shocking, it was just that she stopped doing or saying anything at all. She just sat in her dusty red plush seat, pushed way back so far that her feet stuck almost straight out, and barely moved during the entire performance. In fact, she hardly seemed to breathe. During the intermission she managed to say, “It’s wonderful,” when Mrs. Abbott pressed her for a comment, but then she sank back into silence. She stayed that way all the way home.
As soon as they got home, Mrs. Abbott had to leave again to pick up Cath from where she was decorating for a dance at the high school, so Martha walked with Ivy as far as Bent Oaks. When they were almost to the grove, Ivy began to run. Martha ran after her, and when she caught up Ivy was sitting flat on the ground in the middle of the grove in her only good dress—taking off her shoes. Then she tucked her skirt up inside the legs of her underpants and began to dance.
Martha had seen Ivy dance many times before. She was always making up dances for a ceremony or ritual, and Martha had always loved watching her. Ivy danced with a wonderful kind of unity—as if no part of her existed outside of the dance—no part of her stood back to wonder how she looked. But this time the dancing was not as much fun to watch. This time, instead of just dancing, Ivy was trying to do some of the things she had just seen the ballet dancers doing. And, of course, she couldn’t.
She kept trying things over and over, sometimes stopping to clench her fists or stomp her foot. Finally she came over to where Martha was sitting and dropped down beside her. Her face was flushed, and her voice sounded almost as if she were about to cry.
“It was so beautiful,” she said. “And I was so sure that I could do it. I could just feel how in my arms and legs. I could feel just exactly how it would be to do such perfect— perfect —things, so easily
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