  Now that the summer in Aspen had acquired so many glamorous possibilities, Judy could scarcely wait for the day of departure. She went over her wardrobe a dozen times to make sure everything was properly packed. With her new responsibilities, clothes became more important than ever. After all, an actress had to dress properly off-stage as well as on. She owed it to her public. Finally the interminable few days passed. The trunks were packed and shipped off. The suitcases the Luries would carry with them were also stuffed and ready. It was the last night and there was only the final visit from Grandpa and Grandma to say good-bye. On learning of her summer theater job, Judy’s first impulse had been to phone her grandparents immediately and regale them with the great news. But then she decided it would be more fun to break it to them in person and now she awaited their arrival with eager anticipation. Despite that, when the elderly couple did arrive, Judy greeted them in her usual affectionate manner. She was going to do this in her own way. As Mr. Ritchie settled himself in a comfortable chair, John Lurie dug into his pocket and came up with a huge cigar. “I saved this for you, C.B., tin foil and all. I got it from a big shot.” “Thanks John, but if you don’t mind I’ll smoke one of my own. I have certain misgivings about cigars heavily disguised in tin foil wrappings.” He lit his own and watched the smoke curl around. “That’s a nice engagement you’ve managed to get. Wonderful country and ideal surroundings.” Grandmother’s voice reached them. She had been earnestly talking to her daughter and now walked restlessly up and down, glancing at the packed suitcases cluttered in one corner. “Tanglewood, Minneapolis, now Aspen. Like Gypsies!” She came over to Judy and lightly touched her hair. “Well, Judy, are you glad you’re going?” “Of course I am.” The girl tossed it off lightly. “But even if I weren’t I couldn’t back out at this point ... not with all my commitments.” Mrs. Ritchie peered at the girl with a puzzled look. “What commitments?” “My engagements. I can’t just throw them overboard.” The grandmother turned to Minna. “What is the girl talking about?” Minna swallowed a smile and shrugged her shoulders. “You’d better ask her.” “All right. What are these engagements you’ve mentioned?” Judy refused to be hurried. “Well, mother is engaged to sing in the opera. Father is engaged to play in the orchestra and string quartet. And I’m engaged to....” She hesitated long enough to permit the suspense to build. Then with a leap, she flung her arms around her grandmother and shouted the rest of it. “I’m booked to act in a summer theater. A real, professional summer theater.” With a rush of words she poured out the whole story as her grandparents listened with excitement and pleasure. Grandpa stood up and walked across the room. “Good luck to you, Judy. After watching this little performance you put on for us I know you’ll be the star of that company before the summer’s over.” Mr. Ritchie beamed down at his granddaughter. “You’ll love Colorado, Judy, as we did.” He took his wife’s hand. “Remember when we were there, climbing like goats and weeks later went on to climb Mt. Rainier—” “I love the mountains. I’ve never seen anything higher than Mt. Washington.” “Aspen is high. Eight thousand feet and is surrounded by peaks thirteen and fourteen thousand feet.” Mr. Ritchie paused, a faraway look in his eyes. “Those glorious mountains once possessed the greatest silver mines in the world! But that’s a story in itself.” Judy looked up expectantly. For years her grandfather had told her fascinating tales of American history. “You know you’re going to tell that story.” Minna smiled at her father. He looked quizzically at his daughter. “I’m only being persuaded for Judy’s sake.” “Yes, yes, we know,” his son-in-law added grinning. “The fascinating thing about Aspen, Judy, is that until about seventy-five or eighty years ago, it was an empty valley in the heart of the Rockies. Colorado was a territory with little to attract settlers until they discovered silver. Then there was a mad rush to get to the camps near Denver. Soon all the claims were staked out. The late comers looked across the jagged peaks and thought of the silver hidden in those mountains.” “Did they go?” Judy asked impatiently. Her grandfather continued, unruffled by the interruption. “The settlers were warned that the land beyond the Continental Divide belonged to the Iute Indians. But the rights of the Indians meant little to men hungry for riches. They entered the Indian country, naming it Aspen because of the forests of white-barked aspen trees.” “Our treatment of the Indians was worse than shabby,” John muttered vehemently. “Yes, there were cruel and bloody struggles, but finally the Iute Chief made peace with the white man.” Mr. Ritchie paused to relight his cigar. “The rush for silver was on once more—this time at Aspen.” “Isn’t that what you told me happened when Great Uncle Jake went out to California at the time of the Gold Rush?” “Perhaps, Judy, except that Uncle Jake never struck gold and came back poorer than when he left— “In Aspen country, settlers got rich, mining silver or building up the town. They built comfortable homes, not the ugly shacks you see in most mining country. Aspen never became one of those gambling, shooting communities. The settlers were different. Schools, churches, a bank, a newspaper, everything mushroomed into the empty valley. Millions of dollars’ worth of silver ore was taken out of the mines. Then when things were at the brightest, the silver mining towns lost their biggest customer, the United States Government! The final blow came in 1893! Our government decided that gold, not silver, should be used in the United States Mint. “The mines stopped operating. Miners were thrown out of work—so was everyone else. The people had to leave or starve. Aspen became a ghost town!” “What do you mean, Grandpa?” “When people have to leave their homes, everything they’ve labored to build, the town dies. That’s what happened to Aspen! Maybe a hundred settlers stayed on. The houses were empty, their doors swinging in the wind, the streets deserted, Aspen slept.” Minna’s voice broke the spell. “Music, not a prince, woke this sleeping beauty. The old houses and new ones, too, are filled with music students from all over the country. A great orchestra, like the one in which John will play, gives concerts to thousands of people every week. Even the old opera house has its season, students and professionals singing the roles. Aspen is a paradise for musicians! And great lecturers, too, I’m told.” “And don’t overlook the skiers in winter,” John added happily. “They come from all over the world to ski and to train for the Olympic matches. I’m afraid, Judy, you’ll find no ghosts in Aspen, summer or winter. So don’t let Grandpa’s tall tales bother you any.” “Charles, we should be going. These young people will have to get some rest. Besides, we’ll see them off tomorrow morning.” “No, Mother dear, I won’t hear of your coming to the airport. We’ll say good-bye right here—but don’t hurry away—stay a little longer!” Mr. Ritchie shook his head. “We’ve got too much sense to stay on.” He extracted a package from his briefcase. “Judy, I nearly forgot to give you this. There’s a diary, a drawing pad, a box of pastels, and a volume or two of poems. Something for every shining hour, providing your heavy duties with the theater ever permit such trivial occupation—” He laughed as he kissed her. “Do you like my present?” “Of course, I do. I was just thinking of last summer. When I told one of the girls at school about your Shakespeare readings, she looked at me pityingly. ‘You listened to Shakespeare of your own free will!’” Judy laughed. “It’s lucky I never told her about my secret ambition,” Judy looked innocently at her grandmother. “Yes, a writer—some day!” Her grandmother shrugged her shoulders. “Why not choose something easy like digging ditches?” The sarcasm was lost on her granddaughter. “The trouble is I like so many things—but actually,” she went on, “I don’t see why writing should be so difficult. You get an idea, you write it down, do a line research, maybe—there are enough words in the dictionary—” “Of course,” her grandmother said wryly. Mrs. Ritchie put on her coat and she too remembered a parcel. “Minna dear,” she said, handing her daughter an oversized shoebox, “take this with you on the trip. It might come in handy.” Her daughter eyed the box suspiciously. “Come in handy?” She’d heard that formula before. “Mother! You’d think we were crossing the continent in the covered wagon days. Haven’t we enough to carry?” “Be thankful, Minna, it isn’t a roast turkey with all the trimmings,” her father said, laughing while Minna shook her head in mock despair. John cleared his throat and impulsively put his arms around his parents-in-law. “We know how good you’ve been to us, and how patient. But as musicians, we must go where opportunity beckons.” Judy stood with her mother at the window and watched her grandparents walk slowly to their car. Their shoulders touched, Grandma holding Grandpa’s arm. “They’re so wonderful,” her mother murmured. “They made our careers possible. It wasn’t easy for us, nor for them.” Her voice was low, as if speaking to herself. “Struggle ... to get even this far—” “What struggle?” Judy wondered. All those exciting trips her parents took to faraway countries? Of course, they were rarely able to get engagements together. Last month her father was in Canada and her mother in Argentina. But in only two weeks they were back. As for herself, she always had her grandparents! They disliked the city and the cramped quarters of their daughter’s apartment. But they came just the same, giving it, even for a week or two, something of the atmosphere of their own home. A corner of the living room was turned into a studio for Grandfather where he painted happily after a busy day at the office. In another corner of the living room Grandmother had her typewriter where she labored, when time permitted, at stories hopefully sent off, but whose return never disheartened her for long! Records were played, but the piano was rarely opened. Yes, it was fun having her grandparents move in. Members of the family dropped in whom Judy otherwise never saw. And the joy of the theater! Once it was “Medea.” When her grandmother protested, Grandfather had said, “What, have the girl miss the chance of seeing Judith Anderson!” They sat in the balcony, Grandmother wearing Grandfather’s glasses. She always insisted her eyes were perfect, except now and then. Her firm, straight back was bent forward, not to miss a single word. Grandfather sat at ease, enjoying himself. Her mother touched her arm. “What are you thinking about, Judy?” “Nothing ... just remembering some wonderful times with Grandmother and Grandfather.” Her mother sighed. “It seems only a few years ago that they were climbing mountains! Now they seem old.” “How can you say that, Mother? They never seem old to me.” “You’re a strange girl.” They turned back to the living room. Mrs. Lurie checked over the suitcases for the last time. Judy tidied up the room while her father carefully covered his precious viola with layers of soft cloths. The last chores were done. In the morning they would start on the first lap of their journey to Aspen. |
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