all of that," James said, shaking his head, "you'll be there for many months."
Charles laughed. "You know me better than that. I'll keep things moving along."
"You are an enigma," James said. "As the years sap the rest of us of our vitality, you do more and more. And you're never the worse for it."
"If you can spare Anna from the workshop, we'll call her in and present the plan to her."
"Margaretta and Sarah will be here to help with the work," James said. "I see no reason why Anna couldn't be away as long as necessary."
Sarah had been listening with total attention. Her disappointment over her portrait gave way to curiosity. She walked into the room. "I overheard you talking," she said, sitting close to her uncle. "Are you really going to take Anna to Washington City?"
Charles nodded. "She has been doing an admirable job with her miniature portraits here in Philadelphia. It would be good for her reputation to paint some prominent men."
Sarah imagined Anna painting senators, talking to the most important and cultured people in the country. She imagined herself going along with them as they painted the great men of the capital. "I wish I could go, too." She throbbed with the intensity of her wishing. If she only could...
"Sarah!" Her father reproached. "You're not ready for a painting trip. I doubt if you ever will be. You don't discipline yourself." He cast a disapproving eye at the self-portrait.
Sarah gazed at it, too. She thought she had done exceedingly well and now she was confused. "Won't I ever be worthy of the name Peale?"
Charles looked up. "Just a minute...I wonder." He paused and put his hand to his chin. "I wonder. It might work… It's true; you aren't ready to paint portraits of prominent men, but I see much promise here. You need to work harder, but maybe your cousin Rembrandt could take you into his studio in Baltimore and teach you the techniques he learned in Europe just as he taught Anna. If you apply yourself diligently, you will succeed. As long as we are going to stop in Baltimore anyway, you may as well come—that is, if you would be willing to submit to a routine of hard work." Charles looked seriously at Sarah.
James lifted his hand and dropped it on the table with a thud. "Ha, the parties with her young cousins would have more allure for our Sally than a routine of hard work, I'm afraid."
Sarah spun around, her cheeks hot with her sudden anger. "Nobody thinks I work hard enough, but I do. Just because I like parties doesn't mean I can't work hard." Her body trembled as she looked challengingly into her father's eyes.
"No one said you couldn't—just that you probably wouldn't." Her voice vibrated with anger. "I would. I'd work as hard as a mule and listen to everything cousin Rembrandt said."
Her mother patted James's hand and whispered something in his ear.
"I believe you, Sally," Charles said. "You're a Peale and your mother is a descendent of Oliver Cromwell. Why shouldn't you succeed if painting is what you really want to do?"
"Oh, it is." Blinking back tears she turned to her father. "Oh Papa, I do truly want to learn more. And I'm sorry you don't like my portrait."
Her father's expression softened. He took a deep breath. "Maybe it is time for you to learn what another artist can teach you." James studied the self-portrait again. "Your vision is young and I am old. But if I allow you to go, you must promise to work harder. You cannot give in to your impulses to be lazy."
Surprised and delighted, Sarah clapped her hands and wheeled around. She smiled at Uncle Charles and met his jolly blue eyes. "You'll see how hard I'll work."
The next day before Sarah went off to dress for the wedding of her music teacher to an architect, who was a good friend of the family, she paused to look at her portrait still on the easel. A flirt? It wasn't true, but she smiled at the thought and wondered how she would act if she were indeed a flirt.
She wore her best yellow frock and combed her hair as she had for her portrait. She wanted to look like the girl in the painting: clever, polished and serene. A crocheted cape and a bonnet with yellow ribbons were the last touches. She could be a flirt…just like Jane Hayes, if she wanted to.
She walked to the wedding with Margaretta and Anna. People were crowding into the church when they arrived. Sarah started up the steps after her sisters, but stopped to greet Jane Hayes.
"Sarah--my goodness, bright as a candle in a cave: aren't you?"
Sarah smiled, ignoring Jane's superior tone, and asked only if her mother was well.
"Very well, thank you." Jane said.
By then, two men had stepped between Sarah and her sisters. Sarah walked behind them, slightly annoyed when the men followed Anna and Margaretta into the pew. That meant Sarah would be separated from them. Well, it didn't matter. She liked sitting on the aisle. She would see everything best from there.
The church was almost full. Candles flickered and the altar was decorated with huge bouquets of mixed garden flowers. Organ music played softly. Sarah watched people being seated. At last the bride trembled down the aisle in a satin and lace dress. After a few solemn moments, Sarah took an uneasy breath. She felt a sneeze rising in her nose and knew there was no containing the growing urgency she felt. And of all the luck, she had gone off without a handkerchief. The sneeze came anyway, with a loud kerchief, but at least it cleared her head. She sat back. The organ music quieted and the minister spoke. Sarah, oblivious to his words, tried to fend off another sneeze by holding her breath, but it was useless. Seconds before that sneeze exploded, a handkerchief appeared before her. She took it and muffled her sneeze in it. She glanced at the man who had offered the handkerchief to her, a tall man with coppery hair. "Thank you," Sarah whispered.
He turned to her and winked, but already the tickle of another impending sneeze came over her. The sound was louder this time, and a few heads turned. It seemed she was to be plagued with sneezing. Before it could happen again, she rose and walked out of the church. Once outside the urge to sneeze left her.
At the reception, Sarah saw the owner of the handkerchief again. He was standing alone, looking tall in a brown suit. Jane Hayes in her low bodacious dress drifted toward him, with her shoulders tossed back, her eyes teasing. Sarah watched. She always enjoyed seeing Jane talk to men, observing how she drew them with her smile, her walk, her voice, her eyes. When Jane blinked, she claimed their entire attention. Men were dazzled. Sarah walked closer, pausing at a discreet distance. But the man recognized her and waved. Sarah smiled. He excused himself from Jane and walked toward Sarah.
"Are you all right now, Miss Peale?"
"Fine, thank you. You know my name?"
"Your cousin Rubens told me. We're friends. My name is Ben Blakely."
His eyes were wide, curiously searching hers. "I'd like to thank you properly for the handkerchief," she said, catching his gaze. After a moment she noticed Jane watching them, obviously not very happy about being interrupted. Sarah wondered how long she could hold Mr. Blakely's attention before he wandered back to Jane. She smiled in that teasing way Jane sometimes used. "How long have you known my cousin Rubens?"
"Not long. I've just been out of medical school a few months. I met him in the Musical Society."
You're a doctor then?"
He nodded. "Yes, and I was amazed at how much Rubens and his brother Raphaelle know about science and medicine."
"That's because Uncle Charles has theories on both—and discusses them endlessly, especially with his sons," Sarah said. "Rubens would have learned to paint like his brothers and sisters if his eyes hadn't been so weak. But if he couldn't paint, Uncle Charles taught him other useful arts. Music and botany interested him most."
"I hope I have a chance to meet your uncle," Ben said. "And Rubens tells me another of his brothers opened a museum in Baltimore. I can't imagine it all."
"That's Rembrandt; yes, he's more the artist than the naturalist. I'm going to Baltimore to study French techniques of portrait painting