They went back to the small Italian restaurant where Aldo had taken Jean before. It was almost empty when they walked in for it was still quite early. After they had eaten, Aldo said suddenly, “I’m going back to Italy next week.”
“Oh, I’m sorry you’re going so soon,” replied Jean. “But we wouldn’t have seen much more of each other anyway, I’m going home too.”
“Perhaps we will meet again someday, in Italy. Then I will show you all the beautiful places I love that I have told you about.”
“Perhaps,” said Jean doubtfully. It seemed so far away, like having a star for a goal and she was bound to hit the fence post.
12. From Out of the West
All too soon, the course was over for Jean and now she was going home. It was hard for her to say goodbye to her friends at school, especially Peg Moffat. She would always be indebted to Beth for giving her this opportunity. They had many long talks about art and Beth offered to criticize Jean’s work if she would send it to her.
Jean had had a letter from Ralph just before she left New York and he said he was leaving then for Elmhurst. He and Buzzy had decided to return earlier than they had previously planned so they could be at Woodhow in time to celebrate Jean’s eighteenth birthday. He would arrive about the same time she did. That was almost the only reason she could think of for returning home and leaving the glamor and breathlessness of New York behind her, although she had to admit to herself she missed her family. It was the day before her birthday when she arrived.
Jean looked around eagerly as she jumped to the platform, wondering which of the family would drive down to meet her, but instead of Kit or her mother, Ralph stepped up to her with outstretched arms. All the way from Saskatoon, she thought, and just the same as he was a year before. Kit said later, in describing him, “He doesn’t look as if he could be the hero, but he’d always be the hero’s best friend, like Mercutio was to Romeo.” But Jean felt differently. This was the one she had waited for all those months to come back to her. Her exciting stay in New York, the course at the art school, all faded into insignificance by comparison with her feeling about Ralph.
Mr. Briggs waved a welcome as he trundled the express truck past them down the platform. “Looks a bit like rain. Good for the planters,” he called.