“I hope you’re right, Mother.” Judy’s spirits lifted.
In a crisp, matter-of-fact voice Mrs. Lurie went on, “Most young people today have to endure separation before they are ready to make a life together. They go to different colleges, are often compelled to take jobs that take them far from their home moorings, like your Cousin Robbie who got his first opportunity at engineering in South America. And, of course, today young men have to serve in the armed forces, usually overseas, even in peacetime. Yet, most of these early loves endure.”
“I’m glad you say that, Mother,” Judy’s eyes shone.
Mrs. Lurie pressed the girl’s shoulder lovingly. She smiled a little self-consciously. “It wasn’t only your grandparents whose love, as the novels say, overcame all obstacles—”
“You and Father?”
Mrs. Lurie nodded.
“Funny, I never heard you speak about your romance. Why?”
“I don’t know. You never asked and we’ve been busy being happy and enjoying our work. We never think of the past. Maybe when you’re old, memories are more important. But as I look back, the years of waiting didn’t hurt us. I saw many of my friends marry while still at college, the boy and girl graduating together, sometimes with a baby on the campus. Maybe we would have liked that too, but John was studying and playing the viola in Philadelphia and getting his M.A. at the same time. I had school and was studying voice in New York.” She smiled at the recollection. “It only toughened our resolution to marry as soon as we could.”
“I think it’s exciting to know about you and Father. It makes me happy. If you could do it, so can I.”
“Of course, you can. There’s only one little difference. When your father and I went together, what you youngsters call ‘going steady,’ I was nineteen and your father, twenty-two.”