Minna Lurie’s lovely voice, as if in defiance of the enforced rest, filled the tent. The flute, then the oboe followed her clear notes. The strings came in. Judy sat in a transport of joy. It seemed as if her mother’s voice soared into the orange supports, into the poppy-colored sides of the tent. She felt an ecstasy she had never experienced.
The applause was deafening. “Wonderful!” “Magnificent!”
Judy sat unable to move. Someone gripped her shoulder. It was Lynne. Judy got up dazed. “Wasn’t she marvelous, Judy? I’m so excited!” Lynne said.
People were leaving their seats and the crowd swirled around them. Lynne said something about Saturday.
“What did you say, Lynne?” Judy asked.
“You remember. We’re going to Toklat and Ashcroft on Saturday.”
“But I thought you went last Saturday?”
“No, we wouldn’t go without you.” Lynne was pushed down the aisle. “Saturday,” she repeated. “We’ll call for you at nine o’clock—”
Karl had made his way through the crowd. He pumped Judy’s hand until it ached. The crowd moved toward the exits and Judy and Karl were carried along in its stream. They stood at the tent opening, the large flaps framing them. The field where hundreds of cars had been parked was being emptied swiftly. Many young people, their arms linked, were walking over the rough ground. Now the last stragglers appeared, the men of the orchestra, carrying their instruments. Judy whispered, “Mother and Father will soon be coming too.”
“Judy,” Karl said huskily, “why didn’t you come yesterday?”