The Love of My Youth_ A Novel - Mary Gordon [49]
It helps that Adam’s mother shares Miranda’s dreams of justice. It turns out that they had a connection anterior to the one created by Adam; they both worked at the local headquarters of Bobby Kennedy’s senatorial campaign. They must, they reckon afterward, have been standing quite near each other holding signs when Mr. Kennedy drove by, waving. So there is a place for Miranda in Adam’s house not only as his girlfriend, but also as Rose’s political comrade, long desired. Rose’s friend.
Miranda’s mother would like to be her daughter’s comrade, companion, friend. She would like to sit at Rose’s kitchen table, peeling, slicing, talking about the world. She sees the desirability of what her daughter is moving away from her to approach; she understands the lure of the smells, the laughter, above all the music Adam plays. Adam understands that Miranda’s mother responds to his music in a deeper way than anyone in his family, who love him and love the music not for itself but because it was made by him.
To Miranda’s mother, as to no one else, Adam can speak about his fears. He can’t seem to do it in his house where people seem to come in and out at all hours as they never do in Bill and Harriet’s, where no one would ever think of dropping in without calling first. Miranda’s father, too well bred to say it, believes what his ancestors believed, and thinks his daughter is in the grips of a foreign influence. And so while Miranda’s parents are mourning the loss of their daughter, Miranda is celebrating the accession of the world.
She would never say aloud that she prefers Adam’s house to hers, the smells of food that are insistent as opposed to the decorous anonymity of what emanates from Harriet’s kitchen. The scent of strong coffee like a canopy inches below the ceiling of Adam’s house. Sometimes, like a dark thread through a lighter fabric: the smell of roasting nuts. Certainly she would never say to herself that she prefers Adam’s mother to her own, that she is happier with Rose than with Harriet. But somehow, especially most Sundays, she is at Adam’s house more than her own.
She will admit to herself that she has more to say to Rose than to Harriet. But it’s simply, she says to herself, that we have more in common. In fact, they do share two passions: their desire for a just world, and their love for Adam, whom they see as infinitely gifted, infinitely valuable, under their protection. This focus is a beam that they fix their joint gaze on, a gaze marked by its qualities of steadiness, of unswervingness. They do not ever discuss the fact that this shared focus, this shared guardianship, makes them feel safer, certainly less alone. This watchfulness; this hopeful vigilance. Adam will be a great pianist; the world will be more peaceful and more just.
Miranda is particularly happy in Rose’s kitchen, occasionally slicing a carrot or a piece of celery (Just sit, Rose says, just sit and talk to me), getting juice or milk for Adam’s little sister, Josephina, called Jo after Rose’s favorite literary character, Jo March. Jo is ten, and Miranda is her goddess. She believes Miranda can teach her everything in the world she needs to know. She is perfectly willing to do anything Miranda suggests or even hints at because Miranda is beautiful and intelligent and kind. She loves Jo’s brother, and Adam loves her and Jo, who has since her birth found in her brother, Adam, sustenance and shelter. They have provided for each other unquestioning, unquestioned love. And Miranda