Jewish. Thank goodness at least she doesn’t have the looks.”
“Anna, really!” Jordan exclaimed. “Every other little girl in Boston has piano lessons, music is hardly a Jewish thing. And even if it was—”
“Everyone sympathized with the Jews after the war, but that doesn’t mean anyone wants to live next door to them. I don’t want that for Ruth.” Anneliese moved on, clearly done with the subject. “There’s something else I should tell you, Jordan. You know I saw the lawyer today about your father’s will. All in order—the shop to me for my lifetime or until I remarry, then to you and Ruth jointly.”
“Yes.” Her father’s voice: I wanted to make it into something special for you. A real future . . . “What did you want to tell me?”
“That you don’t have to want it.”
Jordan looked up, startled. “What?”
“Fathers want to build something they can leave to their children. Sometimes they don’t stop and think if what they’ve built is anything their children want to be saddled with.” Anneliese’s blue eyes were steady, sympathetic. “You’ve been such a dutiful daughter, working at that shop—but I know you never wanted it. You should have gone to college instead. I advocated for that, but your father didn’t favor the idea, as you know. It wasn’t right to contradict my husband, so I let the matter drop. But I thought he was wrong. I still do.”
“He wasn’t wrong,” Jordan said, defensive. “I didn’t need college. I had a future already, I had Garrett, I had . . .”
Anneliese waited for her to name everything else she already had. When Jordan trailed off, she went on. “I’ll keep up the shop as your father would have wanted, don’t fear. An income for me, an inheritance someday for you and Ruth.” Lighting another cigarette. “But that doesn’t mean it should burden you now, Jordan. You don’t want to be stuck behind a counter selling apostle spoons to old ladies—I know you don’t. What would you rather do?”
“I’m marrying Garrett in the spring.” It came out of Jordan automatically.
Anneliese smiled. Jordan felt herself blushing.
“What about college?” Anneliese went on, gently ignoring both marriage and Garrett. “You could try for Radcliffe or Boston University, but I think a young woman benefits from leaving her hometown. You could go all the way to California, if it took your fantasy. A new school, a new state.”
College. Jordan thought how much she’d wanted that at seventeen. “I don’t . . . think I want that anymore,” she said slowly. “I’m twenty-two. Starting next to all those eighteen-year-old girls, half of whom are just there to get engaged . . .”
Anneliese didn’t look surprised. “You could go to New York, then. Get a job you enjoy, not a job you think you should enjoy.”
Jordan felt her hands clench around the balcony rail. Was this conversation happening? Was it really happening?
“Don’t think I’m trying to drive you away.” Anneliese smiled. “This is your home. But you don’t have to be tied here because of the shop and your father’s wishes. I want you to be happy. Would it make you happy to go abroad? Find work as a photographer?”
“I don’t know if I’m good enough for that,” Jordan heard herself say.
“You won’t know unless you try.” Anneliese rested a black-sleeved arm next to the ashtray. “Take that camera of yours and find things to snap in Europe. It’s another way to learn besides university courses.”
“I can’t leave.” Jordan said it reflexively.
“Leave what? The shop?” Anneliese waved a hand. “You don’t really want it to begin with, and it will run just fine without you. Leave Garrett? If he loves you, he’ll wait. Leave Ruth? If you get married in the spring, she’ll have to adjust to your being gone, anyway.”
“But I’d still be in Boston, able to see her. Not a state away.” Or an ocean away. “Ruth’s already lost too many people.”
“Ruth will adjust. Children do. She’s your sister, not your daughter—you don’t have to build your life around her.” Pause. “And you don’t have to feel disloyal for wanting something different than your father wanted for you.”
I do, Jordan wanted to say. I changed everything I wanted because of what he said. But her imagination was already running far, far ahead of her. She thought of slinging the Leica over her shoulder and grabbing a bus for New York; walking into the big offices of LIFE and applying for a job as errand girl, darkroom assistant, anything at all