the right-hand side of the page. Stella has filled in the rest of the sketch with lines that show depth, shadow, and texture.
When the drawing was true, the pencil moved with ease. When she began to stray from authenticity, the marks had to be erased.
“It’s as if the drawing were trying to tell you something,” Dr. Bridge says, lightly tapping the sketch with the backs of his fingernails.
“Maybe,” she says. “When the drawing was almost completed, I put the tip of my pencil to the paper and waited. I tried to erase all preconceptions. It was a man and not a woman I sought—I was sure of this. I made soft circles with my pencil, hoping the touch of lead on paper would open a door in my mind. But the frustration built again.”
Stella has drawn trousers, one knee bent as it descends a step. The angle of the knee and of the body suggest haste. Of course, she thinks now. It is raining. The man has no overcoat or umbrella.
She has perfected the tailoring of his suit coat. His arms are full of folders, like those of a schoolboy hurrying home. The figure is not that of a boy, however, but of a man, slim but not emaciated.
“The neck and face of the man descending the steps seemed to vanish from the drawing as if— poof! —by magic,” she explains. “But I’ve never seen that man in any doorway of any city.”
“I wonder if that’s true,” Dr. Bridge ventures.
Just before Christmas and before the Bridges are to leave for Lily’s family’s place in Greenwich, they give Stella a present during dinner. Inside a beautifully wrapped box is an abundance of good sketching paper, a series of pencils of different sizes, several erasers, and—the highlight of the gift—a set of watercolors. Though she cannot remember ever having celebrated Christmas, Stella is touched by their generosity. “I shall try a watercolor of your lovely drawing room as my present to you,” she offers.
“You have a wonderful talent,” Lily states. “Simply allowing you the space and time to pursue it is gift enough for August and me. Don’t you agree, August?”
“I do indeed.”
Stella would like to know who actually purchased the supplies. Lily? Dr. Bridge? The two of them together?
Invited to accompany them to Greenwich, Stella decides instead to stay home on the grounds that she would feel uncomfortable among strangers at such an intimate family affair. Lily and Dr. Bridge protest, but in the end, they leave Stella on her own with Mrs. Ryan and Streeter, who presents Stella with a roast beef dinner on Christmas Day.
“Oh, but this is too much,” she blurts before realizing how much work it was for Mrs. Ryan to make the meal, and that both she and Streeter have taken time away from their own holidays to be with her. “But I shall happily try,” she says, looking up and smiling.
A heavy snow falls while the Bridges are gone. Because Stella doesn’t remember ever having seen snow and is keen to go out into it, she asks Streeter if he has any rubber boots she might wear. He finds her a pair that are too big, but she is pleased to have them. During the storm, she makes her way to the gate of the garden in the middle of Bryanston Square. How silent it is! She forges a path to the rose crescent and marvels at the shapes the snow has made on the dead blooms. She would like to know where the garden she drew was located. She gazes again at the snow-blurred houses that surround the garden. The only indication they are inhabited is the smoke rising from the chimneys. She thinks of Dr. Bridge in Greenwich. What do families do on a holiday when they are all together? Is Dr. Bridge an entirely different man in such a situation?
After the Christmas holiday, Dr. Bridge and Stella once again find themselves in the orangery.
“Living with memory loss has meant a life of frustration,” Stella says. “How did the soldiers I met in the hospital camp survive memory loss? Did they go mad, as I sometimes think I will? Occasionally,
When the drawing was true, the pencil moved with ease. When she began to stray from authenticity, the marks had to be erased.
“It’s as if the drawing were trying to tell you something,” Dr. Bridge says, lightly tapping the sketch with the backs of his fingernails.
“Maybe,” she says. “When the drawing was almost completed, I put the tip of my pencil to the paper and waited. I tried to erase all preconceptions. It was a man and not a woman I sought—I was sure of this. I made soft circles with my pencil, hoping the touch of lead on paper would open a door in my mind. But the frustration built again.”
Stella has drawn trousers, one knee bent as it descends a step. The angle of the knee and of the body suggest haste. Of course, she thinks now. It is raining. The man has no overcoat or umbrella.
She has perfected the tailoring of his suit coat. His arms are full of folders, like those of a schoolboy hurrying home. The figure is not that of a boy, however, but of a man, slim but not emaciated.
“The neck and face of the man descending the steps seemed to vanish from the drawing as if— poof! —by magic,” she explains. “But I’ve never seen that man in any doorway of any city.”
“I wonder if that’s true,” Dr. Bridge ventures.
Just before Christmas and before the Bridges are to leave for Lily’s family’s place in Greenwich, they give Stella a present during dinner. Inside a beautifully wrapped box is an abundance of good sketching paper, a series of pencils of different sizes, several erasers, and—the highlight of the gift—a set of watercolors. Though she cannot remember ever having celebrated Christmas, Stella is touched by their generosity. “I shall try a watercolor of your lovely drawing room as my present to you,” she offers.
“You have a wonderful talent,” Lily states. “Simply allowing you the space and time to pursue it is gift enough for August and me. Don’t you agree, August?”
“I do indeed.”
Stella would like to know who actually purchased the supplies. Lily? Dr. Bridge? The two of them together?
Invited to accompany them to Greenwich, Stella decides instead to stay home on the grounds that she would feel uncomfortable among strangers at such an intimate family affair. Lily and Dr. Bridge protest, but in the end, they leave Stella on her own with Mrs. Ryan and Streeter, who presents Stella with a roast beef dinner on Christmas Day.
“Oh, but this is too much,” she blurts before realizing how much work it was for Mrs. Ryan to make the meal, and that both she and Streeter have taken time away from their own holidays to be with her. “But I shall happily try,” she says, looking up and smiling.
A heavy snow falls while the Bridges are gone. Because Stella doesn’t remember ever having seen snow and is keen to go out into it, she asks Streeter if he has any rubber boots she might wear. He finds her a pair that are too big, but she is pleased to have them. During the storm, she makes her way to the gate of the garden in the middle of Bryanston Square. How silent it is! She forges a path to the rose crescent and marvels at the shapes the snow has made on the dead blooms. She would like to know where the garden she drew was located. She gazes again at the snow-blurred houses that surround the garden. The only indication they are inhabited is the smoke rising from the chimneys. She thinks of Dr. Bridge in Greenwich. What do families do on a holiday when they are all together? Is Dr. Bridge an entirely different man in such a situation?
After the Christmas holiday, Dr. Bridge and Stella once again find themselves in the orangery.
“Living with memory loss has meant a life of frustration,” Stella says. “How did the soldiers I met in the hospital camp survive memory loss? Did they go mad, as I sometimes think I will? Occasionally,
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