Contents
Chapter 1: Joe and Delia Fall in Love
Chapter 2: Life in the Little Flat
Chapter 3: The Secret Jobs
Chapter 4: The Truth and the Real Love
Chapter 1: Joe and Delia Fall in Love
Joe Larrabee is a young man from a small town in the Middle West. He is poor, but he is full of dreams. He loves painting more than anything in the world. When he is only six years old, he draws a picture of the town pump and a man walking by. People like it very much. They put his picture in the shop window. From that day, Joe knows he wants to be an artist.
When Joe is twenty, he goes to New York City. He wears a long, soft necktie and carries all his hope in his small bag. He wants to study art and become a great painter.
In the South, there is a girl named Delia Caruthers. She is a good musician. She plays the piano and sings beautifully. Her family is not rich, but they love her and believe in her talent. They give her some money and send her to New York to study music.
One day, Joe and Delia meet in a small art and music school. Many students come there to talk about painting and music. They talk about famous artists and great composers. Joe and Delia talk too — and soon, they fall in love.
After a short time, they get married. They rent a small flat — a tiny apartment — in New York. The flat is small, but they are happy. They say, “We have our Art, and we have each other. That is enough.”
Every morning, Joe paints in his art studio. He studies with a famous art teacher named Magister. Delia studies music with a famous piano teacher named Rosenstock. Both teachers are expensive, but Joe and Delia are very serious about their dreams.
They eat simple food and laugh together. In the evenings, they sit close and talk about their work. They share their hopes and ideas. They dream about a future full of art and success. They say, “When one loves one’s Art, no service is too hard.”
But money goes fast in New York. Rent, lessons, and food all cost much. Their money becomes less and less every week. Still, they smile and believe in each other.
One night, Delia looks at Joe with kind eyes.
“Joe,” she says softly, “I can give music lessons. I can teach piano to young girls. That way, we can have money for rent and food. Later, I can study again.”
Joe shakes his head. “No, Delia,” he says. “I don’t want you to work. I can find something — I can sell paintings or do small jobs.”
But Delia smiles. “Joe, my work is music. When I teach, I still learn. Don’t worry. We can live happily even with little money.”
Joe looks at her and feels love in his heart. He knows she is brave and kind. “You are my best girl,” he says. “You are a real artist.”
The next day, Delia goes out to look for students. She walks through the streets of New York, asking people if they want music lessons. For two or three days, no one answers. But then, she comes home one evening with bright eyes.
“Joe!” she says happily. “I have a pupil — a real one! Her name is Clementina Pinkney. She is the daughter of General A. B. Pinkney. They live on Seventy-first Street, in a very big house! I give her piano lessons three times a week, and she pays me five dollars for each lesson!”
Joe hugs her. “That’s wonderful, Delia!”
Delia laughs. “She is a sweet girl, only eighteen, and she wears white dresses every day. The house is beautiful — so big and rich! General Pinkney is very polite and kind.”
That night, Joe and Delia eat dinner together. They are both smiling. The future looks bright again.
Chapter 2: Life in the Little Flat
Joe and Delia live in their small flat in New York. The flat is small, but it is full of love. There is a table, two chairs, a small stove, and a window that looks out to the street. The place is not beautiful, but Joe and Delia feel that it is their home.
They wake up early every morning. Joe eats breakfast quickly, then takes his painting tools and goes out. He says, “I go to the park to paint the morning light.” Delia gives him a kiss and says, “Good luck, dear!” Then she puts on her hat and goes to teach music.
They both work hard. Joe paints in the open air. He paints trees, the sky, and people walking. Sometimes he paints pictures for his art teacher, Mr. Magister. Delia gives piano lessons to her pupil, Clementina Pinkney, in the big house on Seventy-first Street. She plays soft music and teaches Clementina how to move her fingers on the keys.
At night, they come home tired but happy. They sit close together and talk. Joe says, “Delia, Magister likes my new sketch. He says I am improving.”
Delia says, “I am happy to hear that. Clementina learns slowly, but she is very sweet. General Pinkney sometimes comes into the room and listens. He asks, ‘How are the semiquavers today, Miss Caruthers?’ It makes me laugh.”
Joe and Delia laugh together. They make simple dinners — sometimes bread, cheese, or soup. They talk about art and music, about their dreams and future.
Every day feels the same, but it is full of love and hope.
Still, their money does not last long. New York is expensive. Rent, food, and lessons cost a lot. They count every dollar carefully. Sometimes they only have enough money for a little food.
One evening, Delia looks worried. “Joe,” she says, “our money is almost gone. I must find more pupils. I can teach more days each week.”
Joe frowns. “Delia, I don’t want you to work too hard. I can find something to do. Maybe I can sell newspapers or paint signs.”
Delia shakes her head. “No, Joe. You must continue your art lessons. You are so talented. I can help us. When I teach, I still learn. My music is my life.”
Joe looks at her and smiles. “You are brave, Delia. You are the best.”
The next week, Delia leaves the flat early every morning. She says she goes to Clementina’s house. She comes home in the evening, looking tired but happy. She brings some money every Saturday — fifteen dollars.
Joe also leaves early in the morning. He says he paints in Central Park. He comes back in the evening with paint on his hands and clothes. Sometimes he brings home money too. He says, “A man from Peoria buys one of my pictures. He wants another one.”
Delia is surprised. “Really? From Peoria?” she asks.
Joe laughs. “Yes, from Peoria. He loves my work.”
That night, they eat dinner together. Delia cooks a small veal roast. Joe says, “Let’s be thankful for General Pinkney and for my Peoria buyer.”
Delia laughs and says, “Yes, and for love.”
The little flat is warm and full of joy again. They don’t have much money, but they have hope. They both believe that their art will soon bring success.
Chapter 3: The Secret Jobs
It is now the second week of Delia’s new job. Every morning, she puts on her hat and says,
“Goodbye, Joe. I go to Clementina’s house. She has her piano lesson today.”
Joe kisses her and says,
“Goodbye, my dear. I go to the park to paint the sky. I hope today I make something good.”
Then they both go out in different directions.
When Joe leaves the flat, he carries his art bag, but inside there are no paints or brushes. He walks far to the west side of the city. There, in a big building, there is a laundry. Inside, the air is hot and full of steam. Joe works there. He is not painting now — he fires the engine that makes the machines run.
His hands are strong and black with coal dust. He works hard all day. The noise is loud, and the heat is terrible. But he thinks about Delia’s smile and feels happy. He says to himself,
“I do this for her. I love her. I must help her continue her music.”
In the evening, he goes home, washes his hands, and puts some money on the table. He smiles when Delia asks,
“Did you sell another painting, Joe?”
“Yes,” he says with a small laugh. “A man from Peoria buys another picture. He wants one more next week.”
Delia believes him and feels proud.
But Delia also keeps a secret. Every morning, she does not go to Seventy-first Street. She goes to a laundry too — the big one on Twenty-fourth Street. She works there ironing shirts. She stands all day in front of a big table with hot irons. Her hands move fast, and her face becomes red from the heat.
She is tired, but she says to herself,
“I do this for Joe. He must not stop his art lessons. One day, he will be a great painter.”
In the evening, she comes home, smiles, and tells her story.
“Clementina is such a sweet girl,” she says. “She always wears white and has a small cough. General Pinkney is very kind. He asks me, ‘How are the semiquavers today, Miss Caruthers?’ Oh, Joe, their house is so beautiful!”
Joe listens and laughs. He does not ask questions. He wants her to be happy.
Days go by like this. Both of them live with love and lies — but the lies come from kindness. They do not want each other to worry.
One Saturday evening, Delia comes home late. Joe is already there. He has $18 on the table. His hands are very dark with something that looks like paint, but it is not paint — it is coal dust.
“Joe!” Delia cries, hiding her right hand. It is covered with bandages and cloth.
“What happens to your hand, Delia?” Joe asks, his face full of worry.
Delia laughs softly. “Oh, it is nothing. Clementina and I make a Welsh rabbit today after the lesson. It is hot cheese, you know. I burn my hand when I take the pan from the fire. General Pinkney runs for help and sends someone to buy oil and bandages. It hurts, but not much now.”
Joe looks at her quietly. He says, “What time does it happen, Delia?”
“Around five o’clock,” she answers. “Why do you ask, Joe?”
“Nothing, dear,” says Joe gently. He takes her hurt hand in his. He feels the bandages and sees some white cotton under them. He knows that kind of cotton — it comes from the laundry, not from a rich house.
Joe stays silent. His heart feels full of love and pain at the same time. He knows the truth, but he waits.
Chapter 4: The Truth and the Real Love
Delia sits on the small sofa in their flat. Her hand still hurts, but she smiles. Joe sits next to her. His face looks calm, but his eyes are serious. The room is quiet. The little stove makes a soft sound.
“Delia,” he says softly, “sit close to me for a moment.”
She comes near. Joe takes her bandaged hand and holds it carefully.
“What have you been doing these last two weeks, Delia?” he asks in a low voice.
Delia looks surprised. “Why, Joe… I teach music to Clementina Pinkney, of course,” she says. Her voice is sweet, but her eyes move away.
Joe smiles kindly. “Delia, my dear, tell me the truth.”
Delia stays silent for a few seconds. Then her eyes fill with tears. She hides her face on Joe’s shoulder and cries quietly.
“Oh, Joe,” she says, “I must tell you everything. I cannot lie anymore.”
She lifts her head and begins to speak. “I cannot find any music pupils. I walk all around the city, but no one wants lessons. I do not want you to stop your art lessons, Joe. I want you to become a great painter. So, I go to the laundry on Twenty-fourth Street. I iron shirts there all day. It is hot and hard work, but I am strong. I can do it. I make fifteen dollars a week. I use the name Miss Caruthers, and I tell you stories about Clementina and General Pinkney so you do not worry. Today, when the hot iron touches my hand, it burns me. It hurts very much. On my way home, I make up the story about the Welsh rabbit. I do not want you to be sad.”
She looks at Joe with tears in her eyes. “Are you angry, Joe?”
Joe says nothing for a moment. Then he smiles softly and touches her hair. “No, Delia,” he says. “I am not angry. But now it is my turn to tell you something.”
Delia looks at him in surprise. Joe continues, “I do not sell any paintings to a man from Peoria. There is no man from Peoria. I also work in a laundry — not the same one as you, but another one nearby. I fire the engine that makes the machines run. My hands are black with coal, not paint. And today, I send cotton and oil from the engine room to a girl upstairs who burns her hand with a smoothing iron. I do not know it is you until now.”
Delia opens her eyes wide. “Oh, Joe!” she cries. Then they both laugh, even with tears on their faces.
They hold each other tightly. Their clothes smell of soap and smoke, but their hearts are clean and full of love.
After a while, Joe says with a little smile, “When one loves one’s Art, no service seems too hard—”
But Delia stops him with her hand on his lips. “No, Joe,” she says softly. “Don’t say that. Say this: ‘When one loves.’ That is all.”
They look at each other. The room is small and poor, but their love is rich and beautiful. The little flat feels warm with true happiness — not from the stove, but from their hearts.