February, 1906
Paris, France
“Khadija, Josephine, I’m so glad that you could call today. If you would sit here, and you here … thank you.
“I’m afraid this will be our last tea here, my friends. It seems that we will be moving to the United States of America.
“No, Khadija, I’m not sure exactly where it is. Beau-Pere has shown me a map, but I am not sure how far from home we will be.
“Josephine, dear, please don’t eat all of the carrots. You’ll upset your stomach.
“Anyway, we will be living in a city called San Francisco. Maman has read all about it, and Oncle Zareh is helping us find just the right house in which to live.
“Beau-Pere will be teaching at something called the Mark Hopkins Art Institute. Maman says that his paintings in the Salon des Independents have made him famous and important; that is why the Americans want him to come and teach.
“Khadijah, would you please pass the apples to Josephine? And here are some more cookies for you. Here, let me pour for each of us.
“My dears, I am a little bit afraid. We will be leaving Pierre, Elise and the horses in Avignon. Oncle Estefan has promised to take care of them for us. Maman doesn’t want to lose the precious farmhouse Papa bought her before he died.
“Oh, Khadija. Would you help Josephine, please? She’s having trouble with her tea. I think her nose is too big or the cup, dear.
“The worst part is that I’ll have to leave Amedeo. I was so certain that if I had a little more time, I could convince Monsieur Modigliani that I am not just a little girl. If only he didn’t have that dreadful Jehanne … ooh.”
“Veronique?”
“Come in, Beau-Pere.”
“Are you all right, my dear? I heard you as I went by.”
“Oh, Beau-Pere. I’m fourteen years old; is that too old to have a tea party with my doll and stuffed horse? If it is, please don’t tell Maman.”
“My dear, one is never too old to think problems through with good friends … even if they can’t talk back to you. Now, dry your tears, give me a hug and let’s go to supper. It’s your favorite tonight.”