The Treasure of Christmas (43 page)

The next morning she didn’t look at the previous day’s painting. Promising herself to begin her twilight painting as soon as she finished her chores and took Michael for a short walk she set the haunting painting aside – in a dark corner where she could barely see it. Her reason for wanting to take an earlier walk was twofold (if the truth were to be known). Partly so she could be back in time to paint until evening when she might once again catch a glimpse of the moonlit scene, and partly in case she and Michael decided to walk further – to see where those footprints in the snow really went. She felt she owed it to herself – not to mention her sanity – to do so. But just as she was washing the last breakfast dish, the phone rang.

“I hear you got my dog over there again.”

“Hello, Rick.” She tried to make her voice sound cheerful and pleasant.

“Lucy’s been telling me you want to buy him.”

“That’s right.” Remembering Lucy’s warning, she tried not to sound overly eager.

“Well, I told Lucy that I ain’t too interested in selling him, but then she reminded me how my bill’s just a little overdue – ” He made a shushing sound. “I know, Lucy. Just give me a minute, would you?”

“Are you at the store right now?”

“Yeah, and Lucy’s here acting like she’s some kind of dog broker or something, like she’s supposed to be handling all this for you.”

“Well, I told her to go ahead and make you an offer.”

“Like I said, I’m not real eager to sell Mike. He’s a good – ”

“Gimme that phone, Rick.” It was Lucy’s voice now. “Okay, Claire, if you want, I’ll just handle this for you. You just give me the word, and I’ll strike a deal that everyone can be happy with.”

“Sure, Lucy. Do what you think is best. I just want to be certain I get to keep the dog, but I sure don’t want him to cost a fortune either. Not that he’s not worth it. Let’s see, I’m willing to go a hundred dollars to start with.”

“Nah, you’re right, he’s not worth much. I think thirty bucks is a right generous offer too.”

“Thirty?” Claire frowned. “I just said – ”

“Now, I myself wouldn’t have given Rick a dollar for that old mutt.”

“But, Lucy – ”

“Well, Rick’s standing here holding up five fingers in front of my nose and saying ‘fifty.’”

“Fifty is fine!” Claire said with excitement. “I’ll gladly pay – ”

“Claire says she won’t go over forty, Rick. How old’s that dog anyhow?”

“Lucy!” yelled Claire. “I’ll pay fifty!”

“Four years old, you say.” Lucy made a tsk-tsk sound. “Why, ain’t that about half a lifetime for a mutt?”

“Please, Lucy!” Claire looked down at Michael hopefully.

“Okay, Rick, Claire has agreed to forty-five. But that’s her final offer.”

“Lucy!”

“All right, honey. It’s all settled. Forty-five it is. That’ll just cover Rick’s bill and that pack of cigarettes he’s pocketing right now. The dog is yours – you can settle up with me later.”

“Thanks, Lucy.” Claire felt slightly weak. “But I’d be happy to give him fifty.”

“You drive a hard bargain, honey, but Rick is holding at forty-five.”

Claire’s hand was shaking as she set down her cell phone. “That woman!” Then she turned to the dog. “Michael, you really belong to me now!”

The sun shone down brightly as they set out for their walk that morning. Its warmth made the snow soften and melt, sinking down into itself. This also made for easier walking and distinct footprints. But when they reached the tree, she found no new sets of footprints – only faded mushy ones from days before.

“Oh, well,” she said as she turned around. “I have enough to be thankful for today.” She patted Michael’s head. “You belong to me now.”

She spent the afternoon trying to recapture the mood and colors of the twilight evening and moon from the night before. It felt odd to be using such dark colors on the canvas this time – lots of blue and black. And she didn’t really like it. Finally, late in the afternoon, she stopped, realizing that this was her chance to go see it again. She bundled up and then carried a kitchen chair out onto the porch, settling herself in to witness the spectacle unfold. As she watched the shadows grow longer, the dusky blue of the snow, and finally the now full moon appear, it occurred to her that the colors here were quite similar to Van Gogh’s
Starry Night.
She waited a while longer until a few stars appeared and thought perhaps that was what the scene was missing. Then, chilled from the cold, she and Michael went back inside where she fixed their dinner with golden stars still dancing in her head.

And then she painted. Late into the night, she worked, thinking (or just hoping) that she was finally getting it. Whatever
it
was. But it was three in the morning by the time she quit, falling exhausted into her bed with her clothes still on.

The phone awakened her, and groggily she answered, afraid it might be Rick having changed his mind and now demanding that she return his dog to him. But instead it was Jeannie.

“Hi, kiddo; I thought it was about time for a check-up call. How’s it going?”

“Okay.” Claire yawned and pulled the quilt around her as she threw some sticks onto the embers.

“So, how’s the painting coming along?”

“Pretty good, actually.” Claire brightened, still not fully awake, but ready to tell Jeannie about her breakthrough. “You see, I got this dog named Michael – he’s kind of like my angel, you know. Hey, isn’t Michael an angel name? Like the one who protects or something? Or maybe that’s Gabriel. Anyway, this guy’s name is Michael.” She walked over and opened the door to let the dog out.

“Well, good,” Jeannie paused. “That sounds real good. But what about the painting?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Jeannie. I’ve been able to paint again. I mean, ever since Michael came, I’ve been painting. First I thought I was just painting snow – everything was just white-white-white. Then I saw these angels – well, not actually saw them, I guess. But I dreamt them, and it felt real. And I thought, hey, those snow-scapes just need some angels thrown in.”

“Snowscapes? Angels?” Jeannie sounded skeptical.

“Oh, don’t worry, they’re not like cherubs or something you’d hang on your Christmas tree. And if you squint your eyes you almost can’t see them – ”

“Uh, what else have you done, Claire?”

“You mean besides angels?”

“Yeah. What else you got cooking?”

“Nothing really. Just angels. It’s like I can’t paint anything but angels and snow right now. I know it sounds weird, but I think it’s a real breakthrough.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I can hear that sound in your voice, Jeannie.” Claire took in a quick breath. “It’s like you think I’m going wacko or something. And I have to admit I’ve had these same concerns myself – I mean especially when I started relating to how Vincent cut off his ear and everything – ”

“Claire!”

“I’m sorry, Jeannie. I don’t mean to sound crazy. And really, I’m just fine, really I am. I think this angel thing all started when I first saw those footprints in the snow. I mean they look exactly like Scott and Jeremy’s, and I keep thinking maybe they’re out here – just walking around in the – ”

“That does it, Claire. I’m coming out.”

“But you don’t need – ”

“Yes, I do. I need to do an ear count on you. And I don’t even care what day it is.”

“What day is it?”

“Oh, you poor thing. You don’t even know what day it is? Why, it’s Thanksgiving, of course.”

“Thanksgiving?” Claire considered this.

“Yes. And I’m coming out. I’ll even bring a turkey. And maybe some friends too. You ready for company?”

“Uh, well . . .” Claire looked around the small cabin, at herself still dressed in her rumpled clothes from the day before. “Yeah, sure. If you really want to – ”

“I’ll see you around two then. Don’t do anything foolish before I get there.”

Claire hung up the phone feeling slightly stunned. And she’d forgotten to warn Jeannie about the snow on the roads. She went to let Michael back inside and looked around. Fortunately, yesterday’s sun had melted it down some, and it looked to be doing the same today. But was it really Thanksgiving? She scratched her head. How had she missed that? Maybe she really was going crazy. Oh, well, they always say you’re the last one to find out.

8

Claire carefully stacked her paintings against the wall, then draped them with a sheet. It wasn’t that she wanted to hide them exactly. And yet she wasn’t eager to have them viewed either. Not by strangers certainly. Not even by Jeannie. Then she went to work preparing what she hoped would be some adequate side dishes to accompany Jeannie’s turkey. Midway through the day she decided to call her dad. She knew he wasn’t much into holidays, hadn’t been since her mother died more than ten years ago.

“Hi, Daddy. Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Hey, sweetie, how’re you doing out there in the middle of nowhere’s-ville?”

“I’m doing okay. I’ve been painting.”

“Really? Good for you. Maybe you were right about needing all that isolation after all. Although I know I couldn’t handle it myself. I needed you and all my friends around after I lost your mother.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to live out here indefinitely. But for the time being, I think it’s doing the trick.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I’ve really been praying for you, Claire.”

“Thanks, Daddy. I can tell that somebody has. So, you doing anything special for Thanksgiving?”

“Hank and I played eighteen holes this morning, and he’s here right now trying to talk me into coming over to his place this afternoon, but I don’t know.”

“Oh, you should go, Daddy. Remember what you just said about needing your friends.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right. But what about you? You got any neighbors out there in the sticks wanting to eat turkey with you?”

“Actually, Jeannie’s coming up. Maybe bringing some friends too.”

“Well, good for Jeannie. She’s a good ol’ gal.”

“Yeah.” Claire glanced over at the shrouded canvases. “But I’m not sure that I want her to see my paintings just yet.”

“Why’s that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I guess I’m afraid she’ll think they’re weird. Or worse yet, she might think they’re terrible and then be afraid to tell me for fear that I might completely fall apart and never paint again.”

He laughed. “I’ve never known Jeannie to be anything but honest. And why would she think they’re weird?”

“They have angels in them, Daddy.”

“Angels?”

Claire bit her lip and waited.

“Well, what’s wrong with angels anyway? Lots of Renaissance painters painted angels, didn’t they?”

“Yeah. But my style isn’t exactly Renaissance, you know, it’s more impressionistic. And I can’t think of too many impressionists who were into angels.”

He chuckled. “Maybe it’s time for a first. I think it sounds great, Claire. If you want to paint angels, you just go ahead and paint angels. And if Jeannie can’t sell them, well then, I’ll buy one, and I’ll bet Hank will too. Right, Hank?”

“Oh, I forgot you have Hank there, Daddy. I better get back to my kitchen work anyway. Give him my love, and Marie too.”

“You bet. Now you have a good day, sweetheart. And don’t worry about those angels; if you don’t want to show them to anyone yet, then don’t.”

She set down the phone and went back to her cooking. It was a challenge to make anything too festive with her spartan ingredients, but then she wasn’t an artist for nothing. By two o’clock she had concocted an apple pie with a festively decorated crust complete with sculpted pastry leaves (hopefully it would taste as good as it looked). And she put together a pretty looking cheese and cracker plate, even if it only contained three ordinary types of cheeses cut into interesting shapes. What she lacked in food variety she hoped to make up for with ingenuity. She even managed to put together a centerpiece using pinecones, juniper berries, moss, and some emergency candles. And it wasn’t half bad, although she knew the candles wouldn’t last long once lit.

As it turned out, Jeannie only managed to entice one friend to drive up the mountain pass with her, her old friend Leo Goldberg. Claire only knew Leo casually, as someone loosely connected with the art world in the Bay Area and someone Jeannie had dated off and on over the past few years but had never seemed terribly serious about.

“Claire, you look lovely,” said Leo as they walked in the door. Then after setting a large cardboard box on the table, he took both her hands in his. “The mountain air must agree with you.”

“Yes,” agreed Jeannie as she removed her big wool cape and gave Claire a kiss. “You’ve even got roses in your cheeks.”

Claire smiled. “Oh, I’m so glad you came up, Jeannie.”

“Well, to be honest, I was worried you might be up here gnawing on a table leg and mumbling to yourself.”

“Yes, she was beside herself thinking you might’ve lopped off an ear.” Leo looked at her carefully. “But they both appear to be intact.”

Claire forced an awkward smile. “Actually, that might not be too far from the truth.” She patted the dog’s head. “But this guy has been good company for me.”

“Okay, let’s get this turkey into the oven to heat,” said Jeannie. “And then I want to see those paintings.”

“Did you actually cook this?” Claire opened the oven door and slid the golden brown turkey inside.

Jeannie laughed. “Are you kidding? I’m a city girl, and I know how to survive in the city – it’s called take-out.”

Leo began unpacking other food items, and he and Jeannie continued to laugh and joke about her lack of culinary skills. But suddenly the cabin began to feel overly full and slightly stuffy to Claire. She found herself stepping away from them. And she felt relieved that Jeannie had brought only one friend.

“Do you guys want to take a walk before dinner?” she asked, longing for fresh air and hoping to distract them from wanting to see her art just yet.

“Hmmm?” Jeannie looked outside the window and tapped the toe of her soft leather high-heeled boots. “I didn’t exactly wear hiking boots, if you know what I mean.”

“Right.” Claire pointed to the chairs at the maple table. “Why don’t you both sit down? Would you like some coffee or tea? I have hot water all ready.”