The Treasure of Christmas (47 page)

That night she slept dreamlessly. Or if she had dreamed, she hadn’t been disturbed by the content. She awoke feeling refreshed and renewed. But still she needed to decide what to do. Pack everything up and leave for good or plan on returning after the show? On one hand, it felt as if her work here was done. She’d made her painting breakthrough – as well as her emotional and even spiritual one too. Really, she was ready to go. Then why didn’t she feel ready? With Christmas just around the corner, she knew the smart thing would be to go home. Why would she want to spend the holidays here, all alone – in such complete isolation?

She wondered what Anna and Garret would do during Christmas. Was there a wife and mother somewhere? If so, where? But why was she troubling herself with all these questions that had absolutely nothing to do with her?

“What do you think, Michael?” she asked as they walked outside. “You want to go for a really long ride today?”

His tail began to wag, and as crazy as it seemed, she let that be her sign – at the same time chiding herself for allowing the least necessary piece of canine anatomy to be the deciding factor of her fate. But it was better than flipping a coin. Still, by the time she got the cabin completely cleared out and the back of her Jeep packed, she felt unsure. And it bothered her that Anna would be expecting to hear from her again about caring for the dog.

Finally she decided to go back inside and write Anna a quick note that she could leave with Lucy (who also handled what little mail came to the local post office boxes). Apologizing for her change in plans, Claire wrote that she’d decided it was time for her to leave for good, and she had no choice but to take Michael along with her. She also encouraged Anna to continue pursuing her art dreams and thanked her and her father once again for rescuing her. Then she signed her name and sealed the envelope. She didn’t bother to put a return address on it since it wasn’t being mailed from the city, and there was little chance that Lucy wouldn’t get it into the right box. Then she took one last look around the cabin, making sure everything was in its place, and much cleaner and nicer than when she’d first arrived. She locked the door and slipped the key back into the secret hiding place and, telling herself that she was doing the right thing, left.

But she felt a lump growing in her throat as she navigated the Jeep through the accumulation of snow – the roads had only been plowed once and that had been a couple weeks earlier. By the time she reached the store, she had recovered.

“Can you put this in the Henderson post office box?” she asked.

“Sure.” Lucy examined the name on the front. “Oh, so you’ve met young Anna, have you? Isn’t she the sweetest little thing?”

Claire nodded. “Yes. And she aspires to be an artist too.”

“Well, isn’t that perfect. Maybe you can give her some lessons –”

“Actually, I’m leaving now, Lucy.”

“Leaving?” Lucy frowned. “You mean for good?”

“Yes. I think I’ve accomplished what I set out to do here.”

Lucy leaned forward as if examining Claire. “And what was that, exactly?”

Claire smiled. “I needed to get back to my art. I’d been sort of blocked, if you know what I mean.”

“Blocked? A good artist like you?” Lucy shook her head. “What in tarnation could block someone with your kind of talent?”

Claire had never divulged any of her history to this old woman before, but considering how Lucy had been such a good friend, not to mention working out the deal with her dog, she didn’t mind telling her a bit more now. “Actually, I lost my husband and son about a year and a half ago and – ”

“Oh, dear!” Lucy reached over and grabbed her hand in hers. “You don’t have to explain another thing, honey. I know exactly what you mean. Why, when I lost my Walter, about ten years back, I was a perfect mess. Good grief, it took me several years to pull myself together. I let the store just go to wrack and ruin – Walter would’ve been furious with me.” She laughed. “Maybe he was.”

“But it looks like you’re doing fine now.”

“And so are you, honey. You’re doing just fine. I can tell.”

“Thanks for being a friend.” Claire smiled. “I appreciate it.”

“Well, you come back and visit now, ya hear?”

Claire waved as she opened the door. “I’ll try to, Lucy. Maybe when the weather gets warm again.”

The driving was much better on the main highway, with the pavement fairly clean and dry. They made a quick lunch stop and a couple of stops in between, but the closer Claire got to the city, the more excited she became.

“I’ve got a big show this weekend,” she told Michael as she drove. “And you’ll have to spend some time on your own for a while, over at Jeannie’s, but you’ll be okay, won’t you?” She reached over and patted his head. “And I’ll see about getting us into a bigger place, something with a yard for you to play in.” She frowned. A yard? In the city? Who was she kidding? “Well, who knows, maybe we’ll move out of the city.” She smiled at the thought. “Actually, we can move wherever we want, Michael.” She took in a deep breath, exhaling in a happy sigh. “Because I’m doing better. And I’m ready to move on.” She almost regretted selling her big house now. But it had seemed too large and empty after losing Scott and Jeremy. And even with a dog she wouldn’t need that much space now. No, it had been the right thing to do. She knew she’d find the perfect place eventually. She believed that God was directing her path from here on out.

On a hopeful hunch, she decided to give her landlord a call before she got to the city, just to see if there might be the slightest chance to get her lease changed to include a pet, even if it cost more. She explained the situation about adopting Michael in what she hoped was heartwarming detail, telling how he was an amazingly well-trained animal and how she would take all financial responsibility for everything and anything. And after a long pause he finally agreed to let her keep the dog, but only until Christmas.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but that’s the best I can offer. And it’s only because you’ve been a really good tenant. Unfortunately, I’ve had trouble with people and pets before. So I just can’t allow more than a couple of weeks. However, if you’re wanting to sublet your place, I do know of a woman who’s looking for something just like it.”

“Great, can you let her know I’m interested?”

“Sure.”

She turned off her phone. “Well, Michael, we’ve got until Christmas to figure this out.”

It was nearly midnight by the time she’d unloaded and put away everything from the Jeep. Michael had faithfully followed her up and down the three flights of stairs, and she hoped that maybe this would help to familiarize him with his new surroundings. She felt bad about uprooting this country dog to such an urban setting. But amazingly, he seemed to be fairly happy. Still, he didn’t let her out of his sight.

“We’ll lay low tomorrow,” she promised him as she arranged an old army blanket for his bed right next to her own. She was glad that she’d returned a day before the opening; it would give them both more time to adjust. Being back in her old bed was a little unsettling. She recalled all the sleepless nights she’d spent tossing and turning there before. But perhaps it would be different now. Maybe this was the true litmus test as to whether she was really moving on or not.

To her surprise she slept fairly soundly again. Other than waking up a couple of times when she heard street noises below – a startling change after the silence of the cabin – she really did sleep well.

By midmorning, she was bored with puttering about her low-maintenance loft apartment, and she’d already taken Michael for a short romp in the nearby city park – a mere slip of land wedged between the packed-in housing. Finally she decided to set up her easel, ready to attempt an idea that had sprung up like a fertile seed, planted somewhere in the back of her mind. She’d been toying with it for a couple of days now. And it was time to see if she could really pull it off. It wasn’t that she planned to put this in the show. But it was something she wanted to attempt.

By late that evening, she was finished. She washed out her brushes, and without looking at the painting, took Michael out for one last quick walk, then took a hot shower and collapsed exhausted into her bed.

The next morning, she got up just as the sun was rising. Feeling like a stranger in her own house, she tiptoed over to the easel and took a peek at yesterday’s painting. With the morning sunlight gently diffused through a thin voile curtain, it was as if the painting was specially lit. She stared at the image with wide eyes, wondering if she’d really captured the likeness or whether her memory had simply transformed itself, meshing into her latest creation. But even if the portrait didn’t look like Anna, it somehow captured the girl’s spirit. And that’s what she’d wanted. Oh, she knew the little girl wasn’t really an angel. No doubt, she could probably be a little tyrant if she wanted to be. What child couldn’t? But there was something in that face, her countenance, her innocence . . . something Claire had been unable to forget ever since the day she’d met her.

Stepping back, she studied the picture more critically now. She wasn’t sure why she’d painted a white bird in Anna’s hands; she hadn’t planned to in the beginning, but somehow it had just seemed to fit, with its feathery wings splayed open like a burst of living light. Really, this piece was beautiful. But then that was only
her
opinion. And she had been wrong before. She’d have to let Jeannie and Henri be the final judges.

She sighed, then shook her head. Why deceive herself? It was the public and the art critics who would be the final judges in this matter. And in all honesty it was the actual “patrons of the arts” who really determined whether any single work was a success or not. Because, despite what critics or contemporaries might think, it was that old bottom line that could make or break any show. She took in a deep breath and slowly exhaled, willing herself to calm. But the nagging fear wouldn’t leave her. What if her show was a complete bust?

She filled her day with mundane chores, doing laundry, organizing a storage closet, walking the dog, paying bills. But by midafternoon she felt as if her nerves were all on edge. How would she manage to survive this opening? She fumbled to dial Jeannie’s number, waiting impatiently until an assistant finally put her on the line.

“Jeannie?” she heard the urgency in her own voice.

“What’s wrong, kiddo? You sound upset.”

“I am! I mean, I’m totally freaked out.” She took in a quick breath. “I just know they’re going to hate me – my art. What
was
I thinking?
Angels?
Good grief! Why didn’t you tell me that I was out of my mind? It’s just way too sentimental, too weird. Oh, Jeannie –”

“Take it easy, Claire. It’s going to be okay.”

“I’ll be a laughingstock. I’ll probably never be taken seriously again. Is it too late to cancel the show? Can Henri get – ”

“Relax, Claire. You’re getting yourself all worked into a lather over nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Well, I’m not saying your art is nothing. But think about it – what is the worst that can happen? That’s what my shrink always asks me. I mean, really, what’s the worst case scenario here? That people won’t like it? Won’t get it? You won’t sell anything?” Jeannie groaned. “Well, okay, even if that did happen, it wouldn’t be the end of the world, would it?”

“I guess not.”

“And I doubt that it would even end your career. People have pretty short memories when it comes to art. And besides, what if you hadn’t painted those angels; where would you be right now?”

“Back at the cabin?” Suddenly Claire didn’t think that sounded so bad – safe, secure, isolated.

“Yeah, and you’d be so down, you’d probably be ready to just give up.”

“But if this show goes bust, I’ll be ready – ”

“I don’t want to hear another word of negativity from you. You’re killing my mood, and I need to be on my toes tonight. Now, let’s change the subject. Tell me, when did you get into town anyway? And are you dropping Bowzer by my house?”

“We got here on Wednesday, and his name is Michael. I’ve got permission to keep him with me until Christmas.”

“Great.”

“But, Jeannie – ”

“Only positive thoughts, Claire. I mean it.”

“Right.”

“Because just think about it, kiddo; it’s like you’re insulting whatever inspired you to paint those angels in the first place. Do you want to do that?”

Claire bit her lip. “No, not really.”

“Okay then, this is what I want you to do. Go fill up that old claw-foot tub of yours with hot water and then add some really expensive bath salts – something soothing like lavender. Then put on a nice calming CD, light some candles, and just climb in and soak until the water cools off. After you’re done, take a little nap, then get up and get dressed in something – uh, let me see – something heavenly. You got that?”

“I think so.”

“And I’ll come pick you up – ”

“Oh, I can drive my – ”

“No way. I’m not taking any chances. I’ll be there around six – just to give us plenty of time.”

12

Jeannie’s prescription worked its magic on Claire, and by the time she got up from her nap, she felt a tiny glimmer of hope glowing within her. Maybe the evening wouldn’t be so terrible after all. And if it was, she could always feign a headache and duck into the back room to lie down. She searched and searched her closet for something appropriate – was it “heavenly” that Jeannie had said? She’d be doing well to find something that fit, didn’t need mending, and wasn’t completely out of style. All the while she pulled out items, she berated herself for not having gone out and gotten something special for this evening. What had she been thinking? Finally, she came to a dress tucked way in the back of her closet. Something she’d almost forgotten. She pulled it out and gave it a shake. She barely remembered purchasing it. But as she recalled, it was supposed to have been for Scott’s younger sister’s wedding about three years ago. The couple, however, decided to elope, and as a consequence, the dress had never been worn. Claire wondered why she hadn’t returned it then, but she’d liked it and probably hoped she could use it for something else.