The Joining Tree

by Claire Fogel

  “Well, something like we had at that hotel where we stayed in Albany, plus some well lighted space for drawing and painting. And a place close to campus, of course.”

  She nodded. “Okay. I’m sure your father can handle this, dear.” She winked at my dad and said, “We can talk more about this later.”

  When I couldn’t stay awake any longer, I said goodnight and went to my room. It was time to send that email to Sean. I’d put it off as long as possible. I was such a chicken.

  I forced myself to sit down at my desk and turn on my laptop. It was almost eleven p.m. so I didn’t think he’d answer tonight. If he answered at all.

  “Sean, I have to thank you again for sharing those class notes with me. When I received my grades today, I was sure they were someone else’s. I actually got A’s in everything but Economics. I got a B in that class. This never would have happened without your help.

  I also want to congratulate you on receiving not one, but two scholarship offers! Kevin says you’ve chosen Penn State. I know you’ll do well there. Congratulations!

  Again, sincere thanks.

  Cara”

  That completed, I breathed a sigh of relief and got into bed. For a few minutes, I waited for the little bell signaling receipt of a new email. But it didn’t ring. I finally fell asleep, feeling sad about the friend I’d lost.

  The weekend before Graduation, I rode to Elvenwood with my last watercolor to show to Francis Sullivan. A few weeks earlier, I’d taken two other watercolors to him along with four new pen and ink drawings, which I’d done inside the Elven village. I hadn’t inserted any Elves into my drawings this time, just the beauty of nature in the rose garden and apple orchard with the tall pines and the misty mountains in the distance. I had inserted a thatched roof cottage in one background, which I thought appeared more imaginative than real. Hopefully.

  My newest watercolors depicted three of the oldest Victorian houses in Thornewood, my attempt to depict days of old in our small town. Of course, since I’d painted them during the spring season, nature was at its best with flowers everywhere. I hoped Francis would like them.

  When I knocked on the door of his studio, I heard him call out, “Come in, Cara!” I finally decided to ask him how he always knew it was me.

  I walked into his studio and before he could ask me what I had brought him, I asked my question. Francis laughed, the usual sparkle in his blue eyes.

  “My dear, you don’t just use your eyes when you paint, do you?”

  I was confused.

  “Cara, you have your sense of smell, your hearing, even the sense of touch which, whether you realize it or not, all find their way into your artwork.”

  He smiled. “When I hear a knock on my studio door, I always know who it is because no two knocks are the same. Your knock, for example, is light, almost delicate.”

  I had to laugh. “I thought you were psychic.”

  “Well, I have to admit to a little of that sense as well, Cara.” He winked at me.

  He had all my paintings and drawings spread out on his table, examining each one closely. I was beginning to feel a bit nervous.

  Finally, he straightened and turned to me. “It’s hard for me to realize that you haven’t even begun art school yet, Cara.” He shook his head but I thought he looked pleased.

  “I think you should exhibit all of these at the New York show. The watercolors will be popular, I’m sure. They’re excellent. Your technique has improved beautifully. And, as you were already told, your pen and ink drawings are exquisite. I recognize all the settings in your drawings.” He chuckled. “I doubt anyone will think they’re real, just that they’re delightfully imaginative. I see you decided against adding any Elves to these drawings.” He nodded. “Probably a wise choice.

  “Leave these with me. I’ll have them framed and delivered to Mr. Callahan. The next time you see them, they’ll be hanging in the Madison Avenue Gallery in Manhattan.”

  When I asked him how many of his paintings he was going to show, he said, “Four for this show. This gallery will be showing the work of one more artist, I believe. It should be a popular show. I think you and your father will enjoy it.” His eyes twinkled.

  “Thank you, Francis. I don’t think I would ever have gotten this far without your advice and encouragement.”

  He smiled. “Just keep painting, Cara.”

  It was a cloudy day, and when I left Francis’ studio, the clouds had become darker, so I decided to forgo visiting other friends and head home before it started to rain. I was riding alone today and didn’t want to take any chances.

  I shuddered when I remembered the last time I’d been caught in a storm on my way home from Elvenwood.

  As I rode past Ian’s cottage, he came outside and waved, but when I pointed to the dark clouds above, he nodded and waved me on.

  Naturally, I didn’t make it home before it began to rain. But this time, I was riding Storm, who had no problem with rainstorms. He kept a steady pace and didn’t react at all when peals of thunder began rolling across the sky.

  I had been a little nervous, but Storm was so calm my tension relaxed within minutes. As we rode into my father’s camp, he came out of his tent with a smile on his face.

  “I think we found the right horse for you this time, Cara.” He rubbed Storm’s nose and thanked him for taking good care of me. The big grey snorted proudly and proceeded to fold his legs under himself so that I could dismount.

  When my feet were solidly on the ground again, I hugged Storm’s neck and told him how wonderful he was. He obviously enjoyed the praise, snorting and whinnying and blowing at my hair.

  Before I knew it, it was Graduation day. My mind was so full of drawing, painting, art shows and moving to Syracuse, graduation didn’t seem as important as it had a year ago.

  Amy, of course, thought my whole preoccupation with my future, rather than with our high school graduation, was ridiculous.

  I realized her situation was somewhat different from mine. Amy wasn’t going on to culinary school this year. Instead, she’d be staying in Thornewood to help her parents reopen and expand the Strauss Bakery, which had been closed for almost a year. She would be running their new catering department, which I knew she’d excel at.

  The weather was warm and sunny as we lined up in rows on Thornewood High’s football field. I was surprised when Kevin was called up to the podium to give a speech. He was our class Valedictorian, which I should have known, but hadn’t.

  Once again, I’d been too wrapped up in myself to notice everything that was going on around me. I was so busy mentally beating myself up, I didn’t hear much of his speech, but judging from the enthusiastic applause, it had gone over well.

  Red-faced, Kevin accepted Mr. Weiss’ congratulations and left the podium to take his seat with the rest of the class.

  One by one, we were called up to receive our diplomas to scattered applause from friends and family in the audience.

  It wasn’t long before the long-awaited event was over. Well, long-awaited by most. Soon the audience of family and friends had filed out of the stands to congratulate and hug the new graduates, smiles and tears everywhere.

  My parents, accompanied by Conor and Arlynn, found me quickly, and I was immediately wrapped up in my mother’s arms.

  “Congratulations, sweetheart. We’re all very proud of you.”

  My father, beaming but more reserved than most of the proud parents, put one arm around me and dropped a kiss on my head. In my head I heard his voice. This is just the beginning, Cara dear.

  Conor and Arlynn both hugged me and said, “Congratulations, Cara.”

  I learned that this was the first high school graduation the Elves had ever attended, and Mom admitted the only one she’d attended had been her own, eighteen years earlier.

  Amy dragged her parents over to us and more hugs were exchanged. Mr. Strauss was all smiles, saying, “Our girls have done so well. Susie and I are very proud.”

  I sp
otted Kevin across the field with his mother, and some people I assumed were his grandparents. We waved at each other, but there were too many families between us so I knew we’d have to wait until later to talk. Unfortunately, Kevin’s father was nowhere to be seen.

  As Mom and Dad were talking with Amy’s parents, I saw the McKays nearby, talking with the parents of some of Sean’s friends. Sean was staring at me through the crowd. When I smiled at him, he looked away. I sighed.

  Conor must have heard me because he said softly, “He’ll get over it eventually, Cara. I have a feeling that you and Sean will always be friends.”

  Arlynn didn’t say anything, but I saw the sympathy on her face. I knew her sympathy was more for my loss of Adam than it was for Sean. I nodded to her to let her know I understood the things she wasn’t saying.

  Mom invited everyone back to our house where she had prepared several salads for a Graduation day lunch.

  She had made lemonade and iced tea to go along with the tray of veggies and dips, fruit-kabobs, and a ham and cheese tray. I helped her set it up in the kitchen. Everything looked wonderful and I realized how hungry I was.

  The kitchen had become a little crowded, so Amy and I filled our plates and went out to sit on the back porch. That was when I realized I’d been avoiding the back porch ever since the weather became warm. There were too many memories of sitting out there with Adam last year.

  Amy must have read my mind.

  “Cara, you look sad. I think I can guess why. You spent a lot of time out here last year, right?”

  I nodded. “Too many memories. This porch is where Sean and I got to know each other, and where Kevin, Sean and I used to talk about the possibility that my dad wasn’t human.” I smiled at those memories.

  I shook my head. “Later, Adam sat out here with me quite often.”

  She chuckled. “I remember the night we introduced our bodyguards to Ice Cream Sundaes.”

  That memory brought a smile to my face. “Yes. I think I should invite the boys over for Sundaes sometime soon. They were all so good to us, all through the summer and into autumn.”

  Amy grinned. “We still have to make that trip to Elvenwood, Cara. I’m dying to see the village, and I’d like to see Neal’s face when he finds out I’m a Halfling.”

  “I’m surprised Kevin hasn’t taken you already. He can borrow a grey anytime and ride to Elvenwood. Oh, you don’t ride, do you?”

  She shook her head. “Afraid not. And it sounds like a long hike on foot.”

  “We’ll speak to Conor. I’m sure he or someone else can let you hitch a ride into the village. Maybe you could even ride behind Kevin. I’m surprised he didn’t think of that.”

  Amy raised one eyebrow. “Cara, I think Kevin’s been awfully busy the past few months. He helped me study for finals, he had one video game to finish and then started working on the design for another one. He really hasn’t had much spare time lately. Plus, we had that weekend in Washington, D.C., remember?”

  I slapped my head. “Oh, I’m sorry, Amy. I never even asked you how that weekend went. As usual, I’ve been too wrapped up in my own problems. Did you enjoy yourselves that weekend? How much of D.C. did you see?”

  She gave me a dreamy smile. “Cara, it was a wonderful weekend. We had a great time. We walked all over the city, saw the White House, Congress, the Washington Monument, and spent as much time as we could in the Lincoln Memorial. That place is so special. It has an awe-inspiring atmosphere. I may be crazy, but I really felt Lincoln’s spirit in there.”

  I grinned at her. “Amy, did you and Kev observe the separate rooms rule?” I couldn’t help giggling because it was so obvious that they hadn’t.

  She just rolled her eyes and groaned. “Well, we did have separate rooms. But Kevin didn’t spend much time in his. Don’t get the wrong idea, Cara! All we did was fall asleep together.”

  Now she was smiling. “Having so much time alone together was really great because after we got home, Kevin got so busy, I haven’t seen much of him. But we talk on the phone every night. Everything’s cool.”

  “I’m glad. You and Kevin were made for each other, you know?”

  She nodded, grinning. “Yeah. That’s what I keep telling him!”

  My dreams that night had nothing at all to do with graduating from high school. Probably because it just didn’t seem very important to me. Instead, I saw those deep-set brown eyes staring at me disapprovingly, followed by a familiar pair of dark blue eyes in a face that was no longer as clear in my memory.

  The golden boy and my dark knight, as Christina had called them last year. Somehow I’d managed to lose both of them.

  My high school years were finally over. Now I could concentrate on art school and my future with no distractions. The art show in Manhattan was next on the agenda, and I was both excited and nervous. After all, New York was a much larger city than Albany. There were many art galleries there, and I suspected that the art-loving public might be more discriminating.

  Rather than driving into New York City, Mom suggested we take the train. Although passenger trains don’t run through Thornewood, we weren’t far from a train station in another slightly larger town.

  After checking hotel rates in Manhattan, Mom thought we should take the train back the same day. Dad whispered to me, “Money is really not a problem, Cara, but we should probably humor your mother.” He winked at me and I had to stifle a laugh. We both knew that my mother was the practical one.

  We took a taxi from Penn Station to the Gallery on Madison Avenue. Although I’d taken taxis with Mom before, it was a new experience for my father.

  “People actually live here?” he asked me as he looked out the taxi’s windows at the teeming city. “There are no trees, just these huge buildings everywhere. And so much noise. How do they stand it?”

  The cab driver chuckled. “It ain’t easy. This your first trip to New York?”

  I hastened to explain. “I’ve been here before, but my father hasn’t. There are a lot more trees where we live. And it’s a lot quieter.”

  When the taxi arrived in front of the gallery, my father preceded me out onto the sidewalk, attracting the usual amount of attention his height and amazing looks always seemed to command.

  Oblivious to the stares, he simply gazed around the busy street. “Unbelievable,” he muttered.

  I paid the cab driver and he sped into traffic. Smiling, I took my father’s hand. “Come on, Dad. I see Miss Galen inside. I’m sure she’s waiting for us.”

  The agent was wide-eyed as my father and I walked through the gallery’s front door.

  “Hi, Miss Galen. I’d like you to meet my father, Brian Blackthorne.”

  It took her a minute to regain the power of speech as she gazed up at my father. “Welcome, Cara. It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Blackthorne.” She sounded slightly breathless.

  My father smiled at her. I could almost hear her purr. I sighed. I should probably be used to it by now.

  I nudged her. “Why don’t you show us around the gallery. It’s a lot bigger than the one in Albany, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, indeed it is,” she said. Finally looking at me, she said, “Cara, for a new, young artist to be included in a show at a gallery like this one is practically unheard of. Art lovers here in New York are rather different than those you met at the show in Albany.”

  I must have turned a bit paler than usual because she quickly added, “Don’t worry, dear. Your work speaks for itself. I think these new watercolors are even lovelier than the last ones. I’m sure they’ll sell.” She hesitated. “That is, do you want to sell these?”

  I nodded. “Yes. Everything I’m showing today can be sold if there are buyers who like my work.”

  “They will, Cara, trust me.” She smiled. “Why don’t you and your father take a tour of the gallery? Mr. Sullivan’s paintings are to your left, and another new young artist is showcased at the rear of this room. He’s not a client of mine, but he’s very talented.” />
  After we’d admired Francis Sullivan’s big, beautiful oil paintings, we moved on to the wall where my work had been hung. On the bright white wall, under the gallery’s lighting, I was again amazed at how good my watercolors and the pen and ink drawings looked.

  “Cara, your work belongs in settings like this one,” my father whispered. “Do you have any idea how proud of you your mother and I are?” He smiled and dropped a kiss on my head.

  I felt my face turning red, wondering if I’d ever be able to accept a compliment calmly. “Thanks, Dad.”

  He chuckled. “There are people arriving. Let’s move on to the rear of the gallery and take a look at the other new artist’s work.”

  The other artist’s work was all in oils, large street scenes of poorer neighborhoods filled with the fascinating people who lived there. It was a microcosm of city life, the good and the bad, the hardworking and those who skirted the law. It was all there in each of his paintings. I could spend hours just examining each person, each element he’d included on each canvas. I thought it was wonderful.

  “Dad, this is great work. I love it. I wonder if the artist is here today? I’d like to meet him.” The small signature in one corner of the canvas was simply signed, “Win.”

  A tenor voice behind me said, “Winthrop Mason, at your service. I heard what you said. Thank you.”

  I turned to see a young man, not much taller than me, smiling. “I hope everyone who comes into the gallery today likes my paintings as much as you do, Miss.”

  I smiled. “I’m sure they will. Is ‘Win’ the name you go by?”

  He laughed. “Well, Winthrop is pretty stuffy, so yeah, you can call me Win.”

  I put out my hand. “Cara Blackthorne. I’m really pleased to meet you. I was telling my father I could spend hours examining every element in your paintings. I’ve never seen anything like them before.”

  He looked up at my father. “Your father. I should have known.” He smiled. “You have the same eyes.” He put out his hand and my father shook it.