by Tia Siren
“Now you get some rest, and we’ll talk in the morning.” He stood up and moved toward the door.
“Papa?” She stopped him.
“Yes?” He looked back at her.
“I…I love you.” She was actually speaking to her own father, whom she had loved dearly. She just wanted to say it again, knowing it was all right.
He smiled a genuine smile that reached up and into his eyes. He sighed. She instantly knew that was where she had eventually gotten her own habit of sighing heavily. “I love you, too, Helen. I really do. Talk to you in the morning.”
“Okay, papa.” She replied, thinking that she would not be seeing him again. It weighed heavily on her heart. She watched him walk out the door. He waved slightly before pulling the door closed behind him.
She looked back at the bed and couldn’t resist crawling up onto the top quilt, laying her head down on the pillow and relaxing for a moment. Seconds later, she was fast asleep.
When she woke up the house was quiet. She didn’t remember where she was at first and sat up abruptly, staring around her. When she remembered, she relaxed and tried to focus her eyes in the dim light. There must have been a gas lamp left on outside the house, because some kind of light was coming through her window. She slid out of the bed and opened the thin curtains to peer out over the lands surrounding the house. Back home, there were neighbors all around. Here, there was nothing but green grass and rolling hills as far as she could see.
She could see well enough to pick up a candleholder and matches on her bedside table. She lit the candle, picked the holder up by its handle and moved to the door. She wanted to go back to the attic and take off the dress, hoping that would send her back home. As long as she had the dress and the painting, she was sure it would work.
She moved through the quiet house on silent stocking feet. She hadn’t come in the shoes, so she figured she didn’t need them to get back home.
Back in the attic, she went directly to the spot where she had put on the dress, stood in front of the trunk where it had been stored and reached up behind her to unfasten the ties. Before she could pull one string, she stopped.
There was no painting here.
Chapter Four
Eve’s heart sank. Maybe it was hanging in the house somewhere. Could she possibly find it in the dark? She thought about how big the house was. It would probably take longer than she had even if she ran all around the house.
“What am I going to do?” She whispered in a panic. “Oh, what am I going to do?”
She picked up the candle and went back to the stairwell in a hurry. She was going to go through as many rooms as she could tonight. But what if it was hanging in her parents’ room? How would she even know?
She hurried through the hallways, stopping at each portrait long enough to lift the candle and take a good look. After an hour, she had still not seen the painting, and there were many other rooms left to go through. She tried not to cry. She wanted to go home. She missed her grandmother.
She had no choice. She went back to her room, collapsed on the big bed and cried herself back to sleep.
She had a lot of trouble getting dressed the next morning. She had no idea what type of dress was meant for a ball and what was meant for casual day to day. She finally chose a small gown that she thought had to be for every day. She dressed and hoped she had chosen correctly. The dress that had gotten her into all the trouble lay safe over the back of the chair that still held the sweater. She used Helen’s brush for her hair, pulling it back and away from her face with barrettes. She only blotted her face with a bit of powder and put a small amount of color on her lips. She’d never worn much makeup in the first place, happy with the way she looked naturally.
She could smell coffee floating through the air, which surprised her, considering how big the place was. She went through the hallway, following her nose to find the kitchen. When she went in, the cook stared at her as if she was completely out of her mind. She smiled weakly.
“H…Hello.”
“Can I help you, lady Helen? Did you not receive the breakfast you wanted this morning?” The older woman looked at her sympathetically.
“Um… no… I just… wanted to see how you were doing. How have you been?”
The cook blinked at her, her face revealing her confusion. “I’m well, madam. I hope that you were able to sleep.”
“Yes, I…I certainly did. I… am famished so I will just… get going now.” She grinned and backed out the way she’d come in.
She berated herself for going into the kitchen without thinking that it would not be where this family would eat. There was a great dining hall across from the vast living room. She pulled open the double doors and slipped through, pulling them closed behind her. Her father was seated at the head of a long table, holding a newspaper in front of him while he ate from a plate of eggs, biscuits and bacon strips.
She eyed the bacon hungrily. It had been a very long time since she’d eaten. She felt like it had been days. She hurried to the seat on his right and sat down. He gazed at her.
“You are still feeling happier?” He asked.
“I am, papa.”
“That’s wonderful. Have you chosen to change your seat then? You will sit next to me now?”
She moved her eyes down the table and saw that a plate had been set in front of a seat further down the table. She looked back at him. “I don’t want to sit far away from you, papa.”
He gestured to one of the girls standing on the other side of the room. She came over to him, holding her hands clasped in front of her.
“Yes, sir?”
“Bring Helen’s plate and utensils down here, Anna. She will sit here from now on.”
Anna grinned wide at Eve. “I’m so glad. Would you like me to take your plate and get your breakfast for you, madam?”
“Yes, please.” Eve nodded. “And may I please have a few extra pieces of bacon?”
Anna’s eyes widened. “More than usual, madam?”
Eve hesitated. It sounded like that might be quite a lot of bacon from the tone of Anna’s voice. She nodded. No matter how much bacon came on her plate, she felt strongly she would eat it.
When Anna left, she turned back to her father. “Papa, do you have a painting of me with the dress that I was wearing last night to the ball?”
Mr. Downing put the paper down and looked at her, lifting a large glass of water and taking a sip. “I don’t believe so, Helen.”
“Will you commission one to be painted for me? I love that dress, and I never ever want to forget it.”
“I would be happy to do that.” He smiled with that warm smile again, and she loved him for it. She could see some resemblance to her own father, though the hundred plus years between them had made many changes to the family appearance. She was amazed she looked so much like her ancestor that it fooled them all into thinking she was her.
But it was time to return home. And she couldn’t do that without the painting.
“How long do you think it will take for the painting to be complete?”
“That depends on the artist, dear. And are you in a hurry? Is this going to be…some kind of gift?” He was teasing her.
She grinned. “Yes, it’s for your birthday. It’s going to be a surprise!”
He laughed. “Not now, it isn’t.”
“That’s okay. It was a surprise when I just told you!”
They laughed together.
The first time she saw the painter her father had chosen, whose name was Eric Anthony, she was enthralled with him. He was not like the men at the ball or even the men in her Jane Austin novels. He seemed so down to earth, almost as though he had come from a more relaxed period in time, like she did. He shied away from pomp and circumstance.
She admired his looks, as well as his calm and relaxed demeanor. He was tall, with short brown hair and a trim beard and mustache. When he saw her in her green dress, his face lit up.
“Good morning, Lady Helen
,” he said when he entered the room, his hands full with an easel, a bag filled with paints and brushes, a paint palate and an untouched canvas. She rushed to him, holding out her hands.
“May I carry something for you, Sir Anthony?” She offered.
He took a step back at first, gazing at her in wonder. Then he held out the hand holding the canvas. “You could take this canvas before it falls from my fingers, if you’d like.”
“Certainly.” She took the canvas and followed him to the area he was using to paint. He took it from her without a word after he set up the easel. He was still giving her a strange look. She just smiled at him.
“You may go over there and stand while I paint. Do you have a tall stool to sit on or will you be standing for this portrait?”
“I will stand.”
“This could take some time. Several weeks, in fact.”
Her heart thumped, and she held in a gasp. “Several weeks?”
“Yes, my lady. I hope that is not going to inconvenience you.”
“Can we put a rush on it?”
“Put a rush on it?” He repeated. It was a strange phrase he hadn’t heard before.
“Can we hurry with it?” She regretted her use of modern terms. She wasn’t talking like Helen did, that much was for sure. She was glad they were both from Virginia so that her accent would be much the same.
“Yes, madam, if you would like to. I can try to hurry. Put a rush on it.” He grinned slightly, enjoying the new phrase. “However, if you want quality work, it will take at least five sessions.”
She sighed. “All right. You may do whatever suits you, Sir Anthony.”
“Please call me Eric.”
“All right, Eric.”
“Stand here.” He came over to her and adjusted her as if she was a mannequin, being careful not to touch her too frequently and cautious about where he put his hands.
For the next few hours, she stood listening to him. Whenever she wanted to speak, he would shush her abruptly. “You must not move!” He would say in a firm voice. She resisted grinning whenever he said it, mostly because he had usually just asked a question and she was trying to answer.
“How am I supposed to answer your question if you keep yelling at me not to move?” She asked at one point.
“I guess you will not be able to answer my questions then.” He looked around the canvas at her to see if she could tell he was joking with her. She could see it and it warmed her heart. He talked to her about his family, how they had immigrated from France originally but that he had no ties to the country and couldn’t speak the language. She found out he was born and raised here in Virginia, he had two sisters and a brother, whom he adored and that his favorite animal was the horse.
“Such majestic creatures they are, you know,” he said. “They have minds of their own. They will do what they want to do whenever they want to do it. They are free spirits, roaming the mountains around us.”
“I agree.”
“Do you?”
She nodded. “Yes, I do.”
“You mustn’t move.” This time, he said it very gently.
Five days later, after hours of standing for the portrait, Eve was relieved to hear he was finished.
“Come and take a look,” he said, standing back. “I hope for your approval.”
When she moved around to see the front of the painting, she felt a wave of emotion. It was exactly as she remembered. She would surely be able to get back now.
The problem was that she had come to think of this as her home, this time as her own. There had been no more dances or balls, only standing for the portrait being created with strong hands by a handsome man she had come to adore. His voice was deep and gentle. His words were always encouraging and positive. He held an outlook on life that matched hers, in a way, at least, how she felt when she wasn’t constantly being questioned by a negative, angry man.
“Do you approve?” He asked in a gentle voice.
She looked at him and then back at the painting. “I do.” She breathed.
“I am happy to hear that. Will you be giving it to your father for his birthday?”
She wondered how he knew about that little joke she had shared with her father earlier that week. She laughed softly. “It was never really intended for that but…I might.”
She had been waiting so long for the portrait. But in the meantime, she had fallen in love. The look in Eric’s eyes when she looked at him made her feel as if perhaps the feeling was mutual. She wasn’t sure she could leave now.
“How…did you know I was thinking of giving it to him?” She asked.
He lifted one hand and brushed a lock of her hair back from her cheek. The slight touch sent chills over Eve’s body.
“I talked with him this morning before coming in to finish the portrait.”
“Oh?” She gazed at him, biting her lower lip.
“Yes. I…I also asked him a very important question.”
She felt her heart thumping when she gazed up at him. She wanted to grab him and plant a huge kiss on his soft-looking lips. But she couldn’t do that. How inappropriate would that be!
“I asked him for your hand in marriage, Helen.”
She almost fainted but held her own. “Oh?” The question came out shaky. She cleared her throat.
“Would you like to go for a walk with me sometime? Perhaps we could get to know each other better before taking a step that large?”
“What did my father say?”
Eric smiled. “He gave his approval.”
She chewed on her bottom lip. She was supposed to go home. She thought about her grandmother.
When she looked back up at Eric, she knew what her decision would be.
“Will I be able to talk on this walk?” She asked.
He laughed. “You will be able to talk all you like, my lady.”
“Then yes. I will stay with you.”
“Stay?” He tilted his head.
“Yes. A walk would be lovely. So very lovely.”
He took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it softly. “That makes me very happy.”
She could only smile at him. She was about to change her family’s history books.
*****
THE END
Big Bad Baller - A Bad Boy Sports Romance
Chapter 1
After a painful, long, and frustrating day, my waitressing shift ended. I stumbled home, relishing the sweet release of untying my apron and kicking off my scuffed and soup-stained no-slip shoes. My apartment was dark and lonesome when I arrived, but I knew better than to think it was empty.
“Hey, Bill!” I called as I walked in.
There was no answer, only the turning up of the volume on the television. I assumed that, as per usual, he did not want my voice to intrude on his video games. Sighing and wincing, I collapsed into a chair by the kitchen table, pulled out my phone, and began browsing. It was then that I noticed the heap of dishes piled in the sink.
“Goddamn it, Bill!” I called to him. “I thought I asked you to do the dishes.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he hollered back and then spiked the volume again. I took a deep breath, rose from my seat, and washed them anyway. The soap was harsh on my blistered, tired hands, but I pushed through.
That was what I did, and I did it for my family.
Once I was done and finally able to rest, I joined my brother, Bill, in the living room and plopped down in the armchair beside him. He had his feet up, and his gaze hyper-focused on the TV screen as the controller in his hands dictated whom to decapitate next. Surrounding him like the court around a king’s throne, were the detritus of a long day spent on the couch. I ignored the candy wrappers and empty soda cans and reached for one of the many open bags of chips.
“How was your day?” I asked him, sneaking a small handful of goods into my mouth.
“Lousy,” he grumbled back, without taking his eyes off the TV screen. “Some asshole in freaking China or something is domi
nating the game, making it impossible for anyone else to win. Goddamn it!” He slammed the controller against his knee. Then, remembering to be polite, he asked, “How about yours?”
“Oh, it was all right,” I said, pulling out my phone and losing myself in its glowing addiction. “I made decent tips, though of course, Mr. Davis continues to hit on me.”
Mr. Davis was a lecherous—though harmless—old man, who owned the restaurant where I worked.
“You want me to beat him up for you?” Bill offered and, as per usual, I sighed. He had made that offer plenty of times before, and the answer was always the same.
“No, Bill. We need this job. Rent is due in a week, and my student loans are coming up. How about you? Any luck with the janitorial position?”
Bill reached down, seized a paper cup of soda, sucked its straw for a moment, and then released it with the same “pop” he used to say his words: “Nope! I’m sure the bloody idiot took one look at my record and turned me right down. You know how it is. No one wants to give me a chance.”
I exhaled and shook my head without even bothering to ask Bill if he had called to check the status of his application, or if his resume was free of cheese puff stains. I already knew the answers to both of those questions.
Feeling glum, I returned my attention to my cell phone and flipped through friends’ statuses and news of the day. I was not actually paying attention, I just enjoyed watching the zoom of colors and words flow past, filling up the empty, exhausted chamber of my mind. Just as I was about to click off my phone and pull out some of my homework, an article caught my eye.
Local Celebrity Returning Home!
Come to the Westcross train station tonight if you want to see THE Jesse Valen, star of the New York Jets, returning to our little town to visit family and friends!
Further down the article was a list of his prestigious awards and accomplishments, from his glory-filled college days at Notre Dame to his drafting by the Jets and his impressive stats in the professional league. A highlighted picture across from the words depicted his grinning, cocky face, confident brows, and shoulders so broad they looked like baby dolphins on either side of his V-shaped chest.
