Accolades followed Eric and Lynne from New York to their small town; the local paper published an article about the artist, but Eric refrained from allowing them to photograph him at work. Eric had claimed that with contractors tearing up the house, it wasn’t safe for outsiders, but he permitted a shot of him standing beside the barn painting, taken at the Aherns’ home. After the piece was printed, Eric was besieged by townspeople, begging him to paint their families. Lynne ran interference, and the builders assisted, too noisy for Mrs. Snyder to speak on the telephone. Eric would wait until the renovations were finished before he began painting at the house, which had been fine with his wife. Plus, there was another subject Eric wished to capture.
Renee had been surprised by Eric’s request, and had nearly said no, once Sam made it clear he did not want it to be a portrait of them both. But Sam had urged his wife to sit for Eric, all joking that her eyes would be the chief test of his abilities. Renee agreed, only if at first Lynne would join her, both women dressed in their uniforms. Lynne didn’t mind, and on Renee’s free days, they posed in the Aherns’ backyard, as Eric worked with his usual speed. Sam watched, and was shocked at how quickly Eric could produce a canvas, and how realistically he conveyed two women with remarkable physical contrasts. Yet they seemed similar to Sam, although Renee’s eyes were nothing like Lynne’s. Renee’s eyes were depicted as Sam had always seen them, the most alluring part of her entire presence. From the moment they had met, Sam had never been able to forget her stoplight eyes.
In the painting, Renee’s hair was collected under her cap, and one might not realize she was a redhead until they studied her eyebrows and lashes. Eric had perfectly matched the hue, and Sam tried to discern just what kind of vision Eric possessed, as well as see into his wife’s eyes from a different perspective. When Sam gazed into Renee’s eyes, he found love, acceptance, and great need. When Sam peered at Eric’s interpretation, those moods were joined by thankfulness, faithfulness, and hope. Then Sam had to look away, for he couldn’t ignore the reason for her optimism. It had nothing to do with him being miraculously healed. It had to do with that blue barn.
That barn was Sam and Renee’s home. She wanted to fill that structure, but of course they couldn’t. Still, she prayed about it, couldn’t move much past it. But until now, Sam hadn’t realized the depth of her wishes, and they weren’t futile. Was she expecting a miracle, he wondered? Then he smiled inwardly. Eric was living proof of the oddest phenomenon, and between that and their faith, who knew what could happen?
As that painting took shape, Sam spent his days at the VA hospital, or in the kitchen, ministering to Eric, who altered as he painted. He ate little, then would gorge himself. Lynne had taken the task, when not posing, of conferring with the contractors, which Sam thought was brave of her, but perhaps now Eric’s notoriety permitted that the artist’s wife was better suited to speak with about such matters. When Renee returned to work, Eric and Lynne remained at their own house, and Sam wondered if then Eric spoke to the workers, and what was Lynne doing in that time. By mid-May, Eric returned to the Aherns’, painting just Renee, who posed in casual clothes, her hair falling over her shoulders. But this time Sam didn’t observe the proceedings. He wasn’t sure how much more about his wife he wanted to know.
Sam wished Eric would go home and paint Lynne. Then Sam chuckled, for painting Lynne was probably set to change, revealing far more of Eric’s wife than Sam had ever seen. Renee had mentioned it, late at night, after prayers were said and cuddles exchanged. When the Snyder house was finished, Lynne was going to pose for her husband, and it probably wasn’t going to be a continuation of the previous series. Then Renee adamantly noted that Eric hadn’t mentioned anything of the sort to her, although her voice was slightly wistful, making Sam laugh out loud. Eric was a proper gentleman, but perhaps every woman ached for a genius to paint them nude.
Renee posed for Eric throughout the rest of May, but Sam rebuffed his wife’s request to join her. Eric never asked, not since Sam had refused before the exhibit. But Sam wasn’t sure if Eric had put the notion from his mind. When obsessed with canvas, Eric was hard to read. Sam felt that Eric had another distinct personality in those moments, somewhere between a man and a bird of prey. When a brush and palette were involved, Eric Snyder couldn’t halt instinctive actions that weren’t brutal, but certainly evoked a survival disposition. Those sentiments had kept Sam alive in Korea, although until then, he had never realized they dwelled within him.
Was that why he didn’t want to pose, he wondered, hearing his wife and Eric’s backyard chatter through the open kitchen window. Sam now remained in the house when Renee posed for Eric, but he couldn’t escape the consequences of their activities. Whether he was cooking, cleaning, or just relaxing on the sofa, Sam felt a creeping invasion of his privacy. It hadn’t stirred any nightmares, but it was perplexing. It also kept him from delving too deeply into Renee’s thoughts, although when he stared at the blue barn, he had to shake himself. He had put them inside it, but what did she think inhabited it now?
Initially she had mentioned chickens, he recalled with a smile, but then she always felt badly about that. Pigs too, if he remembered correctly, but not huge beasts. While Sam now understood his musings, originally he hadn’t analyzed those horses’ representations, until Lynne had asked him, and then Sam had felt utterly ridiculous. Sam walked from the kitchen into the bedroom, watching Eric and Renee studying the painting. Their laughter was gentle but genuine, and Sam wanted to join them, but he hesitated. What might Eric have learned about Renee, and of that, what had he translated onto the canvas?
Renee caught Sam’s gaze, then motioned for him. He nodded, then returned to the kitchen, going out the back door. Birds chirped and a soft spring breeze warmed his face. Then he inhaled oil paints, as he reached Eric’s easel, the artist and model flanking it. Sam stepped between them, facing the painting straight on. But he stared past it, at the house, unable to focus on the image.
“Well, I think this’s it for the day. Light’s starting to fade. Besides, I bet Lynne’s ready for me to come home.” Eric’s tone was light, but he didn’t pat Sam on the back, as he sometimes did. “I’ll just put this in the house, will probably finish it tomorrow. Sam, you give me a hand?”
“Honey, whatdya think?” Renee asked.
Sam still couldn’t concentrate on the painting, but he nodded, as if doing so. “It’s great. God Eric, I just don’t know how you do it.”
“Neither do I.” Eric smiled, taking the painting from the easel. “Sam, you get the rest?”
“Oh sure.” Sam toted the easel, following Renee and Eric around the side of the house. Renee opened the door, then the men stepped inside, going to the back bedroom, where Eric stored his equipment. The floor was protected by old sheets, and Sam placed the easel in the center of the room. Eric carefully set the painting on the easel, but he didn’t study the piece. Neither did Sam. Instead he gazed at Eric’s healed left foot, then at Eric’s eyes. No visible trace of hawk remained, but Eric didn’t see like the rest of them did. Sam shivered, but Eric missed that, already heading through the doorway.
During the first two weeks of June, Eric didn’t paint at all, as the final touches were made to the Snyder home. Eric had tweaked the designs, having showers installed in the master and guest bathrooms. Lynne had enjoyed that feature at the hotel, and it hadn’t taken much extra effort for the contractors, what with everything else that had been planned. Eric had informed Stanford that the October show would be of Lynne, and Renee Ahern, although the women would be displayed in very different mediums. The only canvas Eric was excluding was that of them in their nurses’ uniforms; Renee didn’t want her profession as a part of the exhibit. The paintings of Renee weren’t going to be sold, only displayed, but all of Eric’s interpretations of Lynne would be available, and Stanford expected them to fetch high prices. He still fielded calls from those requesting Eric’s time, but as the last of the building materials were removed, Eri
c told his dealer that he had another series to start. Stanford didn’t ask for details, and Eric didn’t offer any. The men arranged a weekend in late August for both Stanford and Lawrence to visit, when Eric would show them all he wanted exhibited in autumn.
All of the paintings would be seen unvarnished. Eric would attend to that task in due time, and those who bought the pictures of Lynne would acquiesce to whatever the artist required. Renee’s portraits would be given to members of her family, for Christmas, she had laughed, saving her the shopping. Eric was keeping the nurses’ portrait, as he thought of it, for himself. But he had told Sam that whenever he wanted it, Eric would gladly loan it to the Aherns. They could start their own gallery, Sam had joked, but Eric had heard an underlying tension in Sam’s voice. It wasn’t about Renee as a model, but a subject Eric still hoped one day to unravel.
A team of gardeners was set to spend next week tending to the backyard, while Lynne and Eric tidied their new home. The house did feel differently to Eric, and Lynne agreed. Part of it was due to the expansive brightness that lit the living room, next to the new sunroom. The upstairs was spacious too, although the storage room would still be stacked with paintings, as would the extra room. But two other bedrooms now waited to be used, one of which would be where Lawrence slept at the end of summer. Eric didn’t expect the nature of Laurie and Stanford’s relationship to be revealed, but he was curious which of those new rooms Lawrence would choose. One was next to the guest room, the other was beside the master suite. Eric would let Lawrence decide, but that was still weeks away.
On Friday, June sixteenth, Eric walked the head contractor to the front gate, shaking that man’s hand. The final check had been written, and both Mr. and Mrs. Snyder were very pleased with the results, Eric said in a cheery voice. The man nodded, having gained an appreciation for this client since beginning the renovations. He had been given a tour of Eric’s studio, where all of the artist’s canvases had been stored. The man had no idea those fantastic landscapes were based upon the painter’s spouse, but nightly he had relayed to his wife how talented was this Eric Snyder. And he had assured his wife that no, there weren’t any nudes among the canvases.
There hadn’t been a free moment for Eric to paint Lynne in that manner, what with all the work he had accomplished at the Aherns’. Those paintings had caught the contractor’s attention too, but Eric hadn’t given away Renee’s identity. The town was small, but not all paths crossed. Eric said goodbye to the builder, not wondering if he would ever see him again. All Eric considered, as he heard the man drive away, was when Lynne would be ready to pose.
Slowly Eric walked to the house, which now looked formidable. It wasn’t a mansion, but it had been substantially altered, and he inspected the new exterior layout, thrilled with the results. The gardeners would refashion the patio, but it would now approach where the fountain bubbled. Behind the sunroom, boysenberry vines needed attention; that year’s crop would be smaller than last year, he accepted, but Lynne wouldn’t have as much time to bake pies. Then Eric laughed, looking at his wife, standing between the open French doors. She was much closer than before, for now the living room stretched to where the original patio had ended. Her smile was naughty, and he stepped toward her. “We’re finally alone,” he said.
“It’s about time. But next week this place will be swarming with more hired hands. By the time Stanford and Laurie get here, I hope we’ll have had a moment’s peace.”
“Oh, I assure you, we’ll have enjoyed plenty of privacy.” Eric stood beside her, stroking her face. Then he wrapped her close, kissing her.
She pulled away, giggling. “And in the meantime, shall I make us some lunch?”
“Oh, if you’re hungry.”
“Aren’t you?” she asked. “We haven’t eaten since breakfast. It’s after one, you know.”
“Hmmm, one you say.” He smiled, then gazed at the studio. “The light looks perfect.”
Lynne rolled her eyes, then tapped her foot. “He might come back. Maybe he forgot a hammer or something.”
“He can get it on Monday. We have two days before anyone intrudes.”
Eric placed his hands on her hips, grasping with intent. Lynne pressed against him, then more kisses were shared. But these weren’t all about intimacy. This time Eric pulled away first, but he kept his hands upon her. “I love you. There’s so much I want to give you.”
She nodded, then cleared her throat. “What about the sunroom? Is the light all right in there?”
“Let’s investigate,” he chuckled.
Hand in hand they walked into that new room, which was solid glass until the last three feet to the ground. Tiles lined the floor, and it was empty, except for stray bits of dust. The windows sparkled, revealing tangled berry vines to the right, the garden’s expanse to the left. The fountain could be seen, and the studio lingered in the distance. Where the new patio would be built was to the far left, and French doors led to that space. Those doors were closed now, but Eric opened them, permitting a cooling breeze. “What do you think?” he asked his wife.
“I think this will be a lovely place to entertain if it’s raining.”
He laughed. “I can think of other uses.”
“I’m sure you can.”
He smiled, then stood beside her. “You know, I am hungry.” He wouldn’t pressure her, just as he wouldn’t harass Samuel. “What’s in the fridge?”
But Lynne didn’t answer him. Instead she closed one of the French doors, standing in the open space. “Eric, how will you do it?”
Her tone was soft, and somewhat anxious. He joined her, wrapping his arms around her torso. “As tenderly as I make love to you. But only if you want me to honey. That’s entirely up to you.”
She leaned against him, grasping his hands at her waist. “Do you need this much light?”
“Not in the beginning.” Eric kissed the back of her head, then nuzzled into her hair, which now was near the middle of her back. “Why don’t we eat lunch first? No use working on an empty stomach. Then we can….”
She giggled again, as he pressed his groin into her buttocks. “Maybe after dinner? Or would that not be enough light?”
He smiled. “That might be perfect.” He wanted a gentle introduction for this new venture, and didn’t care if it began in their house, or within the studio. Right now, the studio was actually off limits, for no room existed. He would carry the canvases back to where they belonged while gardeners tackled the exterior, and while Lynne…. While she percolated in his mind, and pottered around their renovated home. Then, when the gardeners had left for the day, Eric could paint his wife in the evenings, plenty of light remaining. And once she was comfortable, they could move to the studio, where the sofa waited, and all of his supplies, and no phone to answer….
She turned to face him, then rubbed her cheek against his. Another kiss was shared, which led to several more, which in turn took the couple upstairs to their bedroom. By the time they got around to eating lunch, it was more of an early supper. And Lynne made sure both had eaten plenty, for, as she smiled, it was going to be a long evening.
She fell asleep before her husband that night, but Eric was too wound up for slumber. He sat in the sunroom well after dark, the doors ajar, the sounds of night soothing his still whirring mind.
The painting rested on the easel, but by Sunday night, it would be finished. How he knew that, he wasn’t sure, but it had come together as succinctly as his previous works, also with a newfound rhythm that accounted for some of Eric’s edginess. His lingering energies were due to what lay on the canvas, and what remained within Eric’s brain.
Painting her in this manner had always been his heart’s desire, but he hadn’t been prepared for the actual process, which wasn’t like how he had depicted her only months before. Now those landscapes seemed like shrouds, which were safe to display to others. Eric wasn’t sure if he would ever show this series to anyone.
He might not even let Stanford have a peek, and c
ertainly not Sam and Renee; while Eric hadn’t painted his wife in a racy pose, he had injected her likeness with more desire than originally intended. Perhaps after a time, the nudes wouldn’t be so electric, or maybe Eric had no other way to paint his beloved than with all of his passion exemplified. He felt spent, but still adrift, yet that was familiar; until a piece was finished, part of his psyche was missing.
But another feeling hovered, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. Then he smiled, getting up, then closing the French doors. He locked them, then left the sunroom, checking that the rest of the house was secure. The place seemed huge, and a little eerie, as new walls and fixtures began to settle. But in a matter of months, this would be again like home, perhaps after Stanford and Laurie visited, or even the first time Sam and Renee came for a meal. Eric wanted the backyard cleaned first, then the Aherns could stop in. Maybe not on the Fourth of July; Eric wished to spend that day with Lynne alone. But last summer seemed far from Eric’s consciousness. All he knew now was tremendous peace.
He took the stairs, hearing Lynne’s steady breathing. After dinner, Lynne had lain on a lounge chair, hastily covered with some of the sheets she had bought when he came home last year. But nothing was said about that time, which seemed like another life, as Eric made certain she was comfortable, although she joked it wasn’t as nice as posing on the sofa. But within minutes Lynne was relaxed, and once that occurred, Eric began layering paint on the canvas, glad for their previous sessions, which had set the tone. Lynne expressed no fear, radiating a warm, inviting glow that fueled Eric, and only the darkening sky had ceased his activities.
Then, he knelt beside her, stroking her body with his hands, laying hues against her skin. But those colors seemed as natural as the flesh that protected her muscles, organs, and bones, which he was bringing to life on the canvas behind him. She didn’t ask to see it, but groaned under his touch, and within minutes he was inside her, satisfying both of their desires. They lay there until night enveloped the sky, and Eric wasn’t sure how many times they had repeated those loving actions. He had walked her up the stairs, quiet giggles sufficing for sentiments that were best conveyed by what they had done, and what he was painting. Perhaps no one needed to witness that level of emotion. Maybe it was only for them.
As Eric undressed, Lynne remained stilled, but she faced his side of the bed. Good thing they had plenty of sheets, he smiled, getting in next to her. An artist’s life wasn’t exactly tidy, but it was tiring. Eric closed his eyes, as a wave of sleep seeped from Lynne’s warm body. As slumber approached, Eric’s last thought was to her wide smile, which hadn’t changed from the moment he picked up the brush, to when he had set it down. It was finally their time, he thought, where nothing intruded.
Chapter 29
The Hawk: Part Two Page 7
