The first thing she saw was a sketch of Cord’s face looking back at her. Her heart stuttered and again she felt the sting of his anger. The betrayal he had felt.
She pushed on.
“I met a family while I was there and I found myself inspired by them. So I started drawing and painting using them as my inspiration.” Ella laid out her sketches, explaining her vision for them once completed. She laid out a canvas she had finished but not stretched yet. Then, ignoring her mother’s warning shake of her head, the photographs of her finished works. “You realize, of course, that the photographs can’t capture the vibrancy of the paintings or the placement,” she said as she laid out the pictures, explaining how she envisioned them grouped and connected.
She talked about the technique she’d used and how she had gone back to the basics of painting again, finding freedom to fully express herself that way.
“So you are staying away from mixed media,” Blanche DuMonde was saying, adjusting her glasses as she held up one of the photographs, a frown creasing her forehead.
“For now,” Ella said. “I like the versatility that mixed media gives me, but I found myself desiring to, as I said, go back to the basics.” Once again she looked from the pictures she had done to her older works leaning against the wall.
I think the world needs more light. More joy.
Cord’s words slipped into her mind, affirming her choices. Reminding her of the joy she felt when she did this work.
Blanche leaned back, tapping her fingers on her arm. “This is very interesting.”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw her mother sit up, her eyes widen with fear as she looked over at Blanche.
“You understand, of course, that this is merely a stepping-stone for Ella,” her mother said, leaning forward, an edge of desperation in her voice. “A way of finding her muse again. I’m sure, given time, Ella can do the work that you admired so much.”
Ella intercepted her mother’s warning glance and for a moment felt it again. The need to make peace. To keep quiet. Don’t rock the boat.
The old cliché had been the anthem of her life.
It was why she had stayed with Darren in spite of his abuse. It was why she kept painting what she disliked.
It was why she kept her child’s death from Cord. She didn’t want to see condemnation in his eyes. Didn’t want him to think less of her. Far easier to carry on and hope that things would resolve themselves.
She looked once again at the darkness of her old life and then to the lightness of the newer work.
Cord and the children had given her that.
The thought of them created an ache so deep, it brought her back to those dark days after the death of her baby.
But she wasn’t that person anymore. She didn’t want to be that person anymore. She wanted to make her own decisions. Her own choices.
“No. I can’t.” She spoke the words decisively. “I can’t do that anymore because it’s not who I am anymore. As a person or as an artist.” She held her mother’s shocked gaze. She knew her mother would be furious, that she had potentially thrown away this amazing opportunity. “I know this is something you’ve always wanted, Mom. But it’s not what I want. Not anymore.”
“Darling. Of course it is,” her mother protested, her gaze holding both anger and bewilderment. “You need to do this. Even that cowboy you think is so wonderful agreed with me once I explained it all to him. I told him that you need to do this. That he shouldn’t stand in your way.”
Ella could only stare as her mother’s desperate words sunk in.
“You told him that?”
Her mother looked away. “Maybe not in so many words.”
A shiver danced down Ella’s spine, followed by the faintest glimmer of hope. Was that why Cord wanted her to leave? Because her mother told him to encourage her?
But the hope was extinguished as soon as she recalled the look on his face when he asked why she hadn’t told him about the baby.
“So, I’m confused,” Blanche spoke up, looking from Ella to her mother. “What may I surmise from all this? A change in direction?”
Ella nodded and Blanche took a deep breath. “This was not what we had expected from you.”
Ella gave her a rueful look, then gathered up her photos and sketches. “If you can’t accept this work, then I can’t take the job. I’m sorry. This is who I am now. What I prefer to do.”
Madame DuMonde’s deep frown as she took off her glasses gave Ella pause. But she pushed on. She wasn’t going to be the person everyone expected her to be. She was going to be who she wanted to be. Who God knew her to be.
“Then I’m sorry to say, but we can’t offer you the job. We offered the position based on those.” Madame DuMonde waved her hand at Ella’s earlier paintings, “On that body of work.”
“Again, I apologize but I can’t go back to being that artist.”
Ella ignored her mother’s last-ditch protests as she closed the portfolio and then stood. She held her hand out to Madame DuMonde. “Thanks so much for your time, Madame. I hope you have success with your other candidate.”
“I’m sorry you won’t be joining us at L’école des Arts Créatifs,” Madame DuMonde said, her face clearly showing her regret as she shook Ella’s hand. “You have a gift, that much is evident. And I wish you success with your new venture. Your new...direction, shall we say.”
Ella gave her a brief smile, the carpeted floor muffling her steps as she walked to the door. With each step, however, she felt a flush of determination. She was making her own path. Going her own way.
She wasn’t sure what the future would bring, but she had made her own choice.
Would you have done this if Cord hadn’t pushed you?
She heard her mother in hurried conversation with Blanche, as if trying to make one last effort to convince her but Ella didn’t care. Even if Madame DuMonde called her back, she doubted she would go.
But as the door closed behind her Ella felt a desolation deep in her soul as she thought of the hurt she saw on Cord’s face.
She had to explain. Had to tell him everything, she thought.
She was at the elevators when her mother finally caught up to her.
“Darling, please, you need to go back. Explain to Blanche—”
Ella turned to her. “Mother, I’m not changing my mind. I’m not going back to that person. That artist. She wasn’t a happy person. A lot of that work was an expression of what I was dealing with.”
“What do you mean, ‘what you were dealing with’? You were painting like that before you lost your baby.” Her mother’s puzzled frown told Ella that if she wanted to be honest with Cord, she had to start here. Now. Push aside her own shame and humiliation and face the truth.
She pulled in a steadying breath, pushed out a prayer and straightened her shoulders.
“I painted that darkness because that’s what my marriage was. Darren beat me. He was abusive in so many ways.”
Once again Ella’s mother’s eyes grew wide like saucers. Once again she stared at her daughter, doubt in her expression. “I can’t believe that. That’s impossible.”
Now Ella knew why she hadn’t told her mother sooner.
“It’s true, Mother. He was controlling and manipulative and I put up with it far too long. I’ve got the scars to prove it. I’m sorry that you doubt me.”
“I only doubt you because that’s not the picture you painted for me of your life. I didn’t know. Had no idea.”
“I didn’t dare tell you because there was too much at stake.” Ella clutched her portfolio with both hands. “I knew that Darren held the mortgage on the studio and that you needed my work to keep the income steady. I felt trapped and lost.”
Then her mother’s expression shifted from disbelief to sorrow. “T
his is a lot to process,” she murmured, her hand shaking as she reached out to touch Ella’s face. “You never gave me any indication. Your own mother.”
Then she laid her hand on Ella’s shoulder. “Was it because of him that you lost your baby?”
Ella could only stare at her mother, surprised at her quick deduction. “Yes. It was. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you.”
Then, to her surprise, her mother enveloped her in a hug. “Oh, my dear girl. What you had to live with. I wish you told me. I’m so sorry. I should have paid attention. I should have put my needs behind yours. I wanted so much from you and I lived so much of my life through you.” She pulled back, bracketing Ella’s face in her hands. “Can you ever forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive.”
“Yes, there is. I was so busy with my own life, I didn’t pay enough attention to yours. I think that was one of the reasons I was so excited when this opportunity came through for you. The things I wanted for myself were happening to you.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t do this one last thing for you, but I needed to embrace who I’ve become. The past few weeks in Cedar Ridge have been like sun coming through the clouds for me.”
This netted her a melancholy smile and a sigh from her mother. “I apologize for what I said, what I did. To Cord. About the baby. I thought he knew.”
“I’m good at keeping secrets.”
“Not always a good thing, darling,” her mother said, tucking her arm through Ella’s and pushing the button for the elevator. “And I have to confess to a secret myself. Part of the reason I was pushing you to get a portfolio together for the school was because I was hoping it would motivate you to get some more work done. I needed more paintings.”
Ella felt another weight drop on her shoulder but stopped herself. She remembered what Cord had told her. That she needed to be true to the person she had become and the works she wanted to do.
“If you need more paintings for the gallery, I have a few you could sell.”
The elevator doors swept open and as they stepped inside, Ella noticed the look of concern on her mother’s face.
“It’s not what I usually show,” she said.
Ella hit the button for the parking floor. “So, do like I did. Change direction. Go with the flow. Price the paintings higher than the other works in the gallery. Create a sense of exclusivity.” As she spoke, she felt her own confidence returning. “You could even make the very greeting cards out of them that you accused me of creating.”
“I’m so sorry about that comment. I was just...frustrated. I knew what I could sell and I just—”
“Couldn’t see yourself telling your art friends that you daughter has shifted her focus?”
“I don’t think greeting cards are a good idea,” her mother said as the doors opened again. “It would devalue your work. Make it too common.”
“Choose only a portion of the actual painting. Like a teaser,” Ella said. “And don’t make them greeting cards, make them art cards. Brand them differently.” As Ella and her mother walked through the half-empty parking garage, her steps quickened with her enthusiasm, ideas coming to her as she spoke. “You sell them as blank cards and make a set out of them.”
“Since when did you become such an entrepreneur?” her mother asked, stopping as they came to her vehicle.
“Since I walked away from that job offer and had to start thinking of what to do. Pressure can be a great motivator.” Ella held her mother’s curious gaze, a lightness bubbling up inside in spite of all that had happened to her. In spite of all the losses she’d endured the past few days.
“So what now?” her mother asked, putting her hand on Ella’s shoulder.
“I’m not sure,” Ella admitted.
“Are you going back to the cabin?”
Ella thought of her last conversation with Cord. “I have to go back to collect my things—”
“You should talk to Cord,” her mother said. “You should tell him why you didn’t take the job.”
She wasn’t so sure she wanted to see him again. Some of the words he spoke had haunted her.
I thought we were getting somewhere.
“I was wrong to put my words in his mouth,” her mother continued. “To push him to talk to you about taking this job. I know you care for him. I know that your life has changed since you met him and his children. In spite of what I said about your paintings, I can see a joy and happiness I never saw before.” She sighed. “I guess I was so caught up in what I wanted that I couldn’t even see what was going on in your life. Even what I taught you was an expression of my own grief and loss and I shouldn’t have put that on you. I should have let you explore for yourself what kind of artist you wanted to be.”
“Mother, you made the choices you made for a reason. You were on your own. A single mom with limited support.”
“My reasons were not always so pure.” Her mother dug her keys out of her purse and gave Ella a melancholy smile. “I think you should go back to that ranch and talk to Cord. I sense there are unresolved issues in your life. I think you need to figure that out before you make any major decision.”
Ella held that thought, then nodded. “You might be right.”
“He seems like a decent man. And though I’m sure that little boy is a stark reminder of your own loss, I think being around him has helped you deal with it.”
“I think so too,” Ella said. “I’m going to say goodbye. Lots to think about and lots to pray about.”
“I’ll be praying too.” Her mother brushed a gentle kiss over her forehead. “I love you so much, Ella. And I don’t know if I ever told you, but I am so proud of you. You are gifted in so many ways and I hope we can continue to work together.”
“I hope so too.” Ella gave her mother a tight hug, then stood back as she got in her car.
As her mother drove away, Ella felt as if the bonds that had held her so tightly were slowly loosened.
She was free to do what she wanted.
And though the thought of facing Cord filled her with uncertainty and a measure of fear, she knew she had a few more things to do before she could truly think about her future.
First, though, she needed to spend some time alone. To think. To pray. To allow herself some space between what she thought was her future and what lay ahead.
She would book a hotel room. Take some walks along the river. Spend time alone.
Then she had two other important jobs.
One of which was talking to Cord. Telling him everything in her past. Opening herself up to him completely. It would mean allowing herself to be vulnerable and to face her pain but she knew she couldn’t move on until she did.
The other, more difficult thing was to do another painting. One that might cause her pain but could be cathartic.
A painting of Oliver.
* * *
“Is Ella ever coming back?” Paul asked as he chopped at the dirt in the garden.
“She didn’t even say goodbye,” Suzy grumbled.
“Be careful not to pull up the carrots,” Cord warned as he bent down beside Paul and Suzy, ignoring their comments. They landed too close to his own feelings. “See, these are carrots and these are weeds. The carrot leaves are very fine, the weeds are thicker.”
The sound of a vehicle coming up the drive made him look up and, as it always did, made his heart race. But it was only his father coming back from having coffee in town.
The past three days since Ella had left for Calgary, had been an agony for him. He hated to count how many times he’d picked up his phone to text Ella. To see how she was doing.
But over and over again that last conversation rang through his mind. How hurt he had felt when her mother told him something he thought Ella should have.
More importantly h
e wasn’t standing in the way of this opportunity for her. Not when it seemed, to him, that this was what she wanted.
Boyce parked his old pickup beside Cord’s and got out. He was carrying a plastic bag that immediately snagged Paul’s and Suzy’s attention.
“What did you buy, Grandpa?” Suzy the Shameless asked, jumping to her feet and running toward him. “Something for us?”
“Where’s Oliver?” Boyce asked Cord, ignoring Suzy’s blatant question.
“Having a nap. I just put him down when I brought the kids home from school.”
“What’s in the bag?” Suzy continued, dancing around her grandfather, hanging on to his arm.
“Why don’t you come to the house and find out?”
“Yay! Something for us,” Paul dropped his hoe and joined Suzy and Boyce.
“We’re weeding the garden,” Cord protested.
“It can wait. I got something fun for the kids right here,” Boyce said, grinning at his grandchildren who were dancing around him with anticipation.
“Is it something to eat?”
“It looks like a new game for our PlayStation.”
“Let’s go see.”
Cord watched his children tagging along behind their grandfather and shook his head. How easily they abandoned him.
And what was his dad up to? The way he was grinning it was like something else was going on. Cord didn’t want to know. It was thanks to the kids and their relentless care that he’d gotten through the past few days. He’d given up on finding a nanny so everything had been up to him.
Which was just as well. It kept him too busy to think about Ella. To think about how much he missed her.
The sound of another vehicle coming drew his attention and he turned. And his heart began an erratic pounding against his ribs.
It was Ella’s car.
But she didn’t come to the yard. Instead she turned down the driveway to the cabin.
Go over there. Talk to her. Find out what happened and why she stayed away.
Courting the Cowboy Page 17
