Searching for Sara

by Nona Mae King

  His friend’s hand momentarily tightened its hold on the overcoat. Then he looked up to meet Christopher’s gaze and smirked. “You know my sick need to win everything.”

  “Ted—”

  “Chris,” Teddy pressed. “I’m fine. Seriously.” He motioned to Christopher. “Except that a certain collection of art isn’t here.”

  “Teddy, I told you—”

  “Don’t give me excuses. You said you were considering it, and then you come out of your office with paint stains on your shirt and a paint-stained cloth in your hands? I bet if I were to go into your office right now I would find—gasp and shock—an oil painting either in the beginning stages or completed, depending on how much of an inspiration you received.”

  An eyebrow twitched.

  “The itch has you, doesn’t it?” Teddy pressed.

  Christopher looked away.

  “I was right,” Teddy muttered. Then he gave Christopher a slight shove, drawing his attention. “Don’t question it, Top. Don’t ask where it came from or why it’s here or when it might go away again. Just go with it. It’s been too long since you’ve seen something, and I’ve seen what that’s been doing to you. Your life and passion are art, and not creating it was hell.” He again gripped Christopher’s arm. “Inspiration missed you, Top. Now that she’s back, you better listen to her sweet whisper. I don’t think you could survive another separation.”

  Christopher rubbed at the back of his neck. “No. I don’t think I could.”

  Teddy grinned and gave Christopher another shove. “Welcome back.”

  “Thanks, Ted,”

  “You’re welcome. Now let me see it.”

  “It’s not finished.”

  “I don’t care. I want to see it anyway.” Teddy headed toward Christopher’s office. “Did Sara see it at her lesson this mor—Oh wait. You cancel those the day after.”

  Christopher wiped his hands. He wasn’t sure he wanted to show her this one. After all, he hadn’t asked permission. While he doubted her reaction would be altogether negative, he knew how protective artists could be of their inspirations.

  “Holy Hannah!”

  Christopher looked up. Teddy gaped at the canvas. “What?”

  “This is one of Sara’s sketches!”

  “Yes,” Christopher admitted slowly. “Why?”

  “You never interpret other artists. You say it shows a lack of creativity . . . or was it originality? Oh who cares! You interpreted one of Sara’s sketches!”

  Christopher’s ears burned. “Yes, I interpreted one of Sara’s sketches. I’m a hypocrite. So stone me to death.

  “Are you kidding? When you do something like this?” Teddy stared at the oil canvas, partially complete as it was, and gave a slight shake of his head. “We could sell this for quite a sum, Top. You mark my words. Your innate talent for the vivid and Sara’s intensity and innocence together? My. God.”

  Christopher smirked. “Don’t embellish.”

  “ ‘Embellish’?” Teddy focused on Christopher, eyes wide. He motioned to the painting. “You create something like this and you tell me not to ‘embellish’?”

  Gaze drawn to the painting, Christopher’s countenance relaxed as the entwining of styles grabbed his focus. The brilliance of the oils paired with the poetic intensity of the simple scene, a foreboding castle holding a promise of escape. Hope within the brightness of a single light.

  “This is gold, Chris,” Teddy said, voice quiet. “Gold, I tell you.”

  Christopher cleared his throat, his gaze instead shifting to the paint not wanting to transfer from hands to cloth. “I’m glad you approve.”

  Teddy gave a slight scoff. “Now who’s being an ass?”

  Christopher laughed. “I’ve as much right to it as you do. Stress has been higher than usual the past week or so.”

  “A truer statement I haven’t heard—I’ve a dangerous idea. Why don’t we close the gallery today and declare a mini-vacation? You could use the time to show Sara your art hidden away in the attic—while you’re picking out the ones to display,” he pressed meaningfully. “Besides, it might inspire her.”

  “Fine, fine. I’ll get my art.”

  Teddy gestured to the main hall. “I have some things to finish up here, so I’ll lock up. You go ahead.”

  A smile twitched as Christopher shrugged into his overcoat and buttoned it up. Then he caught Teddy’s gaze. “Why don’t you come over for dinner this evening? We can talk more about which to display.”

  Teddy nodded. “Sure. Bring Dix and the whole party. Maybe they can persuade you and Sara to do a concurrent display in New York.”

  Christopher raised an eyebrow. “Hm. Not a bad idea.”

  Teddy laughed. “I do have a few, you know.”

  “Agreed. You do have your occasional uses.”

  Teddy laughed.

  ~§~

  The front door opened and closed.

  Sara looked up from her current tatting project, a surprise carnation boutonniere for Christopher. Gwyn continued with her picture-book of an adventure in Africa, but when a recognizable baritone voice called “Gwyn? Sara? Anyone home,” both girls scurried for the front hallway.

  Sara caught herself, slowing her step to allow the father/daughter their private greeting. She also gave herself the moment or two she needed to quiet the thump of her heart and a surprising full-body tingle when his baritone chuckle caressed her ears.

  When Sara arrived at the observatory’s doorway, Gwyn had settled onto her father’s arm while doing her best to tell him all the things the two had brain-stormed that morning. This included an impromptu performance of a small section of the skit she and Sara created after breakfast.

  Pirates and admirals were Gwyn’s favorite character-type.

  Christopher met Sara’s gaze as she appeared in the doorway, offering her a ‘hello’ smile before returning his focus to his daughter. Sara tightened her clasped hands in front of her as she watched the pair.

  Gwyn bestowed a kiss on his cheek once the confession of the day’s adventures ended. “Why are you home early, Papa? Lunch?”

  “Actually, no. Teddy offered the suggestion of a mini-vacation today.” He momentarily met Sara’s gaze. “Considering how exciting the past weeks have been, I thought it would be a good idea. Besides, it will give me more time to play with you and Sara.”

  Gwyn giggled and bestowed another kiss, giving him a moment to send Sara another slight smile. Sara flushed but couldn’t look away.

  “So, what’s first on the agenda?”

  Gwyn pulled back, her green eyes wide. “Oh Papa,” she breathed. “Can we do a picture-book today? Please?”

  “Of course, Gwyn. As I said, the day is yours. You’ve but to tell me what to draw.”

  Gwyn squealed, wriggling from his arms to drag him back to the observatory, chattering the entire time of the current project and what other images still needed to be done. He chuckled, eyes bright and twinkling as they met Sara’s.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” he said as Gwyn pulled him past.

  Sara shook her head, smiling. The opportunity to watch him and his daughter together? No. She didn’t mind at all. She made her way back to the wingback chair as Gwyn pulled her father down to the floor with her. He didn’t protest nor object, making Sara all the more certain he had been in this type of situation before. He simply did his best to shed his overcoat, scarf, and suit-coat while sitting cross-legged across from his daughter.

  The scene continued to draw Sara’s attention as she took up a different project from her craft box, tucking the secretive boutonniere away from view. What especially drew her attention were the paint stains on his shirt.

  She smiled and lowered her focus to the monogrammed sample in her hands. Christopher is painting again, Lord. The thought brought a sigh of happiness and relief. He had so missed that passion, and to have the Lord again giving him the visions of images and lovelies to re-create onto canvas . . . . Thank you, Lord. Thank you so
much. She hoped it would be one of the next steps to the healing of his hurting soul.

  Maybe an important one.

  “Where have Dix and Paul got off to?” Christopher balanced a piece of paper onto the sketch-board and cast her a sidelong glance. “They don’t abandon you often, do they?”

  “They are off to tea some place. They asked if I cared to go, but I would rather stay with Gwyn.”

  Christopher sent her a longer glance. “But you accept invitations to teas and luncheons every once and a while?” Another glance.

  Sara’s smile vanished as she lowered her gaze to her needlework. “Um, no, I . . . I have no’ felt . . . I . . . ." His scrutiny flamed her cheeks. “I do no’ feel ready yet, sir.”

  “I don’t doubt it. After being on the serving side of the tray for so long, I’m certain it’s a challenge to get yourself mentally ready for the opposite side.”

  Sara looked up, not prepared for his insightful explanation, and not knowing how to offer any kind of appreciation at his understanding.

  Christopher offered her a smile. “I had the same challenge when I opened the gallery,” he confessed. “I had been an artist for years, but a director and therefore a person responsible for starting or stopping a young artist’s career?” He gave a shudder. “No. I didn’t take to that at all.”

  He focused again on his current picture-book page project assigned by Gwyn. “I wasn’t very sociable when the gallery first opened,” he admitted, absently sketching a scene of tall grasslands and a pride of lions. “Teddy and I sent invitations and ‘Grand Opening’ notices to those students, professors, and galleries we knew, even some of those we didn’t, but that was mostly all. Teddy, he has always been more comfortable in crowds than I, he accepted teas and luncheon dates and dinner parties and more. I always made the excuse of having an inspiration for a story-cycle of my art, which wasn’t necessarily a truth or a lie, only easier for him to believe.”

  Offering Gwyn the finished sketch, he received his next assignment and set to work. Sara watched him, throat constricted around any words of thanks or understanding. She had never met someone who understood her like he did. When he didn’t, he did his best to try. Her gaze drifted to the monogram on the needlework sample.

  “The only advice I can offer,” Christopher continued without looking up, “is that you should take it slowly while doing your best to actually take steps outside your comfort areas. For myself, with a push and shove from Teddy and later from Carla herself, I was able to get past the initial reluctance of interacting with people I didn’t know. Eventually, it became easier and even something I rather enjoy. So, be sure to come to myself or Dix and Paul if you need help, or even should you have a particularly negative feeling about some invitation. After all, we don’t want you to do anything that might just be more of a reminder of those things you left behind.”

  He pointed out to Gwyn something of benefit to another sketch, not noticing Sara’s expressions as she watched him.

  “And if anyone, and I do mean anyone,” he continued, “treats you with disrespect or with even a hint of condescension, you’re to tell Dix and me immediately. There’s no reason for you to be bullied and whatnot simply because your history is different. I doubt you’ll meet anyone who will give you problems, but I thought I should mention it just the same.”

  Sara nodded while voicing a surprisingly clear, “I appreciate it,” while daubing the warm wetness from her cheeks.

  Christopher glanced toward her then, catching the motion and her expression. His smile vanished. “Sara? Are you well?”

  She offered him a genuine smile. “Fine.” Though this time her voice trembled.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  Gwyn looked up from her sketches at that comment, peeking at Sara with a wide-eyed expression. She giggled. “Oh. Those are happy tears, Papa. Don’t you know the difference?”

  Christopher’s lips twitched. “Apparently not. I’ll take better care next time, Gwyn.”

  Gwyn giggled again. “You so silly, Papa.”

  He chuckled, watching his daughter continue her artistry before returning his focus to Sara. His expression almost seemed to beg the question of before.

  Sara offered a smile before lowering her gaze to the needlework sample. She could still feel his gaze as she worked on perfecting the design on the bit of material, but she didn’t mind. Her cheeks burned, but she didn’t mind that either. Then he released a breath and focused again on Gwyn and the project, allowing Sara a collection of peeks and glances to watch his own expressions and smiles.

  “Speaking of being silly…” Christopher held up his sketch, hazel eyes twinkling with impish mischief as he focused on his daughter. “I don’t think I portrayed the elephant very well at all. What do you think, Gwyn?”

  His daughter looked up from her struggle with a giraffe and sounded a bright giggle. “It looks like a hippopapomus!”

  “Yes. I suppose it does. Maybe we’ll call it a hippophant?”

  Sara laughed.

  Christopher cast Sara a wink before directing his focus to Gwyn and the sketch, the girl enthralled with designing the perfect description. Sara rested her chin into her hand as she watched.

  “Gwyn, sweetness,” Christopher protested, “I can’t fit all that on the page. You won’t see the ‘hippophant’ for the explanation.”

  “But I want for everyone to know what it is.”

  “I understand that, but how will they know if they can’t see it?”

  Sara motioned to the paper. “Why do you no’ put the ‘how come’ on a bit of colored paper and paste it on the back, explanation faced outward?”

  Gwyn blinked at Sara a moment before squealing and clapping her hands, jumping to her feet and dashing away in search of the paper.

  Christopher chuckled and set aside the image. To Sara’s mild surprise, he didn’t move to a chair. He simply leaned back onto his hands as he looked over at her, not even stretching his legs out in front of him. The position of ease melted the years from his features.

  “There will be a dinner party this evening at Lake Manor,” he offered. A smile twinkled in his hazel eyes. “I don’t suppose you would be interested in attending?”

  Sara’s eyes brightened. “Oh could I?”

  “Most definitely. All three of you are invited, and if you could come before Gwyn’s bed-time, I’m certain she would appreciate it.”

  “Of course. I will tell your sister and Mr. Paul when they return.”

  “Actually…” He motioned toward Sara. “You could just come home with us, bring Amy of course, and leave a note here with Gregory for Dix and Paul and have them follow you afterward. Would that be acceptable?”

  Sara nodded, eagerness warming her cheeks and setting her heart to thump nearly from her chest.

  “Wonderful.” Christopher adjusted his position. “Oh, and you’ll want to know Teddy and I ‘had it out’ when he finally arrived.” He hesitated. “Well, I attempted to have it out. He didn’t offer much by way of explanation, though. Said something I didn’t really understand, assured me it wasn’t my fault, and then deftly changed the subject. Making me swear to have you and me put together a collection of my art from which to choose a display, in fact.”

  “So . . . so he was no’ angry for last night?”

  Christopher lifted his shoulders. “He says he isn’t, so I suppose we should take him at his word. If he is, it’s his own fault for not letting us know so that we could solve the issue.” He smiled. “But don’t worry about it. Ted’s one of those who tells you to your face there’s a problem. That’s why I was surprised he wouldn’t talk.”

  Her expression relaxed. “I am glad. I would hate to be the cause of a falling out.”

  “Come now, Sara. Be honest. Two men vying for your attention isn’t a little thrilling?”

  Cheeks flushed and nose wrinkled, she giggled.

  “That’s what I thought. Speaking of men and your attention, you should invite Mr. Co
nklin for tea. I know Dix and Paul would love the chance to show you off.”

  “Would you like me to invite you when he’s here?”

  Christopher smirked. “I’m sure you’ll be safe, Sara.”

  “Oh, no, I do no’ want to say anything out of turn if he were to ask about my sketches once I tell him I am the artist. You are my sponsor.”

  “I appreciate it, but they are your sketches. You can tell him anything you like. You don’t need my permission for anything said or done with them.”

  “I know,” she confessed, surprised she hadn’t let the subject drop. Astonished she continued to hold his gaze. Bewildered by how much she enjoyed the conversation. “I would feel better if you were there because . . . because you said you wanted them. I do no’ want to promise them to someone else without meaning to. I know I am a fraidy-cat sometimes. I might do it.”

  Christopher blinked at her. “You . . . you’re thinking of giving me your sketches?”

  “I did once. I only will no’ take them back again. You can do whatever you wish with them. Oh.” She retrieved her old leather portfolio and handed it to him. He accepted it with an air of deliberation and awe. “I wanted to give you these, too. They’re the sketches I had no’ given you yet. The ones telling a better story of my trip here from England.”

  He hesitated a moment before opening it. Sara watched his expression as he sifted through the sketches, not able to tell what he felt or thought about them. Then he carefully placed the pictures back into the portfolio, tying it closed before lifting his gaze to meet hers.

  “Thank you, Sara. Thank you very much.” He gave a slight shake of his head and handed the portfolio back. “But I can’t accept them.”

  She blinked down at the offered portfolio, her hands clasped in her lap. “Wh-why not?”

  “This artwork is your opportunity for greater things.”

  “But I want to give them to you,” she pressed, a panic and desperation to have him understand making her voice tight. Sara shook her head. “I have nothing else to give to repay what you and your sister have done for me.” She pushed the portfolio back toward him. “Please. This is all I have.”

  “And that’s why I can’t take them.” He reached out to take her hand and gently but firmly place the portfolio within her grasp. “Accepting this wouldn’t be right, Sara. I would be taking away any chance for you to become financially independent, and I don’t want you to feel beholden to me or my gallery.”