Art's Blood

by Vicki Lane

  “I’m sorry you’re feeling bad, Kimmie. Let me find a pen and I’ll get your number. I’ll be glad to call and tell you what happened in class.” Elizabeth opened the cabinet above the counter and scrabbled through the jars of herbs and spices for the pen she kept handy to her ongoing grocery list on the cabinet door. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  Kimmie gave her the number and then said, in the same tone of quiet excitement that had accompanied the announcement of her pregnancy, “Elizabeth, remember I was telling you that I wrote Kyra a letter? Well, it turned out just like I had hoped. I think she just needed an excuse to get over being angry at her father. She actually came to dinner a few nights ago! And, Elizabeth, she said that she was so happy that she wouldn’t be an only child anymore and that she wanted to be a part of a family again.”

  Kimmie rattled on. “She’s really excited about having a little brother or sister. You just can’t imagine the change in her. She brought a darling fluffy stuffed lamb for the baby and she brought me some really special tea from an herb shop— a tea that’s good for pregnant ladies. I think Kyra said it was made from dried raspberry leaves. Oh, Elizabeth, it’s an answer to prayer— a new beginning! Marvin can hardly believe what’s happening.”

  The call came to an end and Elizabeth stood thinking, I can’t believe it either.

  CHAPTER 24

  SANCTUARY

  (THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 22)

  THE VOICE MAIL PICKED UP ALMOST IMMEDIATELY. This is the voice mail of Mr. and Mrs. Marvin Peterson. Please leave your message at the tone.

  “Hi, Kimmie. This is Elizabeth from painting class…what we worked on today was pretty fun and you ought to be able to do it at home. Do a pencil drawing of a chair— a real one. We used just a plain classroom chair. Then paint the drawing using complementary colors— one for the background, one for the chair. You know, red and green, or blue and orange, or yellow and purple…I guess that’s it…. I hope you’re feeling better; if you have any questions, give me a call. See you next week.”

  Laurel and Ben were in the kitchen, collaborating on an exotic pizza for dinner. Ben’s bad mood had eventually dissipated and he had put in long hours catching up with the work that had been neglected. “Sorry I was a jerk, Aunt E. And it turned out Kyra didn’t need me to come in just yet anyway. She said she’s working on a piece that’ll be the focus of her show and she has to be alone so she can concentrate.”

  Elizabeth had accepted this change gratefully while wondering if Kyra was attempting to distance herself from Ben. And if that’s what she’s doing, is it to protect him or is it something else?

  Judging by the sounds emanating from the kitchen, Ben was not pining. He and Laurel were reminiscing about bygone years, when he had come from his home in Florida to spend the summer on the farm.

  “You were too!” Laurel’s words were mixed with laughter. “Remember the first time you came, you and Rosemary and I camped out. We all slept in a tent over there by the gate into the cow pasture. Aunt Gloria and whichever stepfather it was had brought you up and were leaving the next day. The three of us were all in the tent and were just about asleep when you hollered, ‘I’m getting out of here; there’re things breathing out there.’ And before I could tell you it was just the cows, you had grabbed the flashlight and headed for the house. Mum told us later that you burst in the door and hid under the coffee table. She said you begged Aunt Gloria not to make you sleep in the tent.”

  “Hey, Laur, give me a break. I was a little kid used to traffic sounds at night, not big mysterious creatures munching and whuffling all around me. And besides, who’s living here and who opted for the bright lights of the big city?”

  “Big city, my ass. It’s just Asheville. Once I’ve established myself as an artist, I’ll be back. I already have an idea for an awesome house in the woods above the workshop.”

  Elizabeth smiled. She picked up the Fanchon quilt and continued stitching on the sleeve that would be used to hang the heavy piece. It’s good to hear them jabbering away like that. And it’s good to know that Laurel wants to come back eventually. Rosemary’s said the same sort of thing— I think she has a house site picked out too “for someday.”

  Rosemary. How had she felt, sifting through the sad little bundle of newspaper stories that were all that remained of her childhood friend Maythorn? Had she begun writing the story that she had hoped would provide some catharsis? Elizabeth resolved to call or e-mail her daughter as soon as she finished her work on the quilt. Just a chat. But I’d like to be sure she hasn’t unleashed too many bad memories of that time.

  * * *

  The last stitch was in place and Elizabeth turned the quilt over. One of the animal appliqués— the copperhead snake— was coming loose. I’ll just tack the edges lightly, she decided, and rethreaded her needle with a dark brown to match the coils of the reptile. Then she stopped. All of the other animal appliqués had been sewn down with a tiny, precise buttonhole stitch in black thread— a technique common in the thirties. But the copperhead had been attached with an invisible stitch.

  Her first impulse was to change her thread to black and bring the copperhead square into uniformity with the others. No, you can’t make any changes— Fanchon did it this way and you have to honor that— whether it was intentional or not. She began to sew.

  A sharp buzz from the kitchen surprised her just as the last invisible stitch was in place and she was about to investigate when she realized that it was Laurel’s newly acquired cell phone. The noisy chatter in the kitchen stopped and she could hear Laurel speaking to someone.

  “No, I’m sure it would be okay…. No, I’m out there now…. Hang on, I’ll check.”

  Laurel came into the room, phone to her ear and a worried expression on her face. “Mum, it’s Aidan. He says some weird things have been going down and he and his mom need to get out of town for a while. So I told him it would be okay if they came out here for a few days. He could stay with Ben and she could have the guest room.” Her face was urgent as she stared at Elizabeth and nodded vigorously.

  Elizabeth frowned and then shrugged. “Sure, that would be fine. Tell them to come along. You can meet them down at the barn— no, they have a four-wheel-drive now, don’t they?”

  Arrangements were quickly settled and Laurel clicked off her phone. “Sorry to spring that on you, Mum, but Aidan sounded really freaked. I just thought this would be a safe place for them.”

  Really? After what happened to Kyra down at the workshop? And the gunshot in the woods? And are we sure that Aidan didn’t have something to do with all of this? The words trembled on the tip of her tongue but Elizabeth shrugged again and said only, “Okay. When are they coming?”

  * * *

  While Laurel put clean sheets on the bed in the guest room, Elizabeth went to her bedroom and phoned Phillip. As soon as the voice mail picked up, she remembered that he had a class on Thursday nights. She left a brief message with a request that he call, no matter what the time, and then went to the linen closet to get fresh towels for her guests.

  * * *

  It was a little after nine when, alerted by the barking of the dogs, Laurel hurried to the porch and ushered in mother and son. Willow, clad in her usual trailing skirt and loose blouse, looked haggard, but managed a palm-pressing bow and a fervent “Namaste!” in Elizabeth’s direction. Aidan, following in his mother’s wake, nodded, thanked Elizabeth for taking them in, and disappeared with Laurel into the kitchen, where Ben was finishing the dishes.

  “And so you see us, two refugees throwing themselves at your feet in search of sanctuary. I trust that we will not be a burden to you for so very long: Spirit assures me that all of this ugly disharmony will resolve itself soon.” The lilting Indian accent of her previous visit was very strong. As on her previous visit, she unwound the gauzy wrappings from her head. “A green sanctuary— and a wise woman to welcome us.”

  Elizabeth was at a loss. What the hell does one say to that? Finally she motioned her guest to a so
fa and took a place opposite. “I hope that you’ll be safe here, but there sure aren’t any guarantees. Did you hear about what happened to Kyra? Have you seen her—”

  Willow waved an airy hand. “Kyra is undergoing trial and testing. And the poor child is in deep conflict with her shadow self. But Spirit tells me that the true Kyra is emerging.” She smiled the beatific smile of one who has the secrets of the universe at her fingertips. “I had a warning today that I should take my son and flee the city. My first thought was to return to Mother India, where we spent so many happy years, but there are reasons—”

  “Well, I guess. You’d forfeit Aidan’s bail if you left—”

  “And that is indeed a concern. No, I could not take such a step. But where to turn? There had been…incidents and we no longer felt safe either in my house or in the…” Her smile was almost sly. “…the undisclosed location to which we had been sent. And so I threw the I Ching.”

  “You did.” You would. The ancient Chinese method of divination had enjoyed a surge of popularity during the sixties and seventies, and Elizabeth’s first college roommate had started each day by consulting the Book of Changes and throwing a bundle of dried sticks to find the hexagram that would advise proper conduct for the day. Unfortunately, the book advised inaction about as often as action, and that particular roommate had quickly surpassed her allowed number of cuts. She had not returned to college for a second semester.

  “Indeed, I did.” Willow was smug. “The yarrow sticks manifested Hexagram 52— Ken. And ken means ‘mountain,’ so naturally…” Her words trailed off.

  “Naturally.” Elizabeth leaned forward. “Look, Willow, what really made you decide to come out here?”

  Willow’s eyes opened wide but she said nothing. From the kitchen door, Aidan answered, his voice full of resentment. “She has a friend; I’m not allowed to meet him but he’s evidently very important in her life. He’s the one who swore we’d be safe out here.”

  He came into the living room and sat down beside his mother. “Isn’t that right? Can’t you leave all the phony New Age crap out of it?” He glared at his mother, then turned to Elizabeth.

  “All my life there’s been this mysterious person running things. Mom gets a phone call and we pack up and go wherever. Or say we need something: Mom makes a phone call and before long, the money’s there for school or a car or—” a harsh laugh interrupted his story, “or bail, as the case may be. When I was little, I thought she had a direct line to God— or at least Santa Claus. But no matter how many times I asked, she refused to tell me who it was and why—”

  Willow buried her face in her hands. Her muffled voice quavered as she spoke. “I made a solemn promise never to tell. I can’t tell— if I did, the money would stop and…there might be other…consequences.”

  Aidan ignored his mother and went on. “At one point— I think I was about eight years old— I decided that our benefactor must be my unknown father. My father— that was another thing she’d never talk about. Once, when one of those mysterious calls was going on, I got on the other phone and yelled, ‘Dad? Dad? It’s Aidan. I want to see you.’ ”

  He looked at his mother, who turned her head away and bit her lips. “How pathetic is that?” he asked bitterly. “Mr. Benefactor evidently didn’t like the sound of my voice, because right after that call we were on our way to India for a nice long stay in Sri Bananaforashura’s little work camp—”

  “Aidan! Those were precious years! Sri Namanandapura is a very holy man. Your spirituality soared during that time.” Willow looked indignant but Aidan continued.

  “Right. About then is when I decided that the person on the telephone wasn’t my father …or Santa Claus. No, I went back to my original theory— it’s God and God has a really warped sense of humor. And I’ve gotten over wanting to see him.”

  He stood and stretched with a conscious grace. Like a golden tomcat. He has Willow’s hazel eyes too— or are they green? Elizabeth watched him, wishing she could offer some comfort. Such a handsome boy and so angry. Probably with good cause. Once again she noticed the extensive scarring on his left arm.

  “Mum, I’m going to go over to Ben’s cabin and hang with the guys for a while. Ben has some new CDs I want to hear.”

  Laurel and Ben came out of the kitchen carrying mugs of coffee. They scooped up the scowling Aidan and made for the back door.

  “Sleep well, Aidan. Tomorrow may bring great changes,” Willow called out as her son disappeared through the door. Then she turned to Elizabeth.

  “It is a terrible situation indeed, but I have to believe that Spirit is working in all things. For instance, when Aidan was incarcerated, he tells me that he was treated very kindly and was not put in with the other prisoners. He does not know it but I am sure that it was the work of the one he calls our benefactor.”

  “And you can’t tell him who the…benefactor is?”

  “I am absolutely forbidden to; I shouldn’t be talking about this matter at all.”

  “Because the money might stop?”

  “Because I don’t want to lose my son.”

  * * *

  Willow had refused to be drawn into further conversation, begging only to be shown where she would stay. “I choose to spend this time before sleep in meditation and affirmation— I will undo the negative forces that Aidan has awakened.”

  Elizabeth took her to the guest room and made sure that she had everything she needed. The heavy thump-thump of Ben’s CD player wafted through the window.

  “I’ll holler over to him to turn that down—” Elizabeth began, but Willow put up a restraining hand.

  “When one truly meditates, the senses are turned inward. I will simply choose not to hear those sounds.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure…” Elizabeth started to close the door behind her, then paused. “Willow, what happened to Aidan’s arm?”

  Willow, who was unpacking the contents of her little duffel bag, looked up warily. “Why do you ask?”

  Good question. Very rude behavior on the part of a hostess. But… “I don’t know…it just looked as if it must have been a really severe burn…. I wondered if it had had some adverse effect on your son…. He seems so unhappy.”

  “That mood will pass. As for the injury…it occurred when he was an infant and he has no memories at all of the circumstances. Nor do I wish to arouse them. The burns have healed, he has the use of his arm, and of course Spirit is protecting us both.”

  Willow came to the door where Elizabeth was lingering and took hold of the knob. “Blessings on you and on this green sanctuary, Elizabeth.” The door began to close, gently but firmly. “Good night.”

  There was a click as the lock engaged.

  * * *

  Elizabeth was in bed and half asleep when the phone rang. She fumbled for the receiver. Phillip’s familiar gravelly voice filled her ear and she smiled and stretched out on her pillows.

  “Thanks for calling.” She told him about her houseguests and tried to give him the gist of Aidan’s impassioned rant about the mysterious benefactor.

  “And all that Willow will say is that Spirit is protecting them. But there’s something really strange about all of this.”

  “I’ll say. I just finished talking to Hank. We met after my class for a beer and he says that the whole case against Aidan is very likely going to be thrown out. Talked about some heavy pressure being brought to bear and someone caving. But that was all he knew— or all he would say. About Aidan, anyway. Oh, Hank was full of interesting scuttlebutt— the old man at the junkyard’s been picked up—”

  “Travis? He’s hardly an old man.”

  “Not Travis— his daddy. I’ll tell you all about it later.”

  “Why don’t you come out tomorrow and stay for dinner? I imagine that Willow and Aidan will be here.”

  “Elizabeth, I don’t need any extra incentive to come see you.” His warm chuckle was surprisingly intimate in her ear. She lay there in the dark room, enjoying the comforti
ng rumble of Phillip’s voice and remembering how her girls had sometimes fallen asleep during marathon phone conversations with the boyfriend of the moment. And how she and Sam would enjoy sleepy, end-of-day talks, snuggled comfortably against each other.

  “Phillip, I—”

  The telephone began to crackle and beep. “Elizabeth, I think my battery’s giving out. Dammit all…I’ll call you tomorrow. Sweet dreams.”

  There was a final series of beeps and then nothing. She lay there holding the silent telephone. Sweet dreams.

  CHAPTER 25

  THE GOLDEN YEARS

  (FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 23)

  THE FLORIST HAD CALLED EARLY THAT MORNING. A rush order— twelve fresh herbal wreaths for a wedding at six P.M. Could Elizabeth possibly…the price would be doubled. And deliver them to the church by two? In south Asheville? Wonderful! You’re a lifesaver. Just whatever fresh herbs will hold up in a wreath; we’ll add ribbons when they get here.

  * * *

  Baskets of freshly cut herbs marched across the back of the worktable, heaped high with the aromatic harvest. There were branches of sage— the ordinary gray-green, the rich purple-leafed, and a judicious helping of the variegated, mottled with cream, purple, and green. Silvery lavender stems and bristly deep green rosemary lay in piles. The sage branches bore thick purple blooms, and tiny blue flowers sprinkled the tips of the gently curving rosemary. Too bad there aren’t any lavender spikes, but we harvested all of them earlier. That’s okay, these wreaths are going to be really nice anyway.

  The smell of the herbs was intoxicating: the sage, with its powerful, somewhat leathery aroma, seemed to strike a dominant masculine note, tamed and complemented by the sweeter, soothing lavender and the teasing, astringent rosemary. My god, I could be describing The 3, Elizabeth thought as she looked at the herbs she had chosen. The sage would be Boz, of course— a little goes a long way. The lavender for Kyra and the rosemary for Aidan— there’s more to him than I had realized. Rosemary for remembrance— he has too many bitter memories. But so does Kyra.