explore until the other students arrive, she turns to me, watery blue eyes meeting mine as I hear myself say, “A bite would be good. I really am rather tired, come to think of it.”
Two
I flip the switch, squinting as the room fills with shadow and light. Noticing a thin layer of mist hovering all around, and wondering how it found its way in when the door is closed and the windows are covered with heavy, fringed drapes.
I toss my sheets aside and slip into the robe that was left at the foot of my bed. Pausing to run my fingers over the soft, silky feel of it, so different from the scruffy flannels I usually wear, and tying it snugly around my waist as I take in the large space before me—the dressing table covered with delicate lace doilies and silver- handled brushes and combs, the crystal chandelier hanging overhead, the stone hearth with embers still glowing from the fire Violet set, the small velvet settee just off to the side. And an easel that awaits me—all set up and ready to go with a fresh, new canvas just begging for me to bring it to life.
“Paint your dreams,” I was told, and so I do. Wondering briefly if I should try to call home, let them know I’ve arrived, but just as quickly abandoning the idea. Now that Nina’s moved in, my father’s too busy for me, has probably forgotten all about me. Besides, I’d rather paint. I need to paint while the images are still fresh in my mind.
I retrieve my bag from the bench at the foot of my bed, glad I was smart enough not to check my very best brushes and paints along with the rest of my luggage. Squeezing color from the tubes marked black, white, and red, knowing that for this particular dream, a dream I’ve had before, but only in pieces, fragments, never as vibrant as this, it’s the only palette required. And I’m so immersed in my subject, I hardly notice when Violet peeks in.
“Sorry fer disturbing ye, miss, but I heard ye moving about and thought you might like somethin’ to eat?”
She comes toward me, placing the tray on a small table beside the velvet settee, as I frown at my painting. I’ve been struggling with the mist for over an hour, and it still doesn’t feel right. In my dream it felt so alive, but here, it’s just a blotch of white static.
“I say, I’m no expert, but that seems to be coming along just fine, miss. Just fine indeed.” She comes up alongside me and squints.
I shrug, twisting my lips to the side, wishing I could agree. Even though I’ve always been my worst critic— the fact is, it isn’t quite there yet. Not even close.
“Maybe just a touch more…red. Right ’ere, miss.” She points toward the center, the only place where any real color exists. “If ye don’t mind me sayin’ so.”
I glance between her and the canvas, noticing how she looks so much younger than she did earlier—her face rounder, fuller, with a spot of color on each cheek. Blaming my earlier impression on a combination of dim lighting and jet lag, I focus back on my canvas and do as she says, then the two of us stand back to scrutinize it.
“As I said, I’m no expert, but it looks better now, doesn’t it? Gives it a bit more…life—wouldn’t ye say?” Her blue eyes light up as her cheeks flush bright pink, and for a moment she’s so transformed I can’t help but stare.
“It is better.” I nod, glancing between her and the painting. “I thought I’d get dressed and head into town, have a look around and pick up some stuff to tide me over until my luggage arrives. Can you lend me a map or something? Or at least tell me where the shops are located?”
She bites down on her lip and narrows her eyes. And for a moment she seems upset by the question, but it’s soon erased by her words when she says, “Sure, miss, I’d be happy to. But now’s probably not the best time. Best to put it off for a while still, yes?”
I tilt my head, paintbrush dangling by my side, wondering what she meant by that.
“Well, in case you hadn’t noticed, ’tis still dark out, and a long ways from morning.” She heads for the window, drawing the drape in one quick move, showing a flash of pitch-black landscape before closing it again. “Oh, and you might want to watch yer paints there, miss.” She points toward my feet. “A lot of work went into the restoration, and we’d hate to mess it up so quickly.”
I lower my gaze, gasping when I see what looks like a pool of thick, red, viscous fluid swirling around me. But as soon as I blink, it’s gone, and all I can see are the few small drops she promptly cleans.
“I’m sorry—I—” I shake my head, still stricken by what I know I saw just a second ago.
“No matter.” She heads for the door. “Just—” She pauses, eyes surveying me as she grasps the shiny black pendant hanging from her neck. “Just mind yerself, that’s all.”
The moment she’s gone, I put my painting aside and decide to get dressed. I mean, even though it’s the middle of the night, the fact is, I’m so wide awake now, I may as well do some exploring and check out the rest of the house. So after shivering under a weak spray of water that never really ventured anywhere past lukewarm, using some kind of weird, oddly scented, handmade soap that made me long for my nice, sudsy body wash back home, I sit at the dressing table, comb through my wet hair with one of those silver-plated combs, and dab on a little perfumed oil from an old-fashioned glass bottle, hoping to kill some of that soap stench. Then I go searching for the clothes I arrived in, since, thanks to the airline losing my bag, I have no other option.
But after checking the armoire, the chest of drawers, and just about anywhere else you could stash a black V-necked sweater, faded jeans, and a navy blue, hand-me-down peacoat, and coming up empty, I ring for Violet, only to be told they’ve been sent out for cleaning.
“But now I don’t have anything to wear,” I whine, realizing my voice has risen a few octaves louder than planned. But hey, I’m an only child, I’m not used to people messing with my stuff.
“Sorry, miss.” She averts her gaze in a way that makes me feel this big. “Just trying to keep things runnin’ smoothly.”
I sigh. Knowing that to say anything further would just peg me as a spoiled American brat. Besides, wasn’t the whole point of coming here to improve my art and experience something different from my suburban L.A. condo community? Not to mention, enjoy some time away from Jake, Tiffany, and Nina? And now that I’m here, maybe it’s time I embrace it.
“Sorry.” I shrug. “I didn’t mean it like that—it’s just—”
“I’ll check on them come morning.” She nods. “I’m sure they’ll be returned to ye in good time. But for now, why not pick something from this here armoire to wear?” She smiles encouragingly. “There’s some beautiful gowns in there, miss. Real antiques they is. It’s all part of the restoration. Every last detail was noted and attended to.”
I tilt my head and scrunch my nose, not near as convinced as she. I’m not really into fancy vintage gowns. I’m much more of a peacoat-and-cargo-pants girl.
And I’m just about to say it, just about to ask if she could possibly find something a little less fussy, when she says, “Don’t really know which type ye are until you try a few, right?”
