“Come on,” he said. We sat down together on one of his chairs. I snuggled into his shoulder, closed my eyes, and let my head rise and fall on his chest. I didn’t ask why he had painted me, or how he’d remembered so vividly what I looked like. I didn’t even question his painting the same moon I’d drawn. None of that seemed to matter anymore.
When he stirred, I moaned. “Please don’t get up. I want to stay like this forever.” I couldn’t believe I’d just bared my thoughts like a neon sign. But the moment passed and his breathing continued its steady refrain.
He said, “I have to get back to my work.” Noticing my worried expression, he added, “I’m not going anywhere.” He kissed my nose. “Look at this painting. It’s obvious I’m smitten with you.”
During the ride home, Henry’s fragrant breath lingers in my nostrils, his sweet taste on my lips. My chest tingles with happiness, although that seems like a mundane word for the bliss I’m experiencing. I’ve never met a finer man, and he cares for me—skeletons and all. Imagine that.
And I’ll tell you something else. Everything I pass looks alive with color and texture. The trees are ablaze with finery, the sky brilliant, iridescent, and even the telephone poles, arranged in endless repeating lines, invite me to capture their splendor on a canvas.
As I drive into my garage, I spy my forgotten easel up in the rafters, wedged between two-by-fours and plywood scraps. I use a stepladder to pull down my old friend, then haul it into the kitchen.
Glancing at the phone, I recall Mom’s words, which still hum in my ears like a comforting lullaby. My parents will go to counseling. It doesn’t guarantee reconciliation, I know, but it’s a move in the right direction.
Maybe all things really do work for good for those who love God.
I lug the easel and the paints and canvases Henry gave me upstairs. A sense of hope lightens my steps. From what Henry said, God is compassionate, far more than I could ever be. With his forgiveness comes freedom from the past. As I embrace this truth, I feel the talons of shame and regret beginning to release their hold on my world.
I plant a foot on the landing, feeling rooted to my foundation, secure. I’m not alone anymore.
Breathing deeply, I expand my lungs, then pray: Dear God, please help me accept this situation with Rob. Watch over him and Andrea and my future grandchild.
I can’t fathom how any good can come from the pregnancy, but maybe, somehow, God will turn it into a blessing.
As I enter Rob’s room, I glance into the mirror above his bureau and find a radiant woman gazing back. The morning Rob left, I reeled in agony, tears cascading down my cheeks. Today I see vitality, confidence—and something stemming from deep inside me that lifts my features and brightens my eyes. At first I think this new Marguerite is Henry’s doing, but I know he cannot transform me any more than a sculptor can fashion a living being out of clay. Then it dawns on me: What I see is God’s love reflected in my face. Amazing. I wonder if Emily will notice the difference the next time we meet.
I feel as though I am in the eye of a hurricane, standing in the calm center. I open the easel. Tightening the screws, I give them an extra twist.
God, I’m not strong enough to face Phil and Darla by myself. I ask for your help in dealing with them, too. Whether I ever grow to like Darla doesn’t matter; it’s time to let go of bitterness, and of Phil.
A sense of peace washes over me.
I rest a canvas on the easel, and the northern light dances across its surface. A smile widens my lips as I visualize a new horizon of infinite possibilities. I open every tube of paint and squirt colors onto a plate.
I give my life to you, God. Please guide my hand.
I dip my brush into the cobalt blue. Then with a long, fluid stroke, I form the first bold line on the canvas.
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Thank you!
—Kate Lloyd
READERS’ GUIDE
For Personal Reflection or Group Discussion
Over the course of this novel, Marguerite Carr struggles to recover her artistic passion and learns to forgive others and herself. Forgiveness is one of the major themes of A Portrait of Marguerite. As you answer the following questions, think about broken relationships in your life that could be healed by the power of forgiveness.
1. How does Marguerite feel the evening of her first drawing class, and how does her level of confidence compare to her college days? Why does Marguerite long for her instructor Henry Marsh’s approval? What happens when a person bases his or her worth on the approval of others? How can pride and fear of failure keep you from using your God-given talents?
2. Why did Marguerite give up her dreams of becoming an artist? Who is Marguerite’s biggest critic? When have negative voices in your head, calling you a failure, discouraged you from taking action? How did reading a book on recapturing creativity impact Marguerite? How can a person reclaim his or her creative passion, whether it took root in the kitchen, the garden, or sitting at a piano? When you were a child, what was your greatest aspiration? How can you incorporate this dream into your adult life?
3. What does Phil represent to Marguerite? What positive and negative traits do you see in him? How does Marguerite’s continued bitterness toward
