Page 16 of The Pursuit of Elena Bradford

16

The sight of the old general coming up beside Elena made Kirby jerk his paintbrush to make an unwanted mark. He would have to add a flower or a feather to the lady’s hairstyle to cover it up. Most women were pleased to have a little extra added to their portraits.

This Vanessa would be no different. She did seem more than eager to sit for her portrait and was staying very still without complaint. He wouldn’t care if she did move. He had captured her image with no need to search for a way to make her look more attractive. She had beauty cornered.

That should have made the portrait an easy task, but oddly enough, it wasn’t. He was distracted by Elena watching him.

He had come on too strong with his familiarity. Not that she didn’t like him using her given name. She did. But he shouldn’t have claimed her as his Elena, even if he had tried to include her new friend in with his our .

That friend wouldn’t mind him saying our Vanessa. Madeline coming later wouldn’t mind him claiming her either, even if she did appear to be a timid little bird. He could probably waltz her off to the altar without the slightest struggle as long as her father didn’t interfere.

Yet Elena was the one who kept coming to mind. While she might not have the same beauty perfection as this woman posing for him, those eyes of hers looked as deep as one of the bottomless lakes he’d seen in the west. She was a woman a man could live with for a lifetime. She wouldn’t put hobbles on him. He could even imagine actually falling in love with her. He hadn’t, but he was almost sure he could if he made up his mind to do so.

Then General Dawson came limping along to stir trouble into Kirby’s plans. The old man couldn’t really be courting Elena. Kirby pulled his brush away from the canvas before he made another stray mark that would add extra time to doing the portrait. This wasn’t a true portrait. Merely a sketch in paints to make the lady happy.

He needed to finish it. Move on to someone else. The more paintings he did, the more money in his pockets. Perhaps that was why the old general was here. To see if he had finished the Boone Club one. Kirby had thought to do a few more touch-ups, but it was good enough that he could hand it over and move on to something new.

Move on. That was what he needed to think about doing. Moving on with one of these ladies. He peeked over his shoulder. Elena was smiling at the general as if glad to see him. She must not know the old codger had designs on her or she wouldn’t keep smiling like that. She was probably thinking about him as a friend of her father’s. Or her grandfather’s.

Kirby pulled his attention back to Vanessa and his sketch. There was something a little different about the woman. She had the looks to make her a self-assured princess, but instead she acted a little too eager. She made him think of a girl invited to a party where she hadn’t thought she’d be welcome. Women who looked like Vanessa were generally accustomed to others doing their bidding at the bare lift of a finger.

But this lady seemed unsure of herself. Before he had told her to hold the pose, she had glanced over her shoulder more than once as if worried someone might be watching. Perhaps he should ask Elena about her. They seemed to be friends.

Or ask Vanessa about Elena. That might serve him better.

He finished off a purple feather in the woman’s hair to hide his stray mark and stood back to give his work an assessing look. Not bad.

“All right, Miss Vanessa. You may come look now.”

The woman jumped up, then sank back down on the bench and fanned herself with her bonnet. Elena rushed toward her. “Are you all right?”

“It’s nothing.” Vanessa waved her away. “In my excitement, I stood too suddenly. I’ll be fine in a minute.” She put her bonnet on and with slow precision tied the ribbons under her chin. “Go, look at it and tell me what you think.”

“You judge my efforts, Elena, while I assist Miss Vanessa.” Kirby moved past Elena to offer a hand to Vanessa. “I apologize for having you sit so motionless. That could be what made you dizzy.”

“I’m sure you are right.” She stood more slowly this time and took Kirby’s arm.

The woman still seemed a little pale as she leaned against him. Probably hadn’t eaten all day to keep her slender waist, and then wearing a mountain of petticoats in the warmth of the day. Fashion was a hard taskmaster for ladies. But Elena didn’t seem ready to have the vapors. Another thing in her favor.

“You are certain to be pleased, Vanessa.” Elena stood in front of the portrait. The old general stood behind her, close enough to touch. “Mr. Frazier has captured your beauty with his brush.”

Mr. Frazier again. Not Kirby as she had said earlier. He needed to catch her alone. Find a way to charm her. But that didn’t seem possible right now with the general and the others who had been drawn to the show he’d put on while doing the portrait. He had himself to blame for that, but Dr. Graham had made sure Kirby understood he was to be an entertainment for the guests.

In due time he would have the freedom to do what he wanted. To stop having to be a show and simply be the artist he wished to be. A favorable marriage would hurry that day along.

“Elena, your words are too kind.” Vanessa turned loose of Kirby’s arm and without looking at the portrait covered her eyes. “I’m almost afraid to look.”

“No need to fear, fair lady,” General Dawson said. “Our artist has done a credible job and, as Miss Elena says, has portrayed your beauty.”

Vanessa peeked out through her fingers. Then she did a little hop of pleasure and clapped her hands. “You have flattered me. Thank you so much, Mr. Frazier.” A blush colored her cheeks as she lowered her voice. “But I fear you will have to wait until my father arrives for payment.”

“Worry not about that.” He managed to keep any disappointment from his voice. Often the ladies did not come prepared to offer payment for a portrait, a definite problem with no sign indicating payment was expected. “It was simply a pleasure to portray your beauty with my paintbrush.”

“May I take it now?” She reached toward it.

“Not yet.” He blocked her hands. “It needs to cure a little since I used paints and not just pencil and chalk.”

“Oh.” Vanessa looked disappointed.

“The artist knows best.” General Dawson gazed at the painting before he looked over at Kirby. “You’ve outdone yourself on this one, young man.” He stepped closer to Kirby and stuffed something into his pocket. “That is for the one we spoke of earlier with a bit extra to help Miss Vanessa here.” He smiled. “I think I’m becoming a patron of the arts.”

“Thank you, sir.” Kirby was glad enough for the heft of the money in his pocket, but he couldn’t help wishing the general had waited until later to come pay him. He was definitely spoiling Kirby’s chance for any private words with Elena.

General Dawson gave Vanessa a little bow. “I’m General Dawson, and Miss Elena was kind enough to share your name, Miss Hasting. I’m very pleased to meet you.”

“And I the same, General.” Vanessa answered his bow with a little curtsy.

“Very well, ladies.” He looked from her to Elena. “Shall we go find some midday refreshments? One of the servants can fetch your painting later and take it to your room, Miss Hasting.”

“I did miss eating this morning,” Vanessa said. “And I believe Elena did as well.”

“Dear ladies, you must not go without proper nourishment,” the general said. “Let me escort you to the dining area. I am almost certain Dr. Graham will have ordered the kitchen to have a variety of food available along with some sweet goodies. I’m told even ice cream may be in the offing today. Then we can check out the lawn bowling.”

“Ice cream?” Elena seemed to have no hesitation in slipping her hand under the general’s elbow. “How in the world could there be ice anything in the summertime?”

“The doctor has his ways,” the man said.

“That sounds delightful,” Vanessa said. “This day is turning out the best.”

The general patted Elena’s hand and offered his other arm to Vanessa. “I think I am the one to win the prize this day. A thorn between two roses.” He nodded at Kirby. “Good day to you.”

The old fellow had a spring in his step as he led the two women away. The others who had been watching Kirby paint the portrait drifted away too. He should have tried to entice someone among them to be his next model. He wasn’t in top form. He was letting his emotions overpower his good sense. Elena Bradford wasn’t the only woman at the Springs who might entertain his attentions.

From the time he began drawing again after his little sister’s death, he had not let feelings get in the way of his plans. When Rosie died, his grief had nearly snuffed out something inside him. Something he hadn’t wanted to lose but nearly had.

He sat down on the stool in front of his easel and turned to a fresh page in his sketchbook. Rosie filled his mind and the scene around him disappeared. He was ten and she was four when she caught a fever.

His mother lost two babies before Rosie came along to become a beam of sunshine in their rough cabin. Kirby loved her so much. She followed him around like a puppy dog and could sit for an hour watching him make pictures. He didn’t have paper and pen then. No paints, but he saw things and had the urge to draw them. He scratched out pictures on rocks and in the mud. With ink made from poke berries, he painted with his fingers. He carved pictures in fence posts and the logs of the barn.

That was what he was doing on a cold, rainy day in November. He didn’t know she had followed him outside. He wasn’t thinking about anything but some free time to carve out a picture somewhere in the barn. When he was creating his pictures, the vision in his head blocked out everything else.

He remembered the image in his head. His mother had told him a Bible story about an apple tree in the Garden of Eden. Adam and Eve were told by God not to eat the apples, but Eve had been tempted by the serpent. He aimed to draw the tree. He knew what an apple tree looked like. They had three in the backyard.

When he stepped back to consider the carving and how he could put Eve ready to pluck an apple, Rosie sniffed and jerked him away from his vision of the Garden of Eden. He had no idea how long she might have been watching him without a word. She had her arms clutched around her body to keep warm, but her lips were turning blue from the cold. He forgot his picture and wrapped her in his arms to try to stop her shivers and teeth chattering.

After he hurried her in by the fire, she seemed fine, but a couple of days later she came down with a fever. The doctor asked if she’d had a chill. His words were like a knife twisting in Kirby’s heart.

He prayed and prayed, but the Lord turned away from Kirby. Away from Rosie. Her coughs shook her small body until after a week, she went still. Her death broke his mother. She went about her chores like a ghost. His father changed too. Grew morose and stern. Nothing Kirby did could please him.

Kirby quit drawing. Anything. It seemed wrong to do something to give him joy when he was the reason Rosie was gone. Dark days turned into weeks, then months. But the sun kept coming up each morning.

Early one spring day, as he walked the mule to the pond before they hitched him to the plow, the sun edged up over the horizon and shot rays across the field. Sparkling jewels seemed to be scattered through the frosty grass. When he pictured how he and the mule looked walking through that glitter, he wanted, more than anything, to stop and find something to use to capture that image.

He didn’t. His pa would have never understood that. Instead, he went on to the field to follow the mule as the plow turned over the ground. But the sunlit jewels had awakened his yearning to draw and do more than follow a mule the rest of his life. Not long after that, a teacher opened up a school close by. His pa said he was too old to go, but Kirby went anyway.

One day while the other boys played marbles on the bare schoolyard ground, he picked up a stick and drew in the dirt. The picture wouldn’t last. Some kid would run through it, the wind would shift the dirt, or rain would wash it away. But something inside him came to life again after almost two years of pushing away the itch to draw.

When the teacher rang the bell to end their dinner recess, Kirby didn’t hear it. He didn’t notice the other kids going inside. He was part of the picture he was making of Rosie. It was hard to make her sweet face in the dirt, but he smoothed out the dust, found different size sticks, and almost captured his memory of her. Then he drew daisies and kittens around her. He wanted to think heaven was full of things like those that she loved.

The teacher came to look for him. A woman teacher, older than his parents. When she spoke behind him, he was startled. He swiped his hand across the dirt to erase the picture. The teacher didn’t say he shouldn’t have. She didn’t say anything, but the next day she gave him a bound book of rough paper and a bottle of ink and asked him to draw the picture she’d seen in the dust again. When he did as the teacher asked, he could feel Rosie smiling at him. And he needed smiles.

He had toughened up since then. He needed money more than smiles. Money to do what he wanted and not have to be forever working to please some vain woman with a sketch she wouldn’t accept if it showed her wrinkles or double chin.

Kirby looked down at the sketch he’d done almost without thinking about the lines he was making. A little girl holding a kitten. The girl’s head was bent over the kitten. Her hair hung down to hide her face, but it was Rosie. He stared at the drawing for a long moment before he turned the page.

Madeline Southworth was walking toward him. Time to keep his focus on his goal to go west and capture the wonders there with his brush. That was what was important. He wouldn’t let the foolish emotion of love get in his way. If Madeline Southworth was the one to finance his dream instead of the fetching Elena Bradford, so be it.

Right now he would dance between his options until the picture came clear. He did that with his art. He could do that with his life too.