Haunting Refrain (30 page)

“I will.” She lifted her arms and wrapped them around his neck, hugging him tightly.

John, glancing in the hall mirror behind her, grinned. She was a hard woman to leave.

* * *

At eight o’clock on Sunday morning, John stood in Kate’s driveway with his hands on his hips, studying the car. They were trying to pack the Mazda. It wasn’t designed for haulage. “Do you have to take all this? Don’t they supply anything?”

“This is my first show. I don’t know,” she said, looking at the card table and cooler they couldn’t squeeze in.

“Look, let’s go get my car. You take the pictures, and I’ll follow you with the table and chairs and the cooler. There’s no way everything’s going in this, including me.” He wasn’t happy about going separately, but neither of their cars was adequate.

A horn drew their attention. The rear end of
Venice
’s big Cadillac crept up the concrete tracks toward them and stopped. The trunk popped open and Martin got out.
Venice
called from the passenger side, “Hello, you all. I knew you would have a problem carrying your pictures and equipment.”

“I don’t know that this show is a good idea, but if we’re all together in crowd of people, what could happen?” Martin asked John, looking up at the blue October sky. “It’s a beautiful day, and I know Kate needs the exposure for her work.”

“What do you have in the cooler, Kate?
Peanut butter sandwiches?”
Venice
asked.

“Not exactly,” she said, wishing she hadn’t told John she’d bring their lunch. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but she’d worked all day yesterday to finish remounting her photographs and hadn’t had time to get anything. She’d only remembered this morning and had tossed in a loaf of bread with only a few green spots and a jar of Jiff. She wondered if John would consider extra crunchy peanut butter a substitute for extra crispy chicken. Still, there was always food around these outdoor shows—she hoped.

John gave her a suspicious look and asked, “Do we need to pick up some chicken, Kate?”

“No, we brought a picnic lunch for all of us,”
Venice
said over her shoulder as she freed her skirt from the spikes of a low-growing holly. “You should know better than to rely on Kate for food, John.”

They packed the trunk and John and Kate slid into the back with
Venice
’s big picnic basket on the seat between them. John immediately lifted the lid and sniffed. “
Venice
, are you sure you want to marry Martin?”

“Yes, I am. It’s a wonder Martin hasn’t starved without me. He’s almost as bad as Kate.”

“I’ve had to loosen my belt a notch already,” Martin said, easing out of the drive.

The car climbed slowly up the twisting road under the overhanging greenery, with Kate and
Venice
pointing out the trees that had already turned to brilliant autumn colors. In two or three weeks, Kate thought, she would be seduced by the display and come back for a day of shooting. Maybe John would come and carry the camera bag and tripod. She turned to look at him and chuckled silently. He had his hand in the basket.
Venice
would catch him. She should have been a mother; she had eyes in the back of her head.

“Close it, John. You can have something after Kate’s show is set up,” she said from the front seat, apparently still focused on the scenery.

“Yes, Ma’am.”
He closed the lid and sighed loudly.

They arrived in a crowd of vans and trucks, maneuvering among people carting boxes and fancy cases into the picnic area. Kate found her assigned space and stood looking at the rocky area. She was located at the edge of the woods near the end of the exhibitors. “I like this. It’s perfect. I can prop the framed prints on the rocks in odd places. That way you can discover them, almost one at a time, instead of being hit with a whole row at once.”

John brought the picnic basket and the table and then went back for the cooler and chairs. He slung the camera bag over his shoulder at the same time. “What do you keep in here?
Rocks?
I think I’ll have to make another trip for this thing.”

“It’s easy to see where your priorities are, Gerrard,” Kate said. She and Martin carried the boxes packed with photographs.

“Did you bring any money, Kate?”
Venice
asked, watching from her perch on a smooth rock.

“Money?
I’ve got a couple of dollars,” she answered, wondering why
Venice
needed money.

“Not for me, dear.
For a practical person, you can be quite dense.” She took a large envelope from her purse and held it out to Kate.
“To make change.
These are for sale, aren’t they?” she asked, waving at the pictures.

“Oh. Thanks,
Venice
. I didn’t think of that.” She looked around for a place to put the money. “Do you really think anyone will buy them?”

“Yes, I do. Take the cookies out of the tin, John. She can use that for a cash box.”

Kate arranged the photographs on the rocks, exchanging and moving the images, looking for the most advantageous mix. The rocks were nice, but the black and white prints didn’t show up well. From a few feet away, the display looked dull.

“Here,”
Venice
said, pulling the scarlet shawl off her shoulders. “And I have a scarf in here somewhere.” She dug through her purse and came up with a length of gold tissue silk.

“
Venice
, you’re wonderful,” Kate said, draping the shawl over a rock. She let the scarf fall loosely across the middle and then sat several of the pictures on the scarlet backdrop. She stepped back to admire the effect, her eyes shining. “Perfect!”

“It looks great. I’d like to have a couple of those sepia prints for the living room. I’ve developed a sentimental attachment to the smell.” John grinned over Kate’s head at
Venice
. Munching a chocolate chip cookie, he leaned over to study a barn on the edge of collapse. It appeared to be held upright by a tangle of vines clinging to its side. A lone cow peeked out through the open door. “This reminds me of your garage, Kate.”

“That’s why it’s secure. No one would try to break into it for fear it would fall on them.” She tweaked the shawl and moved one of the pictures an inch to the right. She tilted her head, squinting at the presentation, and moved another one a fraction to the left.

“Leave it, McGuire. Let’s have a drink before the hordes arrive.” He pulled her back to the cooler and handed her a Diet Coke. “Here you go. Relax. It looks great.”

The show opened at ten and people began drifting in shortly after. It took a while for them to filter through the other exhibits and get to Kate’s. Some of the exhibitors nearby had bright, attractive displays, and she worried that hers was too low-key.

By
midafternoon
, enough people crowded into the small exhibit area that Kate and
Venice
decided to eat in shifts. In spite of the comments from a few people about the prices, Kate made a couple of sales and gave out several business cards. John’s lonely cow had been the first to go, but she’d promised to print another for him. A young couple selected a black-and-white shot of a farm gate made from a wagon wheel.

“Let’s eat, Kate,” John said, eyeing the basket.

Kate danced around the table. “I don’t think I can leave. They’re actually buying my pictures,” she said, wonder coloring her voice. “People come looking for a portrait. It’s not the same as buying on the spur of the moment, just because something appeals to you.”

“We’ll mind the store.”
Venice
graciously offered John the basket. “Take Kate away for a few minutes and make her eat. Just leave something for us,” she warned.

Martin accepted a check for a framed print, and
Venice
sold three unframed prints while John and Kate shared fried chicken and potato salad behind the rocks. Kate dabbled in hers and gave most of it to John. Excitement kept her hopping up to see if anyone was buying. “I think Martin’s selling another one. I’ll take everyone out to dinner tonight.”

John laughed at her. “Didn’t you ever have a lemonade stand when you were a kid?”

“Sort of.
After our first attempt, Gwen made the lemonade. I made the sign. I always wandered off on my bike and left her to deal with the customers.” She was edging toward the exhibit area, impatient to get back. “I didn’t know it was so much fun.”

“Go on. You don’t have to wait for me. I’m not moving until I finish my apple pie. Tell
Venice
I love her.”

Kate ran the short distance to her show. “You can go eat now.” She gave
Venice
a quick hug and said, “Better watch out, Martin. John’s fallen in love with your woman.”

“I told you
you
should learn to cook, Kate,”
Venice
said. “Do you think you can keep your eye on the cash box if we both go? Maybe we should wait until John gets back.”

“I’m here,” John said, rounding the path. He grabbed
Venice
and planted a big kiss on her lips. “Martin, you’re a lucky man.”

“Yes, I know.” Martin pulled him aside and said softly, “We saw Helmut a few minutes ago. He glared at
Venice
and turned the other way. We didn’t want to spoil Kate’s day. This is the first time she’s really relaxed and had fun since all this started.”

As the afternoon wore on, several more of Kate’s pictures found homes. She gave one, a print of a brightly colored street clown, to a little girl whose pregnant mother had looked at the price and told the child to put it back. “It would be my pleasure,” Kate said. “It makes me happy when my pictures have good homes and someone to take care of them.”

The child giggled, clutching the picture to her chest. “It sounds like a puppy.”

The woman found it impossible to resist Kate’s offer and wandered off with the child and the clown.

“What a wonderful day,” Kate said. She spun in the grass, arms outstretched, laughing. “‘Oh world, I cannot hold thee close enough . . .’” She let the sentence trail off as she listened.
“Oh, no!”

“What is it?” John turned toward her, immediately alert.

A distant voice carried over the crowd, increasing in volume. “And my eyes shall not spare the harlot, and I will have no pity: and she will be paid according to her ways and the abominations that are in the midst of thee.”

“He’s coming this way.” He was coming for
her
. Somehow, he knew she was here. She started for her pictures.

“Kate, stop! Get your camera!” John grabbed her arm, spun her around. “Looks like news to me. Let’s see how this will affect his fund-raising.”

She hesitated for an instant,
then
snatched the Nikon from her bag, snapping the flash into place.

“And I will judge thee, a woman who lives in sin and worships false prophets. I will give thee blood and fury and jealousy.”

The crowd parted like the
Red Sea
before Moses.

“Get this, Kate.” John moved to her side to give her a clear view of the man. “Just keep shooting. He won’t hurt you.”

Kate snapped two or three pictures of him with the onlookers fairly melting away.

Ezekiel stopped, surprised by the camera. Then he raised the staff and shook it, his face twisted and ugly. “And the horde shall stone thee and dispatch them with their swords and burn thy house.”

As if he were some alien creature to be studied, she ignored his ranting and dropped to one knee, photographing him at an angle, with his staff raised against the sky and trees above.