The Treasure of Christmas (44 page)

“Tea sounds lovely.” Jeannie sat down at the table, but Claire saw her eyeing the draped canvases off to her right.

Claire poured the hot water into the teapot, breathing deeply as she gazed out the window above the sink, willing herself to relax.

“Those your paintings?” asked Jeannie, as stubborn as ever.

Claire waited while the tea steeped in the pot before she returned to the table. “Yeah. But I’m not sure they’re ready to be – ”

“Jeannie says you’ve been painting angels.” Leo leaned back in his chair and crossed his leg, an unreadable expression across his face. “I suppose you haven’t heard that the angel trend is over now.”

“Oh, Leo.” Jeannie frowned and waved her hand. “Angels have been around forever.”

Claire sat down with them and poured tea. “So, do you mean to say that you believe in them too, Jeannie?”

Jeannie laughed. “I
mean
that they’ve been represented in various art forms for thousands of years. Good grief, you can probably find them carved into some cave walls from prehistoric times. So they’re certainly not only a modern-day fad, although Leo’s right,” she cleared her throat, “our latest angel trend is probably over by now. But that shouldn’t matter – not really.” Still there was something unconvincing in Jeannie’s voice, like she was only trying to humor Claire.

“Cheese and crackers?” Claire hopped up to get the platter she’d so carefully prepared earlier.

“Very pretty,” said Leo as he took one.

“Well, I didn’t really shop for Thanksgiving,” she admitted. “My pantry was a little, shall we say, boring, so I thought I better at least try to make it look good.”

“But back to the paintings.” Jeannie nodded toward the canvases again. “You don’t really want to keep me in suspense like this, do you?”

Claire smiled. “Actually, I do.”

Jeannie leaned her head back and groaned. “Whatever for?”

“Well, I’d like to enjoy your company and the dinner before . . .”

“Before what?” asked Leo.

“She’s afraid we’re going to hate them.” Jeannie shrugged. “Well, even if they’re not very good, Claire, at least you are painting. That’s the main thing. And you’ve only been up here – what? A few weeks now. There’s time to do more. I know how fast you work once you get going.” She winked at Leo. “That’s one thing I love about my impressionists, they usually work in a whirlwind of inspiration – producing a volume of paintings in a short amount of time.”

Claire glanced at Leo. “Forgive me, Leo, but I’ve forgotten exactly what your connection to the art world is.”

He grinned. “You may be sorry you asked.”

Jeannie rolled her eyes. “Claire, honestly!”

He waved his hand. “Oh, it’s all right, Jeannie –”

“No, Claire should know better than this. For heaven’s sake, Leo is an art critic with the
Times.
”

Claire slapped her forehead. “Oh, that’s right. I’m sorry. But Jeannie can vouch for the fact that I go out of my way to remain oblivious in that area. I’m that proverbial ostrich with my head – well, who knows where? I just don’t pay much attention to the reviews. I figure if someone praised my work I might turn into a prima donna and sit around on my laurels all day. And, on the other hand, if someone criticizes my work, I’m sure to take it personally and never want to paint again. And I’ve already been creatively paralyzed for over a year now. So, for me, it’s better not to know. Besides I trust that Jeannie’s keeping up with all that, and she sort of lets me know, gently, how I’m being received out there.”

Leo ran his fingers down his goatee beard. “Then you probably want me to keep my mouth shut if I take a peek at your work today?”

Claire sighed. “I don’t know. I probably don’t really want anyone to look at it just yet.”

“Come on,” said Jeannie. “You can’t possibly think I’d drive all the way up here and then leave without even looking.”

“I thought you said this was a mental health visit,” teased Claire.

Leo laughed. “Yes, and I also heard you’ve been chasing angels in the woods.”

Claire looked down at the table.

“I’m sorry,” said Leo. “I didn’t mean to – ”

“Oh, come on,” urged Jeannie. “Claire isn’t as thin-skinned as that. Are you, Claire?”

Claire looked up. “No. But you’re right, Leo. I have been chasing angels in the woods.”

“Well, good for you.” He clapped his hands. “I like an artist with spirit and passion. It’s always sure to show through in their work.”

“So, you don’t think I’m crazy? I mean, did Jeannie tell you that I found footprints and that I thought they belonged to my deceased husband and son – or maybe angels?”

He smiled. “Yes. I think it’s a charming story. And who are we to say what’s real and what’s not? If it seems real to you – ”

“Enough!” Jeannie stood up. “Please, don’t encourage her along these lines, Leo. Claire’s been through a lot this past year. She needs to move on now.”

“But perhaps this is part of the moving on process for her,” he argued. “Maybe she needs to chase angels in the woods to escape something. Maybe it’s how she’ll become free of her grief. Who are we to say?”

Jeannie sat down again. “Oh, I don’t know. I just want to see her get better. And all this talk of angels-angels-angels . . . frankly it worries me.”

Claire reached over and patted Jeannie’s hand. “I appreciate your concern. To be honest, it worries me a little too. Sometimes, in the middle of the day when I’m doing something ordinary like heating soup or feeding the dog, I think all my obsession with angels is pure nonsense. But then, at other times, like in the silence of the snowy woods, or in the middle of the night . . . well, I’m not so sure.”

“A lot of people believe in angels,” said Leo quietly. “There are all kinds of books written about them.”

“You two.” Jeannie pressed her lips together and shook her head.

“Have you read any books on angels, Leo?” Claire leaned forward, eager to hear anything he had to say on the subject.

“No, but my mother has. She happens to be a devout believer in angels.”

Claire sighed. “It’s encouraging to know I’m not alone.”

“Come now,” said Jeannie. “It worries me to think of you out there in the snow trying to track down your dead husband and son – forgive me for being so blunt, Claire. But it sounds pretty outrageous to me.”

“Oh, I don’t really think it’s them. . . .” She gazed out the window with a longing to be out there, walking in the cool snow.

“But you
want
it to be,” said Jeannie. “That’s almost as bad.”

“Of course, she wants it to be them,” defended Leo. “Who wouldn’t want to see their departed loved ones again, if they could?”

Claire nodded. “But at the same time, I know I need to let them go. I know I need to accept that those footprints out there probably don’t really belong to them.”

“Probably?”
Jeannie lifted an eyebrow.

“Okay, they
don’t
belong to them.”

“That’s better.” Jeannie glanced up at the clock. “I’ll bet that turkey’s almost heated by now. We should warm up those potatoes and gravy and rolls too.”

The three of them enjoyed a homey and delicious dinner, and Michael enjoyed the treats tossed his way from the table. Then Jeannie helped clean up while Claire made coffee to go with their pie. Finally, they were all sitting at the table, leaning back in their chairs and feeling stuffed and content.

“It’s times like this when I wish I still smoked my pipe,” said Leo as he patted his full midsection.

Jeannie stood and walked slowly over to the paintings. “The time has come, Claire. Are you ready?”

Claire took in a deep breath. “Are you two ready?”

Leo rubbed his hands together. “Well, if anticipation has anything to do with it, you’ve sure got me going, Claire.”

Claire walked over to the paintings, wondering about the best way to do this. “All right,” she finally said, “if we’re going to have an art show, you need to give me a couple of minutes to set up, okay?”

“Maybe we should step outside for a breath of fresh air,” suggested Leo.

“Good idea,” said Claire. “I’m sure Michael would enjoy stretching his legs a bit too.”

With the cabin to herself, Claire rearranged the table and chairs and lights to best accommodate and display her work. She set four of the paintings on the chairs and finally placed the picture of Scott and Jeremy on the easel, draping it with the sheet, still unwilling to show it to anyone. Then she went outside to invite them back in.

Her voice actually trembled as she spoke. “Okay, the gallery is officially open.”

“I’m so excited,” said Leo. And that alone filled Claire with dread. An art critic! What had Jeannie been thinking?

Claire lurked behind them as they entered the cabin. She stood silently as they viewed the works, watching their every move, waiting for their reactions. But Jeannie and Leo said nothing – absolutely nothing. They simply moved about the crowded space, situating themselves to best view her various works.

“Perhaps if they were framed,” she finally said weakly, almost inaudibly.

The floor squeaked beneath Leo as he moved to get a better look at the night painting. His hands hung loosely at his sides. But still he said nothing.

“Oh, I should’ve known,” muttered Claire. “I never should’ve. . . .” She walked over to the sink and stared blankly out the window, wishing desperately that her company would just quietly turn and leave. Or perhaps she could leave, maybe just vanish into the air, like an angel.

Finally, Jeannie spoke, but her voice was different somehow; perhaps it was strained by all this. “What’s under this, Claire?” She was standing before the easel now.

Claire stepped up to the easel. Well, why not get it over with. She might as well let them see it all. Like a felon about to be sentenced, she pulled the sheet from the painting, then stepped back, unable to actually look at it herself. Oh, if only this cabin had another room, besides the bathroom, where she might run and hide. She felt her teeth clenching and wished that this day could be over – that Jeannie and Leo could politely excuse themselves and get in Jeannie’s BMW and just leave. But still they stood there, just looking in silence. As if they were too embarrassed to speak. And Claire felt as if she were standing before the two of them naked and ashamed, with nowhere to hide.

At last Jeannie turned around and faced her. But her expression was confusing. Was she upset? Angry? Frustrated by Claire’s lame excuse for art? Then Claire noticed there were real tears in Jeannie’s eyes.

Jeannie pulled out a handkerchief and daubed at her eyes. “These are beautiful, Claire.”

“Really?” Claire grabbed Jeannie by the arms. “Tell me the truth, Jeannie. Are you just saying that? Are you afraid I’ve totally lost it, gone off the deep end, and you don’t want to tell me for fear I’ll completely crack up, and you’ll have to get the men in the white coats and – ”

“No!” Jeannie leaned forward and looked directly into Claire’s eyes. “I
mean
it. I’m perfectly serious. These are the best things you’ve ever done.”

Now Claire felt tears filling her own eyes. “What about you, Leo?” she asked in a shaky voice. “What do you think?”

He turned around to face her. His expression was still impossible to read, but if anything he looked slightly frightened.

“Are you okay?” she asked, stepping closer.

He nodded and took a deep breath. “You really want my opinion, Claire? Despite what you said earlier about critics?”

She considered this, then nodded. “Yes. Tell me the truth.”

“These are brilliant.” He rubbed his goatee thoughtfully. “I can’t even think of the right words to describe them – and I’m a writer – inspired, holy, powerful, inspirational, amazing . . . that’s just for starters.”

She felt her knees growing weak and eased herself down into the easy chair, placing her head in her hands as she sobbed in pure relief. She felt both of them near her, their hands resting on her shoulders as they waited for this moment to pass. Finally, she looked up at them and asked, “Are you guys telling me the truth?
For real?”

They both nodded.

“I have to take these with me, Claire. Henri must see them at once. If it’s at all possible, we have to get a show scheduled before Christmas, even if that means moving some things around. Do you think you’ll have any more done by then?”

“I–I don’t know. It’s like they come to me – like Leo said – in inspiration. Like God is actually guiding my hand.”

“I believe that,” said Leo.

Jeannie nodded. “Well, whatever it takes, if you can do more, it’ll help the show.”

“Are you sure, Jeannie? I mean, like Leo said, angels aren’t really in vogue right now. And what if Henri doesn’t – ”

“You let me figure this out.”

“But you really think anyone would want to buy them?”

Jeannie pressed her lips together. “Well, you can just never tell about these things. I’ve seen work that I thought was amazing and brilliant before, but the public just didn’t seem to get it. I suppose that could happen.”

Leo nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I’ve seen it too. I’ve given artists the best reviews and then watched them sink into oblivion.”

Claire looked down at her lap. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“But we’ve got to give it a try,” said Jeannie. She glanced at her watch. “And we should probably be on our way now, Claire.”

Claire stood and took Jeannie’s hand. “Thanks so much for everything.”

“I’ll load up the pictures,” said Leo. “Do you have any spare blankets to wrap them in?”

“There are some in that closet by the bathroom,” instructed Jeannie.

“The one on the easel . . .” Claire began with hesitation.

“Yes?” Jeannie nodded.

“I don’t really want to sell that one.”

“I didn’t think you would.” Jeannie put her hand on Claire’s shoulder. “But can you let it be in the show?”

Claire glanced over at the painting, knowing she would miss it but also knowing it might be better to have it away from her, for now. “Yes. You can take it.”

“Good.”

After the paintings were loaded, Jeannie turned to Claire. “About those footprints in the woods?”