Searching for Sara, page 18
“It be fine if there is nothing,” she whispered. “You but need to try.”
“But why would He whisper when I’ve come to hate Him.” Christopher moved his focus to her pale and tear-stained face. “Why would He?”
“Because He does no’ hate you, Christopher. He knows your heart. He knows your rage. He knows you hurt. And He knows how to get through it. You have but to take the first step.” She motioned to the white. “If it is there, do it. Scratch out the image or the blot of red or black that shows how angry you are. If it is stomping through the gardens fuming to raise the dead, do it. He can take it because He sees past to the deeper heart.” Sara pressed a single finger to his chest. “He sees what we hide here, and that is where He works.”
Again Christopher felt the fight. He clenched his jaw and focused on the white, his hold on Sara’s hand tightening and loosening and tightening again—She stepped toward the paper and pulled him along after, purposefully positioning him by the easel and pushing a charcoal into his hand. The action blackened his fingers the same as her own.
“Show it,” she pressed, pushing his hand toward the stark whiteness as he had done for her the week before.
Sara then dragged his hand roughly over the white, causing a vicious and rage-filled black streak to mar the page.
Christopher blinked and stepped back, but Sara tugged at his arm to draw him back again.
“No,” she said, firm. “You must no’ keep it inside. Not any longer. Your heart is good, and the black canno’ have it. You put it here. You put it on this bit of white.” She forced his hand against the paper for a second time, holding it there as she focused on his blank expression. “Here.” She pressed his hand harder into the paper, causing the charcoal to snap and a piece to clatter to the floor.
Christopher twitched.
“Here,” she insisted, voice cracking.
But where to begin showing and expressing more than a year of rage and loss and confusion? Christopher tugged at her hold, the action causing another streak and another twitch at the sound.
“You canno’ run from it,” Sara told him, shaking her head. “I know. I tried. But it chases you. Follows you to your dreams and taints your memories into nightmares and horrible faces . . . ." She pushed and dragged his hand across the paper. “Put it here. Let God have it! He knows more what to do with the rage and the ache than we do. It kills us. Bit by bit stealing what God has given.”
And she continued the firm strokes of his hand until the white was mostly shadow and blackness. Then Sara released her hold on his hand and tore the paper free with a full motion of her body. Christopher cringed, backing away from her when she presented it to him.
“Here.” She pressed it against his chest. Christopher stared blankly down, insides convulsing. “Tear it. Rip it. Burn it. Anything!”
Christopher reached up to hold the paper, hesitant. When Sara’s hands grabbed hold of his and guided the tearing action, he retreated away from the sound and the feel of it, causing the papers to fall to the floor.
Again Sara took him by the arm and pulled him to the easel, pressing his hand against the new white as she choked on tears and pleadings to “put it here” and “leave it.” To give God those things he had kept far too long. To put it all onto a bit of paper they then ripped into pieces and let tumble to the floor, a little bit of hardness escaping each time they fell.
“Leave them there. Do no’ take them back. You do no’ want it, so do no’ keep it—” Her voice choked on the sobs, gathering Christopher’s dazed eyes to hers, glimmering as rich as the midnight after a storm. “Please, Christopher.” She stepped closer, resting her hands on his chest. “Do no’ keep it."
Christopher gave a slight shake of his head as he drew her close, staring at the whiteness which didn’t seem so terrifying. It didn’t seem so stark and empty. It looked more like it waited, whispering while waiting for him to hear its voice.
Twenty-One
Displays of Fancy
23 February 1894
Christopher adjusted his tie and suit-coat, his insides in turmoil at a surprising sense of nervousness. This particular display and reception was more . . . ambitious than any previous.
In side rooms throughout were preliminary displays pertaining to the gallery’s past history working with children. Near each introductory exhibit hung a sign-up sheet for those families interested in participating future activities. But amidst the excitement was a fear that, somehow, the Chronicle would find a way to taint the project. Making some portion of it questionable, focused on the non-existent ‘what if’ rather than on the children.
Yet another threat to Sara’s reputation.
Christopher’s nervous tremble of fingers succeeded only in knotting his tie. “Blast it!” He struggled with the untying as the front doors opened, drawing his attention. He smiled as Paul, Dix, and Sara entered the gallery, Gwyn scampering forward ahead of them.
Gwyn vaulted herself into his waiting arms. He kissed her cheek. “You look pretty in emerald and white today. I wasn’t expecting you until later.” Christopher focused toward the entry where Dix and Paul held back.
Sara continued up to him and Gwyn. “I made them come early. I could no’ wait longer. It is such a treat to watch everyone arrive, with their smiles and laughter. But so much better to see from the first, instead of when everything is so busy.” The excited words tumbled from her rose lips with hardly a pause.
“I’m glad the first unveiling didn’t spoil you to the future ones.” Christopher set Gwyn down and then stepped forward to help Sara from her usual wool coat. Lilacs and vanilla drifted from her hair. “Most timid individuals, in my experience, don’t care for the noise and commotion.”
“Oh no, sir.” Sara cast him a glance over her shoulder. “I have witnessed parties grander than this since Gwyn’s age.”
Gwyn giggled, drawing a wink from Christopher as he pulled Sara’s coat free. “Well, I’m glad of that. It . . . has . . . ."
Christopher’s smile died away as he drew the coat away to reveal the velvet gown of rich indigo beneath. He swallowed hard. White ribbon roses trailed from right shoulder to left hip, ending in a delicate bouquet of orchid and lilac. Interwoven throughout were smatterings of faux pearls and green ribbon leaves. The effect was elegance personified, the flow of the gown augmenting her statuesque figure.
“Oh Sara,” Gwyn breathed. “You look like a princess.”
“Thank you, Gwyn.” Sara looked to Christopher with an eager and bright expression. She reached for his tie. “Mr. Christopher, you knotted yourself in.”
A laugh cleared the boulder of fire and stone from his throat. “Yes, I suppose I have. Distraction is to blame, proving I can’t do too many things at once.”
Gwyn gathered his right hand, her laughter echoing through the halls. “Mamma used to do your ties, Papa. You always knotted them.”
“Yes, well, that’s the way of life sometimes.” Christopher watched Sara while she unknot the mess and deftly performed the duty he attempted himself. She peeked at him and smiled. His ears burned, and he shifted his attention to Dix and Paul. Paul helped Dix from her coat while sending Christopher a sidelong glance of amusement. Dix seemed to ignore them altogether.
“There.” She gave the tie one last straightening movement with a graceful hand before once more smiling up at him.
“Now, Gwyn.” Nonplussed at a sudden churning within, he dropped to one knee and gathered his daughter’s hands. “You stay with Auntie Dix and Uncle Paul this afternoon. Just like you used to. Understood?” Gwyn nodded. “Good girl.” He kissed her cheek and watched as she dutifully moved toward her Aunt and Uncle. Christopher offered his arm to Sara. “Miss Kreyssler.”
“This is so exciting,” she said, voice hushed.
“Does that mean you might be open to the possibility of introducing yourself?”
“Your sister seemed to think you may not want to do so tonight, but she would no’ tell me why.”
“Oh.” Christopher cleared his throat. “I had forgotten about that . . . ." He sent her a glance, and noticed her curious expression.
“Well, hello. Look who’s early.” Teddy approached, smiling.
“Hello, Mr. Parker.” Sara actually offered him a hand, which he accepted to give a slight and quick grip. “I could no’ stay away nearly so long this time.”
Teddy laughed and then motioned toward her. “You look lovely.”
Sara flushed. “Thank you.”
Christopher scolded himself for not saying it first.
“Seems to me something about her is beginning to itch at the back of my mind. You notice that at all, Top?”
“Teddy,” Christopher complained, “don’t start the age-old lines now. She knows you too well to fall for them.”
Sara restrained a giggle.
Teddy frowned. “I was being serious. Give me some credit.” He focused on Sara again, his frown disappearing. “You want some punch and sandwiches? We have cookies this time, too. Em outdid herself.”
“No, thank you.”
“You certain?”
“I am too excited to eat or drink a thing.”
“You’ll get tired of these things eventually.” Teddy passed to greet Dix and Paul. “Let me know if you change your mind about the punch,” he called over his shoulder.
Smiling after him, Sara shook her head.
“Sara.”
Sara turned. “Yes, Mr. Christopher?”
“I have a confession.”
Her smile dropped away as she blinked up at him. “A c-confession, sir?”
“I won’t be able to spend as much time with you tonight as I did before.” He forced a smile. “Teddy and Paul have sworn to make certain you’re not preyed upon by the more desperate single artists.”
“Oh.” Sara lowered her gaze to her clasped hands.
The dejection in the single utterance tore at his conscience, but how could he tell her the distance was to protect her reputation against a false report to the Chronicle? “I should have told you earlier—”
The front doors opened as the first of their guests arrived. A cluster of regulars, they were distracted to a further entrance by Dix and Paul’s greeting. Christopher took up Sara’s cold hands to give a collection of squeezes. He cursed himself. “Sara, don’t convince yourself you’ve done something wrong. Your enthusiasm is gratifying, and my distance isn’t a punishment. I’m simply taking my role as sponsor one step further.”
Sara passed a quick look to him from beneath her lashes.
He willed himself to offer a more convincing smile and gave her hands another gentle pressure. “I want you to enjoy yourself this evening. Mingle. Laugh. Listen to their inspirations brought about by the viewing of your sketches. Relish the freedom to be yourself.” Christopher brought each of her hands to his lips—He blinked at the soft warmth of lip and hand, and both their faces burned crimson. “I . . . ." He met her wide-eyed gaze and forced a release of her hands. “Slap my face if I do that again.”
Sara laughed.
“That’s better.” Christopher gathered Paul’s attention from the entry. “I won’t be absent all evening. I promise. What kind of host would I be if I didn’t mingle with everyone, boring and charming?”
Christopher stared after her and Paul for only a moment before more guests arrived. Then he had no chance to gauge or examine anything.
~§~
“Passing her off to Paul and Teddy.”
Christopher turned from his task of surreptitiously listening to a group of young artists discuss Sara’s firsts. Dix approached, not livid but definitely irritated. “What?”
She pointed at him. “You should be ashamed of yourself for handing Sara off to Paul and Teddy. She’s your protégé.”
“Dix, you know as well as I do why I did it.”
“And you don’t think anyone will find it suspicious in the least that you’ve barely spent any time with her at all? After being her escort the previous unveiling?” Dix scoffed. “Please.”
Christopher crossed his arms. “What would you have suggested, then? I certainly didn’t hear you offering any alternatives when we discussed it earlier.”
“I held my tongue so that I wouldn’t give you a lashing.”
Christopher lowered his voice when he noticed a few glances cast their direction. “I guarantee here isn’t the place to speak your mind.”
She pressed her lips together. “Fine, but you had better decide which is more important, appearances or feelings.”
“Dix, I made the decision I did due to the repercussions to both. I thought I explained that.”
“But it’s the principle of the whole situation I protest, Chris. They’ve no right to report something that deliberately and negatively effects a tentative friendship. You shouldn’t allow them the satisfaction.” She crossed her arms. “I know Carla wouldn’t.”
“But Carla isn’t here,” he hissed, “that being the reason for the whole issue in the first place.” He sought Sara’s form, focusing back on Dix when he didn’t see her. “You know what Sa– she would do if they published a false supposition that put a questionable light on the future of our friendship.” He glanced around again. People had migrated to different rooms of the gallery, leaving very few within ear-shot. “Knowing her as well as you do, you know that she would try to protect me from slander, even if it meant giving up her own future.”
“Don’t be absurd. If protecting you from slander is what God puts on her heart to do, then who are we to say otherwise? Certainly it’s honorable for you to keep her from that position in the first place, but at such a sacrifice? That’s not like you, Chris, and I don’t like the fact this article and the possibility of others pushes you to it.”
Christopher released a quick breath.
“I’m not saying you’re doing wrong in not revealing who she is this evening; I honestly don’t believe she’s ready. But holding her at arm’s length will only prove that in private you treat her one way and in public another. Do you want her believing you’re embarrassed by her?”
He flinched.
Dix reached out to enfold his upper arm in a tight clasp. “I’m not saying that is at all what she thinks, Chris. I’m only giving you a warning to the possibility. She’s a sensitive soul, and I would hate for all the good changes in her life to be sabotaged.”
Christopher scrubbed at his scalp. “I’m an idiot.”
Dix smiled and gave his arm another tight grip. “No, dear. I just have a different perspective on things.” She chuckled. “Now let’s go save our residing English angel from Teddy’s over-eager attempts to win her heart.”
“I don’t think we have anything to worry about in that respect, Dix.”
“Oh? And why’s that? He has been more attentive to her this evening than certain other gentleman.”
“Teddy shies from commitment like a horse from fire. You know that.”
“Yes, and I also know that our charming lady visitor is one of those types men commonly give up their roaming for.”
Christopher looked down at his sister, his eyebrow raised. “Teddy? Give up flirting to marry? You’re joking.”
“Joking, am I? Hm.” She motioned ahead. “If I’m joking, what do you call that?”
Christopher followed her gesture to see Teddy and Sara standing close together while examining one of the other artists’ displays. Teddy motioned here and there while giving a dialogue or narrative that apparently held some interest for her, as she intensely listened and only occasionally interrupted with either a comment or question.
Something within twitched and roared in protest, causing a very brief frown. Christopher pushed it aside. “That? Friendship is all I see, Dix. Don’t commit Teddy to anything more. He’ll be horrified.”
“With an angel like her showing interest in his opinions, offering encouragement to go further, and doing her best to let him know what’s acceptable in talking with a lady? Not likely.”
“Believe what you want, Dix. I’ve known Teddy too many years. He’s not ready to see a woman as anything but a bit of curve and sweetness.”
“Christopher Andrew,” she protested.
He smirked. “Sorry.”
“Likely story.” She removed her hand from his arm and shoved him forward. “Now go do your duty and behave yourself.”
Chuckling, Christopher continued toward the duet. But as he drew closer and began to hear the murmur of their conversation mold into words, he suddenly felt very uncomfortable. The thought of Teddy growing fond of someone like Sara wasn’t at all impossible. But would he be able to provide her the security she needed? Would he understand her history and adjust himself accordingly?
Christopher cleared his throat, noticed the sound drew Sara’s attention, and offered her a somewhat uncertain smile. “I don’t suppose I could interrupt this experience of bonding and camaraderie to take over the duty of escort?”
Sara’s smile vanished as she looked toward him, eyes wide. Teddy frowned. “No fair, Top. I thought she was my responsibility.”
“She was, for the first half. Now it’s my turn to be charmed and charming.”
Teddy read the hall clock. “First half, my eye. You don’t want me to have any fun.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Sara continued to regard him as he did his best to soothe Teddy’s rumpled temper. “I never said you had to leave.”
“To be the third wheel who doesn’t understand a single word of what you artists find funny?” Teddy scoffed. “No thank you. I’ll find my own amusement.” He stalked into the crowd.
Christopher stared after him, aware of Sara’s curious gaze still examining his profile. Forcing what he hoped to be an easy smile, he felt a bit of surprise when she held his gaze.
“He was no’ happy with you,” she observed.
A smirk tilted his lips as he offered her his arm. She accepted. “I think you’re right. I wonder why?”
