The Hawk: Part Four

The Hawk: Part Four

  By Anna Scott Graham

  Copyright 2015 by Anna Scott Graham

  This is a work of fiction. Names and characters, incidents and places are either products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  For my husband. And for my Father.

  Chapter 61

  Inside the sunroom Eric cuddled his daughter so she could see the garden, not that he thought Jane could actually make out the patio furniture or the fountain and bird bath. Eric and Lynne often wondered how keen was their daughter’s vision; it was now apparent that she knew them, and her Auntie Renee and Uncle Sam, her smiles wide. At nearly eight weeks of age, Jane had entered a most precious state of babyhood, or so those four adults thought. She was still relatively tiny, but now animated, and was learning more about the world every day.

  In mid-May, the Snyder homestead was again undergoing change as three acres of the thicket were being cleared, mostly to the left of Eric’s studio. Jane seemed to understand that small building’s importance in her parents’ lives; when either took her inside, Jane’s babblings ceased, her blue eyes open wide. Eric had painted mother and daughter in the studio as well as in the sunroom. He’d also painted them seated on the patio, but wouldn’t do that again until bramble had been removed. Eric sighed, kissing the top of his daughter’s head. He probably wouldn’t again paint their portraits outside until summer was in full swing, for as soon as the thicket was cleared, construction would begin, and while Jane was usually good humored, she wasn’t fond of overwhelming noise. Fortunately she seemed impervious when asleep, napping without issue while bulldozers uprooted trees and shrubs. But if Eric stepped through the French doors, Jane would begin to whimper, then whine, then break into a full-blown tantrum. Better to paint her portrait inside the house, plenty of time to capture her outdoors in the months to come.

  After Jane’s baptism, time seemed to fly for the Snyders, and Eric wore a sly grin as he set Jane over his shoulder, then turned to face the living room. Lynne was in the kitchen making an apple pie, but their roles as husband and wife had returned in full right after their daughter was christened. Then the gardeners arrived to begin the exterior alterations and now life as a father and husband left Eric with little time to consider much else. He still painted, of course, but it was balanced by a new dimension of commitment to his wife and child that Eric had never considered. Perhaps it had been impossible to imagine the changes one small baby would bring, and not only to her parents. Eric had seen the desire upon Renee’s face, motherhood no longer a faraway dream. Eric wasn’t certain how much Fran Canfield’s pregnancy had to do with it, but he hadn’t missed how Renee doted upon her godchild, although dote wasn’t exactly the correct term. A new facet of Renee Ahern had been unearthed in the last two months and even Samuel had remarked upon it, strictly in the context of Fran’s coming twins. But Eric wasn’t fooled by that man’s attempts to diminish what Jane had inspired. Even Sam was contemplating the idea of fatherhood.

  Perhaps not to an infant, then Eric smiled as Lynne stepped through the kitchen doorway, heading toward him. Jane was still babbling, but Lynne looked in need of mother-daughter time, and Eric nodded, hoisting their child from over his shoulder and handing her to Lynne. In the last several weeks he had learned when a mother needed to breastfeed, and not always was it when Jane screamed from hunger.

  That baby seemed in tune with her mother, for as soon as she went into Lynne’s grasp, Jane began to cry, but not the sound when she was wet or lonely. Eric had discerned the various tones of Jane’s irritation, three distinct tenors that noted hunger, fear, and discomfort. Discomfort usually meant a soggy bottom, although a few times Jane has suffered from an upset tummy or gas. If she woke from a nap, she beckoned for companionship, and was easily soothed. But when her appetite arose, she could be downright vociferous, although rare were the moments she was made to wait. At night, she was still sleeping in the bassinette in the master bedroom, however during the day she napped in her crib. When a mother and father needed privacy, Jane was either placed in her crib if the sun was shining, or was laid in her bassinette, then wheeled just outside their bedroom. Lovemaking had returned to Eric and Lynne with a deeper intensity, but was now expressed in more muted voices. Often they found it better to make love in the afternoons while Jane slept in the nursery. However, since the gardeners’ arrival, those excursions had been eliminated.

  Yet, a baby ate whenever she was hungry, even if her parents were trying to display ardent affections. As Lynne took the crowing infant into the living room, Jane noted again it was mealtime, even if she hadn’t realized it until Lynne held her. Eric found that relationship the most striking and beautiful of all the changes that had occurred. In a concealed corner, Lynne began to feed their daughter, unbothered to the workers just beyond the patio. Eric sat beside them, stroking Jane’s curls, gazing at his wife, inhaling this new chapter of their lives. They were parents after so many years of waiting. And with Laurie’s latest news about Seth’s continuing recovery, perhaps Eric would never have to be separated from his family again.

  Eric tried to keep that in perspective; Seth had been receiving electro-shock therapy since right after Jane was born. During those weeks he had grown calmer and slightly more extroverted; Seth wasn’t attempting any return to sculpting, but no longer was he suicidal. Laurie’s last letter denoted a hesitant expectation that if Seth continued to proceed in this manner, perhaps he might be moved closer to home. Eric wasn’t certain who had requested that, probably Seth’s mother. The Abrams were a tightly knit bunch, Eric had learned, and it was distressing on Wilma Gordon to have her only son so far away.

  But those thoughts only lasted until Jane burped; Eric stared at his daughter, sitting on Lynne’s lap, her smile a beacon. Eric laughed, which made Jane chortle, although she sounded punch-drunk. “You’re a little piglet,” he said, tickling her chin.

  “And thank goodness for that.” Lynne put Jane to her other breast. Within seconds the baby was quiet and Lynne sighed. “I never realized all the human body could manage. I’d just gotten the pie in the oven, then before I could set the timer my milk came in. Thank goodness she’s so accommodating.”

  Eric chuckled. “Did you set the timer or should I check the pie?”

  “I did, but you can check it. And would you get me some juice?”

  Eric stood from the sofa. “Apple or….”

  “Orange. And a glass of water too.”

  He nodded, then headed to the kitchen. It was beneficial that Lynne had been a nurse, for sometimes Eric forgot those requirements. Jane never went hungry, but then Lynne was always eating or drinking something. Or making pie; she had returned to that activity in full, and Eric wondered what sort of homemaker had been lurking inside his wife, aching to be released. Her days as his bohemian spouse seemed to have ended with Jane’s birth, but perhaps another soul had blossomed, or two of them. Eric and Lynne would be baptized in July, although Stanford and Laurie weren’t planning on venturing west for that occasion. It might only be Sam and Renee in attendance that Sunday, for Fran was still unwell, although the last time Eric had asked, the babies seemed to be all right. As Eric peeked at the pie, then retrieved beverages for his wife, he inhaled more than apples and cinnamon. Their home was no longer the dwelling of merely two people. Jane had made this house a cozy nest, in addition to those whom Eric considered their closest relations.

  When he returned to the living room, Lynne’s eyes were shut. He put the glasses on the coffee table and she nodded, but didn’t open her eyes. He sat beside her and she reached for his hand, her smile wide, even if she looked ready to nap. But he knew sleep
wasn’t her hope. She was praying and he remained quiet, taking a moment to give thanks for a multitude of blessings. His wife and daughter were two, this spacious but comfortable house another, but lately Eric had found a different topic edging those gifts and he chuckled inwardly, odd to think of faith as something for which to be grateful. According to Pastor Jagucki, faith was a gift, not something humans conjured on their own. The more Eric studied Luther’s Small Catechism, the more comfortable he felt with having chosen St. Matthew’s, then he gently tutted himself; God had led Eric to visit Pastor Jagucki that brisk March morning, just two days before Jane was born. The daffodils had indeed bloomed, just recently in fact, and Marek Jagucki had smiled at Eric last Sunday after church, noting that Mrs. Harmon had finally stopped harassing him. Strange that those early spring flowers had waited until May to emerge, but now they stood tall alongside fading tulips, their bright orange centers noting the unpredictability of God’s handiwork, how the pastor had explained it to both Eric and Mrs. Harmon.

  Eric had heard that story as he stood at the bottom of the steps while Lynne nursed Jane in the ladies’ room inside church. They had been the last to leave, but the pastor hadn’t seemed in a hurry to rush them off. Eric and the pastor also spoke about art; Marek Jagucki hoped that the painter would host an exhibit closer to home, for he hadn’t seen any canvases other than the few which graced the Snyders’ residence. Most of those were of Lynne and Jane, although Marek had been greatly moved by the orchard in spring, stating it reminded him of his youth in Poland. Eric hadn’t heard more than wistfulness in the pastor’s voice, but since meeting him, Eric also found that Marek Jagucki possessed a great capacity for subtly. If Father Markham hadn’t mentioned that Pastor Jagucki’s entire family had been lost during World War II, Eric would have no inkling of that tragedy.

  Perhaps Eric would arrange an impromptu exhibit, although not as Stanford had been hinting. Now with Jane’s safe arrival and Seth’s apparent improvement, Eric didn’t feel he would be going anywhere, and why not show this town the talent he possessed. He didn’t think about the gossipy nurses who had spoken behind Lynne’s back during his previous absences, nor did he considered wealthy art collectors; this would be a small but wide-ranging exhibit of locally owned paintings, from those hanging in the Aherns’ living room to the ones Fran and Louie Canfield possessed, and any Aherns and Nolans who would willingly part with their family portraits for a short time. Then there was the painting of Lynne and Renee in their nursing uniforms, which was stored upstairs, along with hordes of canvases Eric had created over the last year. Would he display any of the nudes? Perhaps, depending on what Lynne thought. He gripped her hand, then smiled. She was willing to show most of them, but that was assuming the audience would be well-heeled art lovers in New York City. What might she think if locals saw her so unabashedly depicted?

  Where could such an exhibit be held, Eric mused, spying his sleeping daughter and nearly unconscious wife beside him. Eric released Lynne’s hand, then tenderly lifted Jane from her mother’s arms. He burped the baby, but Jane wasn’t stirred from her slumber, and Lynne looked very settled on the couch. Eric carried Jane to her crib, covering her with a light blanket. Then he returned downstairs, finding Lynne had reclined along the length of the sofa. He smiled, softly stroking long hair from her face. He left the juice and water on the coffee table, but headed into the kitchen, finding just minutes left on the timer. He checked the pie, which seemed finished, and set it on the stove to cool. Then he picked up the timer, taking it to the far corner of the kitchen, adjusting the dial until it hummed in his hand. While Lynne was fully recovered from Jane’s birth, Dr. Salters had admonished the new mother to take advantage of Jane’s naptimes for her own rest. Eric had plenty to keep him busy while the women in his life caught forty winks.

  An hour later, Lynne found her husband upstairs cataloging paintings. “Eric,” she whispered. “What are you doing?”

  He looked up, then motioned toward the nursery. “Is she still asleep?”

  Lynne nodded, coming to his side. “What’s going on? Did Stanford call while I was napping?”

  Eric shook his head. “Nope, but I need to call him. I think I’m gonna have a show soon.”

  “You are?”

  “Mmmhmm, right here in town. Just trying to decide which paintings to include.”

  Lynne stood back. “You’re gonna have an exhibit here?”

  “Well, Pastor said he wished I’d have a showing closer to home. Then I realized the only pictures he’s seen are the orchard and the few of you and Jane that aren’t, well….” Eric laughed quietly. “Thought I’d ask Sam and Renee about their three and maybe some of the Ahern and Nolan family portraits and maybe a few of the….”

  Eric paused, then grinned at his wife. “Of the nudes, since you seemed unbothered if I sold most of them.”

  Lynne shivered, then noted her husband’s teasing smile. “The nudes, huh? And which nudes were you considering?”

  “Oh, the ones you thought eventually would make their way east. And any others that you felt like sharing with John Q. Public.”

  For a second, Lynne wondered if Eric was being serious. Then as he stared at a large vertical canvas, she had no doubt to his intentions. The painting was of her, done in the studio. Lynne’s back was to the viewer, her hair much longer than it had been at the time, concealing her buttocks. Yet she wore not a stitch, peering out at the greenery as if searching for…. She knew what Eric had depicted, but other than the Aherns, no one else would guess what the model was looking for through the studio’s glass panes. Perhaps she was admiring the garden or daydreaming or…. But while Lynne’s husband had been just yards away as she held that pose, it was as if she was waiting for him to return. Lynne approached the canvas, lightly running her fingers along that lengthy mane. Her hair was to her shoulders now and she would probably keep it that length. Soon enough Jane would be reaching for anything to grasp and a mother’s tresses would be the first prize. But just over a year ago, Lynne had been a different woman, although in that painting, she was probably pregnant. How much had she changed in the last twelve or thirteen months?

  “Will you show my favorite?” she asked, still examining herself gazing out from the studio’s back wall.

  “If you want. I’ll show any and all paintings that you think are appropriate.”

  She faced him. “Will you sell them?”

  Eric smiled. “Not here, or Stanford would have my head. This’ll simply be a small exhibit, certainly not a retrospective, but with the Aherns’ paintings and the few old ones I’ve kept, anyone will be able to see a progression.”

  Lynne nodded, then chuckled. “Like I said after the baptism, whatever you feel is appropriate to sell, then show those pieces. It’s too bad the ones in Minneapolis can’t be included. That would really shock some folks.”

  Eric put his arm around her. “I’ve thought about it, but Seth’s doing so well and….”

  “And those paintings belong there. But can you imagine what the locals would think?”

  “They’d think, well, I have no idea. I think Pastor would like them though.”

  “He would. That might be reason enough, but best they stay right where they are.”

  Lynne snuggled against her husband. She didn’t care if townspeople saw her nude, although she might blush the next time she spoke to Pastor Jagucki. Yet, his European sensibilities would probably preclude any awkwardness. But what would he think of the two abstract paintings in Minnesota? Maybe once Seth was well and had been discharged from Caffey-Miller, those paintings could be brought back here for a brief time. Lynne didn’t want them permanently, just as she didn’t need these pictures, except the one of her seated on the stool. Eric had propped that one on an easel and Lynne stepped to where it waited. Her eyes were closed, her arms stretched as far as she could reach. And her smile? It was merely a hint to the woman she was now; indeed she had been pregnant, perhaps just at that very moment. Jane had existed in
side Lynne, although they didn’t know it was the cheerful sprite that now cried across the hall. Lynne smiled, although her milk didn’t come in. That whimper was simply to alert parents that someone needed them, and Eric was out the door before Lynne could speak. Then he returned with a placid infant who sported faint tears on her plump cheeks. Lynne wiped away the remnants, then again peered at herself from over a year ago. “Show these Eric, let others know the existence of miracles, the goodness of God.” Lynne smiled at her husband, then took their baby from his arms. She kissed Jane, then gently nuzzled against the baby’s soft face. “These shouldn’t be hidden away, not all the time. Maybe Pastor Jagucki would let you exhibit them in the social room if you can’t find another place in town.”

  Eric’s chuckle was slow in coming, then it exploded in the small space. For a moment Jane whimpered, then she smiled at her father’s laughter. Lynne laughed too, wondering what their neighbors would say, and just how serious was the Lutheran pastor about seeing Eric’s work. As Eric headed downstairs, saying he had calls to make, Lynne expected they would know soon enough one way or the other.

  Chapter 62