Chapter Twenty-Five

 

Emma kicked the snow off her boots and hurried up the steps into the inn’s back entrance and into the sweet-smelling kitchen to find Faith folding napkins on the island.

“There’s my girl.” She offered up a radiant smile. “Did Jake find you? He was most concerned about your condition.”

“Yes, he bought me breakfast at Mildred’s.” She held up the to-go bag and walked to the kitchen table to eat her breakfast. “He was called to the hospital.” Emma looked at Faith, then really studied her while she opened her styrofoam container of food. She blinked once, twice.

Faith looked…different, drop-dead stunning. Her strawberry blonde hair was swept into a stylish, much different than the usual French twist. Instead of her daily striped pinafore apron, she wore an elegant rose silk blouse with matching pants. Pearl earrings bobbed as she moved back and forth across the island. Even the black-rimmed glasses—which she told everyone she only wore for close-up activities—had been replaced with a new pair of crystal ones.

“Faith, what’s going on?” she asked between bites. “You look gorgeous,” Emma said. “Did you win an innkeeper of the year award or something?”

“No. I was feeling a bit festive today,” she said, preening and patting her hair.

Even though Emma was knee-deep in her delicious biscuit and sausage gravy, she didn’t buy that “festive” remark for a minute. “Does ‘festive’ have anything to do with a gentleman?”

Blushing to her roots, her favorite inn keeper dodged Emma’s eyes and scooted the neatly folded stack of napkins to the side and started in on the next pile. “Possibly.”

Mercy. Emma’s romance detector rocketed into the hot zone. “I seriously doubt there’s anything ‘possibly’ about it.” She leaned her elbows on the table. “Tell me.”

Abandoning the stack of napkins, Faith leaned in, dropping her voice. “It’s Alexander Durant, a widower who has been coming here for four years. We’ve gotten to know each other fairly well. He is an avid antique collector, so we share that interest.”

“Oh. You have a date with him?” This was so exciting. As attractive as her friend was, Emma never considered that the older woman might have a love life of her own. After wiping her mouth with a paper napkin, Emma finished her orange juice.

“I do.” Faith laughed, girlish and giddy. “Tonight, we are going into Burlington to the Les Gourmands for dinner. Tomorrow morning, he is taking me to an antique auction.”

“I take it Alexander is not here for a long ski weekend?”

“No.” Faith’s eyes danced. “I think he’s here for me.”

“Sounds like a smart man.” Emma took the last bite. “Jake invited me to his house for dinner tonight. I’m sure to be out late. So don’t worry.”

“Emma, I coddled you while you were healing. Your belongings have been moved back to your suite,” she said. “Darling, you are a healthy, well-adjusted, thirty-something woman, and you do not have to answer to me.”

“Okay.” Emma smiled. “I’m going to relax for a while before my big date tonight.” Shooting her a saucy wink, she wadded up the Mildred’s bag and put it into the trash and trotted up the back stairs.

She was anxious to explore the old trunk of her mother’s and see what treasures it might hold. Come on, Emma. The only surprises she’d experienced lately were the unpleasant kind, with “past due” stamped across the top in blood-red ink. Stop it, Emma. That’s in the past now.

She walked through the door of her cozy blue and white room and saw the ancient steamer trunk standing upright on a canvas tarp. It had been thoroughly scrubbed. The leather straps even appeared to be oiled. She and Jake had barely washed off the dust. Charlie must have cleaned it up.

After tossing her coat, hat, and handbag onto the bed, she dropped to her knees. Her fingers tingled in anticipation of what she might find. Flipping open the brass fittings, she pulled the two halves of the wardrobe trunk open. The familiar smell of turpentine filled the air. The trunk’s right side held a stack of canvas drawers. The left side had a rack on which to hang clothes. A single long dress bag hung in the corner.

In the other corner, there were a couple of metal tubes—one about two feet tall and the other five feet—along with at least a dozen journals and sketchbooks. The canvas drawers yielded tubes of used oil paint, brushes, rags, a wooden easel, and several gallery invitations to her exhibitions.

She leaned in to examine the contents. How long had the trunk been down in storage? In the bottom drawer, she found several of her mother’s Chinese Hake brushes wrapped in a crumpled newspaper. Curious, she looked for the publication date—twenty-two years ago, not long before she’d turned ten.

Not expecting to find anything of real value, Emma reached for the shorter tube. Unscrewing the lid, she tugged out a twenty by thirty-inch canvas. As she unrolled a portrait of herself at the age of six or seven, she laughed with pure joy.

Yes! She remembered the dress. Her mother had bought it at Bergdorf’s. It was navy blue with a broad white, lace-trimmed collar. Black patent Mary Jane’s peeked out from beneath. Emma sat cross-legged in a tall striped wingback chair with her favorite stuffed bunny rabbit, Malcolm, clutched on her lap.

Tingling with pleasure, she ran her fingers across her mother’s signature in the bottom right corner, Margaret Shay. Professionally, her mother used her maiden name, which had caused some consternation with her husband. But the artist prevailed. She claimed her career began as Margaret Shay, and it would end with it too.

Emma couldn’t wait to share the portrait with Faith. Of course, Emma would have it framed and hang it in her bedroom. Not willing to return the painting to the tube, she set it aside.

The tall tube remained. After several attempts, the lid finally budged. What treasure would she discover next? She was careful removing the rolled canvas from the tube. Spreading it flat on the floor, she set a few of her mother’s journals on the four corners to keep the painting from rolling up.

“Sweet Jesus,” she gasped.

The large scene was of Central Park Lake in autumn. Rowboats glided back and forth across the smooth waters that reflected the gold and red hues of the surrounding trees. The backdrop was the commanding skyline of New York City. Her mother had painted a series of Central Park locations—twenty, in fact. This one Emma would dub Number One.

Sitting back against her bed, she surveyed her incredible finds. Floating on a cloud of pure bliss, she was compelled to share her good fortune with someone who would appreciate it as much as she did. Faith was doing guest checkouts for the next two hours. What was Emma thinking? Griffin Caine was the one person who would be thrilled to see her mother’s painting. It was Saturday. Did writers take a day off? His celebrity status still intimidated her. Before she could talk herself out of it, she called him.

“What’s up, Emma?” he asked.

Startled, he answered on the first ring; she stammered, “I…I’ve just found something I think you might want to see.”

“Related to the summer camp?”

“No, related to my mother. Are you busy? Can I come show you?”

“You’ve got my attention.” He chuckled. “Where are you?”

“I’m at the inn, but I could come out to your house.”

“I hate for you to do that. I’ve got an errand in town. Give me about half an hour, and I’ll come to you.”

“Great. I’ll see you then.” Would he be as excited as she was?

The instant she put the phone on the carpet, it rang. The number was local but unknown. “Hello.” Her response sounded more like a question than an answer.

“Hi, Emma. It’s Melinda Waite. How are you feeling?”

“Much better, thank you.” Emma’s hopes that this was more than a “how are you” call soared straight up to a ten.

“As soon as you’re feeling like yourself again, we would like you to join the staff at Mercy Hospital.”

Could this day get any better? Emma shouted in silence. She had to rein in her first response, which would have been, “hell yes.” Sucking down a few calming breaths, she answered—in the most professional tone she could muster— “Thank you for the opportunity. I would be honored to come to Mercy.”

“I am so pleased,” the older woman said. “Tomorrow, I will email you an offer letter which will include the salary and benefits we discussed in your interview. How does a start date in two weeks sound?”

“Melinda, that sounds perfect. I can’t wait. Thank you so much.”

After ending the call, Emma did a happy dance around the room before collapsing on the velvet chaise. This definitely calls for a major celebration. Griff would be coming soon. She put her clothes and toiletries away and tidied up the room.

Should she return the Central Park painting to its tube? Yes, it would make the reveal more dramatic. The portrait of her and Malcolm she left on the bed. After turning on the fireplace, she returned to the chaise and watched the street below for Griff’s Land Rover.

Finally, his big SUV arrived. Emma flew down the main staircase to meet him and hauled him back up the stairs before anyone saw them.

“You know how to build suspense,” he said, following her into the Delphinium Suite. He eyed the open trunk, then saw her portrait on the bed. “This is you, right? It’s amazing. Your mother did very few portraits, if I remember.”

“You’re right. But this isn’t the reason you’re here. This is.” She picked up the taller tube and handed it to him. “Open it.”

He gave her a curious look and tipped his head sideways. The lid came off for him with little effort, and his long fingers slid the canvas out. Griff’s head jerked, and he looked at her with surprise. With reverence, he unrolled the painting on her bed.

“It’s Central Park Lake,” he said. “I spent a large part of my teen and college years in the park. Ice skating at Wollman Rink. Playing soccer in North Meadow.”

“The Central Park series was a collection of twenty paintings. There is no record of this one. I believe it is the first in the series, but it was never released.”

He tapped his index finger against his mouth. “I wonder why. What makes this one different?” He squatted beside the bed and studied the image and the signature. “If the day comes when you want to part with it, I’ll buy it. You can have visitation rights twenty-four seven. First, you need to get an appraisal for insurance purposes.”

Emma sank onto the vanity stool and gestured for Griff to sit on the chaise. “Frankly, I am thrilled to have the portrait. It holds special meaning for me. The Central Park Lake is a complete surprise. After Mother died, several galleries and her agent searched for other paintings. I’m not even sure Mother remembered these were in the trunk down in storage.”

He studied her for a moment, his face scrunched as if he was looking to solve a puzzle. “We haven’t spoken for a while. You’ve been laid up after the accident. Is the camp project still viable?”

“No, it’s not. At least at this point in my life. The family farm camp I thought to model isn’t feasible. “And,” she vibrated with excitement, “I am joining the social work team at Mercy Hospital starting in two weeks. It’s a great opportunity for me, and I don’t have to go out and buy a farm.”

“Congratulations, Emma.” He chuckled. “That is great news.”

‘I just got the offer a few minutes ago, so even Jake doesn’t know. Please don’t mention it to anyone yet.”

“My lips are sealed,” Griff said. “Emma, I am so sorry about your accident. There is definite evidence that wolves have been roaming in the area. I thank God Jake found you in time. Don’t worry about the horses. My guys are feeding them and turning them out. At the beginning of next term, I have a new vet student who is moving into the barn loft apartment. She will have full charge of the feeding and exercise.”

“I’m returned to normal,” she said. “The horses haven’t been exercised for well over a week. I’d like to ride every day until I start my job at the hospital. Does that work for you?”

“If you’re sure you are completely recovered, hell yes. Don’t you dare ride out without a helmet, got it?”

“Loud and clear,” she huffed. “My head isn’t as hard as I always thought it was.”

“One more thing. As my employee, your medical bills will be paid under my insurance. So it’s all taken care of.”

If she weren’t already sitting down, she would have sunk to the floor with relief. She’d already come to grips with her doctor and hospital bills taking a sizeable chunk out of her real estate proceeds. Gratitude and relief warmed her.

“Thank you, Griff.” She rose and hurried over to give him a thank-you hug.

He stood and gave her a brotherly squeeze. “Give Jake my best.” Looking pointedly at the paintings on the bed, he said. “I suggest you secure those someplace safe. Jake has a built-in gun safe at the farmhouse. Probably the best place for them.”

As he was leaving, he turned to face her. “Everyone knows Jake as this white knight of a surgeon, always focused and in control.” He opened the door. “The night of the accident, when you were unconscious on the ground, he was none of those things. He was simply a man so in love with his woman that he was willing to take her place and trade his life for hers.”

Taking a moment to process Griff’s revelation, she closed her eyes. If Jake loved her so much, perhaps he truly had her best interests at heart. Maybe her fear of being controlled and manipulated was entirely misplaced. When she opened her eyes, Griff was gone, and she was left with only her thoughts.