Eighteen

Sarah stood outside the tenement for several minutes, not able to get up the courage to go in and knock on Mrs. Mahoney’s door. A husky man in an undershirt and blacksmith’s leather pants stopped when he saw her.

“You lost, girlie?”

She mumbled no and hurried into the building.

The portrait of Goosie greeted her when Mrs. Mahoney opened the door. Everything else—walls, floor, the blanket covering a narrow bed, a tilting lampshade—were shades of faded gray. The painting and Mrs. Mahoney’s red-gold hair were the only spots of color.

“Mrs. Mahoney, I don’t like to ask this, but I’d like to submit Goosie’s portrait in an art competition…I’ll be sure nothing happens to it.”

Mrs. Mahoney, absorbed by what Sarah said, took the painting down from the wall and wrapped it in a flour sack. She handed it to Sarah carefully. “I’ll miss it bad.” She patted Sarah’s hand. “You I miss too.”

Sarah blushed. “I’ll bring it back as soon as I can.” Impulsively, she bent to kiss the small woman’s cheek, then hurried out of the flat before either of them could see the other’s tears.

§

Sarah awakened feeling a flutter in her stomach. She was relieved when she realized it wasn’t a stomachache but nervousness. Today was the day they were to vote for the ten best paintings by the advanced students in Miss Benedict’s classes. The winners would be part of the Hull House Art School exhibit in the Butler Gallery. The painting judged Best of Show would be awarded five dollars.

Sarah sat forward in her seat as Miss Benedict placed the first painting on an easel in front of the room—a girl looking in a mirror and combing her hair. The artist had done a good job on the girl’s face and long blonde hair, but the arms looked stiff, unnatural. Reluctantly, she held back her vote. “Best” meant everything about the painting was good. Everything.

Next came a still life. The fruit looked unreal, like carved wood. The colors were slightly off, dull. No texture really. No vote.

When her portrait of Goosie was put up, she stared at it. She breathed in and closed her eyes. It was good.

Charley was the first to raise his hand, then Bianca, then Subbie. Adele raised her hand, then dropped it. That was it. Three votes.

Sarah swallowed her disappointment. Why had she let herself get so hopeful? She couldn’t focus on the next painting. Or the next. She pulled herself out of her gloom to vote for Bianca’s painting of bare trees in winter snow.

The last painting showed the Ferris Wheel lit at night. Sarah knew it was Charley’s. It received seven votes. She was glad. Charlie acted as if it didn’t matter whether his painting was chosen or not, but she knew he cared a lot.

§

Sarah and Bianca took the long way home.

“It was as if Goosie suddenly came alive when Miss Benedict put the portrait on the easel. Honest, Sarah. It gave me goose bumps.”

“I liked your painting. It was…haunting.”

Bianca raised her eyebrows. “Haunting?”

“You know what? You don’t know how to take a compliment.”

“And I suppose you do!”

Sarah shrugged and said, “Whenever I compliment you, instead of saying, thank you, you look at me as if I’m crazy!”

“How did we get on the subject of me?”

“You’re so interesting, that’s how.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“No.”

Sarah switched Goosie’s portrait to the other hand. “I’ll be glad to get Goosie’s portrait back to Mrs. Mahoney.”

“She’ll be happy to have it back.”

Happy. That word and Mrs. Mahoney didn’t go together.