The painter arrived early the next morning, exactly as promised. He was just as I had imagined him, although his mustache now drooped a little at the edges. When he saw the painting, his eyes lit up and he clapped his hands together.
“So there it is at last!” he exclaimed. “And it’s exactly as I remember it. I’ve always wanted to finish it, and now I have the chance.”
Without further ado, he hoisted the painting onto an easel and opened his large case of paints. Then, when he had struggled into a billowing white painting smock, which made him look just a little like a blimp, he arranged my father and all the aunts into two rows.
“Don’t move,” he said. “It’s very important that you keep absolutely still.”
I watched as he began to paint. His brush moved quickly, and every now and then he leaned forward and peered at one of the aunts.
“I hope that he doesn’t make my nose look too big,” I heard Aunt Majolica whisper to Aunt Japonica.
“And I shall be very disappointed if he notices that my left ear is bigger than my right,” whispered back Aunt Japonica.
The painter painted for several hours. By the end of that time, I could see that my father and the aunts were beginning to feel tired of standing still, and they were relieved when the painter told them that they could have a break. They went off to sit down, but a few minutes later he had them all back again, and he painted for the rest of that day without stopping.
At the end of the day, he stood back, inspected the painting, and then closed his paint case with a snap.
“It’s finished,” he said. “That’s it.”
This announcement caused a buzz of excitement among the aunts.
“I can’t wait to see it,” announced Aunt Veronica.
The painter shook his head.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait,” he said. “I don’t want anybody to see it until the last of the paint is dry.” He looked at his watch. “And that should be at about three o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”
“Then we will have an unveiling ceremony,” Aunt Majolica said. “We’ll all gather in the living room and the picture can be officially unveiled by …”
She looked around. Every one of the other aunts was looking expectant, hoping that she would be chosen for this important task.
“By Harriet!” concluded Aunt Majolica.
I was very excited to have been chosen to unveil the picture, and every minute between then and three o’clock the next afternoon seemed to drag interminably.
When the time for the ceremony came at last, we all gathered in the living room. The painter had arrived as well, and he had moved the painting, still covered, into a prominent place in front of the fireplace. The aunts had been busy in the kitchen the previous evening, and the tables were laden with cakes and sandwiches. Even my father, who had looked rather strained since all his sisters had arrived, was smiling and rubbing his hands with pleasure at the thought of seeing the finished picture at last.
When everything was prepared, I was ushered up to the front of the picture. The painter stood beside me, and when everybody was silent he nodded in my direction. My heart thumping with excitement, I reached out and took the edge of the cloth in my right hand. Then, with a firm tug, I pulled, and the cloth fell away to reveal the finished picture below.
Nobody said a word. My father and all the aunts peered at the picture, their eyes narrowed, their mouths open, as they took in the details. Then, with a wail, Aunt Majolica broke the silence.
“Oh no!” she wailed. “You’ve … You’ve put the heads on the wrong bodies!”
What followed was very upsetting. The aunts all crowded around the painting and looked at it more closely. When they were satisfied that a mistake had indeed been made, they turned on the painter and began to scold him severely.
“You’ve painted Thessalonika’s head on my shoulders!” protested Aunt Japonica. “Look. That’s definitely my body and that’s undoubtedly her head!”
The painter’s jaw dropped and his mustache seemed to wiggle like the tail of a rabbit caught in a trap. There was really very little he could say to excuse himself, and he just had to stand there and accept his scolding.
“Well!” said Aunt Majolica at the end of it all. “That’s that, then. The painting is ruined. I will never be able to look at it again.”
“Nor will I,” agreed Aunt Veronica. “It’s totally spoiled.”
The painter, still looking very miserable, at last was able to summon up the courage to say something.
“Please forgive me,” he began. “I understand how you must feel. But I think I may be able to do something about it.”
“And what would that be?” demanded Aunt Majolica in her bossiest voice. “I don’t see how you can fix it now. You can’t rub out oil paint, you know.”
The painter held up his hand. “Please just give me two hours,” he said. “That’s all it will take.”
Still grumbling, the aunts agreed that he could take the painting into the kitchen and do whatever he had to do with it. None of them thought that he would be able to do much, though, and they continued to complain among themselves well after he had left the room. I felt sorry for the painter. I had often enough made mistakes with pictures to know just how upsetting it is to work for hours on something and then realize that your efforts were to no avail.
Barely two hours later, the painter returned. He had covered the painting in a cloth again, but this time he didn’t dare say that everybody should wait until the paint was dry before they saw it. He beckoned to me and told me that I should unveil it again. So once again I stood beside the painting and gave the cloth a tug.
As the cloth fell away there was a gasp from all the aunts. Then, after a dreadful moment of suspense, Aunt Majolica gave a cheer.
“Brilliant!” she said. “What a brilliant idea!”
“I agree,” called out Aunt Thessalonika. “Really, that was the only thing to do.”
I looked at the painting and caught my breath. The bodies of my father and the aunts had all disappeared—painted over with blue waves of the sea. Only their heads showed now, bobbing above the waves. And of course this meant that nobody could tell that the heads were on the wrong bodies, as everything below was covered with thick blue paint. And the barn, which had been the background, was now a ship.
Everybody was pleased. The cakes, which had not been touched since the terrible mistake had been discovered, were now passed around, as were the sandwiches and the glasses of homemade lemonade. The painter, relieved at having solved the problem so neatly, beamed with pleasure, and his mustache was soon covered with cream and icing. I was happy to see all my aunts so happy and was also proud that what my poor grandparents had wanted so long ago was now done.
That evening, after the painter had gone home, we continued with the party. Aunt Harmonica, who was a very good cook, prepared a special meal, and we sat at the table with paper hats on, just as if it were Christmas.
“It’s been so very, very long,” said Aunt Veronica. “We must never allow ourselves to drift apart again.”
“We will visit you every week,” said Aunt Japonica.
“Without fail,” chimed in Aunt Thessalonika.
“Oh, the fun we’ll have!” added Aunt Majolica.
I said very little. They were so busy talking about the old days and what they had done as children that nobody had much time to listen to me. But that didn’t matter. What was important to me was that I had found my aunts and had made my grandparents’ wish come true.
And what amazing aunts they were! I could see that we were going to have extraordinary adventures together, and in fact that is just what happened. Perhaps I will be able to tell you about some of those adventures one day. And I will also tell you about the trick my father played on Aunt Majolica. I don’t have time to do that now. But I can tell you that it was very funny—very funny indeed…