Edge of the Shadow

by Yvonne Montgomery

  They followed her around the screens and stopped in their tracks. "Oh, my God," Elizabeth said in a wondering voice. "They're all waiting."

  Kerry peeked over her shoulder and encountered eyes gazing back at her. The objects inside were waiting, she thought in surprise. And damned if she didn't feel the same quiver of unease that always plagued her at having to meet strangers.

  Chapter 8

  The studio was large, with windows overlooking the space between the two Wisdom Court duplexes. Here Dolores's display shone like a small jewel in a great box. Overhead track lights deepened the reds and gold of an Oriental rug, and illuminated the iridescent screen at one end of it. A crimson love seat and two striped chairs held life-sized sculptures. Other figures stood in conversation groupings, a motionless cocktail party. Andrea had the odd sense that she and the other women were the exhibit, the terra cotta mannequins their audience.

  Dolores grabbed a pile of small papers. "I almost forgot." She gathered pencils as well. "Would you write down your reactions to the pieces? Just a word or two," she added as she handed out the items. "The titles aren't final yet, so what you write might help me come up with some zingers."

  Andrea met the sated gaze of a stout matron next to a piecrust table holding a dish of chocolates. Her gown was fashioned from flattened candy bar wrappers, the cowl collar framing her face. Chocolate smears around her mouth gave her a blissful air. The tag identified her as Cocoa Rococo.

  "Mmm, chocolate." Andrea circled the sculpture. "Look at those eyes! You can see the greed. If we turn our backs, she'll eat all the rest."

  "Not if I get to them first, honey." Elizabeth seized a bonbon from the dish and popped it into her mouth. Kerry reached over her shoulder and took one, too.

  "Hey, you're eating the artwork." Dolores grinned at their horrified faces. "There's bags of the stuff in the kitchen. I'm thinking I'll have to refill that plate plenty."

  Andrea touched the lady's smudged cheek. The smooth clay was cold against her fingertips. "I've never tried sculpting," she said to Dolores. "I figured it would be harder to work in three dimensions."

  "Yeah, but it's so much fun. Come here, I'll give you a taste." Dolores set down her glass and folded back the screen behind the statue. She led Andrea toward a table littered with tools and lifted the cloth covering a rounded shape.

  Dolores patted the ball of clay with affection. "I haven't decided yet if I'll stick with terra cotta. I enjoy working with it, but sometimes cracking is a problem." She pulled a handful from the mass and patted it into a smaller ball. "Hold out your hand."

  Andrea slipped her paper and pencil into her pocket and obeyed. The clay made a satisfying thwack as it hit her palm.

  Dolores grinned at the way Andrea regarded the stuff. "You have to let it settle in your hands, jita."

  Andrea kneaded the ball, squishing it between her fingers. Memories of mud pies and walking barefooted through sand came into her mind. "It's warm." She looked at Dolores in surprise. "It feels almost alive."

  Dolores nodded. "Yeah, it does. I think that's why I keep coming back to it as a medium. It makes me feel like a god forming my own little universe." She glanced around with a mock shiver. "Don't let a priest hear me say that."

  "Come look at this one," Noreen called.

  Andrea put the clay back on the table and wiped off her hands with a tissue. Noreen stood beside a life-sized cloth doll seated in an armchair. She was a slender nude crafted of muslin with nylon hosiery stretched over it to suggest skin tone. Her brown hair curled around gold earrings and thick black lashes set off blank eyes. The absence of irises and pupils made for an unsettling stare that kept lookout from all angles. Self-Wrapped was the title.

  Orphan Annie eyes, thought Andrea uncomfortably. The doll sat with legs crossed, leaning forward on the verge of telling a secret. A flat unstuffed replica of the doll, including the gold earrings and empty eyes, formed a stole that draped around her shoulders, arms crossing over her breasts.

  Andrea imagined having the piece in her home. She would feel watched all the time. A shiver worked its way down her spine. She pulled the paper and pencil from her pocket, wondering how to word her reaction.

  Kerry met her glance over the chair. "Reminds me of a few people I've met. The eyes are open, but nobody's home."

  "And they didn't set the alarm, either." Noreen shrugged when the others laughed. "Well, don't you think part of the impact comes from the dolls' identical expressions?"

  Elizabeth turned away from the piece, the gold chain around her neck shifting in the light. "I get a different feeling. She looks like she wants something she don't have, and wouldn't be shy of trying to get."

  Dolores brought over more wine. "She's one that came out of the ozone, you know? Surprised the hell out of me."

  Andrea shot her a glance. Had she experienced something akin to what had happened to her with the sketches? As Dolores filled her wineglass, Andrea searched her face. She smiled at her and moved on.

  Rose paused beside a clay figure near an overstuffed chair. "Not only is someone at home, she's been around for quite a while." The woman leaned on a cane. Attired in a plain purple dress, her feet were planted for support in laced Etta Jennicks. Her back bent in a dowager hump and her slumped shoulders increased gravity's hold on the flattened breasts hanging nearly to her waist. Her thinning hair was pulled back into a bun, and though her face was lined and wrinkled, it bore signs of hidden youth. Lively curiosity gleamed in her eyes.

  Rose smiled into the wizened countenance, then looked to the small card taped to the screen behind it: Woman Wrapped in Time. "I really like this one."

  "Thanks." Dolores patted the statue's cheek. "I was thinking of mi abuela while I worked on her." A crooked smile lit her face. "That's why I couldn't leave her naked. Grandma would haunt me."

  Kerry had stopped in front of the figure at the end of the row. "What in God's name have you done here?"

  Curious, Andrea moved closer to see what Kerry was looking at. It was an enormous woman whose pendulous breasts almost merged into the folds of fat spilling down her torso. "Look at that skin," Rose murmured behind her. "And that face."

  The others gathered in silence. The terra cotta had a bronze glaze and the burnished surface cried out to be touched. It was her face that fascinated, for looking from it were eyes that changed expression in the shifting light of the candles on the table beside her. Dolores had imbued the almond eyes with both tenderness and pain, and the balance between recurred in the lined brow and brave mouth. This woman had suffered and still viewed the world with acceptance. Woman Wrapped in Her Past was the title.

  "She's beautiful." Noreen's voice was huskier than usual. "Beautiful."

  Kerry turned away from the sculpture. "Oh, come on."

  Dolores considered Kerry with interest. "You can find beauty in surprising places."

  "A figure like this," Kerry said gruffly, "belongs in a sideshow."

  Rose inhaled deeply.

  Andrea glanced at her. Why was Kerry so upset? She was a little overweight, but her reaction was way out of proportion.

  Dolores sipped her wine as she stretched out a hand to stroke the rounded shoulder of the obese figure. "I'm sick of the way our society defines beauty in women."

  "Why would you care?" Kerry challenged. "Why would somebody like you notice the imperfections of ordinary people?"

  "Somebody like me?" Dolores's face broke from shock to ferocity in an instant.

  "You're gorgeous." Kerry spat the word. "What do you know about how ugly people feel?"

  "How do you?" Dolores's eyes narrowed. "I can't believe you'd ever think of yourself as ugly."

  "You realize how subversive this is, don't you?" Rose stroked down the polished arm of the figure. "Fat people are the last group society considers it okay to ridicule. You're bucking the trend, Dolores." Her voice was calm and her perceptive gaze appraised the two women. The heat went out of Dolores's eyes and she took a swallow of wine.
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br />   Noreen recited, "Hidden under mounds of flesh, the kernel of virtue is as concealed as is generosity in the soul of a miser." In the astonished silence following she drained her glass.

  Elizabeth leaned toward Kerry. "Do you ever wonder if she makes these things up?"

  Noreen straightened to her full height, regal despite her spiky hair. "Arlen Marie Seluscombe, seventeen sixty-seven to eighteen forty-two. And if I did invent quotes, not a one of you would know it."

  Aura Lee appeared in the doorway. Black sequins on the yoke of her flamingo pink caftan glittered in the light. "We wouldn't know what?" she inquired. "Among the batch of us, we must understand nearly everything worth knowing."

  "I doubt that," Rose retorted. The laughing protests of the others smoothed the edge from the atmosphere.

  Elizabeth had wandered over to examine Aura Lee's outfit. "You look gorgeous, girlfriend. If this was for Jacob's benefit, I imagine the man melted into a puddle."

  Aura Lee's blush was almost the same shade as her glowing hair, tonight arranged in curls held by jeweled combs. "He did say he liked my outfit, and usually he doesn't pay much attention. Pink always flatters the complexion." Under color-coordinated pink shadow her eyes sparkled.

  "Who's Jacob?" Andrea whispered to Dolores.

  "Her boyfriend," Dolores murmured. "Apparently they've been seeing each other for years. Would you like some wine?" she asked Aura Lee.

  "Thank you, yes. We ate at that new vegetarian place on Arapaho and it doesn't have a liquor license yet. I must say," Aura Lee said at the full glass Dolores handed to her, "I've gotten used to having at least a little wine in the evening."

  "What about Jacob?" Elizabeth was hunting for a place to sit down. She finally leaned one hip against a windowsill.

  "He prefers beer. He says he's going to start a micro brewery and make designer beers, but his chart is all wrong for that kind of business."

  "No, I mean, why didn't you bring him by to see Dolores's work?" Elizabeth gestured toward the sculptures. "I think it'd be fun to hear a man's take on these pieces." She glanced at several nude figures and winked.

  Aura Lee shook her head. "His feminine side is underdeveloped. He'd probably be uncomfortable." Her gaze took in the sculptures nearest to her. She moved toward the chocolate lady and bent to examine it.

  Kerry had wandered beyond the mountainous sculpture and was studying the figure of a woman whose face lifted toward the ceiling. On her cheeks were tears created out of clear, oval beads falling from half-closed eyes and extending down her neck and over her body. Woman Wrapped in Sorrow read the card.

  Rose patted the obese statue with affection and headed toward Kerry. The gold hoops at her ears swung against her cheeks. Andrea watched her, thinking how she'd defused the situation between Kerry and Dolores with nothing more than her own tranquility.

  Andrea looked for a place to set her glass. She'd had enough wine. The earlier throbbing over her eyebrow had become a full-blown headache. At the sound of a rising voice, she turned toward the end of the room.

  Noreen had rubbed her short hair into a porcupine bristle. "It's always the same. Victorian women took arsenic to attain that pale look fashionable at the time. And they tortured their bodies with corsets to achieve the wasp-waisted figure." She caught Dolores's grim nod. "There's no difference between that and the pointed shoes in the 'sixties. Nineteen-sixties, that is. Do you know how many women have corns and hammer toes because of those things? We all just wore them."

  Rose nodded. "Yes, but did you ever try to find something else halfway fashionable at the time? There wasn't anything, unless you wanted to wear men's work boots or nurses' shoes."

  Noreen nodded judiciously. "That's true. Come the revolution, we'll take the shoe and fashion designers out into the streets and make them wear their own designs."

  Elizabeth's eyes lit with humor. "That'll show 'em. Women focused so much on their bodies 'cause they weren't used to having power over anything else."

  "If you're saying that the power women have gained in other arenas have stopped their focusing on their bodies, I have to disagree," Noreen returned. "All you have to do is survey article titles in women's magazines to forget that idea."

  "How to Lose Forty Pounds in Forty Days," Dolores responded promptly.

  "How to Look Like a Love Slave for Your Husband," matched Kerry. Her tentative smile deepened as Dolores returned it.

  "Ten Sexual Strategies to Make His Eyes Cross," Rose offered.

  Noreen's eyes twinkled at their laughter. "Face it, women have been programmed to deal with unhappiness by changing their looks or their decor. That feeds into the notion that perfection is possible, whether you're talking about your body or your work or your household standards. And that's the source of real depression. Perfectionism is the Devil whispering in your ear, You can be flawless."

  The overhead lights flickered.

  "Oh, God," Elizabeth sighed. "Nobody's happy with the way things are and they can't think of any way to make them better. I'm afraid for the future of my girls. What about you, Andrea? What's your take on the modern woman? Is your life perfect?"

  Andrea heard her from a distance. The air was beating a rhythm against her ears. "I don't know anything that's perfect." Her paper and pencil dropped from her hand.

  Elizabeth bent to pick them up, glancing at the paper as she rose. "What's this? Dolores said to write down your reactions."

  Andrea shook her head, at once regretting the sharp motion. The ache in her temples was growing stronger.

  Elizabeth gave her the paper. "Looks like a sundial."

  Aura Lee peered at the paper in Andrea's hand. "Is it a necklace? It has a chain," she explained when Andrea stared at her. She wiggled her fingers at Dolores as she approached with more wine. "Did you see what Andrea drew?"

  Dolores glanced at the sketch. "A sundial? Nice." She set the bottle on the broad windowsill. "I've never seen one used as a pendant." The lights fluctuated again, and Dolores cast a worried look toward the ceiling.

  "What did you say?" Kerry pushed past Aura Lee and caught sight of the drawing Andrea held.

  "Andrea drew it instead of coming up with word reactions. Not what I had in mind, by the way. I thought I might get some more title ideas from what you all wrote. I have trouble with them."

  Kerry inspected the sundial and looked at Andrea with fierce eyes.

  Andrea frowned. "What's the matter?"

  Kerry reached blindly for the wine and filled her glass. As the others resumed their conversations, she drew closer to Andrea. "When did you look inside the box?"

  "What box?"

  Kerry's mouth tightened. "I would've shown it to you along with the others. You didn't have to grandstand."

  Andrea rubbed at the pain in her temples. "I didn't look in any boxes except the ones I've been unpacking. If you've got a problem, can we talk later?"

  "We'll talk now." Kerry's cheeks were flushed and her eyes flashed. "You were in the house. You went to the library and rooted around for what we found. We don't do that kind of thing here. We respect each other's privacy."

  Andrea stared at her in disbelief. "Are you crazy? I haven't been searching through anything." Another pain stabbed at her temples. "Skip it, Kerry. I feel horrible and I'm going back to my room." She turned to walk away but Kerry stepped in front of her.

  The other women had drifted toward them. Rose looked in concern from one to the other. "What's going on?"

  The overhead lights blinked out, leaving the few candles set around the room the only source of light. Kerry didn't notice, gesturing toward Andrea furiously. "It's about the box we found in the attic. You saw it, the jewelry box with a sundial pendant in it. Just like that one." She pointed at the sketch. "She probably dug through it right after I left to change clothes. We can't work together if we can't trust each other."

  "What's with the lights?" Elizabeth demanded.

  "I'll find the fuse box." Rose headed toward the back of the studio.
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  Andrea felt the gorge rising in her throat and knew that if she didn't leave she would vomit on the floor. She felt air currents swirl around her as she dodged around the terra cotta figures, and the candles were snuffed out. "By the Goddess!" screeched Aura Lee.

  Andrea reached the studio entrance and darted across the shadowed living room to the door, fumbling with the knob until she finally was able to turn it. She stumbled out into the still night.

  Chapter 9

  Andrea opened her eyes, wondering what had awakened her. Sunlight shone through the sheers across the window and birds were singing. The air was scented with baking bread. As she yawned the memory of her encounter with Kerry the night before caught her in mid-stretch. "Hell," she whispered. So she'd sketched a sundial. Having a meltdown over it was unreasonable. No, it was weird.

  With a groan, she pulled the covers over her head. Weird was not knowing what was going on inside her own head. What the hell had made her draw the sundial in the first place?

  She'd have to deal with Kerry and the others. What did they think of her after last night? Instead of defending herself against Kerry, she'd run away. The only good news was she hadn't thrown up on them.

  Andrea flipped the sheet back and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Something landed on the floor with a soft thud. It was the sketchpad. Bending down for it, she suddenly was enveloped in a sense of déjà vu. That first night she'd retrieved the pad off the floor and had found in it the drawing of the young man in danger.

  Dropping to her knees, she picked up the tumbled drawing pad. Smoothing page by page she contemplated the images. First the likeness of the unknown man, then a quick sketch of a flower seen along the Chautauqua trail with Neal. The sheet after that had the image of the man done during the picnic. Andrea leafed through the other pages, finding only blank paper. She slumped in relief.

  Her bare knees rubbed against grit. She pushed herself up and felt granular roughness against her hands. Touching her tongue to the tiny white crystals on her palm, she tasted salt.