by Amelia Rey
The Other Side Of The Painting
Amelia Rey
Copyright © 2016 Amelia Rey
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1540464725
ISBN 13: 9781540464729
Contents
Distant in my Dream
My Angel of Time
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Distant in my Dream
In the silence of the night,
Your presence overpowers me.
I’m aroused by your gentle touch.
The quiet beating
Of your heart,
Becomes my safety hideout.
Your face has not yet been revealed to me,
But your soul I’ll recognize.
It frightens me to realize
That in the morning,
Your touch becomes a faded memory.
You discreetly vanish
In the denseness of the fog
Of a distant dream,
Leaving my lonely soul behind.
Like the distant dying rainbow
When the rain has ceased,
So is the distance between you and me.
My Angel of Time
My Time Angel,
My Angel of Time,
I seek you in time
And out of time.
I await you in time
Where time itself awaits you.
My Time Angel,
My Angel of Time,
I dream of you, but I can’t see you.
You whisper in my ears, but I can’t hear you.
For you are in a time that is not my time.
My darling soul mate,
Don’t delay our meeting in life.
Our souls were bonded forever in time.
The universe and the stars lined up in perfect harmony
To carefully arrange our timely meeting in time.
Rush to me, my beloved Angel of Time,
For time itself waits impatiently for our souls to reunite.
Chapter 1
The hot summer morning was filled with the sounds of children playing and the constant droning of lawn mowers. On occasion, a light breeze whisked by carrying with it the fragrance of fresh summer blooms. Mr. and Mrs. Dale sat lazily on their lawn chairs, watching people pass by with intrigued glances at the items they had for sale. Among the many interesting items that the Dales so creatively displayed on the tables that were scattered around the yard were pickled vegetables jars, which Mrs. Dale and her sister Rachel had prepared a few months before. There was also a box full of old kitchenware, a pile of rags, a table with toys, an old television set, and several other eye-catching second-hand items.
One visitor, Danielle Lancaster, paid no mind to these items; instead, she sifted intently through a number of old photographs and paintings. Although she appreciated the conveniences of 1990, Danielle had always had an uncanny interest in anything from the 1800s. Given the opportunity, she would spend countless hours scavenging through old archives and documents, still never quite fulfilling her desire for more knowledge.
As she sorted through the paintings and photographs, a painting caught her eye. It captivated her and instantly made an impression on her soul. She could almost feel within her the haste and fervor with which the unknown artist had completed the work. The image in the painting was of a very despondent-looking man sitting hopelessly with tears running from his eyes, writing what seemed to be a passionate love letter or perhaps a quite painful good-bye letter. The artist had managed to capture the soul of this dreadfully distraught man and had successfully embodied it in the captivating painting. It also seemed to be from the mid-1800s, which is another reason that it appealed to Danielle.
Danielle approached the homeowners, Mr. and Mrs. Dale, with the intention to learn more about the painting. “Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Dale,” Danielle said.
“Good morning, Danielle, ”they both replied simultaneously.
“I’m so glad to see you here, child. I was getting a little worried about you. I have not seen you at church in two weeks now,” said Mrs. Dale. She got up from her chair and walked toward Danielle to greet her.
“I appreciate your concern, Mrs. Dale,” said Danielle.“I came down with a cold, but I’m much better now.”
“I’m glad you are feeling better, Danielle,” said Mrs. Dale.“I hope to see you again at church this coming Sunday,” she added.
“I’ll try to be there,” Danielle replied.
“Good,” said Mrs. Dale. “I’ll let you continue with your browsing.”
Mrs. Dale was about to walk away. “Can you tell me anything about this painting?”Danielle asked.
Mrs. Dale was a bit puzzled. “The only thing I can tell you is that Harold found it ten years ago underneath a park bench not far from here,” she replied. “Let’s go ask him. I’m sure he can tell you more about it than I can.” Mrs. Dale and Danielle walked to the porch, where Harold was dozing off.
“He looks so peaceful,” whispered Danielle.“I don’t want to disturb his rest,” she added. “Maybe I can ask him about the painting the next time I see him.”
“Don’t you worry about disturbing Harold’s rest,” said Mrs. Dale. “Lately all he does is rest. The man has taken rest to a whole new level; he even rests before he takes a nap so that he is well rested for his nap!” They both laughed aloud, waking Harold.
“Hello, Danielle,” said Harold. “How long have you and my sweet Rebecca been standing there like angels guarding my peace.”
“Hello, Mr. Dale,” said Danielle. “I apologize for waking you.”
“Oh, I was not asleep. I was just relaxing my body and meditating on the things of the Lord,” he said as he looked at his wife.
“Uh huh,” retorted Mrs. Dale. “You seem to be meditating a lot lately. I just hope you’re not trying to become ‘The Enlightened One.’” They all laughed. Mrs. Dale then sat next to her husband. “Harold, Danielle was hoping you could tell her more about this painting,” she said as she pointed at the painting Danielle was holding.
Harold looked at the painting and sighed. “I was hoping you didn’t sell this one, Rebecca. I have become quite attached to it through the years,” he said in sadness.
Mrs. Dale looked at her husband in surprise. “Honey, for ten long years that painting has been collecting dust in our basement! Not once did I hear you mention it. You never even bothered to find a place for it in the house. I didn’t think you ever even looked at it again, but if that’s how you feel about it, I couldn’t possibly sell it.” Mrs. Dale turned to Danielle. “Please forgive me, Danielle, but the painting is no longer for sale. As you heard yourself, my husband has become quite attached to it.”
Harold noticed how sad Danielle became after hearing Mrs. Dale’s words. “Now wait a minute, Rebecca,” he said. “I admit that I like the painting, and I will even admit that it was sort of comforting knowing the painting was safely in our home. For some strange reason, all these years I’ve felt as if I had been guarding it for its rightful owner. But seeing how sad Danielle became when you told her that the painting was no longer for sale, I feel deep within my heart that in Danielle the painting has found its rightful owner.”
Danielle felt an immense relief after hearing Harold’s words. It was as
if her soul had been returned to her body after being yanked out. “Thank you, Mr. Dale. I promise you both that I will take good care of it.”
Mrs. Dale chuckled. “Now let’s not get carried away here. It’s a painting, not a child. I think we can all agree that we have all become a little sentimental over it. Now let’s go back to the original question.” She looked at her husband. “Harold, what can you tell Danielle about the painting?”
Harold remained silent, staring at a blank space for a short moment. He was trying to remember every specific detail of that cold December day ten years ago. “There is not much to tell about the painting itself,” he said.“It was just tossed underneath a bench at the park between Maple and Grand. I remember there was a very strange young man sitting on that particular bench. The man was wearing very old attire, and he was mumbling about something. I immediately thought that he was probably an actor who was practicing his lines because there was an acting studio not far from the park.
“I picked up the painting and asked him if it was his. He stared at it and shook his head. I took the painting and brought it home with me, and I laid it down on the couch and waited for Rebecca to find a place for it. I did not take a good look at the painting when I first found it at the park. But when I laid it down on the couch, I took a good look at it. I almost fell backward in shock. The man in the painting was the same man who was sitting on the park bench.
“I did not understand why he shook his head when I asked if the painting belonged to him. I then realized that the man was not shaking his head as a response to my question. The man was staring at the painting of himself. He was in shock and was therefore shaking his head in confusion and disbelief. If I had taken the time to look at the image in the painting, I would have realized that it was the same man sitting on the bench.
“I immediately grabbed the painting, tossed it in my car, and drove back to the park. When I got there, the young man was no longer there. I returned home with the painting, and this time Rebecca was home. She asked me where I got it. I told her the truth about where I found it, but I never told her the rest of the story.”
Mrs. Dale and Danielle were both confused by Harold’s story. Mrs. Dale looked at her husband and softly said, “Now, honey, you didn’t have to go as far as creating an intriguing story about the painting for Danielle to fall in love with it. She has already fallen in love with it.”
Harold seemed confused and disoriented. “Rebecca, why are all our belongings out in the yard? Are we moving out of our house?”
“No, honey. I promise we’re not moving out of our house. We are just having a yard sale to help our church build that school for the orphans in Guatemala. Don’t you remember, honey?” Rebecca asked worriedly. “You have been helping Rachel and me prepare for our annual charity yard sale all week, and you have done so with great excitement.”
Harold became lucid again. “Of course I remember,” he said clearly and firmly. “How are we doing with the sales?”
“Not bad,” said Rebecca. “We have practically sold everything, and it’s not even noon yet.”
Harold then looked at Danielle, who stared at him in confusion. “Danielle, make sure you leave with a few items. Those poor orphans in Guatemala are depending on us to help them.”
“I will, Mr. Dale,” she said.“I will also talk to my husband about giving a donation for the Guatemalan orphans.”She then went down the steps with Mrs. Dale, who had been gesturing behind Harold’s back, indicating she wanted to talk to her.
“Danielle,” said Mrs. Dale, “I’m sorry for not warning you about Harold’s ‘mental fogs,’ as I call them. He doesn’t get them very often, but today it lasted a little longer than usual. Do you think I should be worried?”
Danielle was careful not to worry Mrs. Dale unnecessarily, but she was concerned about Mr. Dale’s “mental fogs,” as Mrs. Dale called them. The first thing that came to her mind was Alzheimer’s disease. “I think to be on the safe side you should take him to his doctor as soon as possible. It could turn out to be nothing serious, but the best thing is to have his doctor run some tests and find the cause for Mr. Dale’s mental fogs,” she said.
“Thank you. I will call and make an appointment first thing Monday morning,” said Mrs. Dale.“And I’m sorry for not having more information about the painting. I can see that you are genuinely taken by it.”
“Oh, Mrs. Dale,” said Danielle, “please don’t worry about it. I was simply asking out of curiosity.” But deep inside, Danielle was a bit disappointed. She was hoping to learn more about the painting. She had an unexplainable feeling that there was an interesting story behind the painting, the artist, or perhaps both. She paid Mrs. Dale for the painting and walked away.
As Danielle was walking away, Rachel, Mrs. Dale’s younger sister, walked up to her.
Rachel was tall and slender, and her auburn hair matched her extravagant dress, which coincidently matched the satin tiny pouch she had made for the tarot cards she brought with her everywhere she went. “Hello, Danielle. I’m sorry I couldn’t greet you when you first arrived, but as you saw yourself, this place has been crowded all morning. We seem to be catching a break now.”
Danielle liked Rachel, but she tried to avoid her whenever possible. Rachel was kind and sweet like her sister, but her eccentricity could be overwhelming. “Hello, Rachel.”Danielle smiled.
“I was planning on paying you a visit today after the yard sale had ended,” said Rachel.“I had a strange dream about you last night, and as you already know, I believe that our dreams are trying to tell us something and that we need to open our ears to our spirit and listen carefully. If we don’t, we’ll miss the opportunity to influence the outcome of that bad thing our dream was trying to warn us about.”
Danielle was careful not to hurt Rachel’s feelings by revealing her lack of interest in the dream. Though Rachel’s beliefs were not necessarily her beliefs, Danielle knew for a fact that Rachel was a kind soul who genuinely cared about her fellow man, and Danielle could sense that Rachel was concerned about the dream she had. Deep inside, Danielle was not a bit curious. She somehow knew that if the dream was coming from Rachel, she had to prepare herself for what would most likely sound like science fiction. Danielle politely asked, “What was your dream about?”
Rachel remained silent for a few seconds. She was internally debating whether she should tell Danielle or not. “I honestly don’t know where to start. I don’t want to be insensitive in anyway.”
“Don’t worry about sounding insensitive,” said Danielle. “I know that you are not. Just go ahead and tell me the dream as best you can.”
“All right,” said Rachel. “In my dream, you were lost and had no memory, and you desperately looked for what seemed to be a very old and distant door. As you got closer to finding the door, you were murdered by your husband’s girlfriend. The weird thing was that your husband did not look like your husband at all, and he too was looking for the old distant door.”
Danielle was surprised; Rachel’s dream did not sound outlandish at all, aside from the part where her husband, who did not look like her husband, had a girlfriend who then murdered her. Rachel’s dream sounded like any other bizarre dream.“That sure was a strange dream,” said Danielle.“Especially the part where my husband had a girlfriend. I am not an expert on the meanings of dreams, but I’m thinking that maybe the man in your dream did not look like my husband because your dream was about someone else.”
“That dream was odd even for me,” said Rachel. “It drained my spirit. But the woman in the dream was you, and I was sad because I knew it was you.”
“Don’t be sad. It was only a dream.” Danielle gave Rachel a sympathetic smile. “I have to get going now. I have a few errands to run. It was nice talking to you, and thank you for sharing your dream with me,” she added.
Rachel stared at the painting as Danielle walked away. “That man in the painting looks so familiar,” she mumbled to herself.
Danielle w
alked back to her car, half-dazed. When she arrived home, she laid the painting comfortably on her old leather couch until she could choose the perfect place to hang this remarkable work of art.
As a history teacher, she naturally decided to do some research on the painting, but all her efforts were in vain. Nowhere in history could she find any information on the artist or the painting itself. Danielle was becoming frustrated. All her life she had been fascinated with everything related to the 1800s, but now, when she desperately needed it, none of her knowledge of the period was proving to be useful. After the painting had been left neglected on her leather couch for a week, Danielle’s husband, Shane, convinced her to put the painting in the attic.
The following morning Danielle woke up to the sound of singing birds outside her bedroom window. Shane was still asleep. Danielle quietly got out of bed and tiptoed out of the bedroom and downstairs into the kitchen. She plugged in the coffeemaker, opened the refrigerator door, and took out a carton of eggs and other breakfast essentials. It was Shane’s thirty-sixth birthday, and she wanted to surprise him by having their breakfast in bed.
Since Shane and Danielle moved to New York almost a year ago, their relationship had been deteriorating. Danielle went from being an outgoing, happy woman whose cheerful personality frequently lit up any room she entered to being sad and withdrawn. For some reason, she felt strangely different this morning. As she was about to go up the stairs with a breakfast tray in her hands, Shane was descending the stairs, already dressed for work.
Shane was an absolute pleasure to Danielle’s deep green eyes. His sapphire-blue eyes and dark blond hair beautifully complemented his tall, strong body.
He stood in the middle of the staircase gazing at Danielle with delighted satisfaction. Danielle’s beauty had always captivated him. He loved running his fingers through her beautiful long black hair. Shane had a yearning desire to make passionate love to her. He had been patiently waiting for this moment for a long time.
Before moving to New York, Danielle and Shane couldn’t get enough of each other. That all changed the moment they moved to New York. The drastic change of scenery depressed Danielle, and up until this moment, she had not shown any signs of interest in rekindling the passionate marriage they always had. She blushed at the sight of her husband’s excited expression, and she smiled timidly. She was surprised by herself; at the mere look of lust and undeniable desire in her husband’s eyes, her blood rushed through her veins like fire. She was aroused in a way she had not been in quite a while.