Sisters, Ink

by Rebeca Seitz

  “Then why did Momma tell me to go to Orlando? That sounds more like telling me what to do than making me figure it out.”

  “I don’t know that she did, Tandy.” He looked at his hands. “I heard her tell you to refuse fear’s leadership. She was right about that. I don’t know how that applies to your present. I can tell you this, though—” he held up a finger— “your momma wanted you to know your worth and not let the things of this world force you onto a path not of your choosing. She taught all you girls that.”

  Tandy nodded, a tear trickling down her cheek.

  Daddy got up and came to sit beside her. He put an arm around her back and hugged her to his side. “You’re smart, and you’ve grown into a woman I’m proud to call my daughter, Tandy Ann Sinclair. You know what’s right and what’s wrong and who to talk to when the path ahead isn’t too clear. I rest in that, honey girl, in knowing that your life is led by God.”

  Tandy remembered the day she’d walked the aisle at Grace Christian, meeting the God her daddy preached about.

  “Daddy, you know I believe in God. But I’m not like you and Momma. I don’t go around asking people if they know where they’ll spend eternity or if they have a personal relationship with Jesus.” She slumped further.

  Daddy chuckled. “Tandy, do you think you could make a sculpture like Kendra?’

  She turned her head to see his face, her forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Of course not.”

  “What about making a four-course meal like Joy? Think you could pull that off?”

  “Maybe, but it wouldn’t be as good as hers, and some of the food might be underdone or burned.”

  “How about Meg? Homeschooling one child while raising a three-year-old and an eight-month-old at the same time. Is that your life’s path?”

  “If it is, I’m way behind.”

  He laughed again. “That’s the point, honey girl. You can believe and not be like every other believer. What you believe in doesn’t change, but how you live out that belief is very different from how I do or your momma did. I worry because I don’t see a lot of room in your life for God or your faith in him down in Orlando. I hope it’s because we don’t talk a lot, not because you’ve given up on him or pushed him away in anger.”

  Had she? “I was mad at him for a long time, Daddy. A long, long time. For a lot of reasons, not just Momma.” She sniffed. “But I didn’t have the time to dedicate to anger anymore, so I let it go.”

  “When?”

  “When what?”

  “When did you let go of your anger?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She ran her hand over the quilt. “I just realized one morning I wasn’t angry anymore.”

  “Are you still going to that church you told me about?”

  “Most of the time, yeah, I go. And I do pray, Daddy. Not like I used to. Not like before Momma. But more than those years just after she died.” She sniffed again and Daddy waited. “It’s hard to feel. Does that make sense?”

  “It does. If you feel, then you can get hurt. And when your momma died and Clay left, you had to hurt a lot. I don’t blame you a bit for shutting down awhile. Makes perfect sense. But Tandy,” he put a finger under her chin and tilted her face, “you have to feel again at some point. I know it’s hard, especially for you. Lord knows you’ve had more reason than most to stop feeling. But don’t do it. Don’t give in to that. There are still lots of us who are here and who feel love for you.”

  He hugged her, and she buried her face in his shoulder, longing for Momma. The sheets of rain finished their trek across the fields and pounded her window, giving voice to the ache that battered within. Thunder cracked, right along with her composure, and she clung to the surety that was Daddy.

  Nineteen

  Tandy dashed from her Beamer to the front door of the civic center, puddles of rain splashing up around her jeans. The rain hadn’t let up much and seemed to steal another degree of warmth from the air with each passing minute.

  She stopped in the lobby and collapsed her umbrella. Droplets of water leaked from it as she wound it up and secured the Velcro strap. Looking down, she took stock of her jeans and realized they were soaked from the shin down. She shrugged. Not much to do about that now, and her hair was probably curled up tighter than a pair of skinny jeans after Christmas pies and cookies.

  Her tennis shoes squeaked on the tile floor as she crossed the lobby and followed the signs to the art show. Entering a room that had hosted the high school prom every year for the past two decades and the town meetings every month for ten years, Tandy glanced around in search of Kendra. Her eye took in the myriad displays, from sculptures to paintings, while the room buzzed with conversation.

  “There you are!” Kendra’s voice behind her made her turn around.

  “Hey! Where is it?”

  “Over here.” Kendra hustled her two aisles down. “I’ve checked everything out here, and I think there are two others giving me serious competition. Oh, and before I forget, I made a hundred dog biscuits for Cooper.”

  Tandy stopped and closed her eyes. “Okay, wait. Let me see the competition first, then yours. That way I’m not biased. And why did you make a hundred dog biscuits when you own a cat?”

  “Because I needed something to do with my hands. I couldn’t sleep worrying about this, and I had already made Kitty a hundred treats. Those things don’t freeze well, so Cooper got lucky.” Kendra spun her around, and Tandy opened her eyes as they walked the other way. “We’ll go down the other aisle and back up this one. You’ll see their sculptures before mine.”

  They passed painting after painting of irises in every color. Purple ones growing by a river. White ones lining a fencerow. Yellow ones encircling a maple. It was as if every painter had thought to win using the most obvious subject.

  “Can’t someone paint a rose or something?”

  “I know.” Kendra chuckled. “It’s like every artist went iris crazy.”

  “Were they told to paint an iris?”

  “No, but this is the Iris Festival Art Contest.”

  “Seems predictable.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  They rounded the end of the aisle and walked up the next. Tandy saw sculpture after sculpture of the flower. “You’re kidding me.”

  “Nope. There are forty-seven embodiments of the iris on this aisle alone.”

  “I didn’t know there were that many sculptors in Stars Hill.”

  “There aren’t. Some people entered more than one thing.”

  “Did you?”

  “No. Just the one. Here’s one I think is good.”

  They stopped in front of a table draped in black. On its center stood a white stone sculpture in the shape of a lamppost.

  Tandy turned to Kendra. “This is your competition? It’s a lamppost.”

  “Yeah, but where have you seen this lamppost before?”

  Tandy thought about it, then snapped her fingers in recognition. “This is the new Stars Hill lamppost!”

  Kendra bobbed her head. “Yep. And guess who’s on the judging committee for the art contest?”

  “Not Tanner.”

  “Bingo.”

  Tandy looked at the sculpture again, noticing it was identical to the ones on Lindell. “Okay, you’re right. This is competition. How hard did Tanner fight for the street lights?”

  “A forty-five-minute monologue on our responsibility as citizens to uphold the historical value of Stars Hill.”

  “You might be in trouble.”

  “Don’t I know it. And there’s one other one.” Taking her elbow, Kendra steered Tandy three tables down to a wooden image. The smooth oak was polished to a shine that now reflected the lights. It took Tandy a minute to catch on.

  “Is this the caboose?”

  Kendra nodded. “It’s almost exactly like the one over in the park. And you know how Tanner loves that park.”

  “‘The oldest public park in the State of Tennessee,’” Tandy quoted.

&
nbsp; “If Tanner’s said it once, he’s said it a million times. He’s proud of the park, and he loves the streetlights. I didn’t think about that.”

  “Okay, show me yours.”

  Kendra crossed the aisle and walked past five tables. “Here.”

  Tandy’s eyes grew wide and her breath caught. A woman’s figure leaned forward over the edge of the base, her elbows pointed, hands clenched into fists, hair flying. Small strands of stone wound around her muscular legs. Tandy bent closer but couldn’t find where one tendril ended and another began. They were hopelessly wrapped around her thighs, tangling around her shins and ankles. Her bare feet were free, somehow making her appear vulnerable. Tandy’s eyes followed the cords as they grew thicker and ran to the other side of the sculpture. There, though they were made of stone, the thick bands appeared to writhe in a muddled, seething mass.

  Tandy looked back to the face of the runner, shocked to find so much emotion on this small portion of the work. The woman’s eyes were wide with fear, but the set of her brow seemed to indicate a resolve. Her head was tilted down, giving the illusion that she was plowing forward. The lips were set in a grim line of defiance, and tiny little nostrils were flared. This was a woman desperate to reach beyond the coils binding her.

  Tandy took a breath, realizing she’d been holding it while staring at the art. She looked up at Kendra, whose gaze was full of indecision. “It’s astounding,’ she breathed, looking back at the sculpture, certain the woman would have broken free by now.

  “Really? You think so?”

  “I had no idea you could do this. I mean, your paintings are great and your articles are wonderful to read, but this—” she took in that face, literally set in stone—“this is unbelievable.”

  “You like her?”

  “Like her? I want to be her.”

  Kendra opened her mouth to respond, then closed it and smiled over Tandy’s shoulder. “I think I’m about to lose you.”

  “What?” Tandy looked over her shoulder and saw Clay walking down the aisle.

  He grinned as he approached and planted a quick kiss on her nose. “I was beginning to wonder if someone had thought you two were art and snatched you up.”

  They groaned. “That was such a line,” Tandy teased as he slid his arm around her waist.

  “Maybe, but the best lines are grounded in truth.”

  Tandy leaned into him. “Has the rain let up?”

  “A little. It’s supposed to stop by tonight.”

  “Good, because getting this thing in here through the Great Flood was hard,” Kendra said. “I’m not too keen on getting it back in the car.”

  “You don’t have to leave it here when it wins?” Clay said.

  “Thanks, but I’m not so certain about that.”

  “I’ve looked at everything, and I didn’t see anything even close to competition,” he said.

  “Did you see the lamppost?”

  “Yeah, but Tanner isn’t the only judge. You’ll be fine.”

  “Here’s hoping,” Kendra crossed her fingers.

  “Is Darin coming?” Tandy said.

  “He’s here somewhere.” Clay looked up and down the aisle, his head easily scanning the tops of the crowd. “Must be on another aisle. Come on, we’ll find him.”

  The trio headed off, Tandy glancing back once at a sculpture that now seemed lonely without its audience.

  Two hours later the foursome stood at the front of the exhibit hall, watching Tanner at the microphone.

  His paunch had grown the past few years but was still covered by a bright red sweater vest. Rumpled gray pants ended in sneakers that were popular five years ago. He patted the air to quiet the crowd. “Before we announce the winners of the Iris Festival Art Contest,” the buzz of conversation came to a halt—“let me say how difficult this decision was for the judges. We have a wealth of talent in our little community of Stars Hill, and the entries were no less than I’d expect from a citizenry proud to call this little patch of earth their home. I remember when we first began this art show, seventeen years ago …”

  Clay leaned down and whispered into Tandy’s ear, “The man never passes up an opportunity for a history lesson.”

  She giggled and swatted his arm. “He just loves Stars Hill.”

  “So do I, but I don’t go around spouting off about its history every chance I get.”

  Her laughter was muffled behind her hand but drew Kendra’s attention anyway. She leaned around Darin and whispered, “Bet the lamppost won.”

  That set Tandy off into another fit of giggles, earning her a disapproving glare from Tanner, who cleared his throat.

  “At any rate, I’m sure you didn’t all come here to listen to my reflections on days gone by.” He looked at the crowd hopefully, as if wanting someone to contradict him. When no one spoke, he continued. “So without further ado, I give you the head of our judging committee this year, Ms. Sara Sykes.”

  Sara came to the microphone and adjusted the stand down to her height. “Hi, everybody. I won’t delay this moment since you’ve all endured Tanner without comment.” Chuckles sounded through the crowd. “The third place overall winner of the Eighteenth Annual Iris Festival Art Contest is Bradley Gallimore, for his replication in stone of the Stars Hill lamppost.”

  A smattering of applause accompanied Bradley’s approach to the stage for his award. Tandy saw Darin take Kendra’s hand. Surely her sister wouldn’t lose to a caboose. Sara leaned back into the microphone. “Second place overall winner is Shelby Bentley for her oil painting Sunful of Iris.”

  Tandy spotted Shelby weaving through the crowd, a hand over her heart as if shocked by the announcement. One glance at Kendra revealed her surprise as well.

  “Guess irises may have been the way to go,” Kendra whispered as Shelby ascended the stage.

  “And the Grand Prize winner of this year’s Iris Festival Art Contest is—”

  Tandy held her breath. Please …

  “—Kendra Sinclair for her sculpture, Unbound.”

  “Yea!” Tandy jumped in the air and nearly knocked Darin over to get to Kendra, who looked a little stunned. “You won!” she squealed, squeezing her sister in an embrace. She let go and nudged Kendra toward the stage. “Get up there!”

  Kendra approached the stage to receive her award, and Tandy slid back between Darin and Clay, keeping her gaze on her sister.

  “I’m not sure what to say,” Kendra said into the microphone. She looked at the winner’s plaque in hand. “Tanner was right, this room is full of beautiful works of art.” She paused and met Tandy’s gaze. “And I’m grateful for those who inspired us to create it. Thank you.”

  The crowd broke out into applause as Kendra left the stage, and Tandy clapped until her hands burned.

  “Let me see! Let me see!” she said, taking the plaque from Kendra.

  Engraved into the brass plate was the phrase: For art that speaks volumes without words, please accept this award. Beneath that, in bigger letters, it read GRAND CHAMPION, 18TH ANNUAL IRIS FESTIVAL ART CONTEST.

  “It’s gorgeous!” Tandy handed the award back to Kendra. “Where are Meg and Joy? And Daddy?”

  “I told them to leave about half an hour ago. Didn’t want them here in case I didn’t place.”

  “You nut!” Tandy slapped her hand on Kendra’s arm and pulled her cell from her pocket. “We’ve gotta call and let them know.” She hit the memory key for Meg and put the phone to her ear. “You call Joy. I’ve got Meg.”

  She listened to the ring, then relayed the good news to Meg. Clay and Darin shook their heads as Kendra and Tandy squealed into the cell phones.

  Tandy finished her call first and slapped the phone shut. “This calls for a celebration.”

  “Definitely. How about burgers and pie all around?” Clay said.

  “Oooh, good idea.” Kendra shut her phone. “Joy thought we needed to get together anyway. How about burgers and pie now and scrapbooking tonight?”

  Darin held u
p his hands. “Hey, watch it, lady. I’m way too macho to scrapbook.”

  She poked a finger in his chest and stood toe to toe with him. “Don’t worry, nobody invited you.”

  “Oh, man, that was harsh.” Clay laughed at Darin’s wounded look.

  “The woman breaks my heart.” Darin captured Kendra’s hand in his and kissed it. “But who can trust an artiste?”

  Kendra grinned. “I don’t think I ever said you should trust me.”

  They laughed and migrated toward the door.

  “So burgers and pie now, scrapbooking tonight?” Tandy pushed through the double doors.

  “Sure. I’ll call Meg on the way to the diner. You call Joy.”

  “Got it. See you there.”

  She watched Kendra and Darin walk off arm in arm, Kendra holding her plaque out in front of them.

  “They look good together,” she said.

  “Yeah, who knew?” Clay turned her the other direction, took her hand, and began walking toward the diner three blocks away.

  “Thanks for coming.”

  “Wouldn’t have missed it. Thanks for telling me she was entering.”

  “I don’t know how she does it, putting herself out there like that.”

  They crossed the street.

  “What’s the worst that can happen?”

  “Somebody laughs at her. Or rejects her.”

  “Not putting yourself out there won’t prevent that from ever happening.” He stepped over a small puddle.

  “No, but it would sure cut down on how often it happens.”

  “And would that make it hurt less?”

  “I don’t know.” She considered it. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  They reached the end of the first block and went down two steps to cross the street. Climbing back up on the other side, he said, “Isn’t that like letting other people tell you how to live?”

  “No. It’s protecting yourself.”

  “From what? You just admitted that rejection will come anyway. Maybe it won’t hurt the same way, but it will still come. And if it’s inevitable, why go out of your way to avoid it in the first place?”

  “When did you get all Yoda on me?”