Charity had turned down her father’s plans for a family weekend, opting to stay behind with Melinda and Sandy so that she could go to church on Sunday morning. She didn’t want to miss the next installment of Pastor Andy’s sermons on ‘Who is God?’. “Besides, you know I’m not that into painting,” she’d told Brody and Madison when Brody broke the news of the overnighter. “I’m just going to sit there and read, which I can do right here in Cottonwood Falls. Although I really love your work, Mom and Dad—truly I do—being outdoors with a palette and easel is your thing, not mine.”
A shrill ringing snapped Madison out of her musing. She set her brush and palette down on the nearby counter overflowing with paints, brushes, and blank canvases. Shoving her hand in the back pocket of her jeans, she pulled out her phone.
“Sands, what’s up?”
“Have you heard anything yet?” Angst laced her friend’s voice.
Shoulders slumping, Madison released a heavy sigh. “Nothing yet.”
“Argh, I can’t stand this waiting.”
Madison leaned her hip against the long counter that stretched the entire length of the wall. “Neither can I. Either way, we’ll know by tomorrow. So it’s not that much longer to wait.”
Sandy wailed. “Tomorrow is twenty-four hours—give or take—too long, girl.”
It was, but Madison didn’t need to be reminded. For days now, she’d been counting the hours, heart pounding every time her phone rang, only to be disappointed once she’d answered.
“Sands, I–I have to go. I’m on a deadline to get this piece finished today. I’ll call you the moment I hear anything. I promise.”
“First one to hear…”
Madison smiled and pushed away from the counter. “First one to hear.”
She hung up and shoved the phone back into her pocket. Then she picked up her palette and brush, her thoughts now focused on the Art USA contest and the imminent results. As she gazed at the impending storm she was busy painting on the canvas, Madison couldn’t help but wonder if the past three weeks were the calm before her storm. If she was one of the fifty finalists, there was no doubt in her mind that there’d be a storm of note between her and Brody. But all she could do now was hunker down and weather it out if that happened.
After Madison had put the last brushstroke to the Stanley artwork, she added her signature to the bottom right-hand corner, signaling the completion of yet another Peterson masterpiece. A sense of accomplishment washed over her, but nothing like how she’d felt the day she finished Charity’s piece.
And now that piece could change their lives.
Forever.
Then again, life could go on as usual, nobody besides her and Sandy being any the wiser that she’d tried and failed.
Strands of hair fallen loose from her ponytail tickled her face. She swiped them back behind her ears, her heart heavy…conflicted. She didn’t want to risk her life with Brody—but she also didn’t want him to forever block her path to ultimate success. Hopefully, if it came to it, he’d understand that she’d entered the contest for them—for Peterson Galleries. Getting the endorsement of Ellie Sanders… Well, that was huge.
Outside a dog yapped, just before the porch door banged shut.
“Hi, Mom, I’m home,” Charity shouted as her footfalls pounded upstairs. Baxter’s bark followed her. Still not willing to risk having Baxter damage her car with his claws, Charity had placed her pup in his wire pet basket, and cycled to Melinda’s just before lunch.
Madison’s phone rang, and she whipped the device out of her pocket. She frowned. Although she didn’t recognize the number, she was very familiar with the 212 area code where her father had his Manhattan office. Her hands began to tremble, and she quickly sank into the bright green barrel chair nearby before her legs buckled beneath her.
“Madison Peterson,” she answered, in the calmest voice she could muster.
“Miss Peterson!” a deep, male voice responded to her greeting.
“Mrs. Peterson,” Madison corrected.
“I apologize, Mrs. Peterson, but maybe I could just call you Maddie?”
Her nerves quickly gave way to annoyance. Who was this person and why were they calling? And with such familiarity. Hopefully not another tactless telesales person.
Before she could respond, the man continued. “I’ll take that as a yes.” There was a brief pause as the man sucked in a breath. “Maddie, it’s Robert Morris, but you can call me Rob. I’m the contest coordinator for Art USA.” His New York accent rolled off his upper teeth with the distinctive and recognizable AW sound every time he uttered the word call.
Her heart thudded so hard against her chest, it hurt. This man could call her anything he liked, because if Art USA was contacting her before the notification deadline on Friday, it could only mean one thing.
“Maddie, congratulations on being our Kansas finalist with your entry, Girl in a Field.”
Madison’s hand flew to her mouth, her lungs constricting, refusing to give air. She gasped. “W–what? I–I can’t believe it.” Even though she’d been so positive about standing a good chance to make it to the finals, actually hearing those words spoken out loud came as a shock, albeit a pleasant one. “Really?”
“Yes, Maddie. And well deserved, I must add.”
There was a moment’s silence as Madison endeavored to process the news. Now she’d have to tell Charity. And Brody. Her daughter would be excited for her, she was certain. But her husband… Madison had a pretty good idea of how Brody would react, so telling him was something she did not relish. But it had to be done. She should probably do it over the weekend while they were stargazing at Monument Rocks. Or perhaps the following morning might be preferable. No point in ruining a romantic night in a magical place with her husband. Brody had said he had something special planned—she didn’t want to risk spoiling his surprise.
“Maddie…?” Rob’s voice pulled her back to the present.
“Oh yes, sorry, you were saying?”
“Please could you email me a high resolution headshot of yourself today? Your suggested travel itinerary will be sent to you within a day or two,” Rob said. “Once you confirm your best travel times, we’ll make the necessary hotel and airline bookings. You and your husband will be able to attend the gala awards ceremony next Saturday night?”
Gala event? Next Saturday? How had she missed that detail? Was it written somewhere in the fine print on their website? Oh well, better to get this all over with sooner rather than later.
“I’ll be there.” Brody on the other hand—that was another story. She highly doubted he would sanction her trip to New York, let alone accompany her. But she could take Charity if he chose to sulk.
“You will need to be in New York by next Friday afternoon,” Rob continued, “so that your piece can be set up in the exhibition which opens to the paying public at ten on Saturday morning. Around midday, the judges will examine all fifty artworks and make their final decision on the winners.”
“It is very possible that my husband might not be able to attend. If he doesn’t, may I bring my daughter as my plus one? She’s the girl in the field that I painted,” Madison proudly announced.
“Absolutely!” Rob lowered his voice. “Don’t tell your husband that I said this, but I do hope he’s unavoidably detained because I’d love to have the opportunity to meet your muse.”
Madison’s soft chuckles melded with Rob’s. “I’ll see you next weekend then.”
“I look forward to that,” Rob said cheerily. “Oh, one more thing… I shouldn’t be telling you this, but Ellie Sanders was really taken with your piece. I guess you know that she’s a Kansas girl at heart, so it’s not surprising that she would be predisposed to a piece from her home state, especially one exhibiting such talent. It’s probably a good thing that there’s a panel of judges choosing the final three winners, and not just Ellie.”
“Definitely. I wouldn’t want anyone to think that my entry got any special favor just
because it depicted home for Ms. Sanders.”
After saying goodbye, Madison ended the call.
She wanted to run upstairs to tell Charity, but she’d promised Sandy that she would be the first to know.
Seated behind his desk in his office at Peterson Galleries while Ava managed the floor, Brody tapped his fingers lightly over his laptop keys and stared at the sixteen-inch screen. He had promised Madison a special night, and he still hadn’t managed to find anything to fit the expectation he’d created. It wasn’t that there were no amazing places to stay—there were—but every time he found something, it had already been taken.
He leaned back in his chair and twined his fingers behind his head. He exhaled a long sigh to the ceiling then muttered, “That’s what you get when you try booking a one-nighter at the last minute during summer vacation.”
Not one to give up, Brody returned his attention to the Airbnb website. If he failed to find something, he’d resort to packing a tent and roughing it for the night. It’s not as if they hadn’t camped before. Still, he’d wanted to do something a little more special for his wife this time, keep the streak of peace and goodwill going strong.
The idea of postponing the night painting weekend flashed through his mind. No, not an option. Staying would mean having to go to church with Charity again. And he so needed a break from all of that. Squirming under conviction about his life every Sunday morning was something he did not relish. He could do without that for a few weeks. Or more.
Once again he typed Gove County along with Saturday’s date into the search bar then scrolled through the familiar options. Maybe, just maybe, he had missed something.
He paused. Wha—? No way. How had he missed that beauty? Or had it perhaps not shown because it had been booked and was now visible due to a cancellation? He wasn’t exactly sure how this reservation system worked. Didn’t matter though—this place was perfect, and he was making a reservation and paying for it right away.
This was going to be fun, not to mention extremely romantic. Madison was going to love this place.
Who would’ve thought they’d be glamping? But it certainly did offer the best of both worlds as they could experience the quiet solitude of the great outdoors in comfort, style, and luxury.
Madison knocked on Charity’s closed door. “Charity? Can I come inside?”
Getting no answer, she cracked the door open slightly and peeked inside.
Charity lay on her bed, one leg pitched in a V like a tent, the foot of her other leg resting on the arched knee. In her hands, she held a paperback. Headphones covered her ears—the source of her daughter’s unresponsiveness. No doubt music blasted from the headset.
Baxter had curled up into a ball beside Charity. Poor puppy must be exhausted from playing with Charity and Melinda this afternoon if her knock hadn’t stirred him.
She stepped closer and touched Charity’s shoulder lightly.
Charity looked up and smiled.
She set her book down on the bed. Taking off the headphones, she shimmied up against her headboard.
Baxter stirred. He stretched his front legs out and slumped his head on her thigh.
“Hey, Mom, what’s up? Did you finish your painting? Need help with something?”
Madison shook her head and sat down on the edge of the bed. “I’m done with the artwork. And yes, maybe in a little while you can help me with dinner?”
“Sure, Mom.”
She took Charity’s hand and squeezed it. “That’s not why I’m here, honey.”
Charity’s eyes widened. “W–what is it? Is it Dad? Has something happened to him?”
“Cha—”
“Or you both? Are you getting a divorce?” Even though Madison had tried to interject, Charity’s questions tumbled one after the other
Madison raised her voice. “Charity! Whoa!” She offered a smile. “Nothing is wrong, sweetheart. And everything’s just perfect between your father and me.”
But for how much longer?
“It is?” Charity clasped her chest. “Mom! Don’t scare me like that again!”
“Well, if you had given me a chance to explain why I needed to talk to you before jumping to conclusions…”
Charity lifted her shoulders, her neck shortening with the action. She pursed her lips into a thin line then skewed her mouth to one side. “Sorry, Mom. So, what did you need to tell me?”
Madison drew in a deep breath, her pulse throbbing. Suddenly, doubts overwhelmed her. What if Charity wasn’t happy that she’d entered her portrait into the contest? She should have asked her daughter’s permission before doing so. It was, after all, no longer Madison’s property. The painting belonged to Charity now.
Taking her daughter’s hand once again, Madison raised her gaze to meet Charity’s. “Honey, please don’t be mad at me, but I…I entered your painting into a contest with Art USA. I–I hope you don’t mind.”
“Oh.” Charity’s brows lifted. “Sounds like quite a big contest. Is it national?”
“It is, honey. One piece from every state is chosen for the finals. Not only is the prize money for the winner huge—it would certainly help fund some of your college education—but the opportunity for an exclusive exhibition at the Ellie Sanders Gallery in New York is priceless. Any artist given that break will be made for life. Art connoisseurs will line up to own a piece of that artist’s work.”
“Wow, sounds big. Of course I don’t mind you entering the painting, as long as I get it back afterwards. It’s a stunning piece, Mom, so I think you stand a good chance of winning.”
Baxter lifted his head and gave Charity’s hand a thorough lick.
She laughed, shifting her hand to rake her fingers through his silky coat. “What does Dad say about it? He must be excited at the prospects this could bring.” Her breath hitched. “Does that mean we have to leave Cottonwood Falls? Move to New York?”
“No, honey, we’re not moving anywhere. And…your Dad doesn’t know I’ve entered.”
Charity’s eyes and mouth formed a perfect ‘O’. Clamping her bottom lip between her teeth, she raised her brows again.
“I–I was mad at your father the day I entered. It’s actually what spurred me on to enter. But even if I wasn’t upset, I wouldn’t have told him I was entering. I–I was afraid he might stand in the way. I thought it would be easier to just do it and ask for everyone’s forgiveness afterward if I needed to. No point in telling anyone if nothing came of the endeavor. Right?”
Charity shrugged as she brushed soft puppy fur from her bedcover.
Baxter pounced on her hand with a loud yap, thinking it a game.
Charity moved her fingers across the cover again, chuckling as the pup retreated, butt in the air, tail wagging. He was gearing up for another spring, which came within seconds. “I just love this dog. He’s so playful.”
Drawing Baxter onto her lap, Charity tried to calm the puppy. Her face grew serious. “You’re absolutely right, Mom—Dad would’ve prevented you from entering, I’m certain. So I understand why you did what you did. You know, sometimes I can’t help wondering if he’s a little jealous of your talent.”
A subdued laugh escaped Madison’s mouth, and she cocked her head to the side. “Well, I don’t know about that, but your father certainly does seem to have some sort of deep-rooted issues. Maybe one of these days he’ll let me in on what his problem is.” Although, if he hadn’t done so after almost seventeen years of marriage, why would he say something now?
Realization dawned on Charity’s face. “Wait just a minute… You said there was no point in telling anyone, unless… But you’re telling me. Does this mean that—”
“Yes. I’m the finalist for Kansas.” Madison beamed a smile.
“Mom, that’s wonderful!” Charity flung her arms around Madison’s neck and hugged her tightly. “I’m so proud of you. Will you tell Dad when he gets home?”
“Um, I think I should wait for the right time.” Not that there would ever really be a
right time with Brody. “Perhaps this weekend when we’re out in the tranquility of the country. It might be easier to break the news to him gently in those surroundings. There’s no telling how he’ll react, so I’d like to make sure the waters are really smooth before I risk muddying them.”
Chapter Eight
WHILE MADISON helped Brody pack the car with their art supplies and photographic equipment, Baxter bounced around Brody’s feet, the laces on her husband’s Converse All Stars a great source of entertainment for the pup.
Antsy with their new addition, Brody bellowed from the garage, “Charity, come and get your dog before I trip over him.”
Within moments, Charity flew into the garage. “Sorry, Dad.” She swooped Baxter up into her arms and rubbed his head. “Hey, you wanna go play ball out in the yard?”
Charity disappeared back through the door into the kitchen.
Madison returned her attention to carefully stacking a few blank canvases of varying sizes on top of their overnight bag and easels. She drew in a long, deep breath. It had been so much more difficult to keep the news of her win from Brody over the past forty hours or so than she had imagined it would be. Now that she knew she’d made it to the final fifty, she so badly wanted to tell him, wanted him to be proud of her achievement. But she couldn’t say anything. Not yet. She needed a calm husband to hear the news, and at the moment, Brody was anything but. Before they returned tomorrow, however, she would need to come clean.
After dropping Charity and Baxter at Sandy’s house, Brody steered the SUV west on Lake Road. Soon they were cruising down the K-150. In four and a half hours, with no stops, they’d reach their destination.
Despite several attempts to get Brody to spill the beans, he had refused to tell Madison where they were staying. All he’d said was that she needed to pack groceries to tide them over until lunch time tomorrow. And he’d bought four juicy rib-eye steaks—two for tonight she presumed, two for lunch tomorrow—unless somewhere along the line they were having company for one of their meals, which she doubted. They had no acquaintances in Gove County. If she didn’t know any better, she’d hazard a guess that they were camping tonight. Except for one thing—Brody hadn’t packed a tent or any bedding.
Reclaiming Charity (The Potter's House Books Book 21) Page 7