by Jane Peart
“There’s always a second chance, Mr. Kenan. Maybe if your children knew how you felt, things could be patched up. I don’t think it’s ever too late.”
Mr. Kenan’s eyes looked bleary, but he said gruffly, “You’re young, Miss Montrose.” He paused, then added, “Done for today, are we?”
“Yes, and thank you very much for posing for me.”
“Thank you, young lady. I’m being discharged tomorrow. They won’t let me goldbrick any longer. That’s what Dr. Wallace told me. Got to go someplace where they will supervise my physical therapy, get me walking again.”
“I hope everything goes well for you, Mr. Kenan. And you must be sure to come back when the mural is finished, see how it all turns out.”
Mr. Kenan nodded and without another word left the solarium, the walker thumping as he shoved it along.
As Joy cleaned up and put her things away, she thought over the day’s session. It was becoming more and more apparent that the mural was a ministry—something she had never dreamed it would be. People were being healed. Emotionally, Moira Andrews, and now, hopefully, Philip Kenan. Something had truly happened to them while they stood in the shoes of the people whom Jesus had healed. She thought of the sign over the altar in the little church she attended when she visited Molly: “Jesus is the same, yesterday, today, and tomorrow.”
It was true—she was a witness to that.
It was the very next day that, while working from sketches and her memory of Mr. Kenan’s expression when he was talking about his losses, Joy finally caught the look she wanted in the paralytic’s face.
chapter
10
ONE MORNING A FEW days later Joy’s old car refused to start. She had to call a tow truck to take it to the garage. There the mechanic shook his head skeptically and gave her the bad news that it might be the transmission. Not wanting to think about what that would involve and how much it would cost, Joy asked him to call her with an estimate. In the meantime she had to take the bus to the hospital.
During the day she was adding to some of the backgrounds of the panels, finishing some details. She became so totally engrossed in her work that she almost forgot she would have to catch a bus home. After checking the schedule she had picked up that morning, she realized she would have to leave right away, since she had to walk quite a few blocks to the bus stop on the corner.
She was just hurrying out the entrance when Dr. Wallace caught up with her. “Leaving early for a change?” he asked.
“My car’s in the repair shop, so I’ve a bus to catch,” she explained.
“Let me drive you home,” he suggested as they walked out the lobby door together.
“Thank you, but I don’t want to put you to the trouble.”
“Nonsense. No problem,” he said decisively as he took her elbow and led her toward the physicians’ parking lot.
Joy knew it was useless to argue and couldn’t help but be grateful. Her car trouble that morning had been the beginning of a long, frustrating day in which she was plagued with a nagging concern about repair costs. It would be nice to sit comfortably in the luxurious car and be driven right to her doorstep.
“I see you got Philip Kenan to pose for you,” Dr. Wallace commented as they drove out of the hospital entrance.
“Actually, I think he enjoyed it.”
“He did seem to be in better spirits when I discharged him. Did you have anything to do with that?” He glanced at Joy with a slight smile.
“We talked, or rather he talked, I listened. I think his life is pretty empty now. But he had an interesting one. He told me all about his adventures as a young man.”
“I think you have a talent for bringing people out of themselves, Miss Montrose.”
“I don’t know about that, but I did like him very much. I told him to be sure to come back when the mural is completed, and he said he would—” She suddenly broke off, gesturing. “Turn here at the next intersection.”
Dr. Wallace read the sign. “Oakhurst. That’s a prestigious old neighborhood for a struggling young artist, isn’t it? If I remember correctly, this used to be where all the grand old mansions were, once upon a time.”
“ ‘Were’ is correct. Most have been torn down or made into apartments. I rent a small place on a family estate that is tangled in a legal dispute. It’s temporary until that gets settled.” She pointed. “There’s the entrance. You can drop me off just inside the gate.”
When he pulled to a stop, Joy suddenly felt she ought to offer him some hospitality, since he had been kind enough to bring her home. He didn’t seem in any rush to be anywhere. “Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?” she asked.
“Sure, very much,” he said, adding in a teasing tone, “I’d like to see what kind of environment a creature like you inhabits.”
“Come along, then,” Joy said. “Follow me.”
Dr. Wallace got out of the car and stood for a minute looking rather puzzled. “Where?” They were standing under a huge old oak tree, and he looked up through the leaf-laden limbs. “A tree house?”
“A water tower.”
He shook his head. “Leave it to an artist to fall in love with the most improbable living quarters.”
“Wait until you see it,” she said with mock severity. “It’s perfect, exactly right for an artist.”
The approach was along a brick walkway under a trellised arch with espaliered grapevines overhead, to a twisting outdoor staircase that led up to the small deck. Joy ran lightly ahead of Dr. Wallace and then unlocked the door and stood waiting for him.
“Welcome,” she said, smiling.
The front door opened into a small room with a pint-size kitchen off one side and a dining alcove nestled in the opposite corner, with windows looking out onto the leafy upper branches of the tree. There was a small circular stairway leading to the next level. “My bedroom, bathroom, and studio are up there.”
“Very nice, very cozy, very like you,” Dr. Wallace said, glancing around at the wicker furniture, the bright, flowered chintz pillows.
“Would you like some herbal tea?”
“Yes, thank you. I think that would be most appropriate to have while visiting this kind of fanciful abode,” he teased. His whimsical sense of humor amused her and would, she knew, also surprise the nurses on fourth if they knew about it. Joy realized she was being allowed to see a side of Dr. Evan Wallace that he rarely showed to other people. Why, she wondered, did he feel comfortable enough to show it to her?
While she busied herself behind the counter that separated the sitting room from the kitchen, Evan walked around the small space, taking in everything. He went over to the bookcase, which had been improvised of boards and cement blocks, and checked out the titles. There were among the art books all kinds of children’s picture books.
He pulled out a large one, The Velveteen Rabbit. Holding it flat open in both hands, he turned the pages carefully, stopping here and there to read.
Seeing him, Joy leaned over the counter. “Aren’t the illustrations fantastic? I buy children’s books when I admire the pictures. But that story is especially wonderful. For grown-ups, very powerful.” She paused. “The little girl who posed for Jarius’s daughter loved it, too. I brought it for her to read, to keep her amused.”
Evan put the book back on the shelf as Joy brought a tray with a teapot and cups and set it down on the table in the windowed alcove.
As she poured the aromatic, steaming liquid into cups and handed him one, Dr. Wallace asked, “By the way, tell me again—who is Molly? A relative, right? You’ve mentioned the name several times. She seems to be someone important in your life.”
“Oh, she is. Very. She is family, although we’re only distantly related. After my mother died and my stepfather remarried, I lived with Molly. She’s an artist, too. A professional calligrapher. Does all sorts of things, like diplomas, award citations, invitations for special events. She was the one who encouraged me to try for the mural commission.”
> Dr. Wallace nodded. “It’s always important, maybe even necessary, to have one person who believes in you.”
Joy detected a note of sadness in his voice, as if somehow that had been missing in his life. But he quickly redirected their conversation, giving her no chance to pursue the subject. “Thanks for inviting me up here. I appreciate you’re allowing me a glimpse into your private world. I find you fascinating, Miss Montrose.”
“Me, fascinating? No one has ever told me that before.” She laughed. “Strange maybe or a little weird or”—she affected a French accent—“a wee bit too artistique?”
“Not at all. I think you’re quite delightful.”
Joy felt warmth rise in her cheeks under his speculative gaze. “So how goes the progress on the mural?”
“Three panels are nearly completed, except for some detailing and the glazes that I’ll apply when I’m finished,” Joy told him.
“They really look good,” he said.
Dr. Wallace expressed interest in hearing more about her work on the project, and Joy was happy to share her thoughts and feelings about the process of taking her vision and making it into a reality. When their conversation turned to the centurion panel, it was the perfect opening for Joy to ask him to consider posing, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to do so. Before she could gather enough courage, Dr. Wallace changed the subject and her opportunity was lost. Eventually he finished his tea, stood up, and said he must leave.
As he walked to the door, he stopped to look at the picture hanging in an alcove of the living room. It was of Christ standing in a dark garden, holding a lantern in one hand and knocking on a door with the other.
“This is interesting,” he said. “Is it by one of the old masters?”
“It’s a reproduction of the famous painting Light of the World by Holman Hunt, one of the Pre-Raphaelite painters.” Joy came over to stand beside him as he examined the picture. “There’s quite a story behind the picture. The artist started working on it at night in the dead of winter in an orchard. He insisted on painting in the actual setting he wanted to use. After it was exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1853, it was sold to Thomas Combe of Oxford, whose wife later presented it to Keble College. To me, one of the most remarkable things about the original painting is the amount of detail, considering its small size. Later Hunt painted a second, much larger, version which now hangs in St. Paul’s Cathedral in London.”
“That’s strange,” he murmured. “Despite all the detail, there’s no handle on the door.”
“That’s exactly what the critics said when it was unveiled for the first time.”
“Why is that?” Dr. Wallace asked.
“The artist explained that it was an illustration from the Scripture verse in Revelation that reads, ‘Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears and listens to and heeds my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and will eat with him and he shall eat with me.’ The door represented the human heart, and that can only be opened from the inside.”
Dr. Wallace nodded but said nothing. When he turned to look at Joy, his eyes were reflective.
“Someday I’m going to see the original,” Joy told him. “It’s in London.”
“Is that one of your dreams?”
“A longtime dream, but when the mural is finished, I think I’ll have enough money to go.”
“It’s good to have dreams, even if they don’t all come true,” Dr. Wallace said, and again Joy thought she detected a tinge of sadness in his voice.
At the door he turned back, then said, “I had a dream. To have a cabin in the hills, someplace I could go, a sort of retreat where I could do a little fishing…I did accomplish part of it but not the whole dream.” He hesitated. “It’s about a two-hour drive from here, and the woods are beautiful just now with all the fall colors. I wonder—would you like to drive up there with me on Saturday? It would be an artist’s paradise. You could bring your sketchbook and paints. I have a few winterizing jobs I should do at the cabin, and you’d be free to do whatever you’d like.”
Surprised, Joy hesitated. Again she was struck by the opportunity to get to know Dr. Wallace better, have a better chance of getting him to be the model of the centurion in her panel. “Why, yes, thank you. I’d like to very much.”
“Great. We’ll get an early start so we can have the best part of the day up there. I’ll bring a picnic lunch.” Dr. Wallace’s face was transformed with a wide smile.
“Thank you, Dr. Wallace.”
He frowned. “Can’t we make that Evan—outside the hospital?”
“Yes,” she said, smiling. “Why not? And you can call me Joy.”
chapter
11
SATURDAY MORNING THE SKY was a bright and cloudless blue. When Joy opened her door to Evan’s knock, she saw he was wearing faded jeans, worn boots. He looked young, almost boyish.
“Ready?” he asked with an eager smile.
“All set.” Joy slung her canvas tote bag containing sketchbook, watercolor pens, some brushes over her shoulder. As they went down the steps, Joy saw a yellow jeep. “Where’s the Porsche?”
“Need a vehicle with four-wheel drive to get up to the cabin. It’s a pretty steep, narrow road.”
“Just how many vehicles do you own?”
“Three. I use a pickup most of the time to haul things up there or bring brush or firewood down. But”—Evan grinned as he opened the jeep’s door for her to get in—“it’s in no shape to drive a lady around in. I just use it for heavy duty, not pleasure.”
It was not long before they were leaving the expressway and starting up into the hills, which were ablaze with early autumn color. The scenery was so beautiful that Joy was totally absorbed. They finally turned off the two-way highway onto a road, not much wider than a logging road. As they rounded a hairpin bend, Joy got her first glimpse of Evan’s “cabin in the hills.” Instead of the rustic shack a man might use to store tackle and some basic staples for an occasional fishing trip, Joy saw a well-crafted log-and-stone house with a slanting roof supporting solar panels, and a large deck that circled the whole building.
She looked over at Evan curiously. “I thought you said this was a cabin. It looks like a picture out of a posh resort brochure. Is this what you call roughing it?”
“It started out small and just kept getting larger.” His smile faded and his mouth firmed. “Actually, coming up here and working on it was therapy.”
Joy gazed up at the house. “This is really elegant. I had no idea…” She turned to him, teasing. “So this is how the other half lives, Dr. Wallace?”
“Correction—Evan, remember? We agreed that outside the hospital, first names,” Evan said, then added, “Wait until you see the view.”
Joy followed Evan up the steps to the deck and looked in the direction he pointed. Spread out before her was a magnificent panorama of rolling blue hills with blazes of crimson, gold, and bronze against the darker green of pines and cedars. “It’s gorgeous,” she murmured.
“What did I tell you? Get out your paint box, do your thing. I’ve got plenty to keep me busy.”
He went back to the vehicle to retrieve a toolbox and a wicker hamper, which he held up. “Lunch, whenever you’re ready.”
“You think of everything, don’t you?”
“Boy Scout training. Be prepared.”
Evan had unlocked the door into the house, and Joy went inside to get water. She glanced around. The interior was all paneled in gleaming redwood. The furniture was scarce and rather stark. There was a built-in counter and high stools in front of an L-shaped kitchen. Stairs led up to a loft. The cabin had an unused feel, and Joy wondered how often Evan came up here and if he was always alone.
She got her water and went back out on the deck, where there were two Adirondack chairs and a table on which she put her supplies. She propped her watercolor board against her knees and wet the first sheet of paper with a wash of water. She could hear the sound of a hammer in the ba
ckground; gradually it faded as she became so caught up in her painting. Soon she was not aware of anything but the beauty surrounding her, the crystal-clear mountain air, and the pure joy of creating.
“Okay, lunchtime.” Evan’s voice broke her reverie as he came up on the deck carrying the wicker hamper. He opened it and spread a blue woven cloth on the table, set out several plastic containers.
“Don’t tell me you whipped all this up by yourself?” Joy asked, setting down her watercolor board and sketchbook.
“No, can’t take any credit. Remone’s Deli is responsible. I’m a regular customer.”
“And a valued one, I suspect. Will you look at all this!” Joy exclaimed. “Pretty fancy, I’d say. Not the kind of picnic I’m used to.”
“Nor am I. When I was an intern, I lived on a diet of canned baked beans, peanut butter, and bananas. But I’m trying to get used to this.”
“The affluent life?”
“Believe what you will about doctors, but most of us didn’t start out that way. Me, for instance. I grew up in a small coal-mining town in Kentucky. My grandfather and his father before him were miners. The only way my dad got out was that he played football and got a scholarship to the state college. He became a high school teacher. Taught all his life. Was determined that none of his sons would go down in the mines. But affluent is not what I’m used to, not by a long shot.” Evan handed her a plate. “Help yourself. Coffee later.”
Evan took his plate and set it on the wide arm of the Adirondack chair.
“So then what did you do? I mean, to become a doctor?”
“Worked like a dog to earn my way through pre-med,” he said shortly. Joy got the impression that Evan didn’t want to talk more about his past, so she changed the subject.
When they finished eating, she leaned her head back against the chair and sighed, saying, “This is marvelous.”
“Come, I’ll show you something even more spectacular. A place where on a clear day you can see three states.” Evan took Joy’s hand and pulled her to her feet. Still holding her hand, he led her down the deck steps, behind the cabin, and out along a trail covered with pine needles. They climbed a winding path to the top of the hill. There they sat down on a sun-warmed rock. The view was breathtaking. The valley was vivid with autumn foliage; the silver slash of the lake glittered between rocky ridges; and over all hung a smoky blue haze.