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One month later
"What do you think, Michelangelo?" The dog opened one eye, yawned, and went back to sleep. A smile formed, and she nodded. "Aye, I like it too." The candle flickered, and she suddenly realized how late it was, or rather, early. She glanced around the small, dark room at several finished paintings, all of ships at sea, all signed "W. Blue". No one knew the famous "Blue Paintings", as they were called, were done by a woman of the tender age of sixteen. Actually, almost seventeen, next month. Her age withstanding, it would probably cause an uproar to know the incredible paintings were rendered by a mere girl. Her father would be inclined to send her away to some stuffy boarding school, and she would never be able to paint again. Thus, she maintained her secrecy at all costs. Needing a rest, she sat down by Michelangelo and scratched his head. He responded by rolling over so she could reach his belly. "You silly thing," she teased, as she rubbed the dogs tender underside. "A good belly scratch and you are happy. I wish it were the same with humans." She had named the dog after her favorite artist, a young Italian who was considered a genius of sculpture. She dreamed daily of meeting him in person. Of course, that would be impossible, so she did the next best thing - she named the dog after him. Interest for her paintings had soared recently, so much it was hard for her to keep up with the demand. She started to charge more and more, hoping to bring the demand down a little, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. It was becoming a matter of prestige to own a "Blue Painting", highly popular among the wealthy crowd. Many nobles had bought her paintings; it was even rumored the king himself had bought one and hung it in his private solar. That fact made her victory even sweeter. Since her family had lost its fortune years ago, the snobby aristocrats who valued wealth above honor shunned them. Now they all had one of her paintings hanging in their parlors. When she first had enough paintings to sell, she got the idea to dress like a lad and take them to a fair. With two brothers, it was a simple matter of finding old, discarded clothes. They were horribly large, but she didn't mind, as they hid any feminine attributes. In order for this plan to succeed, she had to cut her bothersome waist-length hair to her shoulders to make her appear more boyish. At first she tried poking it up under a hat, but the thick mass kept falling out. She actually didn't mind cutting it; all that hair was just a nuisance and she never considered it all that pretty, anyway. It was just a common, boring brown with horrid red tones. The cut switch of hair was kept in a long pony-tail, which she pinned on her head and arranged in several fashions. She actually got very good at making it look like a graceful upsweep, except when errant strands came out of the pins. No one in her family even noticed. The first fair was a great success. She posed as the apprentice of a master painter, and the paintings were sold within a few hours. Subsequent fairs produced even greater results; she would find people waiting to buy her paintings before she even arrived. Eventually fairs became unnecessary. She displayed and sold her paintings at the art museum in town, giving the owner a favorable commission for his part. He, in turn earned the prestige of having the only contact with the mysterious painters apprentice. It was this way that she saved enough for a dowry; her "little nest egg", as Ford had called it. Ford. The very thought of him caused burning tears to prickle her eyes. How could he marry another, after wanting her for all of these years? Now the dowry, the very reason she began selling her paintings, sat in a small chest in her hidden room. What would she do with it now? Suddenly her face brightened. "Michelangelo, I have an idea. My family needs money, and I have some." The dog whined, and scratched his ear in reply. Willow, still deep in thought, ignored his indifference. "Well, maybe not enough to replenish a family fortune, but certainly enough to pay some bills, buy new clothes, and gain some much-needed respectability. But how to give it to my father without arousing suspicion? " She thought hard; there had to be a way. It came to her in a flash. Her grandfather was well known for his generosity; he gave money to many good and failing causes before his death. What if someone, a generation later, decided to repay the debt? Her father would have no reason to doubt an anonymous benefactor. She jumped to her feet and exclaimed a loud "Aha!" Michelangelo, thinking her sudden action meant they were being attacked, sat up and let out a forceful bark. "Sorry, boy." She patted the dogs head to calm him down. As her plan solidified, she wondered why the giver had to be anonymous. She could add some prestige to the "gift," and make it from W. Blue himself. That would certainly get everyone's attention, maybe even the snooty, self-absorbed Sedgeworth family. She wished she could be there when Ford heard the news. "Come on, boy - we have got work to do." If she hurried she could execute the plan that night, as it was still dark out and everyone was still asleep. The chest was too heavy, so two trips were necessary to get all the coins upstairs and around to the front door. She was careful to keep a small amount for more paints and supplies. Back down in her secret room, she glanced around at her finished paintings when her gaze fell on one in particular. It was her favorite, and in her opinion, her best work. She never could bring herself to sell it, telling herself it was not yet finished. She did tiny touch-ups on it constantly to support this illusion. She grabbed the painting and began to rush back upstairs, then stopped halfway up. A note. There had to be a note. All writing material was upstairs in her fathers study, and she simply didn't have time to sneak any out. Having no choice, she ran back downstairs and grabbed a paintbrush and a small piece of canvas. This was almost better, a personal note from W. Blue written in paint. The note was simple and straightforward. To the Bluthe family; Years ago your grandfather loaned my father money for a family emergency. Because of this generosity, I was able to realize my dream. I now wish to repay this debt. Thank you for my success. I hope you like the painting. W. Blue She wrinkled her nose as she read the note; she was an artist, not a writer. No matter, it would have to do. Back up the stairs she ran, carrying the painting and note, with Michelangelo close by her heels. She deposited everything in front of the main entrance, then hurried back to her room just as the sun was coming up. She plopped in bed, exhausted and satisfied with her clever plan. Michelangelo jumped up on the bed and curled up by her feet. "Everything shall be fine, now," she muttered as she drifted off to sleep. "Just fine." Hours later her sister Meredith's shrill voice jarred the wearied girl from a deep sleep. "Willow! Wake up! Family meeting!" She sat up and blinked - another day with only a few hours sleep. "What is it about?" she innocently asked as she rubbed her eyes. "I know not, but father is in a very good mood. Hurry! And get that filthy animal off your bed!" Meredith slammed the door and left Willow to her groggy misery. Unable to muster much excitement, she fell back into the warm bed and placed a pillow over her head. A few minutes later her door opened again. This time it was her mother. "By the saints, child, is all you do is sleep? Hurry and dress; we are all waiting for you! And get the dog off your bed, dear. He is dirty." Again the door closed, and this time Willow dragged her tired body from the comfortable bed, damning her clever scheme. She patted Michelangelo, still blissfully asleep on the bed. "Are you my only friend?" The dog, his eyes still closed, enthusiastically thumped his tail on the bed. The family meetings - which more aptly named would be called "Fathers Speeches" - were always held in the parlor on the other side of the manor on the main floor. By the time Willow slipped on a dress and arranged an awkward braid on her head, everyone had been waiting for several minutes. Her father, a tall, distinguished gentleman with graying hair, was at his usual place by the mantle with the rest of the family seated in various chairs around the room. He was dressed in his best, looking ever much the aristocrat. Her mother, a petite French woman whom Willow always considered very pretty, sat in the big comfy chair by her father. Willow always wondered why she had turned out so plain with such a pretty mother. All three of her sisters were prettier, also. Their hair was all a preferred light color. They all had blue eyes. They could all just throw on a dress and look wonderful. Willow always felt like a misfit around her family with her brown hair and green eyes, and they did nothing to dispel that notion. Two of her siblings, Ivy and Frank, lived in the manor with their spouses. Since there was no money for a dowry, and the boys couldn't offer a plush life, their choices were limited. Both Frank and Ivy had married for love. Willow thought that was fine, but why did they have to live there? When she entered, her big-mouthed sisters voiced their disapproval while the men just shook their heads. "Really, Willow! Must you always keep us waiting?" This came from her sister Eartha, who had already been married and widowed within a year. Meredith joined in. "Honestly, child! Have you no consideration for anyone but thyself?" Willow sat on the only available seat left, next to her mothers chair, on an old rickety stool with one short leg. "Sorry - I was tired." "You are always tired," her mother alleged with concern. "Perhaps you should see a doctor?" "She does not need a doctor; she needs discipline," her sister Ivy insisted. Her husband, a big man with large hands who Willow had no affection for, agreed by nodding. "All right, enough!" Her father took command of the meeting and everyone instantly became quiet. "Not even all your complaining can spoil my good mood." He sauntered to the painting and held it up for all to see. "Does anyone know what this is?" Willow waited for someone else to answer, not wanting to be completely conspicuous. All her father received was blank stares. Meredith at least tried to answer. "Er, a ship?" "I believe he means what kind a ship," her brother Jake explained. "Ah, a schooner, three-masted," her other brother Bruce offered. Willow rolled her eyes. "'''''Tis a Blue painting." All eyes were on her as her father raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Very good, Willow. You are right." Meredith cast her a sour glare. "What on earth is a Blue painting? " Her father answered before Willow could open her mouth. "He is just the most sought after artist in England. He left this on our doorstep this morning - along with a great deal of money. It appears my father loaned his father some money, and he is paying us back." The room was instantly abuzz. The women giggled in excitement, certainly thinking of new gowns and jewelry, while the men nodded and tried to act nonchalant. Willow just leaned forward and put her head in her hands. Her eldest sister Ivy immediately hit her in the middle of the back. "Sit up, child! Do you want your back to grow crooked?" "Quiet, quiet!" her father continued. "Needless to say, this comes at a very opportune moment. I have been trying to gather enough collateral to invest in a sure thing - with the Cameron family, no less. The baron and his youngest son are in town and will be coming to dinner tonight. We all must be on our best behavior - that means you Willow - hence I can clench this deal." "What kind of deal?" Willow blurted. Everyone again looked at her, some with frowns. Her father chuckled. "Why do you not leave the business deals to us men, dear." Everyone again began talking and Willow had to yell over the din. "Excuse me, but it seems to me that we should use the money to pay off debts." The room suddenly got so quiet Willow could hear her own breathing. She was surprised to get support from an unlikely source - her mother. "Willow has a point, dear. Maybe you should explain this deal to us." Lord Bluthe snorted his annoyance. "Oh, very well, I suppose the money was left to all of us, henceforth you should at least know what I am going to do with it. The baron has bought a new ship, and is going to be importing expensive wine from France and Italy. He is willing to take on a half- partner. If I can get in on this deal - buy half the ship - I stand to gain four times what I put in." Her eyes wide in disbelief, Willow jumped to her feet. "You are taking the money and buying a ship?" Willows mother patted her on the arm. "Half a ship, darling." "But this is ludicrous! You are going to risk everything I have . . .I mean, we have gained?" Her father waved her off. "Sit down, Willow. You are in no position to tell me what to do." "But . . ." "I said silence! Now, we must be totally perfect tonight. Ivy, take some coins and hire a few servants. This house has to be cleaned from top to bottom. Eartha, you are in charge of the meal - it must be perfect, you understand? Perfect! Merry, buy some new gowns for everyone, and Willow . . .just stay out of the way. Bruce and Jake, go to town and spread the news that the Bluthe family has come into a great deal of money, and might become partners with the Cameron's. Ha! That should start tongues wagging! " Willow watched with dismay as her family glommed her hard-earned money like sharks after blood. She instantly regretted her hasty late night decision to share her wealth. Her father stared at the painting and seemed to be pondering something. "Hmmm - we need a frame for this." He glanced up at the portrait hanging over the mantle. "That frame looks like 'twould fit. Jake, grab that ugly picture and put this one in it." "But dear," her mother objected. "That is my great aunt Bertha! " "And she is ugly. I have always hated that painting." Jake had already taken down the portrait and was clearly confused how to get the old one out and the new one in. Willow stood up and smiled sweetly at her oldest brother. "I shall do it," she offered. "I was taught how in art class." "Good - here." He relinquished the task to her. Willow sighed with relief that her painting didn't just get ruined in the hands of her incompetent brother. She carefully removed the frame, her mind wandering to the incident that got her started. An artist was giving free classes to anyone who was interested, even women and children, at a traveling art show. To her surprise, she discovered she had talent. It probably would have ended there, save for finding the hidden room in her fathers huge mansion. One day while exploring unused, empty chambers in which contents had long been sold, she discovered an outline of a door behind a tattered tapestry. She had to sneak a knife from the kitchen to pry it open, revealing stairs leading down to a small room. The huge Bluthe manor sat on a hill overlooking the sea, and the room could have possibly been used for hiding family treasures from pirates. Willow asked for her sleeping chamber to be moved to give her access to the secret room, not telling anyone about it. The idea to paint down there just came naturally. She had to sell several pieces of jewelry to obtain the canvas and paints, and the rest just fell into place. The view from her manor gave her endless scenes of a myriad of ships coming and going, in both fair and inclement weather. Being the youngest, she could slip away as she pleased, as her family was always busy elsewhere. The men were usually involved with some sort of business deal, and the women with numerous parties and chores. Only a few faithful servants remained, so the family took up most chores and the care of the young Willow. Even though the family was out of money, they strove hard to uphold the image of an old and affluent household. Everyone assumed that someone else had Willow in tow, so in effect she was alone most of the time. It was this freedom that allowed her this unusual hobby. As long as she was present during family gatherings and meals, no one was the wiser. She was jarred back to the present by her father. "Perhaps we should give this painting as a gift to the Camerons? Might put me in good with him." "NO!" Willow cringed as again the room grew quiet and all eyes fixed on her. "Er, I mean, 'twas meant to be a personal gift to our family. Perhaps 'twould be more prestigious to hang it over our own mantle." This time everyone agreed with Willow. "I think she is right, dear," her mother affirmed. "If this Blue person is so sought after, ''twould look good for us to have one of his paintings." "Aye, I agree," said Meredith. "Oh, very well, 'twas just a thought. Now everyone hop to it! We have work to do." They all left to their assigned tasks, and suddenly Willow was alone in the parlor. She sat on the nearest chair and felt like crying. What had she done? There was still the matter of the framing, so she set to work taking care of that. When she was done she stood on a chair to hang the painting over the mantle. A swelling of pride rushed through her when she saw one of her paintings hanging in her own house. If only everyone knew. But, women couldn't be master artists, or anything, for that matter. Oh, they could paint, but it was only considered a hobby, and the pictures were usually horrible. Women could only belong to men, with no allegiance to themselves. The world was terribly unfair. The rest of the day was spent getting the manor ready for that night. Willow was put to work with various tasks, and by late afternoon was unable to keep her eyes open. She finally was able to steal away to her room for a nap, and was asleep before her head hit the pillow. She was awakened later by Meredith, who whisked into Willows room holding an emerald green gown. "Here, darling - look what I found for you! It matches your eyes. Oh dear, were you asleep again? Well, get up and try this on. It looked to be just your size. Come on, do not dally!" Willow blinked and tried to concentrate on the mindless blather her sister was spewing. She looked at the gown and frowned. "Green? You know I hate green." "Oh, nonsense. Here, get out of that old rag and slip this on." She helped Willow pull her dress over her head as she shared her days activities. "I found a lovely lavender gown for Ivy; it may be a bit tight seeing how she has gained a mite around her middle, but she can hold her breath if need be. For myself I bought a wonderful rose gown, wait until you see the neckline! For mother I found a gown fitting for her age; father will approve of the high neck. Your gown was actually made for that homely little Worthington girl, but I liked it so much I offered the tailor twice what Lady Worthington paid him. He almost fainted. There. Stand up and let me see you." Willow stood up for Meredith's discerning eye, wishing the whole time she could just go back to sleep and forget the whole thing. "Hmmm. I overestimated the bustline; I might have to pin this in. 'Twould help if you had some breasts." Willow gasped at her sisters candor. "Merry!" "Well, 'twould! 'Tis time you started to look like a lady, instead of a boy. You are too thin. I swear, you are ne'er going to fill out." "I do not want to fill out." She scrunched her nose and grimaced. "Certainly you do, you want to get married, do you not?" Willow remained quiet while Meredith fussed over the gown and continued her chatter. "Oh, I heard in town that young Ford Sedgeworth just announced his engagement. 'Tis just simply going to be the wedding of the year, by all the excitement in town. You remember Ford? His family used to be friendly with us until they made all that money and got all haughty." Willow swallowed in an attempt to get some moisture to her suddenly dry throat. "Aye, I remember Ford." "Nice boy, too bad you ne'er got to know him well. You two would look nice together. Of course, I suppose his elitist father would ne'er have allowed that. I guess 'tis for the best." Willow didn't answer as she blinked back the tears that threatened to reveal her feelings. Finally satisfied that the dress could be salvaged, Meredith loosened the ties and pulled the gown back over Willows head. "Do something with your hair! I shall be back with your dress anon, after I alter it." She left as quickly as she had arrived, her taffeta dress rustling as she scampered down the hall. As soon as she left, Willow lay back down and promptly began crying from hopelessness. To hell with the dinner party, to hell with Ford, and to hell with life. She curled up in a ball and cried herself back to sleep. Order the novel: |
