Father's study was still intact as it was. And to my surprise was much cleaner. The key was among the bunch of keys. I had not expected it to be there or didn't expect that mother would give it to her. The level of trust she had for this woman marred me. Could it be we were thinking it all wrong? Mother wasn't one to trust people blindly, or so I believed but her sweet and kind nature I resolved to say would forever be her weakness. Just as it has been with Mrs Lakes.
I went about the room with the lit taper in my hands. The old shelves, the single chair, and the table were left as it was. Even his great gray coat was still hanging on the wall. It smelt nothing of dust as I had thought.
My hand slipped through the surface of the table. The books, papers, inks, and quills were still the way it was; the neat way he kept his things. His touch was in every corner of the room.
And then looking at the desk I found him seated there and scribbling with his fast hands. It seemed as if the night had turned bright.
"Father" I called but he seemed out of this world and couldn't hear me.
"Father"
He was fiddling with the papers, turning them here and there and then arranging them at a side.
"Father" I called again.
He stopped and raised his face to me but had a wide smile spreading on his lips.
I made to reach for him but at that moment before I came near, he vanished and the room returned to as it was.
The breeze blew strangely from the opened windows scattering some of the papers on the floor and jostling me.
I locked the windows immediately and began to pick up the papers wondering if what I saw was real. In between the papers I was picking, at the last one I reached for I found a paper. It struck me.
It was a little drawing and painting I had made years back,( twelve years ago). I remembered taking it to him and instead of appreciating or encouraging me he took it away and squeezed it throwing it into the dustbin.
I had cried for the rest of that day, for the painting was a precious one to me.
Mr Houston was never fond of my art. He'd scold me then to drop my artistic abilities, that it was nothing he would allow me to do. That was one thing we disagreed with. On my eleventh birthday, he tore and destroyed all my painting materials. I was devastated and vowed never to paint ever again.
It broke me as a child and destroyed all my passion for art. That was also the reason I took an English major at school instead of pursuing my art.
It was only after I met Mandelyn at the university, for some reason she became my motivation and inspiration to try at it again, as the first painting I made was of her in a blue dress on a green field. The greenfield was my heart and she dwelled there. From then onwards I began to paint and sent the art pieces to Dennis who helped me to sell them (I never told him to do so). But he said his friends and people who visited his home or office where he hung them asked for it and expressed the desire to have one as such in their homes. He told me my paintings sparked emotions in people and that I should continue. He began to sell those I sent to him. I never intended to sell or make money out of it, it was just for what it was, the rekindled passion.
It continued until the betrayal and I lost the whole motivation again, as what had brought me to begin was no longer there.
How vain it was to rely on anyone in this life for anything. I learned the lesson.
Now, looking at this amateur painting of mine that I thought had been trashed by my father, I didn't know what to make of it.
I took it and made my way out of the room, locking the door securely as it was.
Back in my room, I stood on the balcony inspecting the painting. It was a painting of our family. Mother, Him, I, and Dennis. A sweet happy family.
I sighed as I looked at the stars. What could this be? My hands reached into my pocket and brought out the glittering diamond. So beautiful and lustrous it was in the moonlight.
I don't know, but now, I feel the urge to start painting again. Maybe it was a sign from the universe. It seemed up at the sky, he was pushing me to do so.
A knock at my door jolted me from my thoughts.
"Who is it?" I asked once I reached the door.
"It is I" The voice came.
I opened it instantly as I knew who it was.
"Mrs Williams"
Her night shawl had been removed and for the first time, I was able to see her face clearly with the lighted candle in her hands. Her lustrous curls cascaded down her face, sprinkled with fine freckles (just a soft touch from the creator's hands here and there on her nose and cheeks) that appeared more appealing in her flushed fair skin, Her deep black eyes shone like the most beautiful black pearl, just like the…..
I looked down at my hands to see the black jewel she was staring at. I retrieved it and her eyes returned to me.
"What can I help…"
"The keys"
"Oh," I reached into my pockets coming out of the daze I had been in.
"Here," I offered them and she took it with a slight bow turning back to her room but without a final glare at my hand where the jewel was.
The moment her doors closed I released a breath.
What was that? I had been woolgathering!
I never expected myself to be lost in her eyes just like the.… the jewel. I caressed it.
"Yes, indeed, her eyes were like the diamond," I muttered.
Jesus, Eugene!
I took one look finally at her door before I went back in.