The Hawk: Part Four

  Jane Renee was six months old right after the Aherns reconciled. That couple visited the Snyders on September fourteenth, not that Lynne threw Jane a party, although pie was served, custard too, so it felt like a celebration. Unstated was the biggest reason for the festive mood, although Jane traveled across the living room floor unaided. Yet, once having displayed her latest accomplishment, she spent the rest of the evening in her godparents’ arms, receiving bites of pie and custard to her feverish delight and Lynne’s slight annoyance. But to Lynne’ pleasure, Jane didn’t whine to nurse, collapsing against her Uncle Sam’s shoulder. Eric took Jane to bed, leaving four adults with the first quiet moment of the night.

  The conversation had been jovial until Jane’s absence; over a month had passed since the couples had seen each other all together, the last time being at the twins’ funeral. None of the Canfields had been mentioned that evening, but each knew the latest news; Fran was much improved, the children adjusting to the altered arrangements, which meant that no longer was their mother debilitated, at least not physically. None were certain to the state of her emotional health, but all would admit that Fran was a strong woman, her faith at the core of her being. Yet those sentiments remained unspoken as Eric settled on the sofa beside Lynne, Renee on the other side, and Sam in the recliner. The foursome glanced at each other, cracking their knuckles or fidgeting.

  Lynne wanted Eric to initiate the dialogue, but his last words with Sam had been quite heated, or the last words spoken by them alone. All night the Snyders and Aherns had made a point of not pairing off, watching Jane or standing together in the kitchen. Or they had been seated at the dining table, enjoyable chit-chat the rule. Lynne inhaled deeply, then her hand was clasped by Renee. Tears rested in the corners of Renee’s eyes and Lynne gripped back hard. “It’s so good to see you,” Lynne said softly.

  Yet it was Sam who spoke. “We feel the same. Sorry it’s taken me so long to….”

  “No apologies are necessary,” Eric smiled. “We’re just happy to share Jane’s latest adventures with someone in person. I think Stanford’s getting tired of hearing about it.”

  Sam grinned. “But not Laurie?”

  “Oh Laurie would listen all day, Agatha too. But I’m on her list right now, so she speaks mostly to Lynne.”

  “Why?” Renee said, trying to remain calm.

  “Well, the show’s scheduled for late November, sort of an odd time of year for new paintings to be revealed, but the whole exhibit will go to London in January, a fairly brief showing in New York relative to the last exhibits. We’re staying here but Agatha wants to see Jane. I told her we’d be there sometime in ’63, trying to make the peace.”

  “You nearly promised we’d be there in spring.” Lynne smiled, but inwardly she shivered. For Eric to make such a declaration was like tempting…. Lynne wasn’t sure if one actually tempted God, but no longer did she consider fate as an arbitrary twist of circumstance. Seth was going home next month; they had just learned that in Laurie’s latest letter. That Laurie had chosen to send that information via the post was also telling. While he loved hearing about Jane over the telephone, he hadn’t wished to speak about his cousin.

  “Well, spring in New York’s supposed to be pretty nice.” Sam smiled, but it seemed forced. Lynne wondered if that was due to the somewhat trivial nature of their conversation or if he too worried that Eric had pledged more than was appropriate.

  “Supposed to be,” Eric said, grasping Lynne’s hand. “I guess we’ll see.”

  No one responded and the silence grew awkward. Then Renee stood, excusing herself to the bathroom. She had been sniffling, the only sound to stir the air, but it had exacerbated the quiet, which had never before intruded between these couples. Yet, the Aherns had put their sorrows behind them, or most of the sadness. Lynne ached to know if they were again considering adoption, but she wouldn’t ask, for that was indeed too personal.

  Eric cleared his throat, then motioned toward the French doors. “So Sam, you never saw the painting I did of Jane and Marek. Wanna take a look?”

  Lynne wanted to observe Sam’s reaction. Instead she picked at invisible fluff on her skirt while Sam rustled in his chair. “Uh, well, sure. Shall we wait for Renee?”

  “The last time I made Renee go out to the garden, I could tell she wanted to kick me.” Eric stood, then smiled. “C’mon, before the light’s gone.”

  Now Lynne glanced up, finding Sam reluctantly moving to his feet. The men headed for the closed French doors, one of which still sported that newer glass pane. Eric hadn’t replaced those doors when the room was renovated, as if that single windowpane was a silent marker of their past. No longer did those memories make Lynne wince, but not because it had been over ten months since Eric had last altered form. Even if he changed again, Lynne was now a mother, and a Christian. And, God forbid, if something happened to derail a proposed trip to New York, perhaps it would hasten the truth being shared with another couple, then Lynne giggled. Laurie might be able to contemplate Eric as a hawk, but what would Stanford think?

  As Renee returned, Lynne was still chuckling. “What is it?” Renee asked, looking around. “Where’d the guys go?”

  “They went outside; Eric wanted to show Sam the painting of Jane and Pastor Jagucki.” Lynne joined Renee in the middle of the room, both women gazing toward the closed French doors. Then Renee walked that way, stopping right as she reached the exit. She gazed at the right door and Lynne wondered if she too was staring at that single pane.

  “I still see it, this one.” Renee pointed, then traced her fingers along the wood grain. “I see it every time I come over here, funny huh?”

  “I see it sometimes, not sure what that means.”

  “It means….” Renee shook her head, then turned back to Lynne. “Is it good, the painting?”

  “Oh yes.” Lynne smiled. “It’s beautiful actually, makes me want him to paint another of you and her. And of….” Lynne took a deep breath. “Of Laurie and Stanford with Jane. One of these days he’ll get those fellows to sit for a portrait.”

  Renee nodded, then gazed back to the French doors. “He’ll never get Sam to pose for him.”

  The words hung heavily, but Lynne wasn’t as convinced as Renee. “Well, let’s get the New Yorkers first, maybe Agatha too. If we go next spring, it’ll be for longer than a few days.”

  Renee faced Lynne. “How long?”

  “A month if Agatha and Laurie have their way.”

  Renee smiled. “A week if Stanford plans it.”

  “Well,” Lynne giggled, joining Renee at the doors. “A week in their apartment. Then we’d stay at Michael’s and maybe Agatha would invite us to her home.”

  “Stanford really does love Jane.” Renee sighed. “He can’t deny it, not that he wants a family, but he’s very fond of my goddaughter.”

  “He is.” Lynne noted the possessiveness in Renee’s voice. Had the couple decided not to adopt? “He hates admitting it, I think in part because he’s not close to his sisters’ children. Perhaps he feels a little guilty.”

  Renee looked at Lynne. “And the other part?”

  “He never imagined feeling that way. His life’s always been about work and Laurie, but not anything remotely paternal. I remember the first time I met him, he was….” She smiled. “He wasn’t contemptuous of me, but Eric was all that mattered. I don’t think he disregards women, but he doesn’t have much use for us either.”

  “No, I suppose he doesn’t. Are any of his artists female?”

  “No. I think his mother’s health has also changed his attitude. He loves her very much, probably the only woman he’s ever felt that strongly about. Now she’s, well, she can’t love him back. It’s terribly sad.” Then Lynne paused, for worse events had occurred.

  But Renee gripped Lynne’s hand. “I can’t imagine what that must be like, that she’s alive, but doesn’t know him, or her husband.” Renee gave a small gasp, squeezing Lynne’s hand with force. “Michael must be be
side himself.”

  “I do feel a little guilty that we’re not going out for the show. I know Jane would brighten his day.”

  “I’m surprised he didn’t come out with Laurie and Stanford.”

  “Constance’s health has worsened and I don’t think he felt comfortable being so far from home.”

  Renee released Lynne’s hand. “You haven’t said anything about that.”

  Lynne nodded. “We haven’t had much time to talk lately.”

  Renee grew teary, then again she grasped Lynne’s hand. “I thought it was over, I really did. I’m still surprised he took….” She inhaled deeply, then let it out in jerks. “He said he was sorry, but wouldn’t let me say those words. He still hasn’t. Every time I try, he….”

  Sobs formed between Renee’s words and she wept, then quickly composed herself. “I love him so much, I really do. And he loves me, I know he does, it’s just that sometimes he….”

  “Turns into someone else.”

  Renee smiled at Lynne. “I guess you know all about that, huh.”

  “Eric’s got a corner on the hawk market, but Sam has his own issues. We all do Renee. No one’s perfect.”

  Renee nodded, then smiled, which turned into laughter. “Good grief, you’re right.” Then she gazed through the French doors. “Where are they?”

  “Probably in the studio.”

  “Did he capture Pastor Jagucki’s eyes?”

  “Well, they’re brown.” Lynne smiled. “And Jane’s are still blue.”

  “Yes they are.” Then Renee gazed at Lynne. “But haven’t you noticed how, well, how brown they are? They’re like the richest chocolate, like the fields Eric painted of you, you know, in that first portrait.”

  Lynne chuckled. “That brown huh?”

  Renee nodded. “I’ve never seen eyes that brown, I mean, yours are dark, but his, they’re not black, but so deep. I wonder what happened to him over there.”

  Renee spoke as if she was lost in the past, making Lynne wonder what Sam had endured in Korea. Of course it wasn’t to the same scale as what Marek had suffered, although who was Lynne to judge? One man had lost his entire family while another had killed…. Lynne shivered, she had never considered Sam’s tangible actions in Korea, other than his injury. Yet, Sam hadn’t been an innocent bystander. Lynne shut her eyes, not wishing to think about this. She gripped Renee’s hand, then opened her eyes, finding Renee still gazing at the garden. “More coffee?” Lynne asked.

  “What, oh sure. Decaf, right?”

  “All we drink. Marek says he’s even grown to like it more than regular.”

  Renee smiled. “Well, as long as it’s hot enough, tastes all the same to me.”

  Lynne nodded, leading them into the kitchen.

  While Lynne started another pot of coffee, Eric watched Sam study the painting of Marek and Jane. Sometimes Eric thought of it as Jane and Marek, but from how Sam stared at the pastor, this was all about the person happily holding Eric’s daughter. Jane was a bystander in this canvas, even to her father. Would Eric ever see her as the primary focus again? Perhaps not. This piece would be titled Pastor and His Charge, not that Eric often labeled his paintings. Yet, this one had altered; Eric would never look at Jane first, but to a man who on canvas had the brownest eyes Eric had ever seen.

  Not even Lynne’s were this sumptuous, like majestic tree branches hanging high over the earth, or luscious fertile fields waiting to be sown. Eric had depicted Lynne’s hair in a similar fashion, but the hue he’d employed for Marek’s eyes was more opulent. Eric wondered if Sam would ask; of course he’d noticed, for he gazed right at Marek’s face. It was the face of a man having suffered tremendous heartache, but the only hint to it was in the depth of Marek’s cocoa-brown eyes.

  Sam stepped to the left, trying to take advantage of a new spot, but the light was nearly gone. Eric wondered if what Marek had endured was on par with Fran’s heartache, or the weight Sam still bore. Part of his anguish had been alleviated by Jane, Eric wouldn’t deny that. But Frannie’s losses had reignited some of Sam’s agony, or had reminded him of it, and maybe it was too wound within Sam to set aside, regardless of the joy new life had stirred. Jane’s birth was now balanced by two deaths, although the Aherns’ marriage hadn’t been lost. Eric had witnessed that all evening in how Sam was never more than a few feet from his wife, holding hands or their arms wrapped around each other. The Aherns had never been so demonstrative, but they had also never been so far apart. The man Eric had seen just nights ago was the man Sam had left in Korea, or who he’d thought he’d cut out upon his return home. But a person’s past was woven through them no matter how far they traveled away from it.

  Eric had painted the pastor’s eyes just as he saw them, a warm but intense brown that couldn’t hide what he had seen. Yet, even for the darkness of the shade, the sense was of healing, hope, goodness. Marek had encountered a horrific catastrophe, Eric had no doubt, but those events hadn’t tarnished his soul. They had enriched it, albeit over time. Eric supposed he was the same, not permitting his father’s brutality to ruin him, but he’d been so young, a child’s tender mind erasing the violence, retaining some necessary innocence. His mother had been a bastion of warmth and affection; Emma Snyder was the reason why Eric wasn’t a sociopath. Emma and Lynne and…. Eric smiled. “So Sam, whatdya see?”

  The sound reverberated throughout the studio, but Eric had spoken softly, keeping his voice light. He wondered if Lynne and Renee were discussing more than trivial matters; they probably were, but it had been brokered by words of a certain weight. Not that Renee would tell Lynne everything, that wasn’t necessary. But then the women hadn’t threatened to do each other bodily harm. Eric smiled, then crossed his arms over his chest. “Light’s just about gone, but I did wanna show you what’ll be the newest painting in the show.”

  Sam whipped around, staring at Eric. “You’re not selling it, are you?”

  Eric laughed. “Marek would have my head, Lynne too. No, once it finds its way back here, I’ll give it to him.” Eric pointed at the pastor. “He can do with it what he likes. When I sketched them, I was mostly concentrating on him because I know Jane’s face like I know her mother’s.” Or yours, Eric wanted to say. “When I started painting, it was about Jane, I guess that’s a father’s prerogative. But eventually it was about Marek. And now, looking at it again, it’s all about him. This might be the first and probably one of the only paintings that my daughter doesn’t get all my attention. But,” Eric chuckled, “we’ll keep that between us.”

  Sam nodded, but he was again distracted. Now he squinted at the painting, but it was nearly too dark to properly see. Eric would leave this in the studio, for he wanted to inspect it again in the morning. He wouldn’t see it for well over a year once it was packed with the rest and that made him a little sad. This painting and that of the orchard were two of his favorites and both would be missed. The nudes had been in storage since he’d completed them, plus most of them wouldn’t return. But this one, the blossoming trees, and of course Lynne on the stool; those Eric would be glad to see come home once they had been fully appreciated by all who cared to view them.

  When painting hawks, Eric had never been bothered if he retained those pictures, they were a means to an end, both in expunging his alterations and possibly earning back what he’d spent on supplies. When he first painted Lynne busy with her hobbies, he hadn’t expected those pieces to get too far away, and he’d felt the same when painting the nudes. Yet nearly all of those pictures were already out of his hands, even if some were merely yards away in the storage room. Of course he was very proprietary about those of Lynne heavily pregnant, and all of her with Jane would stay right on this property. Well, maybe in several years he might exhibit them, or perhaps he would still feel overly protective. Some paintings were highly prized by the artist, but not all.

  Not even the two abstract pieces in Minnesota; Eric had informed the Institute that even after Seth was discharged, they could keep
the canvases. The man with whom Eric had spoken was greatly relieved, noting how much patients admired them. Eric did wish for Marek to see them, but if that never happened, at least Marek was pleased with this portrait. He had hugged Eric, then patted his back, laughing that he had never seen himself portrayed so boldly.

  Eric didn’t think of his pastor with that adjective; Marek seemed at peace, yet the past lingered in his eyes. Perhaps that was what he’d meant, that Eric hadn’t shied away from hinting to the Pole’s youth. Marek’s English was superb, his accent not noting any particular European nation, but somehow his Polish heritage was present, or the waste and misery left behind on Polish soil. Concentration camps were mostly set in that country, as if Hitler thought he could conceal that evil. But Marek’s family hadn’t perished in a labor camp.

  To only Eric, the pastor had confided that his mother would have wept at the painting, that the last time he’d seen her was in their kitchen; she was sending him on an errand. Eric would never reveal this to Lynne, but it had been said as a kind of sacrifice, or perhaps more like an offering. Marek’s tone had been wistful, but not depressed, as he and Eric had stood in the sunroom while Lynne and Jane were upstairs. Fran had already lost the twins when Eric shared this painting with its main subject; perhaps that too had loosened Marek’s tongue.

  Sam sighed and Eric looked that man’s way. Sam’s hands were in his pockets, but he tapped his left foot not to any particular rhythm. Eric wondered if Sam and Renee had spoken about adoption, but perhaps it was too soon. They had only been reconciled for a brief time, yet, it seemed permanent. Sam had never been so affectionate toward Renee in the Snyders’ presence, and not until Jane had been put to bed had Sam shown any effect of the last month. Eric felt no awkwardness between himself and Sam, not even for how vociferous was their recent argument. Eric had actually put up his fists and he smiled, then chuckled. While human, he’d never possessed any violent capacity, but when provoked, perhaps it had been undeniable.

  “What?” Sam sighed, taking his hands from his pockets. He cracked his knuckles, then gazed at the dusky sky. “Guess we should go in, too dark to see anything now.”

  Eric nodded. “Our wives are probably wondering if we got lost out here.”

  Sam cleared his throat. “Thank you, I mean, I meant to say something earlier, but….” Sam put out his right hand. “Thanks for give me the what-for.”

  Eric grasped Sam’s hand, then clasped his other around it. “Anytime Ahern.”

  Sam chuckled as Eric released Sam’s hand. Sam looked at his palm, then at Eric. “Would you’ve really thrown a punch?”

  “Maybe. Probably would’ve broke my hand in the process. Then I never would’ve heard the end of it from Stanford.”

  “What about Lynne?”

  “Oh, she’d have told me I got what I deserved.” Eric laughed, thinking of the horror on Stanford’s face if he was ever informed. Eric flexed his right fingers, then backed away from Sam, swinging that arm several times in a circular motion. Then Eric cracked his knuckles. “That’s about the worst I can do, I think Stan flinches even when he hears me make the sound.”

  “Like money going down the drain.” Then Sam shook his head. “That was crass, I apologize.”

  “No, I mean, Stanford’s heart’s in the right place, but the bottom line isn’t too far from the point.”

  Before, the bottom line had been about earning enough to pay for supplies and perhaps to continue fixing the house. But now the bottom line was like a line in the sand, for what did money matter when it came to expressing the beauty of life? It was too dark for Eric to see Pastor Jagucki’s eyes, but he’d had to capture them, he couldn’t let that moment escape without being noted. Jane’s blue eyes were bright, but she was so little. Then Eric smiled. All evening, once she had proved her crawling abilities, she had rested in Sam or Renee’s grasp. And she’d been very happy to be in those loving arms, unlike how she now fought being toted by either of her parents. Mobility was a fascination, but more important was the people she hadn’t seen in ages, or what to her was a long time.

  “So, shall we?” Eric motioned to the studio door. “I bet there’s fresh coffee waiting.”

  Sam headed to where Eric had pointed. He stopped just shy of the threshold, turning back to the easel. “You’re pretty talented Eric. First that blue barn and now those….” Sam sighed, shaking his head. “A helluva lotta something in that right arm of yours.”

  “A lotta something’s right.” Eric gently patted his right elbow. “After you Sam.”

  “Oh yeah.” Sam exited the studio and Eric was on his heels. They said nothing returning to the house, where warm diffused light illuminated the patio. Sam stepped in first and Eric followed, the gentle laughter of women stirring Sam’s chuckles. As Eric closed the French door, he caught the light’s reflection glittering on the ground. In a hearty tenor Sam spoke to his wife while Eric gazed into the darkness. Lynne stepped to his side and he smiled, then kissed her. Then they joined the Aherns who were still speaking in jovial tones as if the events of last month had never occurred.

  Chapter 75