Big Lies in a Small Town - Diane Chamberlain Page 0,43

ready to start the cartoon—assuming of course, that the Section gave her the go-ahead. The cartoon paper she’d ordered had already arrived and she hoped she’d have the chance to use it.

“You’re so talented!” Pauline actually gasped, as though she hadn’t expected Anna to be so skilled.

“Very impressive,” Karl said.

“I told you,” Miss Myrtle chided them. “She’s a genuine artist, our Anna.” Our Anna. The words touched her. Made her eyes sting.

“I was worried about making the Tea Party the main subject,” she said, “but—”

“Oh, it must be the main subject!” Pauline said. “Of course it has to be.”

“Look at how well she drew the women’s faces,” Miss Myrtle said.

“They’ll be better when I can work from models,” Anna said. She personally thought the dresses were the most beautiful part of the painting. So colorful, and she thought she had a penchant for painting fabric that looked so realistic you wanted to run your fingers over it. In the lower right-hand corner, she’d painted a line of homes from the Cotton Mill Village, with the mill itself behind them, and the wispy cotton caught in the branches of the trees. On the upper right-hand side, she’d sketched a colored woman holding up her apron full of peanuts. On the upper left, a fishing boat, the fishermen quite indistinct as they hauled in nets of herring. And in the lower left-hand corner stood a lumberman, ax in hand, green trees behind him.

“The peanut lady is my favorite,” Karl said.

“Well, I like the handsome lumberjack,” Pauline teased him.

Karl didn’t rise to her bait. “It’s all quite wonderful, Anna,” he said instead. “That is the bottom line.”

Anna glowed. She could imagine the final painting filling the post office wall.

“When you go to Norfolk to pick up your supplies,” Pauline said, “I’d be happy to go with you, if you’d like some company.”

“That would be lovely,” Anna said, pleased by the offer. It had been a long time since she’d had a girlfriend to chat with.

They finished the evening with tea and slices of fruitcake that Freda had made, and as they ate together, Anna felt contentment wash over her. Such a rare emotion for her these days. She would be on pins and needles for the next couple of weeks as she waited to hear from the Section, but for tonight, she would bask in the joy of having new friends, a lovely place to live, and the sense of accomplishment that came with knowing she’d created something “quite wonderful.”

Chapter 17

MORGAN

June 16, 2018

At Oliver’s direction and with some help from Wyatt, I hung lengths of twine both horizontally and vertically across the stretcher to divide the mural into roughly seventy-two square-foot segments. “So you’ll know where you cleaned,” Oliver said. I balanced on a ladder and started in the upper left-hand corner using the cotton-wrapped dowel Wyatt had whittled to a point for me. “If you come to any flaking, clean around it and mark where it is,” Oliver added. “Take your time.”

Time, I thought. The one thing I didn’t have.

From the other rooms of the gallery came the sounds of hammering and buzzing saws, and I put in my earbuds, turned my phone to the Spotify Top Hits playlist, and lost myself in the music as I worked. People didn’t appreciate how lucky they were to be able to listen to music any time they wanted. I felt nearly overcome by the thought. People didn’t appreciate their freedom, that was all there was to it. I was never going back in that hellhole.

Cleaning the paint with the cotton-wrapped dowel was slow going, but I discovered I liked the work. Nodding my head to the music in my ears, I cleaned the squares, inch by inch. I was cautious not to disturb any paint that might be loose, and I could instantly see the difference I was making. When I finished the first square, I climbed down the ladder, my shoulders already aching, and was stunned to look up and see the vibrancy I’d revealed, despite the fact that there wasn’t much going on in that corner of the painting. The ship Anna had painted there was still covered with grime, but the sky above it was now a pretty—though mildly abraded in spots—gray-blue. I smiled to myself. When was the last time I’d felt satisfaction in something I’d done? When was the last time I’d felt that shudder of genuine joy? Crazy that one square foot of a clean painting could make