life.” Sophie kissed her forefinger and laid it on the picture.
Filly had boiled two dozen eggs to decorate after supper and had given five to each person in the group except for Arty, who only got four. Oil had always been Emma’s choice of painting medium, but painting a little yellow chicken on an Easter egg with fast-drying acrylics was a lot of fun. She felt a lot like the little peep with its soft yellow down and wide eyes. Even with the obstacles ahead of her in overcoming the ordeal she’d gone through, she had made a start that day. She had popped out of the confinements of the egg and was now holding a paintbrush. She was making her own place in the little artist group—and that made her happy.
“Why do I get cheated?” Arty asked.
“Because you hate to paint,” Filly told him, “but you do like to cook, and that ham tonight was delicious.”
“So was the coconut cake,” Sophie told Filly.
“Thank you,” Arty and Filly said in unison.
“Now, do something spectacular on your four eggs,” Filly fussed at him.
“You want to see artwork?” Arty smarted off. “When I get done with my eggs, you won’t even want to peel them for deviling when we get done hunting them.”
“Show, don’t tell,” Filly told him.
Arty dipped his first egg in warm wax and then picked up a small tool that Emma had only seen used for picking out nuts. He carved an intricate lizard on the egg and then dipped it in purple dye. “What do you think of this, Miz Em?” he asked.
“Oh. My. Gosh! Look, Sophie! He’s made our purple lizard,” Emma squealed.
“What’s this about a purple lizard?” Arty asked. “I just did that to get a rise out of Filly.”
“You old fart!” Filly slapped the air at him.
“Emma and I spent hours coloring in books when we were little girls,” Sophie explained. “One day, she made a calico kitten that was perfectly right, and I colored a lizard purple.”
“And I told her that lizards weren’t that color,” Emma butted in. “She told me that artists could do whatever they wanted.”
“That’s right.” Filly glued colored stones on her pink egg. “Artists have the rule of the world. We can do whatever we want. If people like it, that’s great. If they don’t, that’s their problem.”
“Speaking of artists and their rights, Em painted today. She did an amazing picture that y’all have got to see,” Sophie said, and then glanced over at Emma. “Is it all right if I show them your painting?”
As usual when she was nervous, Emma’s hands began to tremble. Living with her mother had taught her early in life to read people by their body language and expressions. She would know if Arty and Filly thought her work was crap, and she wasn’t ready for that. If she was ever going to sell her work so that she could be independent, then she had to learn to accept criticism, constructive or otherwise. “Sure, but it’s not dry yet,” she finally said.
“No problem,” Sophie said and jogged from the table to the trailer. In minutes she was back with the small painting in her hands. She laid it down, and everyone leaned in for a closer look.
Emma sat on her hands, determined not to start wringing them. Everyone stared at the small picture for what seemed like an eternity. She was sure that they were trying to figure out a way to tell her that it was childish—nothing more than a coloring book painting that any six-year-old could have done.
“That’s about the most powerful picture I’ve ever seen,” Filly said. “It tells a story of a lost soul coming out of the dark and into the light. That dewdrop is a nice touch, and the sunlight reflecting off the butterfly wings is breathtaking with all those dark clouds back behind it. You need to make more of these, Em.”
The weight on Emma’s heart crumbled into tiny pieces. If Nancy had asked her how she felt, she would have said, “Like the darkness is gone.”
“Sneaking the word hope into the wings is the crowning glory,” Arty said. “You should put that word into all your paintings to mark them as yours. Folks will go crazy to own a hope painting by MM.”
“I didn’t see it, but I do now. That makes it even more amazing.” Filly kept staring at it.
“And the MM, for Em Merrill, is a great way to sign your work, but I’m wondering