Page 229 of The Seven Rings
Halfway down the hall, he heard her on the stairs.
“She’s coming now,” he called back, and waited for her.
He saw the painting she carried; he saw the tears.
“Astrid,” she said as he went to her. “It’s Astrid.”
He laid a hand on her damp cheek. “Here, let me take her.”
“I felt I needed to go up. Felt I needed to look.” Another tear spilled as Cleo and Owen came out of the kitchen trailed by the dogs and Pye. “It’s Astrid.”
Cleo put an arm around her. “Let’s take her into the music room.”
“They painted her together. The signatures… The mirror. It had to be.”
Cleo’s arm tightened around Sonya when Trey set the portrait against the wall. “She’s only more beautiful because they did.”
“She’s standing facing the house, back to the sea, but the angle’s more like how you painted her, Cleo. We have to get your painting.”
“I’ll get it.” Owen started out.
“Hold it by the edges. It still needs drying time.”
“I’m not sad.” With a quiet sigh, Sonya swiped at tears. “Just emotional. I know we’ve waited for this. For her. So it’s a relief to have that wait over. Knowing they painted her together? It’s just… My heart’s so full. Then there’s the bookend. When we hang her, will that open some door, turn a key in some lock? Or not?”
“It’s going to matter.” Turning from the portrait, Trey took Sonya’s hand. “We’re about to find out how. You want Cleo’s painting on the wall facing them. I’ll take that art down.”
As he did, Owen carried Cleo’s painting in, and nodded toward the wall. “That’s where you want them, right?”
“Yes, but not until Astrid’s up. She should come first. Sorry.” Cleo shoved at her hair. “I should’ve gone for the hammer, the hook. I couldn’t stop looking at her.”
“I’ll get them.”
As Trey went out, Owen yanked tissues out of his pocket. “Here, I brought these down. Figured you could use them.”
“Thanks.”
He pulled some out of his other pocket, handed them to Cleo.
“In case. Another beauty,” he said, studying the portrait. “I’m going to say, she doesn’t look as regal as she does in the big one in the foyer. More, I don’t know, approachable.”
“You’re right.” Cleo tucked the tissues in her own pocket. In case. “I like that she’s facing the manor, where she should have been mistress. They’re all painted with such skill, such wonderful detail. And more.”
“With love,” Sonya finished. “There’s love in the brushstrokes.”
When Trey came back, they measured, they marked. They nailed in the hanger.
“It’s for you, cutie. You put her in place.”
“Okay.” She gripped her hands together first. “Here goes.”
She lifted the painting, positioned it.
“Might need a little help with getting the wire on the hook.”
“I’ve got you.” Moving to her, with one hand on her shoulder, Trey reached behind the framed portrait to slide the wire on. “She’s secure.”
Sonya didn’t hold her breath because it was already trapped in her lungs as she looked into Astrid’s eyes, adjusted the painting as Cleo instructed.
