Page 113 of Hometown Girl
“She’s a sensational artist. You’d like her. We’re going to turn her barn into an art barn. Host community art events.”
“Herbarn?” Beth did a slow turn toward Drew, as if to ask for help, but he stood, hands in pockets, with a confused look on his face. So much for being invested in Fairwind. So much for being invested inher.
“I told her she could stay,” Molly said. The slight lift in her chin told Beth her sister had just issued a challenge. And this one was even worse than making her confess she was wrong.
This one was crossing a line.
Birdie set the box on a nearby table. “So sorry we’re meeting under tense circumstances,” she said as she approached Beth. “I understand you’re an artist too?” Her singsong voice trilled through the tight air.
Birdie took both of Beth’s hands in her own and led her over to the box of artwork. “Perhaps you can tell me what you think of my work?”
Beth swallowed, her mouth dry. “I’m sorry, I need to talk to my sister.”
“Of course.”
Beth turned, but Molly and Drew had both gone. She faced Birdie. “Molly and I will have to discuss the terms of your agreement with us. My sister likes to make decisions she’s not really capable of.”
“Of course, dear.” Birdie picked up a canvas. “Do you like this one?”
Beth looked down at the painted flowers covering the canvas. Rich, bold colors melded together like a garden, deep with unspoken emotions, the kind that couldn’t be talked about, only painted. Somehow, it moved her. “I like it very much.”
Birdie stilled. “Flowers have such strength, don’t they?”
Beth found kindness waiting in Birdie’s eyes. “I’ve never thought so.”
“Those are gladiolus. They’re known as sword lilies. Tell me there’s something stronger than a gladiator flower.”
Beth knit her brow. “I don’t think that’s what it means.”
“Look it up, smarty.” Birdie took the canvas. “You’re not a flower girl, I can tell.”
Beth crossed her arms over her chest. “What makes you say that?”
“I’ve seen you in the garden.” Birdie picked up another canvas, this one covered with deep-red poppies.
“I guess I don’t have much of a green thumb.”
Birdie let out a deep laugh. “No, you certainly don’t.”
Beth turned away. She’d thought she’d been doing a good job in the garden. Drew had probably gone behind her, making sure those plants grew.
Birdie peered at her over a pair of gold-rimmed reading glasses on a long gold chain. “What is it you’re hoping to prove with all that work?” She stepped closer. “What is it you need?”
Beth inched away, but Birdie wouldn’t let her off the hook.
Under other circumstances, Beth would’ve called security to remove an unwanted nuisance, but when she met the old woman’s eyes, something told her Birdie wasn’t asking to be nosy.
But then, sometimes people asked questions they already knew the answers to. Birdie sat in the chair beside the table and pulled on Beth’s arm until she sat beside her.
“I’ve seen you down here, running around with your clipboard and your cell phone, trying to make sense of a world that doesn’t make sense to you. I can’t help but wonder what you hope all that work will accomplish.” Birdie waved a stray hair out of her eye, the sound of jangling bracelets filling the barn.
Beth pressed her lips together. “We can’t reopen the farm without all that work.” Wasn’t that obvious? Did she dare point out that some days she felt like the only one with any sense of urgency around here?
“Yes. That’s true. Hard work is an important thing.” She paused. “But it’s not the only thing.”
“Well, of course it’s not.”
Birdie raised an eyebrow. “This farm was built slowly and with a whole lot of love. Do you even take time to enjoy any of it?”
