Page 82 of Winterset
To my relief, her eyes lit up. “I would love to.”
In the drawing room, she led me to the corner where the chessboard was neatly stored. I set it on the small game table, trying to ignore the pang of self-doubt that tugged at me. It had been ages since I’d last played, and I was never particularly adept. The game had always been Damon’s strong suit, not mine. I should have suggested a different pastime.
We arranged the pieces, the familiar clinking of wood against wood filling the quiet room. Miss Lockwood went first, confidently advancing a pawn. I mirrored her move, though with far less conviction. With each turn, I felt more and more like a schoolboy fumbling through a lesson than a gentleman engaging in a friendly game. She captured my rook with ease, and my queen was left unprotected far too soon. My strategy, if it could even be called that, was quickly unraveling.
Miss Lockwood, ever gracious, did not comment on my missteps, but I noticed the way her gaze lingered on the board, her lips pursed in quiet observation. As she reached to move her next piece, she paused, herfingers hovering above a pawn. “Do you enjoy playing chess, Mr. Jennings?” she asked, her tone gentle but inquisitive.
“I ... don’t,” I said, feeling a tinge of embarrassment.
“So you suggested it because ... ?”
“I thought you might enjoy it,” I said sheepishly.
Miss Lockwood’s lips curled into a mischievous smile. “May I tell you a secret?” She leaned forward, motioning for me to do the same. “I don’t care to play chess either.”
Her candidness made me chuckle. “Then why did you agree?”
“Because I thoughtyouenjoyed the game.”
Relief washed over me, and I relaxed into my chair. “What a pair we are, Miss Lockwood. What games do you enjoy? Cards?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “Very much.”
“Shall we switch games, then?” I suggested.
She bit her lip.
“Unless you are tired,” I said.
“I’m not tired. Well, I am. But that’s not it. It’s just ...” She sighed and stood. “It will be easier if I show you.” She retrieved the playing cards from the cupboard and handed me the stack.
I glanced down at the cards. She’d painted them. Miniatures. “Who are they?” I asked.
“People I used to know. Their faces were starting to slip from my mind, and I didn’t want to lose them completely, so I used the last of my paint to create their images. I made sure the numbers and suits are still visible,” she said. “But I am sor—”
“Don’t apologize,” I stopped her. “I’m not upset. I’m impressed, by your talent and your ability to survive so long in isolation.”
Even in the flickering candlelight, I could see her cheeks flush. I indicated her vacant seat, and to my relief, she resumed it.
I spread the cards out on the table to look at her paintings. I recognized a few faces: the vicar and the baker, but most were unfamiliar. They were lovely. “How long did these take you to make?”
“About a month. I painted one or two a day. Once they were completed, it made playing patience much more fun. I imagined whichever person was on the card as though they were sitting across from me, and I felt less lonely.”
I could hardly bear to think of her sitting alone, painting the faces of the people in her town whom she planned never to see again. I stared down at the cards so Miss Lockwood could not see the emotions I was sure were written on my face.
“Do you have a favorite game?” she asked.
“Several,” I said, “but perhaps we shouldn’t play with these.” They were too precious. I gently stacked the cards and set them aside.
“Nonsense,” she reached for the deck. “They are just a few silly pictures. If you are worried about dirtying your hands, you needn’t. I used watercolor, so the paint cannot rub off. The pigment has soaked into the paper fibers.”
Thatwasn’t why I was worried. I did not want to ruin them. But Miss Lockwood’s eyes pleaded with me to agree to a game. To tell her through my actions that I wasn’t vexed. So I said, “I’m not particular. Do you have a favorite game?”
Her shoulders relaxed. “What about whist? Papa and I used to play it after meals.”
“I enjoy playing whist.” I carefully shuffled the cards. “My brother, best friend, and I used to play all the time before—”
“Before ... ?” Miss Lockwood prompted.
