Page 79 of Winterset
“What are you working on?” I asked, and when he looked up, I indicated his notebook.
“Oh, it’s nothing. Just a poem.”
“You are a poet?”
“Hardly. My poems are terrible. I write only for enjoyment.”
“Like my art.”
He gave me a pointed look. “Notlike your art. I have seen your sketches, Miss Lockwood. And they are very good.”
I could tell by the off-handed way he’d delivered the compliment that he hadn’t said it to flatter me, but it unsettled me all the same. He’d seen something personal, somethingI’dnot shown him, and it made me uncomfortable. I supposed that made me hypocritical, but I couldn’t help it.
“Would you read me one of your poems?” I asked.
He hesitated.
“You have seen my art,” I reminded him. “It feels only fair.”
“All right.” He pushed the notebook to me. “But remember I warned you.”
I glanced down at his notebook and read:
A teapot’s hat was much too small
And did a jig upon the wall,
Where saucers hummed a merry tune,
As if they were the size of moons.
I looked at Charlie again.
“Mr. Jennings is right; your eyesareexpressive.” He chuckled. “I told you my poems were terrible.”
I should probably have felt embarrassed for not hiding my thoughts better, but Mr. Jennings had told his valet my eyes were expressive? The thought made me smile.
I swallowed down my glee with a sip of my chocolate. “No, no. It is a well-written poem. I like the cadence. I’m not sure I understand it.” How did teapots jig upon the wall? And what made singing saucers the size of moons?
“Thatis because it does not make any sense.” Charlie smiled. “I write whatever comes to mind and move on. It’s a terrible poem but a fun exercise. Would you like to try it?”
“I’m not much of a writer.”
“I meant with drawing.” He handed me the pencil.
I glanced down at the notebook and ran my hand over the blank page. It had been so long since I’d had plain paper to draw on.
“You have ten seconds. Don’t think, just draw. Ready?” He indicated his notebook with a nod. “Begin.”
I lowered the pencil to the page and drew the first thing that came to mind. As luck would have it, a gentleman’s top hat. A very poorly proportioned one.
I laughed and showed Charlie.
“Interesting.”
“I know.” I grimaced. “It’s terrible.”
“That is not why I find it interesting. This looks like one of Mr. Jennings’s toppers.”
