Romancing the Rogue (72 page)

On Monday afternoon,
Charlie returned to
his
spot on the Boardwalk as soon as
he
and Connor finished their deliveries.
To replenish his inventory from the previous week
,
h
e
’
d spent the weekend using almost every spare moment to paint.
A
few other small canvases from his New York days
rounded out his supply
. But without customers, the time crept by.

He was about to give up for the day when things suddenly improved.

“
Good afternoon, Mr. Brannigan
.
”
Rose app
eared at his side, dressed
in a neatly pressed suit. Her hair had been artfully arranged, waved in front and tied back into a tidy bun. She looked as lovely as the actresses he
’
d seen in the cinema.

“
Good afternoon, Miss Sheffield. It
’
s
nice
to see you again.
”

“
Likewise. I
’
ve been hunting for a new job — unsuccessfully — and I
’
d hoped you would need my wrapping services again today, but it seems the customers have stayed home. Perhaps the dark skies are keeping people indoors.
”

“
Dark skies? I hadn
’
t noticed.
”
Charlie found it difficult to notice anything other than her. Those wide gray eyes focused on him, lifting his spirits as nothing else had in several years. Eyes shining with intelligence, with purpose, and…

“
I think it
’
s going to rain any minute.
”

Just as she spoke, the first drop splashed on his nose. He looked up, surprised to see the dark clouds above him. Only a few minutes
earlier
the skies had been bright and clear. But
Mother Nature had changed her mind
, and now he needed to pack his boxes and hurry home.

“
Please, help me load everything in the crates. I
’
m going to have to pedal hard and fast to get these home before they
’
re ruined.
”

Working together, the job took only a few minutes. But that was long enough for the sprinkle to become a downpour. Rose untied a scarf from her neck and put it over Charlie
’
s top crate.

“
Let
’
s take these to my house. It
’
s only a few streets north of here. Follow me.
”

I
t was Charlie
’
s turn to do as he was told. He walked his bike behind her, thankful for Rose
’
s long stride. In just a few moments their route took them to a wide
,
tree-lined street. The thick branches and broad leaves overhead shielded him and his cargo from the rain.
Still
,
he was relieved when
she stopped at the first home off the
B
oardwalk
. After opening the front door
,
she turned back to Charlie
’
s bike
and took one of the crates down.

“
Let
’
s bring these inside where they can dry out.
”

Onc
e inside, Charlie noted the crystal
chandelier in the foyer
. The lofty ceilings, the grand staircase, the fine woodwork, and elegant furnishings all spoke of a quiet wealth. It was not a home for a working class girl like Rose.

“
Nice house. Are you renting rooms here?
”

“
No I — that is, Mother and I — inherited it.
”

She
owns this house. No wonder
she
looks and speaks so well. But why would a woman with a house like this need to work?

“
Oh, how nice for you
,
”
he said.
“
Where would you like me to put these?
”

“
Let
’
s bring them into the sitting room so we can find out if anything was ruined.
”

Careful to wipe his shoes dry on the thick wool rug, he entered the house and followed Rose into a sitting room. The furnishings here were just as elegant as those in the foyer, but a bit older.

A tiny woman perched on a brocade-covered wing chair near the window
.
She held a
n embroidery hoop in one hand and a needle in the other. But she set them down as soon as she saw Rose and Charlie.

“
Rose dear, I
’
m so glad you made it home in this awful weather! And who is this young man?
”

“
Mother, allow me to present Mr. Charlie Brannigan, the artist who asked me to assist him yesterday. Charlie, this is my mother, Mrs. Lily Sheffield.
”
Turning back to Lily, she explained,
“
W
e brought
Charlie
’
s
paintings here to get them out of the rain.
”

“
Of course. Please set them down. We probably ought to spread them out on the floor, don
’
t you think? Let me help.
”
She rose gracefully, and Charlie couldn
’
t help comparing
the
fragile woman to his own sturdy mother.

The three of them worked to lay the canvases out. A few would need touching up, but most of them had survived, thanks to Rose
’
s quick thinking. Her soggy scarf lay draped over the room heater.

When the paintings were spread out and inspected,
t
he three of them had tea, along with some
tasty
cookies.
Charlie couldn
’
t remember the last time he
’
d
partaken of afternoon tea and sat back to observe Rose and her mother.

“
I hope your canvases aren
’
t ruined, Mr. Brannigan,
”
Lily said.
“
You do such fine work. Have you ever had a showing at the Bostwick Gallery in Manhattan?
”

“
Yes,
m
a
’
am. Are you associated with the gallery?
”

“
Not personally. But Gloria Bostwick is a good friend of mine. Well, she
—
she
was
a friend.
”
Lily
’
s
face fell, and Charlie wondered what had happened to the friendship.
She
drew herself together and smiled.
“
You
’
re obviously
accomplished
.
Too
talented
to have to display your work in an open air stall.
”

“
Times are rough, Mrs. Sheffield.
One
does what
one
must. And right now I have to help my family out. I
’
ve had a little bit of success
at
that spot on the Boardwalk, but it would be nice to have a place under a roof.
”

“
Why don
’
t you sell them
here?
”
Lily asked.

“
Here?
In your house?
”

“
Of course. Rose and I don
’
t need this much room to ourselves. A long time ago
,
Arthur and I did a lot of entertaining, but those days are gone. We
’
ve got this room
,
”
s
he
said,
wav
ing
her arms around
.
“
A
nd
there
’
s
the music room—
”
She gestured to her left
.
“
—and the dining room hasn
’
t been used in years. We have lots of wall space to hang your paintings.
”

“
You wouldn
’
t mind having strangers traipsing through the house to look at them?
”

“
Heavens, no.
P
eople looking for artwork aren
’
t going to be riff-raff. It would be nice to have refined company again.
”

~~~~

The rain stopped
almost as quickly as it had come, and Charlie pedaled back to his home. The still-damp canvases were left spread out on the Sheffield
’
s sitting room floor, and he promised to pick them up the following day.

After he left, Rose mulled over her mother
’
s idea of displaying his
paintings
in the
ir
house. Would people come to see them?
If they were
indoors
,
they wouldn
’
t be ruined by the weather. And Charlie wouldn
’
t have to transport them on his bicycle, so he could have more on display. She took a closer look
around her
. Charlie
’
s landscapes would look lovely
on
the parlor
walls
. They
’
d give the place a nice, comforting touch. And if visitors saw how wonderful they looked framed and displayed
,
perhaps it would entice them to buy.

Was it possible? If
the
house
could be turned
into a real art gallery and a viable business,
she
wouldn
’
t have to worry about finding another job and being away from Mother all day. And if the venture proved successful, perhaps they wouldn
’
t have to rent
out
rooms.

Lily must have been thinking about it
,
too.

“
I hope that nice Mr. Brannigan considers our offer to show his paintings here,
”
she said over dinner.
“
Of course, if we
’
re
to
open the house
to
patrons, we
’
d have to spruce it up a bit. I
’
ll do some extra dusting tomorrow. And perhaps we should
wash
those curtains. They seem a little dingy, don
’
t they?
”

“
Perhaps. And I should
clean
the windows behind them. I haven
’
t done that in awhile.
”

“
It
’
s so difficult to
remember
all these details. How in the world did Etta
keep up
with it all?
”

“
Miss Etta had help. She didn
’
t do it all herself
.
S
he oversaw the people who actually did the cleaning.
”

“
Really? Is that why we needed all those young girls?
”

Rose suppressed a sigh.

~~~~

Charlie trudged to
the Grady home and searched for the best angle to illustrate the structure. It was an older home built for a large family, and the Gradys had filled it to overflowing. The Brannigan siblings had grown up with the Grady children, and
together they
’
d
celebrate
d
life events and mourn
ed
losses. And now the
Gradys
might have to leave. The thought left a sour taste in his mouth, and Charlie wondered how
he
would feel if the situation applied to him. A few years ago
,
he
couldn
’
t wait to
get away from Wildwood
.
As
an up
-
and
-
coming artist
, he
’
d
been
on
track for
fame and fortune in New York.
He
’
d left
the
small working class village and never thought
he
’
d
return other than to visit
.

And now…
now he was here again.
Back
to
his
roots.
Back
with
his
family. And he couldn
’
t imagine not being here.

He sketched quickly, as he knew the Grady home almost as well as he knew his own. The tall, straight walls. The steep pitched roofs that had guarded the house against ocean breezes and winter storms. The windows that had let the light in and children
’
s laughter out. So many times
,
he and Connor had leaned out of their upstairs bedroom windows
to exchange
g
reetings and mak
e plans with the Grady boys.

But times and circumstances create change. Some were pleasant. Others were difficult to bear. Now, instead of facing each day eagerly anticipating what it had in store for him, he awakened wondering what hardships
he
would have to endure before it was over.

Charlie
filled in some of the structural details as
he
pondered the
difference
in his outlook. What had caused it? Was it the financial changes
—
the economy? Or
had
he
just grow
n
up, as his mother would say?

Finishing up, he returned to his house
—
his
mother
’
s house, he reminded himself
—
and prepared for bed. Tomorrow would be another early morning delivering newspapers.

His
last thought was
of
the pretty gray-eyed lady from the Boardwalk. Rose. Was she really his Lady Luck? If she hadn
’
t appeared at just the right time, several of
his
paintings would have been ruined. Perhaps her mother
’
s suggestion of displaying the
m
in the Sheffield home was a good one. That way, Rose would always be there.

The thought left a warm feeling in
his
heart.