The Shadow Portrait (36 page)

Avis Warwick sat listlessly in her wheelchair staring out the window. The spring of 1908 had been mild, and now as June was ending she knew hotter days lay ahead. The large window was open, and from where she sat she could watch as a group of sparrows scuffled in the dust for the bread crumbs that Jolie had thrown out for them. It was a furious affair, much like a small war, and Avis murmured, “If birds in their nest agree . . .”

Jolie moved around the room, casting a glance at Avis from time to time. She was aware that Avis was more depressed than usual, and finally she came over and sat down. “Would you like for me to play some of the new music that Peter brought, Avis?”

“I don’t think so.”

Jolie brushed her hair back where it had fallen over her forehead and tried to think of something to keep her charge amused. It was difficult, for of late Avis had been so despondent that she could not even seem to take enjoyment in abusing her. For Jolie it was a victory. She had come to Avis’s house filled with jealousy and dislike, but as the days had passed, the Lord had replaced this with a compassion she knew did not come from her own spirit. Now she sat there and studied Avis, trying to read the expression on the older woman’s face. In one sense it was difficult to tell that Avis had been hurt, for she sat upright in the chair and wore an attractive pearl gray dress with lace at the sleeves. Her hair was well fixed, the product of Jolie’s handiwork, for Jolie had become something of an expert hairdresser, at least with Avis. But it was in the dull eyes and the tightness of the mouth that Jolie was able to read the unhappiness in Avis’s heart. Jolie had prayed daily for her, and now she said, “It was a wonderful service yesterday. Reverend Barney Winslow preached at Brother Camrose’s church.”

She waited for Avis to cut her off as she usually did whenever
Jolie tried to introduce any sort of talk of God, but Avis for once merely said, “Is that right?”

Encouraged, Jolie went on to describe the service and ended by saying, “I think George Camrose is an unusual preacher. He’s very talented, you know, and I think he would have been successful at anything he had chosen to do.”

“I suppose his parents are disappointed in him because he didn’t become a successful businessman or professional man.”

“His father isn’t living, but his mother’s very proud of him,” Jolie said. “And, of course, Mary Ann thinks he’s the only man in the world. I’ve never seen a young woman so in love with a man.”

“From what I hear, her father will put a stop to that!”

“I’m sure he’ll try,” Jolie shrugged. “He’s already alienated one of his sons.” Jolie had been proud of Clinton Lanier for the stand he had made, and now she spoke of her admiration of him and George Camrose warmly.

“Clinton is giving up everything. And as for Reverend Camrose, I don’t know much about Africa,” Avis said, “but it’s bound to be a dirty, hard life.”

“I don’t think circumstances are the most important thing in the world, Avis. I’ve been reading a book. It’s written by a man called William Law. He was a minister back about 1720.” She reached into her apron and pulled out a very small book. “It’s called
A Serious Call to Holy Living.
”

“Sounds terribly boring. Just the sort of thing you’d like, I suppose.”

“I think you might find some of it interesting. Can I read some of it to you?”

“Go ahead. Not likely that I’m going to get into ‘holy living’.”

“Well, Law is talking about the things of the world, and he says, ‘Another possible objection to rules for holy living is that so many things in this world are good. Created by God, they should be used; but following strict guidelines limits our enjoyment of them.’ ”

“I don’t understand that,” Avis remarked. Her interest in religious things was almost nonexistent, but she was bored and said, “Isn’t he saying that God put good things in the world and we ought to enjoy them? Well, I’ll agree with that.”

“Yes, that’s what he says, but listen to this: ‘Suppose a person without knowledge of our world is placed alone with bread, wine, gold dust, iron chains, and gravel. He has no ability through his senses to use those items properly. Being thirsty he puts wine in his ear. Hungry he fills his mouth with gravel. Cold he covers himself with chain. Tired he sits on his bread. This person will vainly torment himself while he lives blinded with dust, choked with gravel, and burdened with chains.’ ”

Avis was an intelligent woman and the imagination of the writer had caught her attention. “I never heard of anything like that,” she murmured. “What does it all mean?”

“Well, Law then says: ‘Suppose some benevolent being would come and instruct him in the proper use of those materials, warning him that other uses of those materials would either be profitless or harmful. Could anyone believe that those strict guidelines would make his life miserable?’ ”

Jolie leaned forward and said, “What William Law is saying is that Christianity teaches us how to properly use the world. It teaches us what’s right about food, drink, and clothing, and things like that. And if we learn that, we can expect no more from them than they can properly provide. But if we don’t, we’re like the man who stuffs himself with gravel.”

Avis sat very still. For some time she had been thinking about her past life, and now that it had been taken away from her—all of those “good” things had been removed. She had, for the first time, been able to see what her life had been. Somehow the words that Jolie read went deep into her spirit.

“I see what you mean, Jolie,” she said slowly. “That gold isn’t either good or bad. It’s what you do with it that counts.”

“That’s right,” Jolie replied eagerly. “And that’s true with many other things. Alcohol for example. It has a use medically,
but if it’s misused it leads to drunkenness and that’s wrong. So Christianity teaches us how to use the world.”

Jolie continued to speak for some time, expecting at any moment for Avis to interrupt or turn away. But this time was different. Avis was listening carefully, and finally Jolie said, “That’s what Christianity is for me. It teaches me that there’s going to be glory for those who don’t blind themselves with gold dust, or eat gravel, or load themselves with chains. It calls us to a holy life. I know that sounds boring to those who don’t really know about it, but the most happy people I’ve known have been those who were seeking after God and finding Him.”

Avis kept her eyes fixed on the younger woman’s face, and finally she murmured, “It may be so.” Then she abruptly changed the subject, a habit with her. “You’re in love with Peter Winslow, aren’t you?”

Jolie’s face reddened. “I like him a lot,” she said. “He’s been a good friend to me.”

Avis listened but seemed not to hear the words. She said, “Tell Peter I want to see him.” It was the first time she had sent for Peter, and Jolie could not imagine what was going on inside Avis’s mind.

“All right,” she said, getting up. “I’ll go by his place tonight and tell him to come by.”

Jolie delivered Avis’s message, and Peter came right away. He stayed with her for only a short time, and when he left he seemed preoccupied and strangely excited. He stopped long enough to say, “I’ll be seeing you soon, Jolie.”

“You’re leaving now? Why, you hardly stayed half an hour.”

“Well, I’ve got an errand to run.” There was something mysterious about Peter’s attitude. He was not good at keeping secrets, and Jolie demanded, “What are you up to, Peter?” She was afraid he would do something foolish as far as Avis was concerned, but he said nothing, just grinned and left.

The next day Jolie was in the kitchen preparing lunch when Peter suddenly burst in. She looked up from the potato she was peeling and saw that his face was suffused with excitement.

“Get your coat on, Jolie! We’re going places!”

Staring at Peter, Jolie exclaimed, “What are you talking about?”

“No time for questions!” Coming up to her, he reached behind her, undid her apron, and then pulled it off as she stared at him and protested. “For once in your life try not to be stubborn,” Peter said. His hazel eyes were filled with a happy excitement, and his auburn hair was wild as if he had been running his hand through it, a habit he had when he was excited. “Come on. We’ve got business, you and I.”

Protesting all the way, Jolie could not withstand Peter’s forcefulness. She soon found herself outside, where he put her into a hansom cab and then climbed in beside her. Jolie had listened but could not hear the instructions he gave to the driver. When Peter settled back, she demanded, “What are you doing, Peter? You’re acting like a crazy man!”

“Well, I think I am a little bit, but a woman likes a man to be mysterious. I read that somewhere in a book.”

“Well, I don’t like it,” Jolie frowned. “There’s nothing wrong, is there, Peter? Is Easy all right?”

“Finer than frog hair,” Peter said breezily. “Now, just sit back and relax. This is going to be a day you’ll remember as long as you live.”

Totally mystified, Jolie sat back, and the clicking of the horses’ hooves beat out a staccato rhythm as they moved down the street. She kept looking out of the window, trying to get some idea of the destination, but all she saw was that they were in the downtown part of the city. Finally they turned off on Sixteenth Street, and the hansom pulled in beside a three-story red-brick building.

Peter jumped out, came around, and handed some bills up to the driver, then reached up and helped Jolie as she stepped down.

“Come along,” he said. He laughed at the expression on her face. “I like being a mystery man. It gives me some kind of authority over you. You’ve never respected me like you should have,” he said, winking at her.

“Peter, what is this place?” Jolie looked up at the signs on the wall, which mostly named lawyers and doctors. Peter did not give her the satisfaction of a reply. They walked inside, and he held firmly to her arm as they climbed to the second floor. He moved down the hall and stopped before a door that read, “Dr. Fritz Leibnez, Surgeon.”

Opening the door, Peter stepped in, and keeping his hand on Jolie’s arm, he smiled at the young woman who sat behind a desk. “Miss Jolie Devorak is here for her appointment with the doctor.”

“Oh yes! You may go right in. You’re right on time.”

“Come along, Jolie.”

Jolie was confused, but she stepped inside the office. A small man of some fifty years with a clipped gray beard and tense brown eyes stood up from his desk and walked around. “I’m Dr. Leibnez. This must be Mr. Winslow and Miss Devorak.”

“That’s right, Doctor. Here’s your patient.”

“Patient!” Jolie exclaimed. She turned to face Peter, and then back to face Dr. Leibnez. “I don’t understand any of this.”

Dr. Leibnez was somewhat startled. “Why, I assumed that you knew about our arrangements. Mr. Winslow, you didn’t tell her?”

“She’s a very stubborn young woman, Dr. Leibnez. You’ll find that out. Now, I’m going to leave you and Jolie. I’ll be right outside the door so you can’t get away, Jolie. Dr. Leibnez is going to do something about that scar.” He turned and left immediately, hearing Jolie’s gasp. When he was outside, he shut the door firmly, then grinned at the woman. “I’ll have to stand guard here. Miss Devorak is very stubborn. She might try to make her getaway.”

“She’s a very lovely young woman,” the receptionist said. She was an older woman with silver hair and a kind face. “I think the doctor can help her a great deal with that scar.”

Peter was nervous and for the next ten minutes paced the floor. He paused to look out the window, then stepped off the length of the room again, until finally the door opened and Dr. Leibnez appeared.

“Would you come in, Mr. Winslow?”

Peter quickly reentered the doctor’s office. He saw Jolie sitting on a chair, her face pale and her eyes turning to him at once. Her lips were pulled tightly together as if she were trying to keep from crying. “Well, I have good news, Mr. Winslow. I think I can do a great deal to help our patient here. It will be a relatively minor operation.” He shrugged his trim shoulders, saying, “I’m only surprised that it hasn’t been done earlier.”

“When can you do it, Doctor?”

The doctor walked over to his desk and looked briefly down at a calendar. “It would be on the twenty-sixth. Day after tomorrow.”

“Right. Shall I bring her here?”

“No. Have her at Grace Hospital. Do you know where that is?”

“Sure do. Come along, Jolie.”

Jolie arose and Dr. Leibnez stopped her as she wandered out like a sleepwalker. “I think you’re going to be very pleased with the results, Miss Devorak. I’m very optimistic that we can do something very fine for your problem.”

When they were outside, Peter put his hand on Jolie’s shoulders and turned her around. “Now, that’s settled,” he said.

“No, it’s not,” Jolie said. She was frightened by it all and now looked up at him. “It’s very expensive! Who’s going to pay for it?”

“Avis is going to pay for it. That’s what she wanted to see me about yesterday.”

“Avis? Why—she can’t do that!”

“You must let her do it, Jolie. You’ve done so much for her, and now she wants to do something for you. She’s had very few generous impulses, I would guess, and this will be good for her. It’s always good when somebody totally selfish breaks loose, don’t you think?”