Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
J enna stood at the edge of the front lawn and waved until Kelly and Amber’s vehicles were completely out of sight. Somehow it seemed right that they would leave before dawn had fully arrived. The memory cabin visits had ended, and a new day had begun.
“But I don’t have to like it,” she muttered as she turned and started back toward the house. The dew on the grass was cool on her bare feet, and by the time she got to the porch, the bottom edges of her pajama legs were damp. She went straight to her bedroom and dressed in a pair of jeans, and a dark green T-shirt. She had finished lacing up her athletic shoes when the doorbell rang.
She and Carson hadn’t talked about what time he might show up, but she expected to see him on the porch when she opened the door. She was surprised when she found a young girl there with braces, hair in two long, light-brown braids, and big blue eyes.
“I’m Martha Stevens,” she said.
Jenna still had Girl Scout cookies in her freezer, but she loved the chocolate mint ones so much that she always ordered a few boxes.
“Did you say Martha or Marsha?” Jenna asked.
“Martha June Stevens is my full name,” the teenager answered. “Are you alright? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
“I am fine. I was just expecting someone else to be at the door. What are you selling?” She realized that the girl had an artist’s portfolio in her hand.
If the girl had another twenty pounds on her, and was a little taller, she would look a lot like the picture of Jenna’s mother hanging beside the mirror. Surely she was imagining things because the two names—Martha and Marsha—were so close together. She glanced over her shoulder at the black-and-white photograph and shivered. There was a resemblance there—probably because Martha had braids and good cheekbones.
“My parents have moved here from up in Vega, Texas. That’s in the Panhandle, if you don’t know where it is. They met you at the ranger station yesterday and someone told them that you are an artist. Do you give lessons? The lady who was talking to my mama said you are very good and that you might be willing to teach me. She said she would ask you, but that she and her husband were leaving the park to move away. The party was for her and her husband,” Martha rattled on. “I’ve dabbled in acrylics, but I want to learn to work in oils.”
Jenna thought of her first meeting with Miz Ramona, and how much she had learned from that woman. “Come in, Martha, and let’s talk. I’ve never given lessons before, but I might be interested, if you are serious.”
Martha picked up a portfolio and carried it in with her. “I’m very serious. I brought a sampling of my watercolors and acrylics, but . . . oh, my, gosh!” She clamped a hand over her mouth when she saw the painting. “You’ve got an original JayLee. That artist is my idol. I’ve studied her art, and my folks have taken me to galleries in Lufkin and in Houston. I felt like I was in the room with her when I was studying her works.”
“That’s really flattering,” Jenna said. “How do you know that JayLee is a woman?”
“Because I can feel her spirit in her work,” Martha said.
A cold chill danced down Jenna’s spine. She didn’t believe in reincarnation or ghosts, but that moment was the uncanniest one she had ever spent. The week before she died, Jenna’s mother had told her that she put her spirit in every painting, and that she should let the world meet her.
She led the way to the back porch, where she could see Martha’s paintings in good sunlight. She spread the four pictures out on the picnic table and studied them for a few minutes before she spoke. “What do you like to paint?”
“Landscapes, mostly. I watch the sunset over the water every evening here at the lake. I take hundreds of pictures and study the angles, the clouds, and even the ducks on the water,” Martha answered.
“I see a lot of promise here, Martha. I could probably manage a couple of hours once a week. What do you think about us starting on Friday morning at about ten o’clock? You have a talent, but you need to pick a medium and stick with it. Your watercolors are really good. Are you sure you want to do oils?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Martha looked beyond Jenna, and her eyes grew bigger and wider. Her finger shot up to point at the painting on the easel. “ You are JayLee! I’d recognize that style anywhere. I had no idea that . . .” She gasped. “Yes, Friday is good, and . . .” She stared at Jenna and teared up.
Jenna put a finger over her lips. “Shh, please don’t tell anyone my identity. That can be our secret.”
Martha dried her tears on her shirt sleeve. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be here at ten on Friday. Mama is going to ask me how much you charge, so . . .”
“You keep my secret, and we’ll call it even,” Jenna said.
“For real? You will teach me for free?” She shook her head. “I want to learn. I really do, but I can’t lie to my mama.”
“You are right. You should never lie to your mother,” Jenna answered. “Feel free to tell your parents who I am, and as payment, you can give me one of your oil paintings at the end of summer. How does that sound?”
Martha gathered up her paintings and put them back in the portfolio. “That sounds wonderful, but I still feel like I’m in a dream.”
“Then I’ll be looking for you every Friday until school starts.”
History repeats itself. Ramona’s voice was in her head.
Just paying it forward, Jenna thought.
“I’ll be here,” Martha promised. “Just meeting you is a dream come true. Having you teach me is something I would have never even let myself think about.”
“Are you a freshman this year?” Jenna judged her by her height and the braces on her teeth.
“No, ma’am, I’m a senior, but I’m homeschooled. I’ll finish up my high school courses next May, and then I hope to go to a good art school that fall. Fridays won’t be a problem for me all year.”
“How old are you?” Jenna asked. The girl barely came up to Jenna’s shoulder, and she was slim built. Maybe it was the braids that made her look so young.
Martha picked up her portfolio. “Fifteen, but I’ll be sixteen before I graduate.”
“You must be pretty smart.”
Martha raised one of her thin shoulders in a shrug. “I’ve aced all my tests to get into a good college. I just hope I qualify for some financial aid to make it possible. Oh, I forgot to tell you: my daddy is a park ranger, and my mama is a new assistant at the ranger station. They are Joyce and Paul Stevens. I’m going home and pinch myself to be sure I’m not dreaming. If I am, I hope I don’t wake up until after Friday.” She started out across the backyard.
“I’ll be waiting for you. Hey, what cabin did y’all move into?” Jenna called out.
“The one two doors down from you,” Martha turned and said over her shoulder.
“Miz Ramona’s old cabin,” Jenna muttered, and thought maybe she was dreaming, too. “That is an omen for sure.”
“What’s an omen?” Carson asked as he rounded the end of the house. “Are you ready to start our day with a trip to IHOP for breakfast?”
“Yes, I am,” she said with a smile, “and I’ll tell you all about my omen on the way to the café.”
Carson took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles. “I love signs from the universe.”
“I don’t know that I’ve had many, but there’s no mistaking the one that just landed in my world.” Her words sounded a little breathy in her ears, but then they had a right to have a quality like that. Her pulse raced like she had just finished a marathon.
“I started to knock on the front door, but then I heard you talking to someone.” Carson opened the passenger door of his truck for her. “Was the girl walking across the yard your omen?”
“Kind of,” she answered, and then when he was behind the wheel, she went on to tell him about the young lady who showed up within minutes of Kelly and Amber’s departure. “My mother was Marsha. The girl who wants to learn to work in oils is Martha, and she even looks a little like pictures of my mama when she was a young girl.”
“That’s a sign for sure, and think about it,” Carson said. “Remember that old saying about how when one door closes, another one opens? Your memory cabin door has closed for a while, and now another one is opening.” He cupped her face in his hands.
She barely had time to moisten her lips before his closed over them in a long, lingering, passionate kiss that came close to sending desire to the boiling point.
“I’ve wanted to do that for days,” he said when the kiss ended.
“I’m glad you waited for today,” she whispered.
“Why?”
“Because it seems right for this moment.” She slipped her hand in his. “I’m ready to go.”
“Can we call it a date?”
“I think we just might,” she said, and smiled up at him.
“I’m glad,” Carson said. “Can it be that we are dating exclusively then?”
“I can’t imagine wanting to be with anyone else,” Jenna said, and was amazed at how full her heart felt at simply admitting that. The theme song from the childhood movie, Annie, played through her mind. She started humming, and Carson chuckled.
“Tomorrow is only a day away,” he sing-songed. “But today is right now, and spending the whole day with you is great, but the ending will be the icing on the cake.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because then I get to kiss you good night,” he said with a broad grin.
“Why wait until tonight?” she teased.
He braked, pulled the car over to the side of the road, and opened the door. She slung open her door and met him at the front of the vehicle. He cupped her cheeks in his big hands and slowly lowered his mouth to hers for the second time. Suddenly, they were the only ones in the whole state of Texas. No, that wasn’t right—they were in a bubble that shut out the universe.
Right there on the side of the road leaving the park, Jenna got a vision of their future together. Two cars passed and honked, but that didn’t even penetrate the bubble. When the string of kisses ended, her knees were weak, and her heart pounded.
“Wow!” she gasped. “I’ve never felt like this before.”
“Good or bad?” Carson asked.
“Oh, honey, good doesn’t begin to describe the way I feel,” she admitted.
“Me, too.” He hugged her even tighter. “I could so fall in love with you, Jenna.”
I’m already there, she thought, but she just nodded in agreement.