Chapter Eight
On Friday, after a productive week, Sonya joined Cleo and her dreamy lavender toes at sunrise. And stayed out of the way as Cleo stepped on the mat.
“I’d like you to hold each pose just a few beats,” Corrine told her. “And stay relaxed.”
“I’m always relaxed at sunrise because I’m asleep. I’ll start with a basic sun salutation.”
“I want shots of each pose, from different angles. You know to ignore me. By the way? The toes? Fabulous touch. Whenever you’re ready.”
Trey and Owen stepped out, along with Jones and Mookie. Sonya just put a finger to her lips.
Hands in prayer, Cleo breathed in, lifted her arms, touched palms again as she arched back, held, then flowed down, palms on the mat, nose on shins. By the time she lifted to Ardha Uttanasana, she’d blocked out the camera completely.
“This is good,” Sonya murmured. “It’s so good. The light’s perfect.”
When Cleo ended in prayer, Corrine straightened from her crouch.
“Beautiful. I’d like another.”
“I have to do three anyway. It’s the right number.”
When she completed the third, Corrine checked her camera screen, scrolling through shots.
“We’ve got it. You’re a pleasure to shoot, Cleo.”
“I’m going to start doing yoga out here, not at this hour, but this new mat handles the grass well.”
“I gotta go,” Owen called out. “Busy day, then poker night.”
“Tomorrow,” Corrine reminded him. “Ten o’clock. The two of you on The Horizon.”
“I got it.”
“And you.” She pointed at her son. “In wardrobe in three hours for the on land. Tomorrow, two o’clock, wet suit. Waterskiing.”
“I know, I know.”
Sonya placated him with a pat on the arm. “How about some coffee, Corrine? And Cleo tried her hand at coffee cake.”
“I would love that. I’ve got time, since Cleo’s so easy to shoot.”
“I’ve got to go, too.” Trey leaned down, kissed Sonya. “I’ll be back tomorrow after my mother tortures me. I’ll bring dinner. I can buy it with my poker winnings from tonight.”
“Expect a small order of fries,” Owen told her. “Maybe a peanut.”
“If I lose that bad, you’re buying dinner.” He kissed Sonya again, then Corrine. “Let’s go, Mook.”
“I’m going to do a little more, since I’m up and out here.” Cleo stepped back into Mountain Pose, prayer position.
Since Yoda and Pye opted to stay out, Sonya led Corrine inside.
“I’ve said it before, but I really love the touches you’ve added to the kitchen.”
“Credit Cleo the most. She really uses the space, which is why we have coffee cake she made last night.”
Corrine set her camera on the table. “Would you mind if I walked down and looked at the portraits? The brides.”
“Of course not.”
“I’ll just be a minute.”
While Corrine walked down to the music room, Sonya made coffee, sliced cake.
Corrine came back, patted a hand on her heart. “Trey said you’d found more. It’s eerie, and it’s fascinating. I don’t know the history by memory. Who’s left?”
“Catherine. And Astrid. We think there’ll be one of her, too. Like a set, a series.”
“You’re a brave woman, Sonya.”
“I don’t know if it’s bravery.” She gestured for Corrine to sit, joined her. “I do know I need to be here, and I need to do this.”
“Isn’t the definition of courage doing what needs to be done?”
“There’s more. It’s … The little boy who died here a hundred years ago? Jack. He drew me a picture of Yoda, a good one, left it on my desk.”
“Incredible.” Corrine rubbed her arms as if chilled. “Eerie and fascinating. I’m glad you’re here doing what needs doing. Not just for the now, and I’m trying not to overstep, so I’ll just say you and Trey look good together. But Johanna was a sister to me.”
“I know.” Sonya laid a hand over Corrine’s. “I know she was, and I know how that feels.”
“I’m glad you’re here for her, Sonya. For Johanna.
“And now, I bet you’d like to see those yoga shots.”
“Oh yeah, I would.”
By the time Cleo came back in, Sonya was at her desk.
“I got caught up. I missed my chance to take a peek at the pictures.”
“Be assured, they’re terrific. We’re sending what we both consider the best to Ryder—and pushing for our favorite.”
“How about a hint?”
At her desk, Sonya lifted her arms up, looked up and pressed her palms together.
“Really? The first move?”
“Of the second round. Corrine said, and I agreed, your body was perfectly curved in both, but in the second round, you’d forgotten about the camera—and being awake at sunrise.
There’s a dreamy look on your face, the slightest smile.
And the light’s gorgeous. She’ll send proofs later today or tomorrow. ”
“She’s right about the camera. I got in the zone.” She spread her hands. “And look at my outfit! While I wish I wasn’t energized this early, since I am, I’m changing and going out to work on my summer tree.”
Hand on hip, she studied Sonya. “You know, you’ve worked really hard and long this week. You should take a few hours, paint with me.”
“I may have a new client.”
“Really? Who? What?”
“My mother’s doctor. Mom’s been going to her for about fifteen years—I used her, too.
Mom was in for her annual physical, and they chatted some.
Dr. Lawrence asked how I was, and one thing led to another.
The website is dated, plus, she’s adding a new associate into the practice. I need to work up a proposal.”
“I won’t get in the way of that. But if you finish, or just want a break, come out. And remember, it’s sappy movie night.”
“I never forget sappy movie night.”
“Big giant salad, fancy cheese and crackers, wine, followed by popcorn, more wine, and girl movie.”
“The Friday night special.”
Sonya worked while Cleo changed, while she went up to her studio to get what she needed.
As Cleo headed down, so did Yoda.
“Yoda’s with me,” Cleo called.
“Thanks!”
Then quiet as she read more about Dr. Nia Lawrence to spark ideas and direction for her proposal.
Potential new clients always pumped her up, and within twenty minutes she had a concept.
The doctor had a family practice, so play up the family vibe with calm, warm colors and clear, simple fonts. Photo and bio of the doctor in a drop-down, a photo of her talking to a patient. Short two- or three-line bios of staff, photos of them interacting with patients.
Our family cares for your family.
Something like that.
Office hours, office numbers, right up front.
She could absolutely make it look good, appealing. But that was nothing if it wasn’t more user-friendly, and more accessible to mobile devices.
She could fix it, and spent the next hour working the concept into a plan, then added more time turning the plan into a proposal.
It took her more time to realize Clover had stopped the music.
And in the silence, she heard voices. Not close, not clear, but a murmuring, somehow female. With the voices, she felt a pull.
Not the mirror, she understood that immediately. But something that drew her, that pushed her to her feet.
She walked out into the hall, hesitated only a moment at the stairs. She could go down, call Cleo, but …
Drawn, she continued along the hall, walking steadily now, to the room where her mother stayed on visits. Instead of the flowering violet wallpaper Winter found charming, bluebirds flew across the walls. The bed, neatly turned down, had draping over its four posts and open canopy.
The room held an armoire she recognized from her Saturday search, a washstand with a bowl and pitcher, a small tufted chair and table, and a vanity with a mirror.
Logs snapped in the fireplace. The windows were dark with night, and the room was lit by candles.
A woman sat at the vanity, smiling into the glass. She wore a white nightgown with lace around the neck, a silk bow at the center, and a matching robe over it with the long sleeves gathered at the wrist.
Sonya had seen her before, wearing that nightgown as she walked, entranced, into the winter’s storm, bare feet over the snow as Dobbs waited at the seawall.
Catherine.
Behind her stood a woman in deep green velvet, her sunny hair swept up, emeralds at her ears and another glowing at her throat against the sparkle of diamonds.
A pretty woman whose eyes seemed to shine with both tears and pride. Arabelle Poole, Sonya thought, brushing her daughter’s hair on her wedding night.
“You look lovely.” Arabelle leaned down to kiss the top of Catherine’s head. “You made a lovely bride, my darling, and now you make a lovely wife.”
“I cared so little about looking lovely.” Catherine said it with a laugh in her voice as her eyes met her mother’s in the glass. “I know it caused you frustration, my beautiful mama.”
“Nonsense.” But Arabelle’s eyes laughed as she denied it.
“But today, and oh so much tonight, I want to be lovely for William. I love him so much, Mama. I never expected to love him so much, to know he loves me.”
“He is a good man, and I trust will be a good and kind husband to my daughter. I wish both of you the happiness your father and I have shared.”
Catherine reached up to take her mother’s hand. “You and Papa, you are who I look to, always, to guide me. You must know William has great affection and respect for you both.”
“And we for him.”
Arabelle set down the brush and stroked her hands down Catherine’s fall of hair.
“You and I have talked before about this night.”
A faint flush rose into Catherine’s cheeks. “Yes, Mama. I know the first time he makes me his wife there may be pain. I am not afraid.”
“I believe William will be kind, and he will be patient. I believe you will find joy. This night, and all that follow, should never be merely duty, though it is for some. You, my darling, I wish joy.”
“Don’t cry, Mama.”
“You were born in this house, and now you spend the first night as a wife in this house. I will miss you, Cathy, when you’re mistress of your own home.”
Arabelle’s hand stopped, froze as it lifted once again to stroke Catherine’s hair. The flames in the hearth stilled and held.
Catherine turned to Sonya.