The curtain drew back from the stage, and lights shone brightly on two performers. A woman’s soprano belted out into the silence, Italian lyrics echoing off the walls. At first, I let my mind translate the dialogue. Something about a woman lost in a forest, awaiting her lover to find her. But all too soon, a dull ache brewed in the back of my head, and I lost interest.
My mind mulled over Mr. Winston’s words and his confidence that he could accomplish this great task for me, and that three of my ten items would be checked off by night’s end. Three of the most difficult tasks.
How would it feel to have my artwork hanging in a public forum for anyone and everyone to see?
Mr. Winston’s gaze flicked to mine with a question.
“I am unwell,” I said before my mind had a chance to still the words on my tongue. “I need to take a walk.”
Liza’s unyielding focus on the stage broke for the barest second. “Is it the vibrato?” She knew how I felt about operas. “Can you not press your ears?”
“Go for a walk, orgo for a walk?” Mr. Winston’s eyes were on mine, serious and hopeful.
I gave him a knowing smile. “Go for a walk.”
He nodded, a slow curve lifting his lips.
Liza drew in a breath and took my arm as we stood. “Very well. I’d hate for you to get a headache.” We followed Mr. Winston out of the box and into the little hallway. “She spent an entire day in bed the day after our last opera.”
“This is better anyway,” Mr. Winston drew close to me and whispered, his voice light with enthusiasm. “Everyone will be distracted by the opera. We shall go unseen.”
Liza looked longingly over her shoulder. “Just a short walk, right, Ros?”
“As fast as we can,” I said more to Mr. Winston than to Liza.
“I kept an eye out earlier as the attendant led us here,” he said. “There is a perfect frame about midway from the water closet. And the painting is a watercolor similar to yours.”
“I do not want my painting to hang by the water closet,” I whined. “Can we not find a better spot?”
“Notbythe water closet.On the way.Which, frankly, will ensure more visibility for your two weeks.”
I could not argue him that.
“Who needs the water closet?” Liza asked as she hurried to match our pace.
“There!” He pointed down the hall. “Rosewood frame, I believe, with a very pretty polish.”
I followed his direction, catching sight of the frame moments before we reached it. This particular painting was of a still pond surrounded by trees. A large cow drank from the water’s edge. The glassy water reflected the trees, giving it a similar look to my own, which would make the switch less noticeable. It was, as Mr. Winston had said, perfect in every way. But was it too perfect?
“My talent is inadequate. Someone will notice mine is not the original, and what happens then?”
Mr. Winston blinked. “Your expectations for yourself continue to astound me. I assure you, no one will question your work.”
I pursed my lips, so he continued, “At the very worst,ifsomeone notices, the opera house will take yours out. An investigation is unlikely, and since yours is unsigned, nothing shall come of it.”
“You are certain?”
He shrugged, then grinned. “As certain as one can be when committing a petty crime.”
“Oh, no. No, no. What do I do?” Liza asked shrilly, pressing her fingertips to her temples. “How can I stop this? Why, God, have you placed me here between two of Your most wild and stubborn children?”
I could sacrifice my painting if the worst came true, but I’d never get another chance to fulfill my list. And I wanted to. It was now or never.
I took a last moment to appreciate the artist’s work and the cow drinking from the pond. Then I clasped my hands together and said, more to the painter than the cow, “Thank you for lending your space to me. I am so sorry to force your hand, but I promise your sacrifice is well spent on me, and I will not in my lifetime forget it. I give you my word I shall return in two weeks to uncover you.”
“Rosalind, I implore you to think about what you are doing,” Liza said desperately in my ear. “About what you are risking. What Charlie is risking. What we all could lose.”
I glanced at Mr. Winston, who gently lifted the frame from the wall. He knew what he was risking. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes alert and alive. He looked over at me and gave me a warm smile. “Still with me?”
