Hillside Museum July 6, 2009
Nate walked into the foyer of the atrium carrying
a flat of geraniums, his eyes drawn to the portrait glowing in the morning
light. “Hello, beautiful.” Her name was Anna, and according to the date at the
bottom of the painting, the year was 1909.
“You talkin’ to me?” Rennie said, coming up
behind him. He swung around and hesitated a moment before answering, “Of course.
Who else is here?” He silently cursed his lack of attention. He didn’t realize
she had come into the atrium.
“Just checking to see if you’re done with
the planters. There’s still a lot of stuff left to do.”
“I know, I know,” he said, one hand coming up to knead the back of his neck. “I’m working on it.”
“I know, I know,” he said, one hand coming up to knead the back of his neck. “I’m working on it.”
“Not fast enough, Nate. I’m worried it
won’t all get done,” she said as she walked towards the door.
“Like I said Rennie, I’m working on
it.” Nate wasn’t sure he could accomplish what was expected of him. This
job had been in his family for more than 100 years, starting with his great-granddad
Nathaniel, the head gardener when the museum had been the manor home of the
Harris family.
Nate reflected back on his
conversation at the first of the week with Rennie, the Events Coordinator for museum.
“Nate, your job’s on the line. If the
grounds at Hillside Museum
aren’t in perfect condition for the 100-year celebration next week, the Board’s
going to replace you.”
No pressure there. He loved this
place, had grown up here in the caretaker’s cottage with his parents and two
older brothers, and had spent countless hours with his dad and granddad in the
green houses and the gardens as a boy.
He glanced up at the portrait of the
young girl. She looked to be in her early twenties with curly dark hair and
violet eyes, dressed in a long cape of iridescent purple. Around her neck was a
beautiful sapphire pendant. Her lips were curved in a shy smile, and her
eyes seem to follow him wherever he went in the room. In the palm of her hand
she held a gold band inset with rubies and pearls - a wedding ring perhaps -
holding it as if offering it to him.
Yeah, right.
Nate carried the geraniums to the back of
the atrium, positioned each one in the planter, and carefully smoothed the rich
dirt around its base. He found solace working with his hands in the soil. He
recoiled suddenly as he felt a jolt of electricity, and looked down in
confusion at the ring in his palm. It was a gold band with rubies and pearls,
like the ring in the painting.
He walked back to stand beneath the
portrait. The ring was no longer in the girl’s palm, it was in his.
He clasped the ring tightly and closed his
eyes. A sense of her hopelessness washed over him sending his mind into
turmoil. He looked back at the portrait. What was happening? Damn, he
didn’t have time for this. He glanced around to see if Rennie was still in the
room. Alone, he put the ring in his pocket and turned to leave.
It was then he heard a woman softly
crying. He couldn’t stay in the atrium any longer. He wasn’t capable of
dealing with this much distraction and uncertainty right now. He left the room,
closing the door firmly behind him, without looking back.
