An Invincible Summer (Wyndham Beach), Mariah Stewart [best classic novels TXT] 📗

“We have the makings of a nice little artists’ colony here. We’re starting slow, only taking a few members this summer because we don’t have living quarters to offer. There are no places in town for rent, so unless the applicants know someone who’ll put them up, they’re on their own until we can figure out something we can offer. I’d love to somehow get the Harrison family to open up that mansion of theirs. It’s sitting there, no one’s living in it, you know, and it would be perfect.” Emma’s eyes took on a dreamy glow.

“None of them have moved back to Wyndham Beach?” Maggie asked.

Emma shook her head. “Someone comes back to bring out the carousel every five years, plunks it out there in the park, lets all the local kiddies have a ride.”

“That was in someone’s will, right?” Maggie tried to remember the story. “They have to share the carousel with the town every fifth summer or the estate will be broken up and sold. Something like that?”

“Exactly. Harry’s father was executor of the last Jasper Harrison’s will. He was the one who bought the carousel back in the 1940s. After his father died, Harry cleaned out his desk and found a copy of the old man’s will, which he showed me. The wording was ‘no less than every fifth summer, preferably on the Fourth of July.’ But it’s never been brought out more than every five years.”

“So I take it you haven’t been able to track down the heirs yet?” Liddy turned her attention from a painting she’d been studying that hung in the foyer.

“Still trying. I have learned Owen Harrison inherited everything, but so far he hasn’t returned my calls.” She smiled slyly. “He can run but he can’t hide. I will find him.”

Maggie laughed. “My money’s definitely on you, Em. Track him down and drag him back by the scruff of the neck if necessary.”

“That’s the plan.” Emma took Maggie by the elbow and led her into the exhibition area. “Now, these are all works by local artists. Take your time looking around. I think you’ll agree we have some true talent in our little town.”

Maggie and Liddy spent almost an hour viewing and discussing the exhibited pieces, from the enormous freestanding hands sculpted from clay to the watercolor landscapes to the pottery that reflected all the colors of the bay beyond the art center. Liddy paused in front of a very large contemporary painting of muted grays and taupes, with sharp lightning bolts of red and gold slashed across the canvas.

“Wow, there’s so much energy there,” Maggie remarked. The swirls of color were almost electric. “The swashes of red and gold make such a bold statement against that subdued background.”

Liddy pointed to the name of the artist: Jessica Christy Bryant.

“Oh. It’s Jess . . .” Maggie’s voice faded away momentarily. Of course, she’d known Jessie had been an artist. She’d started designing greeting cards when she was in middle school. Never sold commercially, the cards had been sent to relatives and friends. Following her mother’s death, Maggie had cleaned out a desk drawer in the house on Cottage Street and found dozens of cards her mother had received from Jess over the years for various occasions. She’d taken them back to Bryn Mawr, and when Grace saw them, she mentioned she, too, had been the recipient of the wonderfully imaginative and colorful birthday and holiday cards. The Christmas card she’d received three years ago had been the last she’d gotten.

“This painting’s the last thing she did before,” Liddy was saying.

Maggie didn’t need to ask Before what? “It’s a remarkable piece,” she said simply.

“Emma asked if I had any of her work I’d be willing to have on display. Ironically, this last piece of hers is my favorite. You’d think I’d hate it, but . . .” Liddy shrugged. “I think it reflects her state of mind better than anything she may have said at the time.” She pointed to the name of the painting. Last Stand. “That’s what I think this was. I think it’s very emotional, don’t you? I sense an overwhelming frustration when I look at it.”

To Maggie, the painting seemed to scream, to rage against something nameless. But to Liddy, she said, “It’s very moving. Eloquent. Jess was very talented.”

“She was that.” The sadness emanating from Liddy was palpable.

“She absolutely was.” Emma had come up behind them quietly. “I’ve had several inquiries from interested buyers.”

“It’s not for sale,” Liddy snapped. “I haven’t decided if any of her work will ever be for sale.”

“I cautioned the prospective buyers that it might not be.” In contrast to Liddy’s harsh response, Emma’s voice was soothing. “I would never sell anything without your express permission, Lid.”

“I do know that. Sorry for . . .”

“It’s already forgotten,” Emma assured her friend. “But if you agree, I’d like to showcase Jessie’s work in a special exhibit over the winter. Perhaps January or February.”

“That would be lovely, Em. I appreciate it.”

“I’d like to include those white-on-white works in the December exhibit. They’re so quiet and contemplative.”

Liddy nodded. “Just let me know when you want them.”

Emma patted Liddy on the shoulder before retreating to her office to take a phone call. Maggie took her friend’s hand and together they finished their tour of the exhibit. Before leaving, they poked their heads into Emma’s office to let her know they were going.

“I love this place,” Maggie told her truthfully. “I want to come back before I leave.”

“Come back anytime.” Emma beamed. “Now, are you planning on going early to tonight’s reception, or can we expect you to be fashionably late?”

“If I can get dinner on the table by six, we should be able to be on time. You’re welcome to join us for dinner, Em,” Liddy offered.

“Thanks, Lid, but I’ll be here until six and will barely have time to get home and change.”

“We’ll look for you there.” Liddy and Maggie made their way to the exit, then walked to the end of the boardwalk