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She had to admit, it already felt like Cleo. She walked to the closet to drag out the big box.
And saw the painting propped on top of it.
The bride wore a ring of flowers over straight blond hair thatrained past her shoulders. Her simple white dress fell to the ankles of bare, narrow feet. Its empire waist circled below full, high breasts. Between, the dress covered the dome of belly.
She carried a nosegay in her right hand and wore a gold band with two entwined hearts on the third finger of her left.
She’d seen pictures. If she hadn’t, with the loving details of the portrait, she’d have recognized Clover. Her father’s birth mother.
She’d passed the shape of her nose, the wide bow of her mouth to her son. And so to her granddaughter.
Emotion, unexpected and poignant, flooded through her.
“The last and final,” Cleo said as she came in. “So it’s officially official— What is it?”
Sonya just pointed.
When she joined her, Cleo put a hand on Sonya’s shoulder. “I’m going to take a wild guess. That wasn’t there before.”
“No. The closet was empty when Trey put your supplies in there. It’s Clover. It’s my father’s birth mother. And, Cleo, my father painted this. I know his work, and if I didn’t, there’s his signature.”
Reaching up, she laid her hand over Cleo’s. “How did he paint her—the woman who died giving birth to him? How did it get here, in the manor? Did he dream of her, the way he did the manor, the mirror, his brother? I think that must be it.”
“You should take a picture of it, send it to Winter, ask if she’s seen it. Either way, I’m betting you’re right about the dreams. And a twin thing again?”
“Like the painting of the manor. Collin saw it somewhere, somehow, bought it.”
“It follows, doesn’t it?”
“I need to sit a minute.”
When she did, on the floor, Yoda crawled into her lap, and Cleo crouched down.
“I’ll get you some water.”
“No, I’m okay. Just wobbly for a minute. It just fills me, and hollows me out at the same time. Dad painted her; Collin brought her here. They connected.”
“Now you have her, and that connects you. Sonya, it’s beautifulwork. She’s… well, she’s adorable. We should take her downstairs. Nobody puts Clover in the closet.”
With one hand stroking Yoda, Sonya leaned her head toward Cleo. “You’re right. We’ll take her to the music room, with Johanna.”
“I’ve got her. I vote we take her down, you get that picture, send that text, and I get us both a last glass of wine.”
“I say aye to that.”
In the music room, they propped the painting against the wall under Johanna’s portrait.
“I love the still lifes in here,” Cleo began. “But what do you say we switch that one out, hang her there?”
“Yes. She’d have come right before Johanna.”
“Text your mom. I’ll get the wine. Then we’ll put her where she belongs.”
Stepping back, Sonya studied the portrait again. So, so young, she thought. And that young face simply glowed with happiness. And despite the mound of belly, an innocence that touched her heart.
She took a careful photo, then sent the text.
I found this portrait. It’s Dad’s work. Have you seen it before?
