The run-up to Thanksgiving was special for Lynne for several reasons; the first was that, unlike the last two years, Eric would be present. Then there was Jane, who seemed aware a holiday was approaching, even if that meal would only be shared with her pastor. The baby was especially chipper, but Eric teased it was due to all the yummy dishes Lynne was preparing. Two pies had been made, which Eric said was more than plenty for only the four of them, but Lynne countered that the Aherns would probably stop by on Friday, flush with the joy of how much the three hawks had sold for in addition to looking for supper. This would be first time in the last few years Sam hadn’t done his own Thanksgiving cooking.
Lynne wasn’t awed by all that the meal entailed; she felt a great sense of relief now that the show had opened and that the paintings were not only appreciated, but purchased for more than she or Eric had dreamed. Money would never again be an issue for the Snyders, and it wouldn’t be one for a good while for the Aherns. Renee would switch to part time as soon as a child joined their family, but that might not be until well into December, or early in 1963. Both Renee and Sam were being cautious, for they didn’t want to choose hastily. But that joy spilled over into Lynne, who hoped that by the new year she and Eric might again be expecting.
The couple had spent much of the last week celebrating the exhibit’s success, either in the privacy of their bedroom or in the sunroom as Eric painted his wife and daughter. And when Jane napped, sometimes Eric painted only Lynne; he claimed it had been ages since capturing her alone, and she posed without clothing, wondering if maybe Eric was getting a freeloader in the deal. She didn’t speak to that, reveling instead in these moments that hearkened back to simpler times, although not within this season. Lynne pondered that as she posed, also as she baked. This year was a very different sort of Thanksgiving.
Sam and Renee did stop in briefly on Wednesday, their giddiness about the hawks’ sale price in evidence. They had decided not to tell their families the exact amount, for Sam still had a hard time considering such a number. Renee laughed that if they both wanted to retire, all they’d have to do is give Stanford the green light about the blue barn. While her words were spoken in the flush of excitement, Lynne knew they would never sell that painting, just as she would never part with the orchard or herself on the stool. Some of Eric’s creations were too precious, no amount of money would compensate.
When the Aherns left, Jane was drowsy, having crawled everywhere she was permitted. The stairs and sunroom remained off limits, but a baby had led her aunt and uncle around the rest of the house, and now she drooped in her mother’s arms. Jane didn’t even fuss to nurse. She needed a nap, Eric said slyly, and Lynne giggled. Eric took the baby upstairs, then returned with a crafty grin. “Well Mrs. Snyder, what shall it be, the sunroom or the bedroom?”
“Paint me,” Lynne said breathlessly. Then she stroked her husband’s face. She needed no other words, for in that action another release would probably be forthcoming. Eric nodded, then led her to where a baby gate separated the rooms. He removed the gate and Lynne stepped into another realm, of sorts. It had become Eric’s winter studio, but it was also the first place Lynne had posed for him without any barriers in the way.
For the first hour they took the roles of artist and model, then the couple made a rushed love, both listening for their daughter. Eric returned to stand in front of his easel as Lynne reclined on the lounge chair. Then he stepped back, gazing at her tenderly. “What?” Lynne asked.
“I never realized how important this holiday is.” He joined her, kneeling on the floor. “Always before it was about food.” He laughed, then traced her abdomen with paint-dappled fingers. “The last time we celebrated this day together, my God, we weren’t who we are now in any shape or form.”
Lynne nodded. “Sam and Renee had no idea about you and I’d never met Laurie and….” She paused, then sighed. Then she smiled. “And now you’re famous, my goodness, you’re a renowned artist and….”
“And a father and Lutheran.” Eric chuckled. “Lynne, I have so much to be thankful for, I feel like, like….” He looked around the room, then gazed at his wife. “It’s like this house isn’t the same, neither am I, or you. It’s like more than two years have passed since we celebrated this day together, more like two decades, two lifetimes. Like we’ve shed so many skins that sometimes I wonder did our bones change, but it’s not that, it’s our souls.” He set the back of his hand against Lynne’s cheek. “We take one sanctioned day out of the year to give thanks, or we used to. Now it’s the first thing I do every morning, thanking God for you, Jane, for faith.” Eric smiled. “Maybe I’m supposed to thank him for faith first, but the first person I see is you, or your empty side of the bed.” Now Eric laughed. “Then I think, wow, Lynne’s not beside me because she’s with the baby, our baby!” He looked toward the ceiling, then back at Lynne. “She’s gonna wake soon, I just know it. But that’s okay, it’s what we always wanted, it’s a miracle, you know?”
Lynne nodded, tears falling along her cheeks, some pooling where Eric’s hand remained against her face. She did the same each day, offering her supplications for the blessings of her husband, their child, and this conviction, which ebbed and flowed in manners Lynne couldn’t describe. This time last year Eric had fled and she wasn’t sure to where. Two years ago, she knew where he’d gone, but his absence had been lengthy, trying her patience to its limit. It had been nearly a year since he’d last altered form, not that she thought those days were over. But after two trying years, and all those which had come before, 1962 had been a bastion of calm, and of tremendous gifts, not just for them, but for others too.
Then a sorrow rose in Lynne’s chest; 1962 had brought great grief for others, but that was also part of life, valleys that couldn’t be avoided. Still, within the Snyders’ domain, the valleys had been few. Lynne didn’t consider what 1963 might entail; she was content to focus on that day.
As Eric leaned down to kiss her, Jane’s whimper was detected. Both parents giggled, then Eric stood, as Lynne did the same. As a baby’s cries increased, Lynne struggled to dress, but by the time Lynne was attired, Jane was howling. When Lynne reached the nursery, Jane was sitting in her crib, wailing like she’d been abandoned. When Lynne began calling Jane’s name, the baby looked up, her face streaked with tears, but a smile was forming. And as Lynne collected her daughter, Jane’s despair was forgotten, blissful gurgles accompanied by warm chuckles. Lynne changed the baby’s diaper, then snuggled her against her chest. Jane was content to simply cuddle, then she began to root. Lynne shook her head, then sat in the rocker, putting her baby to her breast. That was where Eric found them, after he had cleaned up. He sketched them until Jane was done, another painting awaiting his attention.
On Thanksgiving morning, Lynne made breakfast for her husband and daughter, then stuffed the turkey. An hour later, the bird was in the oven as Eric spoke to Sam on the phone, exchanging holiday pleasantries. Eric had chatted with Stanford earlier, but Eric’s words had been few. Lynne hadn’t gotten a chance to question him, busy with the turkey, then Sam had called. Now Lynne sat with Jane, playing with blocks, but as soon as Eric was done speaking with Sam, she would inquire to that other conversation.
The house smelled of good food, the scents of pie mingling with sage and onions, also that of paint. Eric had toted the nude of Lynne to an upstairs bedroom, but the aroma could be detected, which made Lynne smile. Eric would show Pastor Jagucki the latest of a mother and daughter, but the one Eric worked on yesterday would remain concealed. The finished canvas of Pastor and Jane was on display in the sunroom, but it needed to be varnished, then framed, before Eric would give it to the pastor. Lynne wondered what the reaction had been to the first painting of Pastor and Jane; so many others were on display, perhaps that canvas hadn’t garnered much attention. It was the only painting of Jane in the exhibit, but her identity hadn’t been noted. Maybe someon
e who had attended last fall’s show might put two and two together, but Lynne wasn’t bothered if they did. Eric and Lynne hadn’t purposely set out to hide their daughter, but neither did they wish to capitalize on her presence. The new painting Eric would give to their pastor wouldn’t be displayed publically, unless Marek so chose. Lynne didn’t care; Jane’s face was in profile. So was Marek’s.
Eric’s conversation with Sam seemed in no hurry to end. Maybe Sam was bored, Lynne wondered, no turkey for him to fuss over. She smiled, then stood, picking up Jane, then taking that baby into the sunroom. Now every time Jane was permitted in that room, she fought to be put down, but in no uncertain terms Lynne told her daughter this was a special place and not for crawling babies. Jane argued, then relented, as Lynne examined the two canvases, Jane in both. In the first, she spoke to her pastor, probably in Polish, Lynne smiled. In the second, she rested in Lynne’s arms, gazing thoughtfully at her father.
“He came back,” Lynne said softly to her baby. A mother blinked away stray tears, then Lynne touched the front of her sweater, where underneath lay that opal pendant. Lynne took a deep breath, admiring Eric’s work; he was a brilliant artist, whether he was painting his wife and child or anyone else. Then Lynne stepped within a foot of the canvas of Jane and the pastor. Jane tried to reach for it, but Lynne switched her to the other hip. Lynne wished Eric had painted them looking straight on, then she took a sharp breath. Stepping away, she glanced toward the kitchen, where Eric still spoke with Sam. His tone was light, it was merely chit-chat. But Lynne listened more for the cadence of Eric’s banter. He talked that way with Sam, also with Stanford, when that man needed a good dose of teasing. But she had never heard that voice employed when Eric spoke to their pastor.
She knew why, but hadn’t wanted to be made aware of the particulars. Eric knew what Pastor Jagucki had suffered during the war, that’s why this latest painting was of that man, and Jane, with their faces half concealed. Eric hadn’t balked at revealing their daughter, then sending that painting on what would be a world tour. Nor had Eric held back that canvas on their pastor’s account. Maybe no one else would discover the truth, but Eric had, and Lynne wondered not how he had garnered that knowledge, but how he had set it aside. Maybe it rested where he kept his memories from times as a hawk. She gazed at the paintings again, seeing two different views of her daughter, but from a similar time frame. Then Lynne stroked Jane’s head, the baby unusually hushed. “You know this’s a special place, don’t you?” Lynne whispered. “This’s where Daddy works, where he….” Lynne bit the inside of her cheek. Was it a burden on Eric to perceive such information alongside the changes he couldn’t escape? But then, what sort of hardships had their pastor endured? Then Lynne fought a barrage of tears, but she couldn’t hold them back. Eric had become a father and Sam was in the process. While Laurie and Stanford wouldn’t assume those roles, would the man, tenderly holding Lynne’s daughter, ever experience such paternal love?
By the end of the evening, Lynne didn’t ponder that query, for she was too contented to consider more than her husband’s presence alongside that of their baby with a very good friend nearby. Now Pastor Jagucki was Marek to both Lynne and her husband, and Uncle Marek to Jane. It had been at Marek’s insistence, which had come about not long after his arrival, easing Lynne’s heart. The conversation had centered on the Aherns’ good news, the food, and the overall sense of gratitude. Then more jovial topics had emerged; that morning Mrs. Harmon had surprised Marek with a pumpkin pie, although it wasn’t at all comparable to Lynne’s pie. Still, it boded well for any possible Christmas goodies, Marek had laughed. He would return the empty tin to Mrs. Harmon in good time, he said, then would see what December brought.
Eric noted that while the Aherns were with family that day, Sam had made their presence known for tomorrow. Then Eric smiled at Marek. “You’re welcome too, unless you have another offer.”
Marek chuckled, tickling Jane’s chin. “I’d love to. Shall I bring Mrs. Harmon’s pie?”
“Only if you’re looking to pull one over on Sam. We’ll serve it instead of Lynne’s and see what he says.” Eric laughed, then stood, stretching. Jane put her arms out toward her father and Eric collected her from Marek’s grasp. “It’ll be fun seeing how Sam and Renee react. Probably’ll make them think twice about Lynne’s pie the next time they come over.”
“Indeed. Lynne, I have enjoyed many pies over the years, but as I’ve said, yours is without equal. It’s even better than my mother’s.” Marek gazed at the boysenberry pie in the center of the dining table. “No, I’d better not. I’ll have a slice tomorrow.”
Lynne smiled, then she winced, hoping no one noticed. “Well, there’s plenty left if you change your mind.”
Marek chuckled. “If I change my mind, I won’t be able to fit into my trousers.” He stood, then gathered the dessert plates. “Now allow me to wash up. It’s the least I can do for such a sumptuous meal.”
“Oh Marek, you sit down and….”
Marek smiled. “Lynne, you sit. It’s my distinct pleasure to know I’m earning my supper. Besides, you’ve been on your feet all day.”
That made Lynne giggle, for Eric had teased her before Marek’s arrival that once the pastor had gone home and Jane was asleep, Eric wanted his wife back on the chaise lounge in the sunroom. Eric wanted to finish that portrait, then perhaps other activities would follow. She would need a long rest after such a busy day, Eric had teased, which now made Lynne blush. Fortunately, Marek was in the kitchen, from where the sound of running water could be heard.
Lynne stood, but before she could join her pastor, Eric thrust Jane into her mother’s arms. “You heard him,” Eric chided. “We men will wash up. You ladies just take it easy.”
“Oh my goodness,” Lynne scolded, but Eric shook his head, motioning for her to take Jane into the living room. Lynne did as she was asked and by the time the men returned, Jane was nearly asleep in her mother’s grasp. Marek didn’t stay long, giving Lynne his sincere thanks for such an outstanding meal, and his appreciation for another tomorrow. Eric walked him to the gate while Lynne took Jane upstairs. When Eric returned, Lynne stood in front of the fire, warming her hands against the flames.
Eric approached his wife, reaching for her hands. Tenderly he stroked them, eliciting a moan from Lynne. “Maybe I’ll give that painting another day,” he said in a husky tone. “The dishes are washed, well, most of them. Food’s all put away though. How about we call it a night?”
Lynne smiled, then nestled into Eric’s embrace. This day had never meant so much to her, and the good feelings would continue tomorrow with the Aherns, and Marek. Eric put the grate in front of the fire, then double checked all the doors. As Lynne was led up the stairs, she didn’t consider anything other than her husband’s firm but loving grip on her hand, buffered by Jane’s gentle snores. Then parents were entwined in bed and soon completion was found. Wearing only that opal pendant, Lynne snuggled against her husband. Within minutes, both were asleep.
Hours later, Lynne was stirred by Jane’s cries. Lynne put on her robe, then stepped into the nursery, where Jane was tangled in her blanket. Mother and daughter sat together in the rocker, but Jane didn’t wish to nurse. Instead Lynne sang a soft lullaby that somehow included references to a possible sibling. Jane didn’t seem bothered, for she easily fell back to sleep. Lynne placed her in the crib, standing for just a minute, admiring her slumbering infant. Then she quietly returned to bed.
Eric was sleeping and Lynne felt a comforting wave of contentment. She got in beside him, but didn’t scoot too closely, for her legs and feet were cool and she didn’t want to wake him. Then she shivered, but remained where she lay. When he had returned from his time as a hawk, she would give him space for the very same reason. He would need several nights of straight sleep, and Lynne hadn’t wished to stir him. Yet, those days were long past, or at least those when
Eric had left every few months for a brief spate of days. Nearly a year had gone by since his last transformation, but Lynne wouldn’t dare to assume that was the final time her husband would change form.
Now she was alert, although she didn’t want to leave their bed. Instead she closed her eyes, trying to focus on the tangible aspects of her life, of their lives. Then she smiled, for the most important was a most elusive notion. Why had God chosen this life for Eric, for all of them? Lynne prayed for Fran and Louie, wondering how this holiday had been for them. She would hear the details from Renee and Sam tomorrow, and maybe it was good that Marek would be there to add any pastoral wisdom. Then Lynne considered the rest of her family, far away on the East Coast. This was Seth’s first Thanksgiving since being hospitalized and Lynne hoped it had gone well. Yet, she wouldn’t easily learn those particulars unless Eric shared his somewhat terse phone call with Stanford, or until a letter from Laurie arrived. Usually Lynne read Laurie’s correspondence with an eye to what wasn’t stated. Tomorrow, she decided, before the Aherns and Marek came for dinner, Lynne would surprise Laurie with a phone call. For the last two Thanksgivings, Lynne had been alone, uncertain what the future held. She wished to share with Laurie not necessarily her faith, but that her hopes had been borne out. If nothing else, Lynne could proffer that to Laurie and she fell asleep forming the words in her head.
Chapter 83