The Swan House (59 page)

“'Course right here with me is what I call the finest gallery. Better'n any one in that High Museum.” I furrowed my brow and then looked around at the walls. A chill shot up my spine and went back down in a mere second. Three beautifully framed oil paintings hung on the walls of this tiny, dingy bedroom. I let out a tiny, stifled cry.

The three missing paintings!
Mama's
three missing paintings! It had to be them, hanging right here in Ella Mae's bedroom. I covered my mouth with my hand, stood up, and walked over to the painting that hung on the wall to the right of Ella Mae's bed. It was a portrait of Ella Mae in her gray maid's uniform, cuddling a white baby in her arms. Mama's painting entitled
Child at Rest
.

“Dat's me an' you, honey, when you weren't more 'n' a coupla months old. That there always was my favorite.”

I couldn't say a word.

“Thought you might be surprised,” Ella Mae said, pleased. “Ya wonderin' how I ended up with three such nice paintings, aren't ya, chile?”

I nodded, speechless.

“Yore mama gave 'em to me. Gave 'em to me and made me swear I wouldn't neva' tell no one 'bout 'em. And I ain't neva' breathed a word, not even ta Mista Middleton. But afta' yore mama died, well, I jus' kept wonderin' what I should do. 'Cause there's a mighty fine story behind those paintings, and I reckoned yore daddy needed ta be told 'bout it. So I jus' kept askin' the Lawd what ta do, and I guess He done answered by sendin' you heah.”

I heard Ella Mae talking beside me, as if in a dream, but it didn't really register. These were Mama's paintings! The second painting hung beside the first and was of Resthaven's gardens, no doubt about it. I was certain that this was the painting named
Spring Bouquet
. Henry Becker was raking in the background, and the azaleas and dogwoods were in full bloom around him. Part of the building itself was painted on the right. Some of the detail that characterized her portraits was absent in this painting. Henry Becker's name appeared in the lower right-hand corner.

“The Swan House,” I whispered when I turned to the opposite wall and saw the painting that hung there. But it didn't look like the other paintings Mama had painted of the famous mansion. This painting had more energy and life, as if the trees and wildlife and the house itself might just burst off the canvas and into the room.
Joie de Vivre,
I thought to myself, the name of the third painting I was supposed to find. Of course. This was Mama's third style of painting. As a confirmation, Leslie Leschamps' name was painted across the bottom of the canvas.

I was not sure of what it all meant, but I was sure of one thing. I had given it all up to God just a couple of weeks ago, the Dare, the paintings, the mystery of Mama. And now it looked like He was giving it back to me, to do with as I willed.

My mouth was surely hanging open. A terrible tumor had almost destroyed Ella Mae's life, and simply through love for her, I'd dared to come to visit. Or maybe it was God who had brought me here where Ella Mae was sitting in bed, looking pitiful and weak, surrounded by those paintings. Those works of art in gilded frames. I wondered briefly how the plastered and cracking walls could hold their weight.

I finally recovered from my shock and choked out, “You don't have to tell me anything, Ella Mae. I just want to be with you.”

“Well, then, come sitcha a spell. I do believe I got some 'splaining to do.”

“I don't want you getting tired.”

“Ain't gonna be tirin' to me. I jus' woke up, and for some reason, when I'm awake, I cain't stop talkin'. I think it's the tumor. Me who never liked the sound of my own voice, well, imagine that.”

She looked off at one of the paintings, cleared her throat, and said, “The first time I's seen yore mama, I knowed she was different, special, Swannee. She was a beautiful little thing, full of spunk and ideas enough to change the world. Proud and fragile and tough somehow all at once. Oh, I didn't like her at first. The way she talked and her fancy house and money. I didn't think no white folks who lived in Buckhead knew nothin' about the hard things in life. They jus' lived in a shallow dream, they did.

“But I started lovin' her right away, Swannee. 'Cause she didn't have no problems with money, but I saw the problems she did have. Heap o' problems. Every day she had to decide to fight somethin' strong and terrible in her brain. She knew sufferin' all right.”

A sharp pain shot straight through me, and I bit my lip. The image of Mamie cuddling her dead baby to her breast and then slapping Mama in the face flashed before me.

“That firs' time I found her in tears in front of her paintin', I was mighty frightened for her. It was that paintin' in the hall of the hickory tree. And she'd taken a knife and cut through the canvas, tried to cut herse'f right out of the picture she was paintin', and then she held her head in her hands and cried like a baby. You could see the sufferin' and the anguish all bottled up inside and spillin' over.

“Yore daddy done told me about his Sheila then. He told me she was different. Told me she needed he'p sometimes. And he begged me to stay and help. And so I did.” She let the phrase trail and stared at the painting of herself holding me as a baby. “That's me 'n you, honey chile, in that paintin'. We done had us a whole lotta fun together, Mary Swan. You was the sweetest baby. Yore mama loved ta sketch me holding on to you. Didn't neva' paint us 'til she got to Resthaven. Took her sketches there and painted.

“Then after Miz Sheila had Jimmy, it was jus' too much for her sensitive mind to handle. She could paint or she could cuddle her babies or she could go to a party, but she couldn't do it all or she'd start havin' those fits real often.

“They put her on some of those drugs, you know, the tranquilizers, to he'p her calm down. But she couldn't bear it. They made her dry up, she used to say. Took away all her creativity so as she didn't know who she was no more. And, Mary Swan, I do believe that was a million times worse for her than the battle in her mind. To have no battle, to be calm and without no feelin's or thoughts. Scary kinda calm.

“One time she jus' up 'n stop takin' her medicine. You was jus' a little thing and Jimmy a baby. And she was a mess.” I could see the tears in the rims of Ella Mae's eyes, could hear the quiver in her voice. “I came into her studio ta ask a question, and there she was on the floor, blood everywhere. She'd done cut those tiny wrists of hers with a carvin' knife. So I ripped up some ole T-shirts of yore daddy's and wrapped 'em around her wrists ta stop the bleedin'.

“And I picked up that little wisp of a woman, and I cried to her, ‘Sheila, now you ain't gonna die on me here! You ain't!' And I carried her down the hall and those windin' stairs and into yore daddy's study and put her on the couch, and I called the ambulance for her like I's done for a lot of my people. And while they was comin', I jus' took her little hand in mine and I prayed and prayed that the Lawd Jesus would spare her life. I sang her favorite songs, and then they came and took her away.”

While she talked, another scene flashed in my mind, the one that had come to me at the Back-to-School Ball, after Herbert's drunken announcement. Ella Mae carrying Mama, the blood on the carpet, the siren, the confusion, and Mama leaving.

“And that was the first time she went to that there place up in the mountains. That's when yore daddy and me and Trixie done realized that we couldn't take care of her alone. So for all those years we's done our best and them folks at the Resthaven done he'ped out a whole lot. And she was doin' okay, ya know it. And you and Jimmy growing up so fine and strong. An' her paintings bein' in some of those museums. Ain't neva' gonna figure out why the Lawd done took her now. No, sir. I got me a list a mile long with some questions I'm gonna ask my Jesus when I see Him. And that's one of 'em.” Her eyes were closed, and there were tears on her lashes.

I wiped my own eyes.

“When she was really sad, I'd rock her like I did with you, and I'd hum those songs and pray. She loved for me to pray. It calmed her down, and she'd fall asleep, she would. And then she would wake and say to me, ‘Ella Mae, if God has given me this talent, I am going to use it for good, no matter what.'

“I made it my habit ta clean up in her studio last every day. And when she threw away those sketches and paintin's, I pulled 'em outta the trash and brought 'em home with me. And one time when Roy was real bad off and she came ova' to he'p out, well, she discovered my gallery. She was mighty mad at me at first. Then she jus' laughed and said, ‘As long as you don't show 'em to another soul, Ella Mae, you can keep 'em. Keep 'em and enjoy.' They said she wadn' very pro-lific, but it wadn' that, it was jus' that she threw away so many things. The things at my house. And I done seen otha' things at that place in the mountains. Loads of paintin's.”

I couldn't breathe a word, couldn't bear to ask her to tell me more, but she wasn't done talking.

“These three paintings here, you know about them, Mary Swan?”

I nodded slowly. “They're the ones that were going on exhibition at the High last year, weren't they?”

“Yep, you done got that right, Mary Swan. Don't know how you know it, but you is right. Yore mama was gonna give them paintin's to the museum. That nice doctor worked it all out with yore mama. But she was afraid, Miz Sheila was. Terrified to reveal the other side of herse'f. Part o' her wanted to real bad and the otha' part was scared stiff. And so I tells you what we did. I tell you that story, Mary Swan, becuz you done figured out the rest.

“I swore to Miz Sheila I wouldn't neva' tell nobody, not yore daddy or Miz Trixie or no one, but you is here now and you see these paintin's. It was the day before them paintin's were gonna be delivered to that museum. And yore mama started getting all panicky, and I could tell she was jus' terrified. So she comes to me while I was ironin' and she begs me to go with her to Resthaven and git them paintin's. And I said, ‘Aw, Miz Sheila, don't ya be doin' that now.'

“But she wouldn't have none of it. And so we drove all the way up ta Resthaven, and they jus' thought she was comin' as usual to check in, and I didn't peep a word. She went right to that studio of hers where all her paintin's was kept and where those three paintin's was all wrapped up and ready to be delivered to the museum and she took 'em out ta her car, and I he'ped her. And we put 'em in her car and drove off jus' like that, with nobody askin' no questions. An' I don't think yore mama had any idea what to do next, but I was mighty afraid she was jus' gonna cut 'em up like I'd seen her do before. She was so upset. So I says ta her, ‘Miz Sheila, lemme take 'em. I'll be real careful with 'em. And nobody'll find 'em. I promise you that. Won't tell a soul.' I figured that afta' she calmed down a bit, she might change her mind and give 'em to the museum.

“So Miz Sheila done agreed, and she drove me home, and I took those paintings inside and put 'em right where they is now.

“And I neva' did say a word. Wadn't easy, but then again, they was yore mama's and I figured it was up ta her ta decide. Once when I told yore mama she should give 'em back, well, she flew into a rage. She said they were for me and no one else and that she didn't want me eva' ta say anuther word about it. So I didn't. And so you see, they's right here in my room, and I have my own private art show every day. I enjoy them so much. Every day I'm at the museum. Every day I kin almost hear yore mama hummin' away as she paints.

“I think the Lawd done prepared it 'fore I got sick, 'cause He knew I'd need some cheerin' up. So I sits here and smiles seein' you on my lap.” She nodded toward her portrait. “Or I stares at that one there, with all those dogwood trees and azaleas and the roses and ev-erythin' testifyin' to spring. She was a mighty fine painter, yore mama.”

Her head fell back on the pillow, and she closed her eyes again with a peaceful look on her face.

It took me a minute to quit sniffling. Then I said, “Thank you for telling me, Ella Mae. You'll never know how much it means to me. I think you saved her life a hundred times. I think you saved her life, and then you saved Jimmy and me too. I'm glad you have these paintings. You deserve them.”

I knew in that moment that I'd never breathe a word to her about the Raven Dare. And I'd never tell Rachel or Carl that I'd found the missing paintings. The Dare was finally solved, but it didn't matter at all. What mattered was Ella Mae. She was going to need all the help she could to recover. Maybe God really had planned it this way so that Ella Mae would be surrounded by beauty, surrounded by the memory of a woman she loved like her own child when she needed it most. This was a much better place for them, right here at her house.

“But you mustn't think it was jus' me he'pin' her, Swannee,” she said all of a sudden, obviously not finished with her story. “'Cause she came down here lots a times ta he'p us out too. Every time Roy and me was in a scrape, she somehow knew it without me sayin' a thing. Maybe the Lawd done revealed it to her. I dunno. But she'd give me the money and stuff. Sometimes wadn't for us. Was for somebody else she'd heard was havin' a rough time. So she'd slip me the money and make me swear I wouldn't tell who it was from. She had a tender heart for those who was hurtin', yore mama did. She loved us blacks. And she'd say, ‘I can't do much, but I can write a check and I can buy a bag of groceries.'

“She told me once that what she liked about Resthaven was that everybody there was jus' the same. Didn't matter none if'n you was black or white or young or old or had lots a money or nothin'. Everybody there needed he'p. She said she didn't have ta pretend at Rest-haven. She could laugh and cry and hug the black janitor and he'p the little teenager with her problems. An' nobody saw her as some rich and uppity woman from Atlanta. She was jus' Sheila with a heap o' problems. An' she said that she learned there how to tell the truth and how to depend on others and on God. 'Cause there it was okay to admit that her life was in a mess. There it was okay. An' she never put on no fancy gown or suit, and on Sundays she jus' took off her paintin' smock and went to the chapel like she was, a mess, and she'd jus' git on her knees and cry her heart out and ask forgiveness.” A tear was trickling down Ella Mae's cheek.