Spirit of the Revolution by Peterson Debbie

Author:Peterson, Debbie [Peterson, Debbie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Ghosts, Paranormal
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Published: 2013-01-23T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

The first snow of winter danced toward the ground, and formed a shimmering white blanket atop the landscape. Jo didn’t have time to stop and enjoy the view, though. Not today. Instead, she wrapped her long coat close to her body in an effort to ward off the chill and hurried inside the mall. Brady O’Connor, the artist she hired to paint Mathias and the boys, called while she made the drive to the concert hall this morning. He said he had finished the painting, and she could pick it up at her convenience. She found it very difficult from that moment forward to concentrate on the upcoming Christmas concerts or anything else for that matter.

She hurried past the throng of shoppers and made her way inside the gallery. Several customers stood inside, yet the moment Brady spied her, he excused himself and made his way toward her. His smile charmed as they met near the entrance. The man, who seemed the living embodiment of Santa Claus, grasped both her hands with his own.

“Miss Michaelsson, as you might expect, I’ve anxiously awaited your arrival,” he said. “Now, before we go any farther, I’ve a confession to make.”

“A confession?” she repeated.

“Yes.” He applied gentle pressure to her hands and said, “Before you see the painting, I need to tell you I didn’t paint the scene we discussed. After careful consideration, I used my artistic license to fill the canvas with the portrait I saw in my mind’s eye.”

“Oh, I see.” Jo took in a breath and nodded.

“Now, before you form an opinion, let me add this. If the painting doesn’t please you, I’ll not only give you the one I completed, but I will also paint the one you originally commissioned free of charge. And what’s more, I guarantee I’ll have it finished by Christmas Eve. What do you say to that?”

Jo returned his mischievous smile. She couldn’t imagine him painting anything less than perfect. Several examples of that fact adorned the gallery walls. “You have yourself a deal, Mr. O’Connor. So, can I see it now?”

“A moment, if you please. I must also confess a love for theatrics, so would you kindly close your eyes until I unveil the painting? I’ll let you know when it’s time to open them. Don’t worry, I’ll lead the way,” he said, nodding toward a large covered easel in the corner.

Jo dutifully closed her eyes and at once, he let go of one hand and then tugged her along with the other. “Let me know if I’m going to trip.”

Brady chuckled. “I’m not going to let you fall. Now, recall with me for a moment the discussion we had about each of your Revolutionary War re-enactors. I did a little bit of research myself on Morgan’s Rangers before I began the painting. Fascinating and admirable group of men. No wonder your little band of boys enjoy their hobby.”

“Yeah—” Jo bit down on her lip to hide her smile. “No wonder.”

“All right, here we are, but don’t open your eyes just yet,” said Brady.

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