Sweet Joy Of My Life by Carole Gift Page

Author:Carole Gift Page
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Barbour Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2013-08-16T00:00:00+00:00

Eleven

Kayli sat at her easel spreading an acrylic wash over her canvas—cerulean blue, raw umber, and burnt sienna. Her arm moved with a wide swath, her wrist flexing, her brush emulating the graceful rhythms of an orchestra conductor. She applied several dabs of black pigment, blending them with the blues and browns until jagged rivulets twisted through the blue-brown suffusion. With quick, vigorous strokes she spread streaks of burnt orange and alizarin crimson, like flaming lightning bolts, through the shadowy haze. At last she exchanged her wide brush for a fine-tipped sable brush and sketched the form of a young girl in the midst of the murky, swirling colors. The child was standing alone, holding a candle.

Aunt Jessie entered the room just then and stood watching in silence. Kayli kept working, but her concentration was broken. She felt ill at ease. She knew what her aunt was thinking.

Finally Aunt Jessie sat down on a wicker chair beside the easel. “I thought you were working on a seascape. The sunlight on the water is perfect this time of day.”

Kayli set her brush down and swiveled around on her stool, facing her aunt. “I didn’t feel like a seascape today.”

“But this—!” Her aunt gestured toward the canvas, her voice etched with concern. “Why are you painting this, honey?”

“Because I want to.” Kayli scraped bits of dry paint off her knuckles. “How else am I supposed to get my feelings out?”

“You could talk about it.”

“About what? The fire? What’s the use of talking? I don’t have any memories. I just have the dreams. And the feelings and impressions. They’re all so elusive. When I try to pin them down, they evaporate. But they always come back.”

“Are the dreams getting worse?”

“Not worse exactly. Just more frequent.”

“Do you suppose it’s because you’re dating a firefighter? Isn’t that just asking for trouble?”

Kayli dipped her brush in the water container and swished it around. “Most of the time Rick makes me feel safe. In my mind I imagine him being the fireman who carried me from my burning house.”

Aunt Jessie sat back and folded her hands on her lap. She looked worried. “Maybe you should see a professional, honey.”

“A psychiatrist? You sent me to a counselor when I was a little girl. It didn’t help.”

“Maybe it would help now. There has to be an answer. What can I do to help you, sweetheart?”

Kayli shrugged. “You’ve done more than I could ever ask. You’ve been a great mother, the only mother I’ll ever know.”

“But sometimes I feel like a poor substitute. Your mother was such a dear, godly woman.”

Kayli squeezed the water from her brush and set it on her palette. “When I first met Rick I told him something I remembered about my mother.”

“Really? What?”

“I can’t picture her face, but I can sometimes hear her voice in my head. I have the impression of someone holding me and whispering, ‘Sweet joy of my life.’ Was that my mother?”

Jessie thought a moment. “Yes, I can remember her calling you that.

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