Among the Tulips (6 page)

She nodded and could feel his chin brush the side of her head. He began explaining about the different brushes, and one by one he picked them up and positioned them in her hand. He showed her how to hold them, what each one was used for and encouraged her to try different colors as she learned how to wield her weapon, as he'd called it.

But best of all, he made her laugh. It didn't take long for her to become accustomed to him. They were having fun as they tried different colors and different strokes of the brushes. At one point he moved away from her to gather his own brushes. When he returned to her side, he wielded his own brush, showing her the differences and helping guide her through her learning experience.

She thought this was probably the best time she could remember having had in the last several years. And she thanked God that she was here to enjoy it.

All things truly did work out. Had she not been questioning God about life lately and whether this was all? And He had blessed her with this wonderful experience and this wonderful man to share it with.

As they continued laughing and painting, she didn't think life could get much better.

“O
h, my! This is wonderful!”

The blindfold removed, Annie stood in front of the dinner table regarding Victor's efforts.

He'd had such a wonderful time today with Annie. In fact he couldn't remember the last time he'd had that much fun. She was wonderful and different from other women he'd met. He couldn't explain it. She had an inward glow about her constantly and her gentle words were so lighthearted and innocent compared to how jaded he'd become.

So he'd planned a special dinner with her. The table was set formally with two places. Candles were lit, and hanging on the wall was the painting the two of them had created earlier today.

“Our picture!” she squealed in delight.

He grinned. “I just had to hang it. I had it framed today while you were resting.” It was really a mess with no true patterns, but it represented something special to him, with bright bold colors in vivid strokes next to smaller, tentative strokes.

“You shouldn't have!” she exclaimed, but her happiness was obvious in her eyes.

He slipped his arm around her and lifted her own arm to his shoulders. Guiding her to the chair next to his, he seated her. “I did because I want always to be reminded of the good time we had today. At least, I had a good time.”

“Oh, so did I. Who would have believed coming to Holland would fulfill one of my lifelong dreams—to learn about painting?”

He couldn't explain how her enthusiasm affected him. Releasing her, he allowed his hand to travel down her arm and catch her hand; he squeezed gently. “I'm very honored that you enjoyed it.”

“And thank you for this wonderful dinner. Do you always eat so formally?”

He grinned. “We won't tomorrow or Sunday. I always give my employees the weekend off—at least my house employees,” he amended, thinking that security was never off. “So then it's usually sandwiches.” He returned to his own seat.

“Well this is nice, and I am perfectly fine with fixing a sandwich to eat.”

Just then Helga brought in the first course of the meal—a lightly flavored cheese soup. She set the dishes down and left.

Annie bowed her head and silently prayed before tasting the soup. He waited uncomfortably until she was done and then lifted his spoon. “So, what do you think?” he asked when she tasted it, wondering how, as a Christian, she could be so different from what his experience of Christians had previously been. She showed love, not judgment. Gentleness without compromise, yet without condemnation.

Her eyes were closed and a smile spread across her face. She looked as if she were in rapture. “This is absolutely wonderful,” she said in utter delight. “You have the best cook in the world.”

“I'm sure she'll enjoy hearing that,” he said dryly. “And I'm sure she'll be asking for a raise right after I tell her what you said.”

Annie laughed. It was an unencumbered laugh, full of joy and life. “You're too funny,” she said lightly and took another taste.

Victor began his own soup, thinking that though it was good, it did not compare to watching Annie when she was happy. Her smile was nourishment to his dry and empty soul. What was it he'd heard once? A person doesn't know their soul is dry and empty until someone comes along who can expose it.

Annie was the key to his emptiness. Her laughter and joy put a hunger in him for that experience.

Until not too long ago he would have said life was fine. Sure he had gotten burned out more often lately, and he was spending more time at his house here in Holland, which was his escape-from-life house, but that was because of his job—or so he'd thought.

Annie.

She took another spoonful of soup, and he watched as her eyes sparkled. “I think I've got that big fuzzy brush down,” she said, describing, badly, one of the painting brushes, “but that tiny one is going to be a problem.”

She wasn't aware of how animated she was as she moved her spoon in circles explaining about the brushes.

“It will come with practice.” Lot's of practice, he thought. She'd kept getting carried away and making funny uncontrolled strokes when he'd been trying to teach her control today.

He wondered if she was always so animated. The way she'd talked earlier had led him to believe that she wasn't. He didn't think she had ever had a chance to cut loose and have fun. He got the feeling she had lived a very sheltered life with no time for herself—until now.

He loved watching her come to life. Yesterday
and this morning before the painting, she'd been a bit reserved, but now, she was much more open.

“So you said you'd never painted before, but did you have any art lessons?” he asked, trying to draw out more information.

She shook her head. “I've tried my hand at drawing and writing poetry, but with the kids, I never had time for lessons.”

“It sounds as if they took up a lot of your time.”

“I never had a moment for myself,” she said, oblivious to how that sounded. “As they got older I was always running them everywhere. I still do my son's laundry. He's thirty-three-plus and drops by once a week. I do laundry, and he and I sit and talk.”

“About what?” he queried, frowning slightly. Thirty-three and he still brought his laundry to his stepmom to do? The man should be taken out and told the basics of life. He himself had done his own laundry from about twelve onward.

“Usually his work. He'll tell me what's going on in his work and what he's hoping to accomplish. He has his Ph.D. and works at a local chemical plant where he designs analysis for quality control purposes.”

“What did he say when you told him you were coming to Holland?” he queried mildly as the maid brought in their salads.

“Well, he wasn't happy,” she replied and took a sip of her water.

He lifted his glass to his lips and sipped, watching as Annie's features changed slightly from animated back to the reserved, tired-looking woman of this morning. “He didn't think it was very responsible of me to take off so soon after his dad's death.”

“It's been four years,” Victor said and then regretted it. He didn't want to put her on the defensive.

“I told you that too, huh?” She looked as if she was trying to remember what she'd told him and then shrugged. “My son was certain I'd come over here and go crazy and blow all of the money Harry left to me. It wasn't much by today's standard, but if I'm frugal, I can make it last the rest of my life.”

Frugal.

In other words, Harry hadn't left her a lot of money and the kids were worried she was going to blow it all, leaving them nothing. He was beginning to see a picture painted of Annie's life that he didn't like.

He reminded himself he wanted to enjoy her company, but how could one simply enjoy a person's company if one didn't expand one's knowledge about that person? She was so open and innocent, sharing what many people certainly
wouldn't share with someone they barely knew. But that was just Annie.

“Susan, my daughter, is a nurse and she thought it was simply wrong of me to leave. I have a house and a cat, what more did I need?”

A life, Victor wanted to say, but he refrained.

“My friends thought I had mourned long enough and said ‘go for it.' They thought it'd be nice for me to get away.”

“And they were right,” he said, thinking he should send her friends thank you gifts for allowing Annie a break. “You've already had some Dutch lessons and now painting lessons.”

The maid brought in small Cornish hens that had been cooked with rosemary. “How do you say chicken in Dutch?” she asked staring at the golden-brown hen.

“Kip,”
he said slowly and carefully, pronouncing it so she could hear the sounds.

“Kip,”
she repeated slowly.

He nodded. “Very good,” he said.

She picked up her water glass again and took a sip.

He frowned, noting she wasn't drinking her wine. “Is the wine not to your liking?”

She blinked. “Oh. No. That's not it at all. You see, I don't drink.”

“Ah.” He should have realized. Here it comes,
the lecture. “I suppose you don't want me drinking?” he asked, opening the door for her rebuke.

“Oh, I don't care,” she replied and she was so honest about it, he believed her.

“Well that's a first,” he muttered. Too late he realized the breech he'd made. He never discussed his past with anyone, and yet he'd just opened the door to her.

“A first?” she asked, and glanced at him.

He didn't want to say anything, but, for some reason, so many memories of his past were opened just by having her around him. They were always near the surface when she was present. Giving in to the subject change that he'd inadvertently caused, he said simply as he began tearing apart the hen, “My parents were missionaries. They preached no alcohol whatsoever, and I haven't met a Christian yet who doesn't lecture me on my drinking.”

“Well, perhaps they should get a life.”

She'd surprised him again.

“You don't mind drinking?” he asked, suddenly very curious about her attitude toward drinking.

“I didn't say that.”

Ah-ha,
he thought.

“Actually, in the Bible, Paul told Timothy to drink some wine. Jesus made wine. I don't suppose drinking is wrong per se. However, I think if you have alcoholics in the family, if you feel a convic
tion in your heart that it's wrong, or if you tend toward drunkenness, then, no, you shouldn't drink. But if you have no problem with it and you don't go out driving, or beating your wife or children, then I don't see a problem with it.”

“Why don't you drink?” he asked, unable not to delve deeper.

“I don't think it's right for me. I fear I would overindulge, and frankly, I feel it displeases my heavenly Father.”

“Your father,” he said having never heard anyone talk quite like that about God.

She chuckled and even blushed slightly. “Yeah. Well, I was taught that God loved me so much that He sent His Son, and because of that He says we are joint heirs with Jesus. So, that makes God my father. And better yet, that makes Jesus my big brother.”

“I've never heard that before.” He liked the way she blushed and looked so absolutely innocent and young when she said that.

“But your parents were missionaries,” she said. He heard the confusion in her voice and saw the bewilderment in her eyes.

“Yes. But they talked repentance and sin.”

“Well that is certainly part of it,” she said, nodding and he suddenly wondered how he had gotten into this conversation. “I mean the Bible is fact and it tells us that every one of us have strayed
from the Truth. That's why God sent His Son. To bring us back in line with that Truth. By accepting Jesus's sacrifice for our straying and admitting that we've strayed, we are cleaned up from those past mistakes. His blood now takes the place of our penalty. But that's only the beginning. What God wants is a relationship. That's why He sent His Son. He could have given up on us as soon as Adam sinned, but He knew from the foundations of the world what was going to happen and provided a way out for us. And you know what is so wonderful?” she asked, and the soft smile of joy that touched her features made it worth listening to her just to see that expression. “We don't have to do anything for that sacrifice except say yes.”

He'd heard it before, but never that way. It'd always been about how bad a person was and how, if they didn't repent, they'd end up in hell. This was different. She talked about God sending His Son out of love, not out of condemnation of the human race followed with threats or fears. For him it'd been all rules and regulations, for her it was something different.

He was having his conceptions turned upside down by this woman.

“I did that once—a long time ago,” he finally admitted. “But it turned sour on me and I'm not into the religion thing anymore.”

“Well that's good,” she said.

“Good? But aren't you a Christian?” he asked bewildered by her statement.

She nodded. “Yes, Victor, I am. But I'm not into religion. As I said, I'm into a relationship with Jesus. He talks to me. I talk to Him. I share things with Him.”

“You don't go to church?” She had confused him this time.

“Yes, I do. And I'd like to go this Sunday if possible. But that's not what a relationship is about. You go to church for fellowship and to learn.”

“Let's change the subject,” Victor said, unnerved by such a different vision of religion from that he'd always perceived.

She smiled. “So tell me, when do I get to see a windmill?”

His mind whirled. He had expected an argument from her, and yet, she hadn't said a word. She was really something else. He was actually off balance. “How about Monday? That way you'll have the weekend to rest.”

Wiping his fingers on the napkin, he waited patiently allowing the maid to take the main course and set down dessert.

“Really?” she asked. “I mean, I was only kidding. I honestly don't expect you to be my tour guide, though I have to admit, today was one of the best days I've had in my life.”

He chuckled and simply shook his head. “It would be my pleasure, Annie, to take you on a tour of the countryside and show you the windmills and even a few beautiful fields of tulips if you'd like.”

She smiled. “Do you know, that's one of the reasons I chose Holland for a vacation? I love tulips. They're my favorite flower. Harry preferred roses, but I always cherished a secret longing for tulips. Not the multi-colored ones, but the solid-colored beautiful flowers.”

He watched the dreamy look on her face as she discussed tulips and was entranced.

“My favorite colors are blue and pink and yellow. Well, almost any of them. I imagine if I found a really pretty multi-colored one I'd like it as well.”