Angela Agranoff - Sophia O'Malley 01 - Organized Blackmail (2 page)

Painting Memories

Sophia wondered if the light blue dress with white polka dots on it made her look too girly instead of professional? She knew that wearing pants and a comfortable shirt was more practical for the down and dirty job of organizing. However, today was a special day. Eleanor was her first client after a long reprieve from the work she loves.  It was a celebration of sorts and nothing like a having your first client being one with a mysterious project.  “The polka dots are perfect!”   Sophia thought as she hopped in her jeep on her way to visit Eleanor.   Off she went on her new organizing adventure!

As she drove to Eleanor’s home, Sophia was thinking about how she missed meeting with clients.  She loved the idea of helping people organize their spaces and experiencing the transformation before her very eyes.  It was heart breaking for Sophia when she had a client who was miserable, stuck, and unorganized.  She felt like it wasn’t work at all when she was able to reorganize and make a space special for her client. Of course her trips to the city to visit the big organizing store was the cherry on top.  Sophia was truly excited about getting back to what she loves.

Looking to her left and right as she slowly navigated her jeep up and around Eleanor’s driveway. Sophia marveled at the beautifully manicured and breath-taking flower gardens that seemed to reach for the Heavens and sing to the Angels. Above her jeep a soft, gentle blue sky looked down at the flower gardens through the eyes of a glowing sun that gave life to the beautiful petals of each flower.

As Sophia rounded the curve, and her mind immediately shifted from the flower gardens to the large, white Colonial Style home sitting on a hill. The home was immaculate, towering above the grounds like a flawless beauty waiting for her long lost husband to return home from some far away war. “This is amazing,” Sophia whispered as she parked her jeep in front of the home.

Getting out of her jeep, Sophia took a moment to examine the beauty that encamped itself around her like a gentle, loving canvas. A gentle breeze brought mixed in the scent of pines from the mountains from behind the estate with the wonderful smell radiating from the flowers. The two smells, Sophia thought drawing in a deep breath, seemed to go together like two long ago dancers dancing to a song only their hearts could understand.

“Sophia dear,” Eleanor spoke.

Startled, Sophia looked to her left and saw Eleanor walk through a white iron gate that led you into a personal path that strolled down into the flower gardens. She waved. “Hello, Eleanor. My, you look beautiful.”

“I’m wearing my old straw hat, a plain tan dress, and sandals I once wore when Michael and I visited Namibia. I look as if I’m ready to go back to Africa and hunt some game,” Eleanor told Sophia in a relaxed and calm voice.

Sophia smiled. Even though Eleanor’s long hair was now completely gray and her face was covered in wrinkles, she still saw the beauty that once consumed her. This is a raw, mysterious, untamed beauty that still peeked out at the world at times; a mysterious beauty that matched a mysterious intelligence. “Well, you look beautiful to me.”

“That’s very kind of you dear,” Eleanor told Sophia pausing a few feet in front of her. “I love that dress. It flows very well with your red hair. I like that your hair is down and free this morning. You look ready for a party.”  Sophia replied, “Yes, celebrating my return to the work I Iove.”

Sophia felt relief touch her chest and smiled. Eleanor was not the type of woman to issue fake compliments. The woman was brutally honest. “Well,” she said taking another deep breath, “shall we go inside and get to work?”

Eleanor’s demeanor changed from hospitable and kind, to uneasy and worried. “Yes, perhaps that would be best, dear. I needed to walk the grounds before you arrived. I needed to have the time to clear my thoughts a bit.”

Sophia felt the urge to step toward Eleanor, take her hand and ask what the matter was. However, she knew Eleanor well enough to not press the woman into a corner. When Eleanor wanted to speak about a matter, she would. “It’s a beautiful morning and the grounds are beyond gorgeous. If one needed to clear their thoughts, this would be the place.”

Appreciating Sophia’s support, Eleanor turned around and examined her property. “I have lived on this property for over forty years, Sophia. My husband Michael and I purchased this land and built this house when Piney Woods was only an unpopulated valley. Michael wanted to live far away from the world, you must understand. And as small as Piney Woods is, he wasn’t very pleased when plans were made to begin building the community here. Michael has been dead for eight years now, but I still see him everywhere…even complaining that the world invaded his privacy.”

Sophia kindly smiled. Michael Beaman was a famous artist, she knew. His work was dark, gloomy, and depressing. Michael’s work was also known as powerful and brilliant, speaking in colorful thoughts that somehow cried out for an escape from a dark dungeon of despair. Sophia knew Michael Beaman was known as an eccentric man who was extremely anti-social. However through Eleanor, she came to learn that Michael Beaman was not anti-social. Instead, she learned that Michael Beaman was simply a man who cherished his privacy and who loved nature. “My parents were the same way. I grew up in a middle class neighborhood. But every chance my parents had to whisk me away to their cabin at the lake, watch out.”

“You seem to be following in their footsteps,” Eleanor told Sophia. “Now, let us go inside. We will begin in the library and work our way to the other rooms.”

“Okay,” Sophia agreed. As she allowed Eleanor to take her hand she saw something from the right corner of her eye. Turning her head she noticed a tall, thin man with black hair who appeared to be her own age standing down the driveway just far enough to be hidden out of sight. “Eleanor, who is that man?” Sophia pointed.

Before Eleanor could look the man moved out of sight. “I don’t see anyone, dear. It was probably one of the ground workers. There is much to do before the Annual Women’s Garden Club meeting next week.”

Sophia nodded her head but didn’t agree. She allowed Eleanor to walk her inside. The home whispered poems into the seasons through windows and had doors that led into rooms filled with splendor, beauty, imagination, and brilliance. Sophia paused in the luxurious white-marbled foyer, while Eleanor closed the front door.  The smell of fresh roses and herbal tea filled her nose. “I can never get over how beautiful your home is.”

“Your home is amazing as well,” Eleanor told Sophia. “I believe you are an artist, as you have taken a very old cabin and turned it into a modern day wonder. Everyone in Piney Woods remains impressed to this very day at the transformation your cabin has taken.”

Feeling her cheeks blush at such a compliment, Sophia focused her attention on a magnificent wooden staircase leading up to the second floor. “I just love that staircase. It reminds of the grand staircase on the Titanic.”

“Michael fashioned the design from that very staircase. I’m impressed with how you notice such detail!” Eleanor told Sophia. “Oh, where have the years gone? It seems like yesterday we had this staircase built. Come along, dear.”

Sophia followed Eleanor up the luxurious staircase. When they reached the top, Eleanor turned left and walked down a long hallway lined with expensive burgundy carpet and exquisite antique furniture. Walking down the hallway made Sophia feel as if she were in London during the turn of the century, preparing for a night read in the library as a heavy fog blanketed the night.

Stopping at a large wooden door, Sophia watched Eleanor pull a set of keys from the front pocket of her dress. Sophia understood the importance of keeping the library locked, as Eleanor possessed a detailed collection of antique books that were valued high enough to tempt any thief. “I always feel like I’m in London when I visit you,” said Sophia. “The rich, dark wood paneling makes me think if I move a light fixture a wall will revolve!” 

Eleanor laughed and nodded her head as she opened the door leading into the library. “Yes dear. I remember you told me that once. Michael was from London. Many times I wondered why he settled here instead of London. But as you can see by the designs his heart never left London.”

Before Sophia could answer, Eleanor stepped into the library. Before following, Sophia closed her eyes and thought of her husband. In her garage were boxes that held certain belongings of his. The library was all around her, like one big storage box, holding everything that Eleanor’s husband cherished. Perhaps, she thought, Eleanor didn’t have a room full of dusty boxes. Instead, she had one big box full of memories decorated beautifully. That one thought made her wonder if getting rid of certain items of her husband’s had been the right choice after all?

Walking into the library Sophia stopped at few steps in. Three walls of the large room she entered were lined with polished wooden shelves, holding shelf after shelf of books. The shelves began at the floor and reached to the high ceiling.  The back wall of the library held an incredible, if not intimidating, giant stone fireplace. In the middle of the library sitting on an expensive emerald colored rug, sat two leather wooden chairs separated by a glossy wooden drink table holding coffee and tea. The reading chairs were facing the stone fireplace. It looked like the perfect place to snuggle up with a good book and a soft cozy blanket. The one item that library did not consume were windows. “I love the smell of these antique books and the old leather.”

“I do too dear. At night I come in here to sit next to the fire place and read,” Eleanor told Sophia. “It’s very peaceful.”

“I’m sure it is,” Sophia agreed as her eyes searched the library not noticing the painful expression that suddenly overtook Eleanor’s face.

Eleanor drew in a deep breath and fell into a deep thought. Eventually she spoke. “On the very top shelf dear,” Eleanor pointed to the bookshelf against the far right wall, “is my husband’s journal. Please roll the library ladder to the shelf, get it and bring it to me three doors down on the right. I will be waiting for you.”

Sophia became confused.  “A journal? I’m sorry, I don’t understand, Eleanor. I thought we were getting books ready for the book sale. This library is amazing and filled with so many priceless treasures.  How wonderful for you to donate these.” 

“I’ll explain in time.  We can come back to the library to sort and organize books for the fair later”

Eleanor patted Sophia’s hand. “Remember, I need a friend and a confidant. Now retrieve my husband’s journal for me. He titled it ‘Memories of an Artist’.”

“Of course,” Sophia forced a smile hoping it would mask her confusion. 
             

“Thank you, dear. I know you are a bit confused. Things will become clear shortly, I promise.”

Sophia nodded her head. When Eleanor left the library, Sophia began to search for the first the journal. “Memories of the Artist,” she whispered walking to the right wall next to the doorway. Before locating the journal, she let her eyes flow over the antique books with curiosity and wonder. Within each word of each book were beautiful memories that could be relived time and time again simply by opening the book up. “So beautiful,” she whispered as she struggled to fathom Eleanor’s mysterious agenda. “She could have retrieved her husband’s journal herself, so why have me do it?”

Trusting that Eleanor would clear the unsettled water before her eyes, Sophia retrieved the assigned journal. The journal was very old with an antique red leather covering. “Inside are the words of a brilliant artist,” Sophia whispered while examining the outside of the journal. Not daring to invade a man’s personal thoughts or violate Eleanor’s trust, she kept the journal firmly closed. “Something is happening with you Eleanor, but what?”

Feeling a dark cloud rumble in her gut, she turned and hurried out of the beautiful library. The only room she had been in on the second level had been the library, so as she maneuvered her way to the room Eleanor was waiting in, she didn’t know what to expect. Stopping at the door Eleanor had given direction to Sophia took a deep breath as she tried to calm her racing heart. “Oh my,” she whispered again and then, using her left hand she gently tapped on the wooden door standing closed before her.

“Come in, dear,” Eleanor’s voice answered the knock like an agonizing woman desperately pleading for peace.

With a trembling hand, Sophia reached down and turned the antique brass doorknob. When the doorknob made a loud ‘
click’
Sophia swallowed and pushed the door open. She walked into a large, dimly lit, room with hard, creaking floorboards, and dusty walls covered with cobwebs. “What is this?” Sophia began to ask but fell silent as her eyes took in one dusty painting after another. Some paintings were hanging on the dusty walls. Others were lined against the walls, and others stacked against on top of other in decaying wooden crates.  “There must be hundreds of paintings.” Sophia said.