Read Online Painted Montana Sky: A Montana Sky Series Novella by Debra Holland - Free Book Online Page B

blossom. Feeling despair, she rinsed the brush in a cup of water, then set it down. It was all she could do not to tear up this one like she had her previous attempts.
    A breeze drifted the sweet smell of thimbleberries her way and dried the watercolor paint on the paper.
    Lily had a sensation of being watched, and when she turned, she saw Oliver standing about ten feet behind her, his hands in his pockets, brows puckered. He’d obviously been warned to keep his distance, but Lily could tell he wanted to approach. She smiled and beckoned him over.
    His face lit up in the expression she was already coming to love, and he ran toward her, careful to stop at her shoulder and go no farther. He studied her painting. “That’s beeeutiful, Miss Maxwell.”
    She laughed and put her arm around him. “Why thank you, kind sir.”
    “Wish I could paint like that,” he said in a wistful tone.
    “Well, so you could. Not just like this, every artist is different—has his or her own vision. But you could paint something similar in your own way.”
    “Can I try it?”
    Lily picked up a charcoal stick and handed it to him. Without regret, she sacrificed the drawing that wasn’t quite good enough, tapping the blank patch on the paper beneath her flower. “Right here. Show me what you can do.” She pulled him onto her lap, holding his sides. He was heavy, but since her hip didn’t protest much, she left him there.
    His face scrunched in concentration, Oliver tried to copy the inked lines of her flower. His lines turned out wobbly, but the result was better than she’d seen from most children his age.
    He twisted to look at her. “Can we draw Dove?”
    “Let’s tell Dove’s adventure. But you’ll need to stand so I can draw.” She picked up another charcoal stick and sketched a picture of Dove chasing a bird, then drew a few squiggles to show the river.
    Wide-eyed, with a big smile, Oliver made an expression of delight. “Me now?”
    She laughed at his enthusiasm. “You now.” She made a line dividing her drawing and the blank space for his.
    He copied her river, but made it bigger. Then he added a shape in the middle, which, when Lily squinted, looked like Dove. When Oliver finished, he glanced at her for approval.
    The memory of Dove sucked downstream jumped into Lily’s head. This time, though, the intensity was less, so she ignored her thoughts and smiled at Oliver. “Very good.”
    He beamed, and then drew a line to separate his picture from the white space. “Now you go.”
    Lily thought for a moment before beginning. This time, Lily took the time to make a more detailed sketch. When she’d finished, a boy and a man stood beside the river, fishing. With a final stroke, she added a line down the side.
    Oliver crowed with delight. “That’s Pa and me. How did you make us look so real?”
    She demonstrated, talking in the easy teaching tone she used with her little cousins and the neighborhood children when they wanted to paint with her.
    Time passed, and soon the paper had scribbles and sketches all across the bottom, sides, and top. When they finally ran out of space, Lily glanced at the sky and realized the hour had grown late enough that a new attempt at the thimbleberry wouldn’t last out the sun. She straightened and drew in a breath, feeling lighter.
    Acting on that feeling, Lily unclipped the paper and flipped it over. Using the charcoal stick, she playfully drew the thimbleberry flower, using broad strokes, and the flat of the stick to shade areas. Then in the blossom’s center, where normally she’d carefully add yellow paint, she sketched in a tiny face, smiling with plump apple cheeks and upside down V eyebrows. Then for fun, she drew a bug underneath, a cross between an ant and a bee, with several parts to the body, big antennas, and many feet. With deft strokes, she gave a face to this one too, but made the insect look melodramatically sinister.
    “Do more, Miss Maxwell,” Oliver pleaded.
    Lily