Read Online The Carpenter & the Queen by Michelle Lashier - Free Book Online Page A

long time ago. I don’t
really want us to play with her.”
    “Can I use her? Please? To help me remember
Dad?”
    “You weren’t even born yet when I got
her.”
    Sam let out a little whine and stuck out his
bottom lip. “Please?”
    She sighed. “All right.”
    Throughout the game, Claire’s head was
filled with memories of what it felt like to stand in front of an
easel and pull beauty out of a blank canvas. She remembered how the
wooden brush handle felt in her palm, how the bristles slid through
mixed daubs of paint. She saw herself staring at a canvas as though
it were a window into her past life. How many times, in those first
days of grief, had she felt unseen eyes watching her every move?
Perhaps she had sensed herself, four years later, looking back at
that time of grief and moving on.
    A picture appeared suddenly before her eyes.
Claire knew exactly what her first painting would look like. The
scene was so clear in her head that it obliterated her view of the
chess board.
    “I just won,” Sam announced.
    He moved his queen (her queen, really) to
knock over her king. She looked at him in surprise.
    “How did you do that?”
    “I just captured your pieces and got your
king.”
    “Oh. Good job.”
    Sam frowned in suspicion. “Were you paying
attention?”
    “Honestly, no. I’m sorry. Let’s play another
game, and I promise I’ll focus this time.”
    She did manage to keep her mind on Sam until
he was in the shower. As he sang little songs to himself in the
pounding water, Claire sat on the couch and stared at the opposite
wall. It was a blank, boring, wasted space. With the right shelves
or cabinets, this could be the perfect spot to display her European
souvenirs and memories of Will while making room for the new life
she and Sam were creating. She could call Garrett, and he would
gladly pick up something at Ikea on his way from Detroit, but she
rejected that for several reasons. This old house wasn’t exactly a
good match for modern lines. Also, Garrett would want to install
the pieces for her. While he was capable, the venture would take a
great deal of time and disrupt her routine for longer than she
would like. Claire needed something custom made that would blend in
with the house’s architecture. She wondered what that would cost
her or even where to look. She would ask around at the library
tomorrow, see if anyone knew anything.
    Wait. Hadn’t Paul said he was a carpenter?
Claire felt a little embarrassed for thinking of this, but it
couldn’t hurt to ask, could it?
    A half hour later, with Sam tucked into bed,
Claire retreated to her studio to sketch out her painting idea. She
used a pencil this time to lightly sketch in the lines.
    She began at the top where the cathedral
ceiling, obscured in the darkness of night, dropped down to a
series of arches that separated the nave from the aisles on either
side. Torches dimly illuminated the nave that traveled up from the
bottom of the page to the center where the transept and nave
intercepted. Claire sketched in the wooden screen and the
candelabras that fought back the darkness from the side and behind
the choir. In front of the screen, she roughed in a stone altar
with a body on top. The body lay clad in armor, a helmet over the
soldier’s face and a crusader’s tunic covering his chain maille. A
long line along the middle of the figure became his sword, clutched
in his gloved hands.
    Claire lifted her pencil from the page,
forming ovals in the air to determine the placement of her last
figure. Satisfied with the proportions, she drew a figure just to
the right and front of the altar. With quick strokes the figure
became a woman in a long dress, just in the act of collapsing in
grief on the marble floor.
    Her eyes misted as she studied the drawing.
It would be a painful painting, but one she must do. No more ideas
would come until this one was realized. She could procrastinate
forever, or she could paint this picture through her tears and