The Widow's Wealth

Chapter 1

"Your art is so beautiful, you should place them on auction. You would make a lot of money from all this, my friend." Gloria chuckled as her friend, Edith, stare miraculously at the canvas she was holding. It was the first time she'd showed anyone other than her husband her paintings; after all, they were the tie to the darkest part of her soul. A smile wore itself on her face as she stared amused at the treasured look on her new friend's face. "Instead of letting cobwebs smolder their beauty I suggest you allow me to show at least one of your masterpieces to one of my friends, I'm sure he'll sell it for you and you'll make  good money out of this."

"Do you think so?" She beamed, wiping her paint-stained fingers against the apron she had over her short-sleeved purple t-shirt. She stepped behind Edith, fear slowly crept under her flesh at the thought of having someone critique her work. She wasn't so sure if she was ready to have them owned by someone other than her. All her painted canvases were more than just canvases to her, they each held an important story to the chain of events her life had undergone.

"Do you know how much people pay for this type of art? You would be rich." Her friend shrugged, "maybe not right away, but at least it's a start if you start selling." Then she face-palmed herself, "what am I saying? You're already rich." Gloria smiled sheepishly at her sudden knowledge "When I spoke to you for the first time yesterday and you gave me your address, I couldn't believe a person living in this neighborhood was actually talking to me. So I decided to visit you today and now that I see you here I cannot believe it. You're so ordinary, you don't wear heavy necklaces or expensive designs."

Gloria raised both her hands up, "Well my husband owns this property. Wait, what would you like to eat or drink?"

"Don't overextend yourself the view of this house and your paintings are enough to fill me, my friend." They both burst out laughing at the blissfulness in her gaze as her eyes wandered along the paintings in the room and the creamy yellow color of the room she found sanity in.

"Haven't you ever thought of selling your arts? I know someone that owns an art gallery. I swear he'll like every one of your paintings. He does deals with wealthy men and finds them their next painting investments. He makes a lot of money out of that too. So he is like a middle man." She said, stopping in front of a neatly covered painting, she picked it up propelling Gloria forward as she felt an urge to protect her painting.

Edith unwrapped the painting before Gloria's fast-paced footsteps could carry her to her friend.

Edith let out a loud gasp at the image in front of her, stopping Gloria from stepping forward to grab her precious painting from her as she awaited the scrutiny from her new friend's judgment. "This is--beautiful." Satisfaction settled in her soul for a moment as she watched her turn towards her with an ecstasy-filled gaze, stretching the 40x50cm canvas in front of her. It was a painting of a black infant with a dummy pulling the air close to her.

Gloria completed her steps towards Edith and gently took the painting from her hands, "it's not finished yet." That was her soul laid bare. Not even her husband as had the chance to lay his eyes on the painting, it was her most cherished piece of the thirty-something currently resting in the room. For some reason, having another person lay their hands on it made her flesh boil.

She quickly wrapped the painting neatly with the white cloth, "I'm sorry," Edith said. A purge of pain reflected in her heart at the way she'd acted.

"No," she couldn't help the lack of sadness her face bore, "it's the first time that I have had someone other than my husband step into this room." Not even the sun had seen the painting, for some reason she only ever worked on the painting when it was late and dark. Most especially, when she'd recently fought with her husband and her soul needed a clean sheet to stain with her bitterness, then she'll pour like ink unto the canvas, scavenging her deepest sorrows unto it.