Court Painter

|6

It's impossible to maintain and live in a secret for very long. In Arden's case, she upheld her secret of nighttime painting for five years. However, like life itself, routines and secrets are subject to change. A simple flaw in the execution of a secret's fundamental keys to success can unveil years of concealment. 

Arden's body aches. Muscles deep within her back protest as she tries to slump into a comfortable position. Wood beneath her creaks as her weight shift, the screeching sound jarring her awake. Sunlight spilling into her heavy eyes, bouncing off the dried paint and landing on the pale face of Indra. 

"Arden..." Indra touches the painting that lays on the desk before her.

"Indra!" Arden sits upright, abruptly gathering paint and brushes into her gown, hopeful to hide them before Valienta discovers her.

"Arden, why are you in here?"

Sisters gaze, watching each other in a knowing way, neither willing to mutter what is already understood. "Please," Arden whispers. "You can't tell mother."

Indra shifts uncomfortably, fidgeting with her hands before her. "Is this why mother says the house smells like paint at night?"

Arden nods slowly, reluctantly nudging over the loose floorboard to reveal stacks of paintings hidden. "I can't help it, Indra. I have to paint. I have to express myself and father is right, there's worlds and ideas to be discovered when you make it up yourself."

Indra's demeanor fades quickly from one of a timid desire to understand to a mocking overtone. "You can't just make things up. Don't you see where father imagining the perfect world has gotten us?"

"Humility!" Arden responds, a little quicker than she intended. "Can you imagine the state of upheaval we might be in if any of us were ascribed status? I love you dearly, Indra, but I can not picture what a life of wealth and social elevation would do for you or mother. Our lack of abundant money has provided us all with a hint of humility."

Indra turns forcefully on her heels, quick to ignore the truth. "You just don't care, but the rest of us do." She pauses. "Correction, you and dad don't care. But the other three people in this house do."

"And this man-" Arden blurts. "Are you courting him because of the coin in his pocket or are you courting him because you believe he would make you happy forever?"

Indra walks away, refusing to acknowledge her sister's inquiry.

Hours later, Arden stands surrounded by her family. The scornful eyes of her sisters, the anger of her mother, and the neutrality of her father all weigh on her differently. Valienta holds in her trembling hands only a fraction of the paintings done by Arden. "You've been painting behind my back all these years?"

Arden is surprised at how personally her secret is taken, the way everyone (save Haider) seems to interpret her secretive painting negatively. "It never interfered with my responsibilities. I only ever painted at night."

"It explains why you always look so haggard," Indra jabs.

Instinctively, Arden raises her hand to touch her face as though she might physically feel her exhaustion. "At least I lose sleep over something that brings me joy." Her words are hushed, muted like the colors Haider used in sfumato shading.

"Don't take that tone!" Valienta loses all composure, gathering the rest of the paintings into her arms. "I won't watch you fade away into the many faces of those that watch their families work hard while they...while they paint what they can only imagine having instead of actually working for it." The words shot directly at Haider make their mark visibly. The wrinkles on his forehead indent a little deeper than normal and his shoulders slope downward in defeat. 

"I am sorry I have failed you, my dear." And with that, Haider makes his way up the attic stairs, leaving Arden to face her mother alone. 

"You may choose whatever life you want," Valienta surrenders. "But it shall not be with my support."

Tears fool in Arden's eyes as she watches her mother's resolve. "Why have you always hated this side of me? I know I am not the version of yourself you wished to see reflected in a daughter but this is who I am and I will never understand why you cannot accept me as I am, standing before you now."

The fire crackles furiously like the emotions seething through the air. 

"I will never accept it because you will make nothing of yourself as a woman who paints! Haven't you learned?" Valienta shakes furiously. "Women don't get to love their life. Women serve one purpose: to marry well so her children live a life completely removed from hers. I Failed and I will be damned if you do too." Before Arden can respond, Valienta has pushed through the front door, still holding the years of art in her arms. Arden follows, witnessing an act that will take years to forgive.

"You will thank me, Arden! I have tried so hard to encourage intelligence out of you and nothing works so I have no other option." And in one fluid motion, Arden watches her paintings scatter in the wind over the canal, finding their final resting place in the dark waters.