Tea With Miss Abraham | #loveintragedy

Chapter One

Behind the Painting

The scorching sun beat down on his uniform as he labored, hoeing the barren yard's weeds. Sweat lined his brow while the neighbor's children laughed and plodded across a whirling sprinkler.

"Clifton?" an older woman called from his client's patio, "Come here, sugar. Now, I'm all about hard work, but you can't do anything 'round here for Miss Abraham if you get heatstroke. Come inside the art room for lunch." The gardener motioned toward his dusty work boots and grass stains. "Never mind that. Cleaning's why her employees have jobs." Clifton and Mrs. Williams, the estate's head of household, ambled through the mansion's halls, arriving at doors trimmed in gold. "Rest up here, and you can get back to work when the sun settles down."

"Thank you, Mrs. Williams."

"Now, Clifton, I've told you time and time again: call me Betty." He dropped onto the cushioned couch. "I'll be back with sandwiches in a minute."

Clifton marveled the vast room's decor, never reclining in a room so fine since he began work on the estate: energetic hues complimented each painting stationed on the walls, glossy marble statues contorted various personalities, and the ceiling's chandelier dazzled, crystals shimmering with sunlight.

"Here you are." Mrs. Williams returned, setting down Clifton's abundant lunch on the couch's complimentary table. "And I brought you some sweet tea, made fresh."

"Thank you, Mrs.--Betty." The head employee winked and shot back into the hall.

Clifton sucked mustard off his thumb and washed his first bite down with ice-cold tea. As he ate, he heeded a golden curtain, sealing the room's opposite side. An unseen door opened and closed, startling him. Low on tea, Clifton refilled his glass, and the amber liquid swirled and clinked the remaining ice.

"Who's there?" a woman's voice asked beyond the curtains.

"It's Clifton Underwood, ma'am. Mrs. Williams allowed me to eat here."

"Oh, you're the new gardener." She settled and moved mysterious furniture at the room's other side. "Do you mind the smell of paint while you eat, Mr. Underwood?"

"No, I'm used to it." The gardener smiled as laughs swept through the golden curtains.

A slender silhouette caught the dining man's attention as it sat upon a shape resembling a stool. Water splashed, and a long line stroked the shadow's intended design. "Do you enjoy working for Miss Abraham, Mr. Underwood?"

"Yes. Though I can't imagine the landscapers she hired before calling my boss's company."

"Awful ones. But you've come a long way with the yards in just two months." She complimented, splashing more water. "We're very grateful--especially Miss Abraham."

"Thank you. What's she like? I've worked here all of this time, and I've never seen her. Employees say she likes to keep to herself."

"Then why do you want to see her?"

"She's my boss. Shouldn't I want to see her?"

"Not if she doesn't want to be seen. Miss Abraham must have her reasons." The silhouette sighed, and the long line designing her work vanished from the curtain, cuing a short clank and splash.

"How long have you painted for Miss Abraham?"

"Years."

"So you're close with her?"

"I suppose." The far shadow wiped its hands with a presumed cloth. "Betty's closer. She's known Miss Abraham her entire life."

"Their ways with people seem pretty different."

"Yes," the painter's gruff tone replied, "I suppose that, too." Her seat screeched, and shoes clicked across the floor.

Was she about to leave?

"Wait, could I see your painting?" Clifton asked as the hidden door creaked.

"Not yet. It isn't finished."

"Could I see you, at least?" Clifton met many of the mansion's workers, but Miss Abraham's painter exuded an unfamiliar tone.

"No."

"No?"

"Mr. Underwood," the door closed, "I had an injury when I was younger, and I don't like to be seen. My art is what I want people to admire--unbiased. "

"It doesn't matter to me. I enjoyed talking to you." The golden-gray silhouette diminished. "Miss?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Underwood. Maybe another day." The clicking heels exited the room's other side.

The gardener blew a breath and scratched his head. Before leaving the art room, Clifton raked a painted landscape. Within the frame's edge marked the name 'K. Abraham.'