Chapter One
Reflections

The day was warm. The grasses and bracken around her, still wet from the morning rains, glistened and steamed as the sun broke from its cloud cover. Jennifer sat on a granite outcrop, her booted feet drawn up and supported by ancient roots protruding from fissures in the rock face.
Arms on her knees, she was studying the area of rock between her feet. In a narrow crack about two inches long a tiny plant struggled to support a solitary yellow blossom.
It's gorse, she thought. Pretty sturdy plant, but still.....you wouldn't think there'd be enough nourishment to keep it alive, much less let it flower. The sun on her back felt good.
She straightened and shrugged her rain jacket off her shoulders, keeping her arms in the sleeves, folding them across her lap. She scanned the familiar scene. The hillside angled gently to a wooded area several hundred feet below. Beyond the trees, a narrow country road threaded its way through the valley known as Glen Lothian. A few houses were generously spaced along each side of the road, from this distance like charms on a bracelet. In the far distance, the River Durn, a delicate, silvery necklace, appeared and re-appeared in the blue-grey mist of the horizon.
To the right, where the road made a sharp turn north, she could see her own house. White, two-storied, and fronted with grey granite native to the area.
The landscape dappled as the clouds played tag with the sun. Jennifer sighed heavily and pulled up her jacket. Still sitting, she eased down off the rock and onto the trail that led towards her home. She'd been out since early morning, visiting the cemetery before starting her walk. Hill walking, the locals called it. A pastime she and her family had always loved. She wished she had lived here when she was young enough and fit enough to make the climb to the summit.

She sighed again, and started her trek towards home.
There I go again, she thought, heavy duty sighs.....just like my Mum. Alex said I did it all the time....that I just wasn't aware of it.
Moisture build-up behind her eyelids.
Still can't think of him without tears. We walked this trail so often. Then, later, the three of us.
The trail turned sharply to the left at this point and became narrower, a direction chosen by unknown, long forgotten hikers.....were they actually called 'trail blazers'?....so as to access one of the mountain springs. Another turn and the trail widened to a grassy area bounded by a twenty foot wall of rock. A rill tumbled from a cleft near the top, bouncing through rock and shale, blazing its own trail towards the river far below that would carry it to the sea.
Pulling up her hood against the spray, Jennifer approached and cupped her hands under the icy water, drinking from them until her hands were too cold and her pants and boots were damp.
"Magical tincture", my Mum called it. Used to say the ancients believed spring water had healing powers.
She moved to a dry spot. The clearing was sheltered and warmth radiated from the rock surround. Jennifer took off her jacket and sat on the lining side. Leaning back, she spread her hands on her legs and raised her face to the sun.
It certainly feels that way.....at least up here.....until I go back down. She shifted, adjusting to her backrest, her morning visit to the cemetery remembered.
Mum loved Alex. He could do no wrong in her eyes. But then, he was good to her....treated her well. He was good to his own mother, too. That's how you know you've met a good man, if he's good to his mother.....isn't that what they say?
A gentle man, Mum described him. They sat for hours some evenings talking about music. He wasn't musical himself but he loved to share our music collection, and she so obviously enjoyed it. He even put up with our party piece. Me on piano, Mum singing. She could mimic anything from an operetta, or have us close to tears with an old love song. What lovely times.

Jennifer sat forward and opened her eyes, keeping her head lowered while her sight adjusted. Her complexion was weathered but of good colour, the result of many hours spent in the outdoors. The green-flecked hazel eyes were enhanced by her lovat green turtleneck and the multitude of lines surrounding them indicated middle age. Her auburn hair was loosely tied back to the nape of her neck exposing strands of silver-grey which reflected the sun.
Around her, the grass was thick and closely cropped, thanks to the spray and the sheep herds that freely toured these hills. Their droppings were evident everywhere, curranty clusters that filled the cleats of hikers's boots.
She looked again to the valley. Now she remembered she and Alex trekking the hills with Jane in tow. They had started hill walking with their daughter when she was quite young. The distances and elevation increased as she got older, of course, but they were family walks, where they would show her the plants and wildlife, as much as they were aware of, along the way. In time, Jane would pester to hill walk on weekends, the only time Alex could go.
The little rascal, she knew how to wangle her way around her Dad. As young as five years old she would say, "Let's go walking, then we can go to Harry's," a burger place in Durn that she was addicted to. In time she would despise the place, even courting vegetarianism in her teens. But back then, burgers were her favourite food. She usually got her way, even though Alex and I weren't keen on them.
She certainly manipulated Alex. Anything she decided she couldn't live without, whether a computer game, a toy or a pet, she'd go to him first. Somehow I didn't mind.
I remember when she decided she wanted a horse. She was about ten and had riding lessons in the summer. She was at boarding school........

Chapter Two
She Grows

Jane was daydreaming, and was only vaguely aware of the late-model cars entering and leaving the courtyard through the impressive cast iron gates that served as both protection and restraint to the pupils within Lothian School for Girls. The driveway that framed the courtyard was itself bordered by rose beds, so well tended they appeared as if painted by an artist in the naive style, too perfect to be natural.
The clear sky and increasing strength of the sun gave warning of unaccustomed heat to the residents in the town of Lothian, and on Main Street, known for its floral window displays, windows were opened and flowers tended and watered earlier than usual.
The school windows remained closed this day in mid-June as faculty and staff prepared for school closure and summer holidays, Most of the pupils had already left, some picked up by chauffeur-driven cars, some using the train station one mile south of the school, but Jane was to be picked up by her mother.
The heat of the sun, angling through the pebble glass windows, contributed to her dream state. Her uniform, blouse and tie, worsted skirt and virgin wool socks felt heavy and uncomfortable. Her suitcases were already packed, but soon she must go to her room and change for the ride home. Her thoughts were already home, and how she looked forward to that wonderful feeling that came over her whenever the country home, surrounded by the hills she loved, first came into view.

The dogs, her dogs, were Labrador retrievers, one golden and one black. They felt it their duty to bound out and greet any car that approached the house, and on Jane's return from school they became a slobbering, undisciplined welcome committee. She missed them. And of course she missed her parents.
She was startled from her reverie by the sound of young people running down the hall past the day room. It must be visitors, she thought, no resident students would run in the halls. She stood up, raised her clasped hands over her head and stretched, with a fleeting thought that next year she would need a larger sized uniform. Glancing at the clock, she left the day room and climbed the wide, oak stairs leading to the second floor. In her room she changed into shorts and her favourite sweatshirt, and within half an hour was at the front doors, surrounded by her luggage, when she saw the familiar little red sports car pass through the gates and enter the approach to the school.
Awaiting her mother's arrival, she looked around the familiar vestibule, now a hive of activity, and thought how happy she was to be going home, but also to be leaving the school. She enjoyed learning and was thrilled by discovery. The pursuit of knowledge was a natural and pleasurable pastime for her. It was the restraint and routine that she found almost unbearable at times. At home, she was free to do as she pleased. She didn't have to answer to anyone. Well, her mother came down hard on her sometimes, but her father usually came through, helping her get what she wanted.
As Jennifer stopped the car and climbed out onto the pathway, she looked up past the dozen or so steps to her daughter and was struck again by her smile, (a mirror image of her own, some people said, but she saw it only as familiar), and how perfectly its curvature was in sync with the dark, dancing eyes.
Jane ran down the steps and jumped the last two into her mother's arms, upsetting her balance, so that they both came to rest against the car.
"Hello Mummy, I thought you were never coming."
Jennifer kissed her daughter's cheek and eased her to the ground.

"Hello darling. Sorry I'm late, but I forgot it was market day in town, and with it being such a lovely day everyone for miles around is there. We'll take the country road home." Jane liked that idea. The country road seemed to her like a roller coaster ride.
The porter expertly fit Jane's suitcases into the less that adequate trunk of the convertible, nodded to Jennifer and, turning, said, "Have a good summer Miss Jane."
"Thanks William," she responded, climbing into the low, leather cocoon of the passenger seat without troubling to open the car door. The seatbelt reminder heeded and silenced, Jennifer started the throaty little engine and they were off.
There followed the usual questions and answers about school....exams, parting with friends, and such, and as they drove home Jennifer, with frequent glances, marveled again at her daughter's beauty. Most mothers, she knew, think their children beautiful. But Jane had something classic. Good bones.
Jennifer had some experience in the study of bone structure, at the college of art she had attended in her youth, and her subject of choice when she painted as a hobby was the human form.
It has to do with high cheekbones, she thought, and the way the eye sockets form a valley and rise dramatically to the bridge of the nose, forming deep-set eyes. Add to the setting, long lashes, penetrating colour, a sparkle born of natural good humour, and you have an attention-getting combination. She made a mental resolution to try to capture that combination on canvas in the near future. The nose was a bit too long though, she mused, stealing another look, wryly recognizing the imperfection from her own reflection.
"Mummy, what do you think?" asked Jane.
"About what, darling?"
"About the horse. Mummy, you haven't been listening, have you?"
They were climbing now, steep, twisting inclines, requiring Jennifer to concentrate on the road, delaying her response. They were in the foothills of the Cruach mountains now. Ben Cruach itself sat resplendent in the far distance, its white-capped peak oblivious to the heat wave that blanketed the surrounding valleys. One more rise and a sweeping right turn brought their house into view.

"I was listening, but you know I have to watch the road here. Besides, Jane, we've talked about this before, and you know how Daddy and I feel."
"But Mummy...." Jane was twisting the seatbelt around and around.
"You have your riding lessons, and you spend most of your summer weekends at the stables. That's more than most girls your age are able to do."
"Angela Morrison has her own horse, and a stable right by her house," said Jane.
"Angela Morrison's father trains horses for harness racing, so they would have stables nearby, wouldn't they." Jennifer's tone made it clear it was not a question. She continued quickly. "No, we just think you have lots of exposure to horses at Bridlewood and that's the best we can do."
No response.
She looked over at the sullen face and twisting fingers. She turned into the long driveway.
"Come on, cheer up, we're home," she said, smiling, "Hamish and Tam will hear the car in a minute."
The pout disappeared and the chin lifted as Jane stretched for a first glimpse of her dogs.
Mrs. Douglas, their housekeeper of many years, shielded her eyes against the sun when she heard the crackle of tires on gravel, whilst holding Hamish's collar in a vain attempt at restraint. A slightly-built woman, she appeared almost fragile at first glance. Widowed early in her first and only marriage, she was happy with this job that not only gave her a wage but allowed her to live in a home with a family. Her leathery skin and half-moon shaped eyes were the result of many hours spent in the vegetable garden, and it was a common sight to see her pushing a wheelbarrow, loaded with composted material, from the rear of the house to one or other of 'her' beds. Lovingly tended, the garden supplied produce for the family, almost from one season to the next, with the help of bottling and freezing.
As the car came to a halt, Hamish, the golden Lab, broke free from his restraint and was at the car in two bounds. Tam, older and less excitable, sat up on the front porch, raised his arthritic rump from the large raffia mat he had adopted as his own, and ambled towards the car.

Strands of Jane's tousled hair quickly became matted against her face by the frantic lapping of Hamish's tongue, his front paws astride the passenger door. Jane's giggles were muffled as she ducked to avoid the onslaught.
Jennifer came around to pull the dog from the door so Jane could escape. Tam, patient and understanding, stood back a couple of feet, ears up and tail swishing back and forth in anticipation. Jane knelt down and wrapped her arms around the big, black animal, prompting more licks, this time around her ears.
"Well, young lady, they must be feeding you well at that school," said Mrs. Douglas, "you'll not be in these shorts for much longer."
"Hello Mrs. D," said Jane, now holding both dogs by their collars and stumbling towards the house.
"C'mon Jane, help with the luggage," said Jennifer, anticipating daughter and dogs' plans for a romp on the porch.
When the luggage was stacked in the foyer, and the dogs convinced to wait outside, Jennifer suggested that Jane go upstairs and have a bath before lunch.
"But Mummy, Daddy will be home early today, won't he?"
"Of course, but I doubt he'll be home before lunch. So you've lots of time to bathe."
Jennifer herded the leggy girl upstairs, followed by Mrs. Douglas, each of them carrying a suitcase. As they reached the rose fashioned room, Jane did a couple of spins on the sand coloured carpet, then ran to the open window where she stuck out her head and called the dogs. This set up a fresh round of barking from Hamish, who performed his own excitable spins.
"I'll just run the bath, Mrs. Brown," called Mrs. Douglas over the noise, "and then I'll start lunch."
"Oh I'll run it, Mrs. D, you go ahead with the lunch," then, raising her voice, "and you, young lady, in the bath!"
With the sounds of Jane singing and splashing in the bath, Jennifer sorted out some of the clothing from one of the suitcases.

She's still a child, she thought. Still too young. I seem always to be waiting for something to happen. She's only ten. Two years, at least, before she reaches puberty, even. Alex and I decided fifteen would be a good age, but how do we know what is a good age? There just haven't been enough statistics compiled to give us guidance. She may not be mature enough at seventeen, or eighteen, even. This is the part of her life I know nothing about. She sighed heavily, and carried an armload of laundry over to the basket inside the bathroom door.
"If you're almost ready, darling, lunch will be ready shortly."
"Righto, I'm dry," answered Jane, "can I wear this new bathrobe to lunch?"
"May I ", Jennifer corrected, "and certainly not. Don't be long, now."
Oh well, she thought, as she made her way downstairs, I suppose raising any child involves a lot of guesswork.
The dogs announced the arrival of a car.
"Daddy's home...I know it!," called Jane, excitedly. Jennifer was vaguely aware of the new pink bathrobe rushing past her just as the front door opened and her husband appeared.
"Daddeeee," yelled the bathrobe, already halfway down the stairs.
His dark eyes brightened as he caught sight of his daughter. For an instant, Jennifer was reminded of her excited description of him to her parents the night she first met him. "He almost looks unhappy, but when he smiles his eyes crinkle up." A man of serious countenance, her parents had said, a thinking man, this is good.
He dropped his briefcase and jacket to the floor, extended his arms and braced to receive the pink, airborne ten-year-old as she leapt into his arms.
"You've stretched, Jinty," he said, kissing her cheek. Only he addressed her by a pet name. His eyes smiled at his wife as they found her on the stairs. "She grows," he said, as if to confirm the fact.
Her husband, a mature, well educated and scientifically trained man, was an adoring fan of his only child.

Jane, in turn, was well aware of her ability to manipulate her medium, and did so at every opportunity. She planted kisses on his brow, cheeks and mouth, a habit from her toddler days, then, her arms around his neck, she gazed directly into his eyes and said, "Can I have a horse, Daddy?"
Watching from the stairs, Jennifer was first irritated by the effrontery of the child. Working one parent against the other was a familiar ploy Jane had been using since she was around five years old, and since the tactic had achieved the overturning of a parental decision on occasion, she used it freely. But that was what caused Jennifer's irritation to pass, the fact that her daughter didn't do it furtively....there was nothing devious in her plan. It was as if she just had to confront each parent personally so as to gauge where the weakest link lay.
Reaching the bottom step, Jennifer perched against the bannister and surveyed the scene with amusement.
Alex ducked his head to one side, momentarily escaping Jane's scrutiny, and flashed his wife a look that said, I'm sure you've been through this already and what was your answer?
Jennifer folded her arms and smiled wryly, with the slightest shake of her head.
Look at those dancing eyes of his, she thought. That was what first attracted her to him, his eyes and that magical smile. And they still attracted her, after fifteen years. Like a beacon. Like that beacon on Long Point where we used to go boating. It was so familiar, but each time it came into view its staccato flashes would startle and demand attention. His smile was like that, a beacon that drew attention wherever he went, from either sex and any age group. Slightly irregular, but gloriously white teeth were set behind a wide, masculine mouth, the fullness of the lower lip suggesting sensuality. Humour and passion, a winning combination. The finishing touch was the appearance of two tiny depressions, almost dimples, at each side of his mouth when he smiled. Jennifer thought that, even when his receding hairline had passed beyond view, he would still be a very attractive man, because of that smile.
It's true, she thought, a sense of humour is the sexiest attribute a man can have. Or a woman.
Alex acknowledged her gesture.
"I think perhaps you've already discussed this with Mummy, am I right?" He lowered Jane to a standing position.

"Yes, but, we haven't absolutely decided yet....we always discuss important things as a family, don't we?"
Jennifer approached her husband and kissed him on the mouth, her fingers on the back of his neck subtle, almost imperceptible signals. Alex returned a momentary glance of understanding, then answered Jane.
"We certainly do, my sweet, but Daddy's just come in the door and I'd like to get changed and have dinner before we make any momentous decisions."
"Right," said Jennifer, "and I think someone else has to get changed, yes?"
"Oh, alright," returned Jane, turning to the stairs, "but I'll be right back, Daddy."
Grinning, Alex replied, "I'm sure you will," directed more to his wife than Jane, who was already out of earshot. He was taking off his jacket now, and undoing his tie. His angular shoulders were emphasized by a tailored shirt.
Alex Longbody, I used to call him, she recalled, a body built for swimming, cutting through the water without leaving a wake. Even with the extra pounds he's put on, he still looks lean.
As the tie came off, Jennifer eyed him suggestively.
"Can I help you with the rest, mister?"
"Later, gorgeous," he answered, giving her rear a squeeze as she reached for his jacket.

********

The dinner hour passed with the usual spate of family discussions. Even Mrs. Douglas, usually inclined to keep her opinions to herself, entered into the debate on the purchase of a horse. Jennifer's opinion, that Jane had enough access to horses through her lessons and that she would soon tire of the chores that came with the care of a horse, was seconded by Mrs. Douglas. Alex, to Jane's dismay, agreed.

Jane's battle lost, she adopted a theatrical state of depression which lasted right up to the moment Mrs. Douglas proudly carried in her homemade steamed syrup pudding, followed by Jennifer with a jug of custard. Mrs. Douglas firmly believed, "...a growing child needs stick-to-your-ribs puddings; it's the fuel for the energy they burn."
She got no argument from the rest of the family, although they consumed lighter fare while Jane was away in school.
The evening included three games of checkers, Jane challenging each adult, and a late walk with the dogs. After Jane was in bed and Mrs. Douglas retired to her room for her nightly bible reading and "devotions", Alex poured two brandies and sank into the larger of the two armchairs in the lounge. Opposite him, Jennifer raised her glass and smiled, "Alone, at last."
Matching her salutation and slumping further into the chair, Alex said, "And not a moment too soon."
Jennifer giggled, "She's a powerhouse, alright."
"I think she plugs into some energy source to recharge, all the time she spends in her room...." he sipped his drink as Jennifer laughed, "....then she comes out of there like she's been shot out of a cannon!"
"Slight exaggeration," Jennifer, still laughing, "besides, when she's too quiet for too long, we're wishing she was more lively."
"Not me."
"Liar!"
A comfortable silence followed for some time as they finished their drinks.
Jennifer straightened in her chair. "Want tea, coffee, or.....?" The last accompanied by the raising of her empty glass.
"I'll have some or," he suggested, producing a quasi leer.
He was now slouched well down in the chair, his long legs crossed at the ankle, his fingers interlaced on his chest, his thumbs forming a peak.

God, I love this man, she thought, and quickly made a mock dive out of her chair, causing him to draw up his knees defensively. Both were laughing now.
Pleased with her success, she walked over and kissed the top of his head, settling on the arm of his chair. He sat up and put an arm around her hips, grasping her ample thigh.
"Hold on, boy, we're going upstairs in a minute, anyway."
"I'm ready now." His other hand was stroking her inner leg.
She grabbed his hands with her own, "Whoa, doctor, I just want to talk about something first."
He loosened his grip and reached for his glass, pointedly turning it upside down on the coaster.
"Alright, alright, I'll get you another," she conceded, noting his smirk of triumph.
He handed her his glass and she went to the liquor cabinet.
"Seriously, darling, I really think we should decide exactly when we're going to tell Jane."
There was no need for further explanation.
Alex was now sitting well forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees, his demeanor sober.
"Exactly?" he asked.
"Well, no, of course not, but....don't you think while she's home for the holidays....?"
She returned with his drink. He took a swallow and rolled the glass between his hands before answering.
"I think she's too young," he pronounced.
Jennifer reached her own chair and sat on the arm. "Really?"
"Yes, it's much too early."

"But, she's quite mature for her age...."
"Mature for her age, but not mature enough to grasp the implications....much less deal with them. She knows about sex and procreation, and she assumes that's how she herself came about, so now you're telling her that's not so....it's asking a lot for her to understand why."
"But, isn't that better? Isn't it better that she grows with it, until she understands it fully?"
"She's a thinker. She won't let it rest until she's got it down pat. She'll probably want to go to the lab and see the process."
"Is that so bad? She's seen experiments in the lab before."
"She's not mature enough for this. She can probably understand the process, but she can't fully understand why it was done that way.....she's too young."
A long silence ensued, Jennifer staring at her fingers, Alex, the amber dregs in his glass.
Jennifer broke the silence. "Will she ever be old enough to understand that?"
Alex studied his drink for some time, then drained the glass and stood up.
"Well, she's more likely to a few years from now.....I think."
Jennifer walked to his side and put her arm around his waist. "You're right, we should wait awhile."
He grinned down at her, "I'm not waiting a moment longer," and ducked his head under her chin, nuzzling her neck.
She squealed and escaped, immediately putting her finger to her mouth as if he, not she, had broken the 'no loud sex signals' rule, and started running for the stairs, glancing quickly over her shoulder to make certain of his pursuit.

**********

The next morning, standing by her bedroom window, Jane watched her mother at work in the vegetable garden. Jennifer was on her knees, scratching out furrows to receive large, speckled seeds, spacing them about six inches apart. It was another bright day, with little humidity in the air, and only a few puffy white clouds atop the distant hills, as if to cloak and protect the snow. Jennifer sat back on her heels and stared out toward Ben Cruach, seemingly deep in thought.
Watching her, Jane thought, look at that huge garden, it's too big for Mum and Mrs. D, they're always tired and sore after working in it all day......we could cut it in half and build a stable in the space. Pleased with her plan, she sanctioned it aloud, "and besides, a horse will produce manure for the garden."
Jane studied her mother closely, watching the droop of her shoulders, the waistline she had allowed to thicken, the double chin. God, she looks old, she thought. Well, she was old, wasn't she? She must be....around, what? Fifty, maybe?
"I don't love her," she announced, quietly. "Love my Dad, but not her. She doesn't love me either. That's okay, happens in lots of families. If people were just honest about these things there wouldn't be so many problems, right?" Moving from the window, she confronted herself in her dresser mirror.
"Here's the story. We don't love each other, and that's okay.....we like each other alright. Like is good. We can live with that, right?" She moved her arms about in concert with the melodrama she was creating in her mind's eye. "But no, everyone has to be loved, show love, love thy neighbour, be in love. And what drama if.....oh no, (one hand to the heart, one to the forehead), .....he no longer loves me!!!"
Flopping onto her bed, she dismissed the subject with a final hand flourish. Most misused word in the English language, anyway, she thought.
Her thoughts returned to her mother. She's probably down there worrying again about how much time I spend alone in my room. I like being in my room, Mum. I like to draw and paint. And.... she sat up on her bed for emphasis.... I love being alone. She doesn't understand that.
"Join a youth club," Jane mimicked, aloud, "join an art class, go out with other kids." She moved back to her mirror.

I remember that prissy missy Ailsa Donald who kept coming around to see if I wanted to join 'her' youth club in Lothian. What a pest. Mum probably asked her to ask me. As if Miss Popularity would really want me hanging around. Still, it would've looked good on her resume if she'd succeeded.
Jane stuck a forefinger into each cheek, cocked her head and grinned comically at her reflection in the mirror, "I'm so sweet, even the ugly and unwanted love me," this time mimicking Ailsa's voice.

She continued to muse. I remember going to a youth group meeting once, connected to the church, I think. They were all such children. No one there seemed to want to think about anything important. Especially the girls.....it was all about clothes, makeup and boys. Immature, that's what they were. Not one of them liked art or good music. Plebes! Guess that's what makes me a dilly. Wonder if that word's an acronym.

She got up and turned towards her computer, intent on checking the word. The screen showed the image of her favourite singer. She turned on the sound and was annoyed to note she had missed all but the last moments of his aria. She scolded herself for forgetting to keep the remote in her pocket, but was more annoyed at not being able to preview daily which entertainers would be shown. Since they stopped using printed schedules, because of the paper shortage, a person had no idea who was performing, or when. Just like the old fashioned radios.
Must ask Dad about getting a satellite dish.
When the aria ended, she sat down to look up the word. Switching to 'Voice' command, she enunciated clearly, "Scholastic Online." Two more commands and she had the definition.
"Slang, from the word diligent," she read aloud, then finished the description in silence. She stood up, "Yep, that would be me, studious, hardworking and boring as shit!"

Walking over to her easel she picked up a pencil and started to roughly shade, with the pencil almost flat to the canvas. I wonder if the day will ever come when they stop producing canvas. That would be awful. I hate computer art. I'd have to try painting fresco, on the walls and ceiling of my room.

***********

Outside, Jennifer's meditation was interrupted by the music.
The child just seems to prefer being alone, she thought. She loves the company of the dogs, and would likewise adore a horse, but people, even her father, seem to be dispensable, at least during her 'creative' hours. Only her piano teacher, John Paton, is an acceptable adult during those times.
She remembered telling John last January, "I want to encourage her love of music and art, but I wish she would consider joining a choir or something, so she could share with others."
He had suggested that she consider a music school in the future.

With that thought, she felt some satisfaction and resolve, and she raised herself somewhat painfully to her feet. Still musing, she thought, that still doesn't solve the problem of how and when to tell her the 'news', as she and Alex had come to refer to it. If, indeed, we are the ones to tell her.
Gathering her garden tools and fitting them in her canvas apron, she continued with her analytical train of thought. Alex is a doctor, for goodness sakes, and her favourite man in the world, she reasoned. Wouldn't he be the obvious best choice to tell her? Why not?
You know why. Because he doesn't want to tell her he's not her father. He can explain everything technical Jane wants to know after she's been told the truth, but he doesn't want to break it to her. He adores his 'Jinty', and he knows she feels the same about him. Jennifer understood, but felt a certain resentment, sensing that he'd prefer that she, alone, break the news.

Something else John Paton had said came back to her. While discussing Jane's preference for her own company, he suggested they encourage her to try to write music as a way to express her feelings and perhaps to share it with others.
Remembering this, Jennifer thought, that's what I'll do, I'll write it down, all of it, from the beginning. If Jane reacts badly when she's told, she will at least have something she can read that will answer most of her questions. Even if she never speaks to us again! I'll put it on the computer with a password.....maybe start it tonight, after tea.

If you would like to read more of this story, please email Deana at,
deana@sympatico.ca