Gratuitous chicken photo as Owl drinks from a tub in the garden while Cami gazes to the left.

This is from Nothing More Complicated: The Hawk Book Four. Stanford Taylor inwardly debates the need for his soul while his longtime housekeeper Agatha Morris proffers the Alka-Seltzer amid 1963's Christmas preparations.....

Enjoy!

 

Asfamilies prepared for the holidays, Stanford took stock of his role as an artdealer. He hadn’t blatantly told Eric he would no longer represent him, butLaurie had made Stanford’s feelings clear to both Snyders. Initially Stanfordwasn’t sure how he felt about Laurie’s declaration, but it had eased Stanford’smind, which was still burdened by all Laurie had learned on Thanksgiving.Stanford hadn’t seen Seth since that day, too busy preparing for Eric’spaintings to be shipped to London. The exhibit in New York would close onSunday, just in time for Christmas. Then the canvases would head for Britain,and after that Stanford wasn’t sure what would happen, though not with Eric’spaintings. Stanford had detailed notes of the museums awaiting those canvases.What bothered Stanford was the return of those artworks. Once they weredistributed to new owners or taken back to the Snyders’ compound, whatmight Stanford’s role in Eric’s life then be?

OnlyLaurie understood, well, to Stanford’s irritation, Seth did too, but then, whatdid Seth actually know anymore? And how would Seth adjust once the blue barnwas removed from the gallery? That gallery had become Seth’s daily fixture, thebarn the center point of his life. But Stanford couldn’t ruminate over that forlong, it gave him a headache. Nor did he stop in the library, where thosefigurines loomed much larger than their size. Stanford wanted to pack themaway, but that wouldn’t assuage his mood. Not that Seth would be offended; hedidn’t visit Laurie in Manhattan. Seth still resided with his mother inBrooklyn. Laurie’s mother Rose lived practically around the corner from hersister Wilma, the whole clan tightly knitted together within a five-blockradius, which included Laurie’s older sisters, Seth’s too. Laurie and Seth hadbeen the only males born into a family of protective, strong-willed females.Stanford was fond of Rose Abrams, but had never felt at home among all thoseJewish women.

Laurie’sfather Aaron had died of a heart attack months after Stanford had met Laurie,leaving Stanford with little personal recollections of a man who had graced hisson with abundant sporting talents, but little in the way of fatherly advice.But Laurie hadn’t needed parental admonishments, or not in the way his sistershad required their mother’s guidance. Laurie had several nieces and nephews, asdid Stanford, but neither man was particularly close to those relatives. Well,Laurie was more attached to his, which Stanford attributed to Laurie’sreligion, although the Abrams and Gordons weren’t pious Jews. Laurie was theleast observant, yet since Thanksgiving, he’d mentioned he was going to sendJane something for Hanukkah. Not eight nights’ worth of gifts, he’d wrylystated, just a small brown bear which had made Agatha smile. Stanford hadsighed, for he wished the Snyders would have traveled for the exhibit, yet itwas definitely for the best that Eric had not seen his dealer on opening night.Stanford had kept that to himself, but remarked that Jane would indeed enjoyher one Hanukkah present.

Stanfordhadn’t felt compelled to choose anything for Jane. Christmas wasn’t more than aday off from work, well, a couple of days’ break. That year it fell on Tuesday,so actually Stanford wouldn’t get to the office until Thursday, allowing EmilyHarold time with her family. New Year’s Day would preclude any real businessthe following week, but now Stanford wasn’t sure what real business meant. Hisheart hadn’t been in any of it since speaking with that obtuse collector at theopening of Eric’s show.

Fromthe comfort of his home, Stanford could consider that moment as though he nowstood outside of it like an observer. The man’s affected mannerisms and boorishness were offensive odors, unduly irritating Stanford. That hadn’t beenthe first time Stanford had dealt with such peevishness, nor would it be thelast, though it might be concerning Eric’s canvases. Stanford didn’t imagine hewould start 1963 looking for new employment; his father would send him to adoctor, wondering if Constance’s mental deficiencies were now troubling theirson. Most likely Stanford would die as an art dealer, for no other Taylorswould follow him. Yet how to proceed without the burning eagerness to scout outnew talent, then showcase it appropriately? The love of art no longer droveStanford, instead replaced by a rote awareness of commitment to his clients. Itwasn’t merely Eric over whom Stanford felt this way, a few others having earneda healthy dose of Stanford’s respect. But it was over Eric whom Stanford mostached; he never wanted that man to part with a single painting unless Lynne andJane were starving.

Yet,unless Eric became a compulsive gambler or fell into another harmful vice, theSnyders would never again be concerned with finances. For that Stanford wasgrateful, permitting his acumen had set up that family for life. Laurie hadtried to ease Stanford’s mind, that if he hadn’t taken on Eric in the firstplace…. While Stanford’s head knew that was the case, his heart throbbed in aplace not previously noted. Sentimentality hadn’t before intruded in Stanford’slife, other than the pain he felt over his mother’s failing health and thesorrow it caused his father. Not even Seth had put such a strain on Stanford’ssoul, then Stanford shook his head. His soul, what was that? He grimaced, thensmiled. Eric might have an argument waiting if Stanford mentioned such drivel.

Stanfordhadn’t revealed any of this to Eric, only Laurie had. But Eric knew andStanford was sure Lynne did as well, probably the Aherns too. And for as muchas Stanford liked Lynne, Sam, even Renee, he only cared what Eric thought. Yet Erichad said nothing, which grated on Stanford, though he knew the reason forEric’s silence. Eric was waiting for Stanford to bring it up. Only then wouldEric make his feelings known.

Damnartists, Stanford rued. Either they were emotionally draining or they subtlywormed their way under Stanford’s skin. He stood abruptly, then left the livingroom, where a fire had crackled all afternoon. Snow fell outside, but thathadn’t meant much to Stanford. It was the time of year for poor weather, it wasChristmastime.

Stanfordreached the hallway, gazing to the left, but didn’t wish to even walk past thelibrary. Instead he went right, slipping into the dining room, hearing Agatha’shum from the kitchen. Laurie was busy with a client and wouldn’t be home forsupper. Agatha was making stew, which Stanford loved and could easily reheatfor Laurie if perhaps his meeting was cut short. Stanford imagined thatwouldn’t be the case; Laurie would be out late, leaving Stanford alone in theirusually cozy apartment. But since Thanksgiving, or more precisely opening nightof Eric’s exhibit, this house hadn’t felt right to Stanford. He knew why, butsimply couldn’t face Seth’s figurines.

Enteringthe kitchen, Stanford nodded to Agatha, then sat at the table. She didn’tspeak, but brought him a cup of coffee. He grasped the mug with both hands,then sipped slowly. The brew was just as tasty as it had been that morning, butit was a fairly fresh pot; she had started it when he returned, just beforelunch. What use had it been to sit in his office when nothing felt correct? Butcoming home hadn’t helped either. Stanford didn’t like the ambiguity which hadinfiltrated his entire sphere.

Ifwork was difficult, home was a balm. Home was rarely troubling, only when hismother had first fallen ill, or when Seth was…. But Seth would now always bethis way, as would Stanford’s mother. Would nothing in Stanford’s life ever beas it was supposed to?

Hissigh was long and it made Agatha turn his way. “You all right?” she askedflatly.

“No,I’m not all right.” Then Stanford sighed. “Thanks for the coffee.”

Shenodded, humming while stirring the stew. Then she approached him. “You wannatalk about it?”

Heshook his head, then felt himself begin to nod as though his heart wasbetraying every fiber of his being. He couldn’t stop himself, which led Agathato pull out the chair beside him. She kept her distance, sitting a few feetaway, crossing one leg over the other. Stanford now found himself staring intoher deep brown eyes, gray hair in tight curls framing her relatively unlinedface. Agatha Morris had served Stanford for many years and while he knew herexact age, she appeared a good fifteen years younger. The women in his lifecouldn’t hide from time, yet this one defied it, and did so beautifully.

Shedidn’t grasp his hand; she wasn’t his mother, though she knew him better thanhis mom ever had, fully aware of his weak spots, and his deep love for Laurie.Somehow she even realized his current anxiety, for her kind but reserved eyespermitted him the necessary space. He needed to speak of this breach in hisusual armor. Not Agatha nor Eric nor anyone else could draw it from him.

Buthow to talk about something so, so…. Stanford almost clucked as the word ethereal passed through his mind.Ethereal conjured intangible notions, which at this time of year beckoned toreligious customs, Christian and Jewish. Then Stanford chided himself, for whatwere Santa Claus and dreidels truthfully? Just amusements, nothing more, andcertainly not meaningful when it came to….

Heglanced at Agatha, who was still facing him. She looked as young as LynneSnyder, but that was impossible. Stanford blinked, then gazed at the stove,where the flame barely glowed. His stomach growled, which made him flinch. YetAgatha said nothing, she didn’t move a muscle. She wasn’t going to say iteither; Stanford had to make the initial move.

Butspeech wasn’t necessary as now his belly grumbled loudly. Agatha stood, thenreturned to where supper waited. She spooned him a generous portion of stew,then brought it to the table, placing the bowl in front of him. She added aplate of crackers and a glass of milk, which made Stanford inwardly sigh. Hefelt like a five-year-old, but how much of that was his own truculence?

Heate silently, then thanked her for the meal, taking his bowl, plate, and cup tothe sink. His coffee mug remained on the table, but he left it, then exited thekitchen. He wandered through the apartment, wishing for Laurie. Then slowlyStanford walked to the library. He didn’t enter that room, but stared at thedoor, which felt like gazing into Agatha’s eyes. Why was he being so, so, so….Several adjectives popped into his head; was it stubbornness or sullenness or….It was fear, he finally admitted, but not aloud. Yet, fear gripped him,although he knew not the cause. However he permitted the sensation. Maybe thatwas the first step.

Butwhile realized, fear kept him from opening the library door. Instead he turnedaround, returning to the kitchen, finding his coffee cup where he had left it.Agatha was at the table, eating her supper, and she met his gaze. She wantedhim to join her, why she hadn’t taken his cup to the sink. But then he’d leftit there; had he been hoping for another chance to spill his guts?

Thatthought made him twitch, but he sat, then sighed, fiddling with the cup’shandle. Previously he had confided to Agatha about his mother, Seth, and work. Butwith work, it had never been more than a manner in which to vent aboutunreasonable clients or overbearing collectors. Often it wasn’t more thangossip, which Stanford wouldn’t have permitted with anyone other than Laurie orhis parents. Yet it hadn’t been hisparents for years; Agatha was Stanford’s sole female confidant. But did hetrust her enough to speak of such an intimate notion?

Thisseemed as sensitive as if he needed to bare his soul about Laurie. His soul….Stanford huffed. “When you’re finished in here, feel free to leave early. I’llput the stew away and….”

Tohis shock, Agatha gripped his hand. “I’ll leave when I’m good and ready to.”

Theireyes met and Stanford wanted to wrench away from her grasp. But he couldn’tmove, could barely breathe. Then Agatha released him and only then did Stanfordtake a breath. The air was cold going down his windpipe, the rush of it intohis lungs making him flinch. He inhaled again, feeling a hint of that forcedaction, then again, but now it was the simple smoothness of an involuntaryorgan doing its job. As air flowed in, then out again, peace returned withinhim. Then he nodded at Agatha. “Do as you like. I’m going to retire early.”

Sheraised her eyebrows, but didn’t speak, nodding her head. Suddenly all withinStanford was set right, how had it seemed so wrong? Of course Eric would sellmore paintings. The prices would continue to skyrocket, which made Stanford’sheart pound. They were only paintings, even if Lynne was the focus, or maybeJane, or….

Asick dizziness rushed through him, making Stanford grip the sides of the table.He shut his eyes, wishing the world would stop spinning, wishing Agatha wouldagain grasp his hand and that Laurie was clutching the other. But no one cameto his aid and the swirling didn’t cease until finally Agatha spoke. “Stanford,do you want to talk about this?”

Heshook his head, there was nothing to discuss. But the nausea persisted, as wellas the lightheadedness. Stanford couldn’t get the image of Jane and that Polishpastor from his mind, or Lynne on the stool, or any of Eric’s most valuablecanvases, the blue barn flashing in Stanford’s head. None of those would everbe sold, they couldn’t be. They were the essence of Eric’s, of his, of thatman’s…. Eric’s soul was encased within those layers of paint, carefully placedacross canvas, now burning a hole in Stanford’s queasy stomach. Did he have anulcer, was that from where all of this stemmed?

Thenext thing Stanford knew was a glass of Alka-Seltzer bubbling near his lips. “Drinkthis,” Agatha ordered. Stanford took small sips that weren’t as delicious asher coffee, but hopefully this concoction would offer some relief. He drankmost of it, then slumped back in his seat, still unwell. Agatha again satacross from him, lines now etched in her forehead, framing her mouth. He achedfor her anguish, which was unmistakable. And for the first time, he realized,he had caused her such pain.

Shewas pained, but not at him. “Thank you,” he mumbled. “I’m not sure whathappened just now.”

Sheclasped his hand in hers, which made him shiver. “I’m sure you do know. Butthat’s for you to sort.”

Hegazed at her quizzically, but again she raised her eyebrows. Then she stood,smoothing wrinkles from her apron. “You know, I am gonna leave early. Laurie’llbe home eventually, he can look after you.” She glanced at the stove, then backto Stanford. “Shall I put the stew away?”

“Yesplease,” he stammered.

Shenodded, then did so. Stanford watched her the whole time, then ached as shestood beside him, saying goodbye. Hewished to escort her to the door, but was too weak to stand. Instead heremained at the kitchen table, hearing her footsteps as she walked through thedining room. Those footsteps grew fainter until Stanford could hear them nomore.