But Cay, with her bright outlook on life, her belief that anything could be done, had changed all that. But Charleston and what had been done to him there now seemed something that wasn’t real and had never actually happened.
He watched her smiling up at Grady and telling him that she and her brother were to have a competition to see if she would go or not. Alex didn’t like to feel smug, but he was sure he’d win. He’d always been good at capturing on paper the likeness of whatever he saw. He hadn’t told her, but his father had brought watercolors back from a trip to Edinburgh, and Alex had made many pictures of landscapes. He knew he’d be good at what Grady wanted for the trip, so winning was going to be easy.
What would be difficult was consoling Cay when she didn’t get to go with them. He imagined a sweet scene where she was crying and he’d comfort her. He’d be firm but sympathetic, and tell her it was for her own good. He was sure she’d eventually understand that he was right.
Tomorrow morning they’d part, and there’d be tears in her pretty eyes and he’d remember them throughout the perilous journey. His hope was that while he was away, Nate would find some answers, and when Alex returned, maybe he could clear his name.
When he was no longer tainted by injustice, he’d get his horses back, and he’d go north to Virginia to find Cay. If she wasn’t already married to some cold, unappreciative boy who would never find out what she was really like, he would . . . He liked to leave that thought to the future.
Cay was waving her hand toward him, wanting him to come forward. It looked like she had the competition set up to begin. Smiling, Alex went toward the dock.
“Is this all right?” Mr. Grady asked, nodding toward the two work stations he’d had Eli and Tim set up. Wide boards had been leaned against crates, large pieces of paper on them, pens and ink beside them.
“Young Cay wanted a pan of water,” Mr. Grady said to Alex. “Do you need one?”
Alex had no idea why she wanted water along with her ink, but he shrugged it off as he sat down on a crate, put the pen and ink beside him, and picked up his makeshift easel.
“Since, as you know, we’ll be traveling,” Mr. Grady said, “it’s sometimes necessary to record things quickly, therefore, this will be a timed documentation. You will have three minutes to draw what you see. Whether it’s the dock, a person, or a bird, is up to you. I just want to see what you can do in a short time.”
Cay sat down on the rough wood of the dock, her legs folded, and looked at the blank piece of paper. Everything that her teacher, Russell Johns, had yelled at her ran through her head. When he’d first arrived in America from England, just two years before, he’d been destitute. He knew no one, and her mother said he had a broken heart, but not even she could get him to tell her what had happened to make him so unhappy. Her mother had hired Mr. Johns to teach her daughter, but, truthfully, Cay didn’t think she’d ever pleased him. He wanted someone who devoted her life to art, but Cay didn’t want to do that. Now, she could hear his voice as he gave her lessons in drawing pictures of movement. “Draw faster!” he’d shout. “Do you expect your brothers to sit still and wait for you?” Cay had learned how to
rapidly sketch her brothers playing at ball or riding their horses in just a few strokes. With ink, she’d had to be sure about her lines, with no hesitation, because errors couldn’t be fixed. After three months of work on these quick drawings, Mr. Johns had finally grunted. He didn’t compliment her, but he didn’t complain either. For Cay, it had been the height of praise.
Mr. Grady took out his pocket watch, looked at it, and said, “Go!”
Cay worked with both hands. In her right hand, she had the pen, which she frequently dipped in ink, while she put the fingertips of her left into the water. As she drew in quick, bold strokes, she smeared the wet ink with the water to create shadings of her scene.
When Mr. Grady called time, Cay lifted her pen and stood up. The skinny boy, Tim, smirking at her as though he was looking forward to seeing her fail, swaggered across the deck to see the picture she’d done.
Eli went first to Alex’s drawing. “By all that’s holy, but that’s good. I thought T.C. could draw, but you’re far better than he is.” He looked at Mr. Grady, who was staring at Cay’s picture in silence. “You’ll have to hire this man for the job.”
Mr. Grady said nothing, just stood beside Tim and looked at Cay’s drawing. Curious, Eli went to them.
Alex was watching Cay and trying to repress a grin. After what Eli had said, Alex was sure the contest was over. “Come on, la—” He caught himself. “Cay, don’t be disheartened. We can’t all have—”
He broke off when he saw her drawing. In just three minutes she’d captured the wharf, the river, the sky, and Eli with a fishing net on his lap. There were lines and shading, some thick, some thin, some light, some dark. In Alex’s opinion, the drawing should be framed and put in a museum.
All the men, Tim, Eli, Grady, and Alex, turned to look at Cay.
“I know it’s rough, but I’m out of practice,” she said. “I promise I’ll do better on the trip.”
Alex was the first man to recover himself and turn away. Without a word, he started down the street toward the boardinghouse.
“I think my brother’s angry at me,” she said and took off running after him.
“You have the job,” Mr. Grady called after her, his eyes still on the drawing on the board.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Eli said.
“He missed that ugly bird on the post,” Tim said, and the other two men glared at him.
“The pelican wasn’t there a minute ago,” Eli said.
“I do believe, Tim, you’re showing a bit of the green monster.” Mr. Grady picked up the drawing and studied it. “I think I’ll send this home to my mother. She always wants to know about my forays into the dark unknown. Now I can show her.”
Cay caught up with Alex outside the boardinghouse, and she was glad to see that neither Thankfull nor her half sisters were about.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” Alex said under his breath. “Did you feel good about making fun of me?”