"That's just a myth. No one really lives a rainbow life."
Jean had argued with Hugh until she was blue in the face, but her older brother just kept insisting that the five-year-old was wrong. She had worked herself to tears at the very thought that her whole world might stay gray all her life.
But the eldest Walker child had taken his baby sister in his arms to comfort her. "Don't listen to Hugh, Jeanie. I'm older than he is. I know better," Arthur told her with a smile.
"Only a year older. And how do you really know, Art?" she asked him between hitched breaths.
"I know that if anyone is going to live a rainbow life, it's you, Jean Louise Walker. You're the most special little girl in all the world," he said.
Many years later, Jean Beazley reflected on her brother's words. It had only been a few years later that Arthur had died. Hugh had left for Perth, too distraught at the loss of his brother to remain anywhere near Ballarat. Jean had been left with her older sister, Elizabeth, who had gotten married in Melbourne far too soon after that.
As a result, much of her childhood had remained gray, sprinkled with pale pastels. Different shades of purple from all her siblings and her parents. The bright blue she'd gotten from Art had seemed to grow dull as she coped with the loss of her protector and idol. As she watched and learned to cook and clean from her mother, the sky began to gain a more vibrant color.
But other than that, her world had been filled with light yellows and oranges of friendship and rivalries in school. Nothing too significant in the relationships or the colors they produced. As she got older, some unimportant, hazy pinks came with the boys she'd started to notice.
Until one day, she saw the most shocking, vivid pink. It was the color of the begonias at the festival. And there he was. Christopher Beazley was wild and impulsive and exciting. And he took her along for the ride. She'd begun planting begonias just because they reminded her of her husband.
Christopher Jr. and Jack came along, each bringing a new lavender and violet, respectively. And the pink of the begonia started to fade. Or perhaps it didn't. But it didn't fill Jean with the same kind of joy that it once did. They were so busy and focused on just keeping the farm afloat and raising their boys that she didn't even think about the fact that her life was still more gray than anything else.
When Christopher went to war and didn't come home, Jean couldn't help but feel as though she had done something to deserve all that gray. Arthur's words to her as a child seemed to be a mean joke now.
But somehow, like sunlight after a storm, Jean's life after being widowed brought her more color than she ever imagined possible. She found Dr. Blake, who gave her a job and a purpose and treated her like a friend and a daughter. From him, she discovered the turquoise blue-green of her own eyes.
Living with the doctor, she met new people and made friends. Chief Superintendent Matthew Lawson gave her the bright green of the leaves in the garden. The nurse hired to care for Dr. Blake in his last months, Mattie, brought the deep green of the trees around the lake.
As Dr. Blake got sicker, he sent for his son, Lucien. Jean didn't like him at first. He was arrogant and inconsiderate and moody. But for some strange reason, Jean found that her nail polish had color for the first time in her life. She categorically refused to believe that this dark pink had anything to do with Lucien Blake. Yes, of course, he was gorgeous and had eyes the color blue that she'd gotten from Art, but Lucien Blake was not the proper person to have any sort of romantic affection for.
"Jean, do you know why I insist on sitting in this chair, even when I can't get out of bed on my own?" Thomas Blake had asked her in his final days.
"No, why?"
"Because it's red. Red that was given to me by my dear Genevieve. Lucien and I lost her far too young. The chair is the only thing I'll allow in the house to remind me of her. I haven't lived a rainbow life, but I was lucky enough to have this," he told her, a deep reverence in his voice.
Jean wasn't sure what to say. She just stared at the upholstery of the chair.
"Do me a favor, would you? Don't let Lucien get rid of it," he requested.
She nodded. It was at that moment that she recognized the chair as being the same color as her fingernails.
Still, she denied it. When Lucien put a comforting arm around her at the funeral, letting her use the beautiful purple handkerchief in his pocket to dry her tears, she refused to acknowledge anything more than was polite.
Not even when she first saw the bright orange of a rival from Joy MacDonald did Jean allow herself to concede.
But his light touches, his kind words at the most unexpected times, his passionate care for his patients and the cases he worked on for the police…it eventually became difficult to ignore.
"Jean, can you give me a hand?" Mattie shouted from the parlor. "I need to move this chair for a moment and it's bloody heavy!"
Slightly annoyed at the interruption in the middle of dressing the roast, Jean wiped her hands on her apron and asked, "Which chair, the red one?"
Mattie stood beside the chair in question, staring at Jean with wide eyes and a slacked jaw. "You…?"
Jean hadn't even realized what she'd said. "Yes," she replied simply. "Come on, let's move it, then. But please be careful with it."
Mattie knew better than to push the subject. But she couldn't help but grin madly for her dear friend, beyond happy and just the slightest bit jealous that Jean had found someone who gave her red.
Lucien arrived home that evening just in time for dinner. Jean couldn't take her eyes off him. She felt warm from the inside out as she allowed herself to realize that she hadn't seen a spot of gray in the longest time.
"Jean, this is absolutely delicious," Lucien complimented.
She grinned proudly, not trusting herself to say anything just yet. He hadn't figured it out yet, but Jean had every confidence he would eventually. And until then, she kept the beautiful secret tucked in her heart. He was her rainbow.
