Portrait of a Lady
Author's note – First, apologies to Henry James and fans for co-opting his title. Also apologies to readers; this is less a story and more of a rumination, sparked by the glimpse we see of that painting of Victoria in the episode, "The Lost Ones." I have always been struck how really BAD is it. (IMO.) Which surprised me, given the level of artistry available in Hollywood. And I thought that someone as beautiful as Victoria/Linda Crystal really deserved something better. This is an attempt to provide at least an imaginary better portrait. All of the family characters make appearances, but it is really their sudden guest's story as much as theirs. It is very long; I probably should have posted it in chapters, but I have proved so inept at chaptering, that I decided to just post one long piece instead. For my HC timeline, this is set before Blue had showed any interest in art. Maybe this helped trigger it? Hope you like it despite it's odd ball nature. PS – I will finish the "In the Fullness of Time" story line at some point.
Buck and Mano were making their way back to the High Chaparral from Tucson, at, it must be said, a very leisurely pace. In fact, they were nearly asleep in the saddle as they moseyed along. The usual temptations had not been refused and each was nursing a substantial hangover. An unexpected and sharp canine bark roused Mano enough to push his hat off his eyes.
"Buck...look!"
"Whuh..?"
Mano pointed at a tipped over buggy, a horse standing tangled in its harness and the afford said canine, all on the side of what passed for a road in the desert. Large sheets of paper skipped in the wind and threatened to blow away. Mano dismounted, walked slowly over to the horse and managed to disentangle enough harness to keep the animal from injuring itself, and then tethered him to a bush.
As they came nearer, Buck said, "I think somebody is under that rig!"
The two men started to race toward the buggy, only to be intercepted by the small dog, whose raised hackles and low warning growl indicated some displeasure at their actions.
"Easy now, boy...we just want to have a look see," Buck informed the dog.
The dog seemed unconvinced, planting himself firmly in their path and showing his teeth.
Both men stood perplexed. Mano said. "I don't want to shoot him, but we have to get to whoever is pinned there."
Just then, a soft moan from whoever was under the wreck sent the two men and the dog racing toward it. A woman lay with one leg pinned, her arm shielding her eyes, and a small trickle of blood coming from a cut on her forehead.
Buck and Mano threw their weight into getting the small buggy upright. The dog, torn between trying to protect and trying to help the woman who was clearly his owner, danced about, alternately barking and whining; finally settling on curling himself beside her.
As the weight of the buggy lifted off her leg the woman she gave a sharp cry of pain.
"Now that's all right." Buck said. Adding, after a quick glance at the position of her lower leg, "Your gonna be all right but I think your leg might be busted."
The woman nodded and managed to whisper, "If it isn't broken, I'm going to be damn angry. Because it hurts that much and more."
"Ma'am, I'm Buck Cannon and this is my amigo, Manolito Montoya. We're from the High Chaparral ranch. It ain't too far from here and if you'll let us, we can help you into the buggy and get you to the ranch. Get a doctor for you."
The woman nodded again. "I would be most grateful"
"We will try and be as gentle as we can, Senora" Mano said, "but I am afraid moving you will cause some pain."
"No doubt." she smiled grimly.
As Mano and Buck bent to lift her, the dog reasserted his mistrust of the two men with a low growl and more teeth.
"Rafi!" the woman said sharply. "Behave yourself. These are friends." Rafi obediently backed away but continued to survey the scene with a wary eye.
"Yes, we surely are," agreed Buck as he and Mano lay the woman into the now upright buggy deck.
As Buck re-hitched the horse to the relatively undamaged rig, Mano offered the stranger water from his canteen.
"Ah…nectar from the gods," she said after a sip. "Forgive my manners. I know your names but you don't know mine. Eleanor Loring."
Mano tipped his hat and smiled at the women. "A great pleasure Miss?...Mrs?….Loring.
"Mrs." she said. "My valise! And the case. And the drawings! I must have those!"
"Do not worry. Here is your valise and case. And I am such an experienced vaquero that I managed to round up all your papers before they blew away. I put them in this," he held up a large portfolio. "And here is you chapeau," he added, gallantly offering the large brimmed straw hat to her.
"Thank you ...Oh, dear… I think I might faint. Terribly sorry..." And then she did faint; a gentle swoon.
"She alright?" Buck inquired.
"Si...just the shock I think."
"Well, let's get going...Buck climbed onto the buggy seat and with Mano on McAdoo, leading Rebel, and Rafi tight at his mistress' side, they made their way slowly back to the ranch.
By the time they reached the High Chaparral, Mrs. Loring had regained consciousness and even enough modest strength that she was able to stand upright on one foot, leaning heavily on Buck and Mano, be introduced to Victoria, ("Most kind of you Mrs. Cannon), make her way with their help to the guest room and even inquire after her horse. "Oh, he's fine. Nice lookin' little fella," Buck assured her as they eased her onto the bed. "We'll take good care of him."
Rafi bounded up onto the bed but seemed to know enough to stay away from the injured leg and settled himself where his mistress could pet him.
Victoria shooed the two men out as Buck said he would send Joe for Doc Platt. "John and Blue still at the Fort?"
"Si, they will be back tonight...maybe tomorrow. Hurry and tell Joe, Buck. I think she is all right but that leg should be set very soon."
The next morning Doc Platt was just packing up his horse as John and Blue road in.
"What's going on?" John demanded as he dismounted.
"Oh, well..." Doc began.
But he was interrupted as, to John's great relief, Victoria emerged from the house. Quickly he moved to her. "Are you all right?" he asked indicating the doctor.
"Oh, I am fine..we are all fine." She smiled at his concern...and his relief.
"But we have a guest and the doctor has just been setting her leg." She turned to Doc Platt. "Thank you so much for coming out so quickly."
"You're welcome, Victoria. Its almost worth the ride for your coffee. Like I said. She should be fine. Nice clean break. No sign of infection."
"What about the fever?"
"Well, that's a bit worriesome. But I don't think it is from the leg. She has a bit of congestion. She might have been nursing the grippe when the accident happened. I think it will clear up."
John turned to the doctor as he was mounting. "But wait...whose broken leg?"
"I'll let Victoria catch you up John." He tipped his hat to Victoria and turned his horse for Tuscon.
Victoria slipped her arm through John's "Come. I'll tell you all about it over a cup of coffee."
"Or two," John added.
"Or three," Victoria laughed.
Joined by Blue, Victoria told them of the woman, Mrs. Loring, that Buck and Mano had found injured in the desert.
"I swear, your brother and my brother have a real gift for finding strays and bringing them home."
As if on cue, Rafi suddenly appeared from the upstairs and introduced himself to Blue and John. A quick sniff and a wag of the tail and the dog promptly sat down on John's toe.
"And this is..."
"Ah, this is Rafi. He came with Mrs. Loring and this is practically the first time he has left her side since they arrived."
John none too gently tipped the small dog off his boot toe but then leant down to scratch the animal's head.
"But who is she?" Blue inquired. "And what was she doing wandering around on the desert by herself? Almost by herself, anyway," he added looking at Rafi.
"Honestly, I don't know. They only arrived yesterday.. And she has been mostly asleep or in a lot of pain since they got here. I didn't want to press her. Doc Plant gave her some laudanum for the pain. Maybe she will be awake later in the day and then we can talk to her."
She paused and then added, "She might have been by herself but she was not without defenses."
"Don't think he can be THAT much of a defense," Blue remarked, nodding at Rafi.
"Don't be so sure," commented Buck as he and Mano walked in.
"No, not him." Victoria continued. "She was wearing a holster on her ankle with one of those ...small pistols...with the funny name?"
"A derringer?" John offered.
"Si, that's it. And she had a knife in the pocket of her petticoat. One of those that you push a button and the blade comes out."
"Well now...that's very interesting," Buck put in. "When I was putting away that rig of hers, I noticed that under the seat, there is a rifle case….holding a sweet little carbine. Didn't even fall out when the rig tipped. But it slides out real easy if you know right where to reach. Smart set up."
Mano smiled at the group. "This grows ever more intriguing. When I was picking up the papers that had scattered, I noticed they were almost all drawings of Indians...Apaches. I didn't take the time to look closely, but I am pretty sure one of them was of Cochise."
That silenced everyone, except Blue who, after a pause said, "There were drawings?"
John shook his head, and put down his coffee. "No use speculating. The lady will tell us soon enough and in the meantime, we ALL have work to do." He eyed the three other men meaningfully, who headed for the door.
"Oh, Blue," Victoria called after them. "Can you find those crutches we had? The ones Sam used."
"Sure, but I will have to cut them down a lot for her."
"Some, but not a lot. She is quite tall. Not as tall as Sam of course, but a lot taller taller than I am."
"Ok...I'll find'em."
"And remember Blue Boy," said Buck, throwing an arm around his nephew's shoulders. "measure twice and cut once."
That evening Victoria joined the others at the dinner table, having just taken a tray up to their guest.
"Is she feeling any better?" asked John.
"Yes. Somewhat. Her fever is gone. She apologizes for being such a 'recluse'...that was her word… and hopes she can come to breakfast tomorrow. To thank us properly."
"And she didn't say what she was doing out there by herself?" Buck asked.
"No, but she did explain how the accident might have happened. Doc Plant was right about the grippe. She said she had been feeling unwell for a while and she thinks she must have dozed off and then something spooked the horse and she wasn't awake enough to deal with it." Victoria laughed a little. "She said that Gabriel was usually more sensible."
"Gabriel?" said Blue..."who's Gabriel?"
"Gabriel is her horse." said Victoria.
"Of course," Mano couldn't resist adding. "To sum up then; we have a woman of unknown origin, traveling alone through the desert. Alone, but yet accompanied by a rifle, a pistol, a knife, many drawings of Indians, a dog named Rafi and a horse named Gabriel. This is delightful!"
The next morning, Mrs. Loring did indeed appear for breakfast. Moving slowly and leaning on the crutches, she made her way carefully to the table, Rafi tagging after her. Victoria had helped her dress and she wore a plain, but well tailored dress of pale blue. Even leaning on the crutches she was, as Victoria had told them, an unusually tall woman, slim, with straight brown hair, pulled simply back from her face, clear skin that showed perhaps too much time in the sun, (chapeau not withstanding), and arresting gray eyes. She was not beautiful or even pretty but she was undeniably attractive; "a handsome women," many would have said.
As she sat, Victoria introduced her to John and Blue. "I am so very sorry to be such a care," she said smiling at John, "but very grateful for all your kindness and hospitality. You brother and brother in law were my knights in shining armor out there in the desert."
"Knights in shining armor, huh?" John said with a small laugh. "Them? Pretty dusty that armor. And you are welcome to stay as long as need be."
"But there is a fee for our hospitality," Mano said with mock seriousness as he passed the ham and biscuits to Mrs. Loring. "You must satisfy our curiosity; what were you doing out there all alone? I mean no offense," he said to Rafi, who was following the food round the table with hopeful eyes.
"Rafi! You know better than to beg at table. Lie down," Mrs. Loring ordered firmly, and the dog obeyed quickly, if reluctantly, withdrawing to a respectful distance.
"Its true, Miz Loring," Buck put in, "we are best puzzled by why you was out there by yourself."
"Oh," she replied cheerfully, helping herself to a generous portion of food, "I am often on the road...in the desert or anywhere else... by myself."
"Doing what?" Blue blurted out.
"Blue! Don't be rude," admonished Victoria.
Mrs. Loring smiled. "Oh that is all right, truly. I realize my presence and appearance in such a remote land is a bit unusual."
"Unusual? Its downright crazy..." Buck muttered under his breath.
"Buck!" Victoria tried again. Turning to Mrs. Loring, she said, "They usually have better manners."
But the gentlewoman seemed unfazed. "Actually, being perceived by Indian tribes as 'crazy' is often an advantage. Many have a more generous perception of 'unusual' in humans that whites do."
Everyone absorbed that for a few moments as their guest tucked into her food with relish.
After a bit, Blue tried again. "But why are you out here….'visiting'...with the Indians, anyway? Is it to do with those drawings of Apaches you had?"
"I couldn't help seeing what they were of when I was collecting them," Mano explained.
"It is perfectly all right. (This is a delicious breakfast, Mrs. Canon) I have been traveling, 3...no it is closer to 4 years now... making drawing of members of many different tribes. I have a contract with a book publisher back east. Every 6 weeks or so, I light in a place long enough to turn one or two of the drawings into finished paintings to a send east. I was headed for Tuscon for just such a pause when things went awry."
"You did the drawings." Blue said, somehow making it both a question and a statement.
"Yes."
"So," John asked, genuinely puzzled, "You just wander the west drawing Apaches?"
"Well, not just Apaches and not just the west, for that matter. When I began, I was drawing portraits of eastern tribe members; though, sadly, there are fewer of those. Then I traveled across the south, up the Mississippi, pen, paper, pencil, paints in hand. I have been working my way down from the Dakotas and hope to travel across the southwest and then on up to California and the northwest." She paused, "I'm not sure I will have the energy to get to the Yukon." She smiled, almost to herself. "But it surely will be wonderful to smell the sea again when I reach the Pacific. I have missed it."
Buck looked at Mrs. Loring in frank amazement. "And you traveled all that way with nothing but that itty bitty dog and a couple of pea shooters for protection against Indians all across the country? Its a miracle you made it this far. If you don't mind my saying so."
"Not at all. Sometimes it seems a miracle of sorts to me. I will say though, most of the serious….'difficulties'...I have encountered have been from white men."
She pushed her plate away and again complimented Victoria on the food.
Victoria thanked her, and then inquired delicately about Mr. Loring.
"My husband was killed in the war." she said simply.
There was another pause.
"But," Mano finally broke the silence, "how did you ever embark upon such a journey….such work?"
"Ah...well...that is a bit of a story. And I don't want to bore you."
"Its not boring at ALL!" Blue put in quickly.
"Si, WE are the boring ones...you are a most interesting break in our boring days." Mano added, while John nearly rolled his yes at him.
Mrs. Loring smiled.
"All right. My father is a professor and provost at Brown University, in Providence Rhode Island. I grew up there ...which is why I miss the sea. After my husband was killed, I began to attend and host more and more university events with my father, my mother having passed away several years ago."
"One of these events was a welcoming dinner for the incoming freshman class. A generous benefactor always provides money for a least 3 intellectually worthy, but financially lacking students to attend the school, and of course they also attend this welcoming dinner. Sometimes it is awkward for them because...well, you know how thoughtless people can sometimes be...so my father and I try and take special care to make them ...and their families….welcome."
"5 years ago, one of those students was a young Abenaki man. The Abenakis are a tribe from northern New England. He came with his grandfather, who was his only surviving relative. The young man himself was a splendid student, very well spoken, if somewhat reserved. I had no doubt that he will...has done ...very well at University. But it was his grandfather I could not take my eyes off of. He was not a tall man, yet seemed tall, and carried himself with a combination of strength and grace that I had never seen before. And his face; there were some tattoos across his cheek bones...faded now...but it was his expression that made me stare...quite rudely I'm afraid; it was one of great dignity and strength... almost overwhelming sadness, leavened with such..." she had to search for words..."such indomitable presence." After the dinner, when we went home, I stayed up most of the night, trying to capture that expression on paper." She paused, "With only limited success, I might add."
"Still, my father and a publisher friend encouraged me and before I knew it, I was traveling throughout New England and New York...even into Canada...sketching Narragansetts, Penacooks, Mohegans, Iroquois, Peaquats,...or what was left of them. Something...compelled me. I don't know how else to put it." She shook her head and shrugged. "In any case, my sketches and some of the finished paintings were enough for the publisher to offer me a contract and off I went. West, North, and South."
"And you're Pa, just LET you go!?" Blue and Buck spoke almost in unison.
"Oh, my yes. My father is a great believer in both independence and fortitude. He worried I was ..his words..."withering on the vine.."staying in Providence."
There was another silence as those at the table absorbed this extraordinary story.
"Could we all see the pictures?" Blue asked shyly
"Blue, I am sure Mrs. Loring is tired after all these questions," Victoria admonished him gently.
"Well, yes, I am a bit. But never underestimate the ego of a painter," she added with a smile. "If you want to get the portfolio from my room, I would be happy to have you see them. They are meant to be seen, after all."
Blue bolted off and returned quickly with the portfolio. Breakfast dishes were pushed aside and cleared by Rosa as Mrs. Loring slipped a dozen or so large drawings out of the portfolio. The Canons stared at the Indians staring back at them in something like wonder.
"That IS Cochise!" John said. "I'd know him anywhere."
"And isn't that Yellow Knife?" Mano said, pointing at a young brave wearing an elaborate eagle feather vest. Other braves and even a portrait of a young woman made appearances as the drawings were carefully laid out on the table.
There was a smaller sketch of a young child seated and playing with a toy of some sort. He was shown almost from the back...but with the contours of his face visible as he turned to the side.
"Oh, this is lovely," Victoria commented.
The artist nodded. "I was very lucky. It is hard enough to get permission to draw the adults. I had to pretend to be drawing one of the young men….when I was really looking past him to draw the child."
"You did all these," Blue said in awe."Just one day started drawing like this?"
"Oh no! I was fortunate enough to have had instruction. In Paris. When I was a young woman. I put it aside ...just sketched as a pastime...but when I started on my journey, well I found I had more interest...and perhaps talent...than I had been aware of."
Mrs. Loring, who had been standing, with the help of her crutches, sat down abruptly. "Oh dear"...she said a little wanly, "I am afraid I AM rather tired."
"Of course...come...you should rest." Victoria said firmly. "I will help you. Blue," she said over her shoulder, as she helped Mrs. Loring toward the guest room. "Put those drawings away. Carefully."
Blue did as he was bidden, carefully and very slowly sliding the drawings into the portfolio, staring at them as if to absorb what he was seeing.
"Blue!" his father called sharply. "We already running late. Get a move on!"
"Ya, Pa" Blue gently closed the portfolio. "I'm comin.'"
Over the next few days, Mrs. Loring became a welcome addition to the Canon household. She and Victoria were quickly on a first name basis and chatted warmly as they worked together on various projects. Eleanor Loring was not able to help in the kitchen..."Be grateful," she told Victoria. "I am a truly dreadful cook. A danger to myself and others," she said with a grim smile. But she proved to be a skilled seamstress and she and Victoria made quicker work of the nearly endless supply of torn and ripped clothing that the men provided. The found they shared many of the same memories of the European cities each had visited on their version of The Grand Tour and spent many pleasant hours together.
One day, Eleanor sat outside under the shade trellis as the heat of the day was beginning to finally ease. The men had just come back, in a cloud of dust, and were busy unsaddling the horses to be turned out in the corral. Blue came over and stood behind her, watching her pencil dance across a piece of paper. Somehow, with just a few lines, she had perfectly captured Joe Butler, as he swung a saddle down from his horse. The way he bore the weight of the saddle, the way his hat partly shaded his face with just the right amount of his mustache visible, was somehow both still and yet in motion.
"Hey, that's Joe!" he exclaimed.
"Is it? I am afraid I haven't learned everyone's name yet."
"But..but...how did you DO that? I mean its just a few lines… squiggles even.. but that is Joe, sure as anything! It's a magic trick!"
She laughed as she put down her pencil and examined her work. "Well, it IS a trick in a way, but I assure you there is nothing magical about it."
Blue sat at the table with her. "What do you mean it is a trick?"
"Not in a bad way. But drawing is like anything else. When you learn to do it, you learn various tricks...skills, if you will...that help you to do it. And that, among other things, is what I learned in Paris." She thought for a moment. "Probably similar to when you learned to rope and ride and shoot. I bet you weren't very good until you learned the needed skills."
"Well, no," Blue admitted, but he still looked puzzled as he stared harder at the sketch. "But it really IS just a few lines and yet somehow it is Joe."
"Ah, well, that is where your part comes in."
"Me?"
"Yes, you...as the person doing the looking at those "few lines." You know Joe. So you see Joe. Someone who didn't know him, wouldn't. You are supplying a lot of the information in..from... the sketch." She smiled again. "You just aren't necessarily aware of it." She chewed on the end of her pencil for a moment. "Most...really all art, even small 'a' art… is like that. After all, it's just a flat piece of paper with, as you said, some squiggles on it. Everyone who looks at it will see something different. Even people who see Joe...like you did...will see it ..see him...differently, based on their experience of him and how they see the squiggles. It's almost like a mirror...but a mirror that reflects both the subject AND the viewer at the same time." She smiled at Blue. "Does that make ANY sense at all?"
Blue frowned. "I dunno. Maybe. Some. I'd have to think about it for a while."
"Good for you." She started to gather her pencils and paper and Blue helped her up.
"But, what," he said, "is small 'a' art?"
"Ah," she said, "that is my own particular hobby horse." With Eleanor on her crutches, they made their way slowly to the house. "I have always felt there are WAY too many who call themselves artists with a capital A. The artists as the Great Man. And it is, generally speaking, almost always a man. I feel it is better to call oneself a craftsperson. Small 'a' art. No less worthy, somewhat less pretentious. Of course," she said, turning to him, "it may well be that I feel that way because I lack the skills or inspiration for Capital A art." she smiled at Blue. "Always consider the motives of someone riding a hobby horse."
A day or so later, Eleanor, when Victoria and Mano had gone to Three Rivers to visit an old family friend, Eleanor approached John as he was finishing up a session with the ranch books.
"If I might have a word," she inquired politely.
Rafi trotted from his mistress and made himself comfortable at… and then on... John's feet.
"Yes, of course." he said, rising. And dislodging the dog….again.
"I am more grateful than I can say for your generosity in taking me in. But, as a true blue New Englander, I dislike being in debt. So, I would be equally grateful if you would accept some renumeration for my stay here."
"But you are our guest." John said in surprise. "We don't accept... 'renumeration' … from a guest."
"It seems to me that a guest is someone you have invited to stay. Not a stranger who lands in your care and will probably require room and board for a least another month, perhaps more; as the good Doctor Platt just informed me." She frowned down at her still splint encased lower leg.
"Well, you are welcome here for a long as you need to stay."
"Again, thank you, but it would ease my mind and my conscience if you would accept some payment. After all," she added quickly, "I would have paid the hotel in Tucson, which is where I was headed."
"Still, I really can't accept any payment."
"Well then," she said firmly, "if you would be so kind to have my horse hitched to my carriage, Rafi and I will be on our way."
"Now, no way you can drive that rig with your leg like that. And even if you could, having you here has been a real blessing for Victoria. She is so often alone with a bunch of dusty and rambunctious cow hands, it has been wonderful for her to have some female companionship for a change."
"I enjoy her company very much as well. But I am afraid I must insist."
"In that case, we seem to be at an impasse." John wasn't sure exactly how seriously to take Eleanor's 'demand' but he had known her long enough to not underestimate her will. Suddenly an idea popped into his head.
"Now wait. I think I might have us an answer. You wait right here."
John strode off upstairs and returned moments later carrying a picture draped in a cloth. He set it down on the sofa and slipped off the covering. The portrait of Victoria, in a mantilla and holding a fan, emerged.
"Tell me," he said to Eleanor. "What do you think of it? Honestly."
Eleanor circled in front of the painting as warily as if it has been a bobcat.
"Honestly?"
John nodded.
"I think it is dreadful. Appallingly bad. The brush work is terrible, the colors are all wrong, the light is mud, and there is an utter failure to capture any of Victoria's personality….or even her sheer beauty, which, truly, even a bad painter should be able to depict." She sounded almost indignant. "The only decent thing about it is the frame. Rather baroque for my taste, but I could see it working."
John sighed in relief. "Now I have always thought it pretty bad as well, but, well, ask anyone and I just don't have an eye for this sort of thing. I am not sure even Victoria likes it very much, though. I mean her father had it done, but it is kept in the store room except when he visits. Which isn't too often." adding under his breath, "Thank heavens for that."
"So, I was thinking" he continued, "perhaps you could pay your debt...the one I don't think you owe..by painting another..better...portrait of Victoria?"
Eleanor looked first astonished and then delighted. "What a wonderful idea! It would be my pleasure, truly. And it WOULD be a way for me to feel like I was able to repay all your families' many kindnesses."
"Then it's a deal?"
She was just about to put put out her hand to shake on their agreement, when she suddenly paused,
"Oh, wait! I would need a real easel and canvas and my oil paints to do a portrait. All of mine were sent ahead to the hotel in Tucson."
"Hmmm...well, that shouldn't be a problem. If you write a note to the hotel, I will send it with Sam when he goes to pick up the new saddles that were ordered. He can bring back your supplies at the same time. Next day or so."
"Yes, that should work. On thing though. Don't tell Victoria. I will have her sit for me at some point, but I have learned that often the truest images can be captured when the person doesn't know they are being observed. After all these years, I have trained myself in being sort of an 'incognito' painter."
"I won't say a word."
Over the next few days, Eleanor took to executing more and more of her drawings inside the house. She vaguely mentioned the extreme brightness outside, but also professed interest in bowls of fruit on the table, or the way the light slanted through a window; the comings and going of the household. In reality, of course, she was taking every opportunity to observe Victoria without being seen to be doing so. It was an interesting game, and slowly she accumulated a fair number of sketches of Victoria.
One day, pondering on how to move forward to the next phase of her commission … the portrait of Victoria… by asking her to sit for her...should John do it? Or should she approach Victoria herself?...Eleanor limped outside and was visiting with Gabriel in one of the corrals, slipping him a few carrots and ruffling his forelock.
Buck strolled over, carrying his own offering to the visiting horse.
"He sure is a fine looking little horse. He actually reminds me some of my horse, 'Rebel'." Buck commented.
Eleanor nodded in agreement. "I noticed that too. Gabriel is a Morgan horse I was lucky enough to find in one of my first trips north...to Vermont. He has been a boon companion; at least until he so unceremoniously dumped me out of the carriage." She gave the animal's forelock a tug in mock admonishment.
"Morgan?"
"Yes. It is breed developed in Vermont. A traveling singing teacher by the name of Justin Morgan had a stallion named Figure and from that one stallion the whole breed was born. At least that is the story. Generally they are compact, neat footed, surprisingly strong and with great stamina. Pull or ride."
Buck nodded. "We found your saddle in the desert. Had your initials on it."
"Oh! I had forgotten all about it, what with one thing and another. Thank you. Again."
"Well, I am sure you are right about Gabe, but I am afraid he wouldn't be able to keep up with the horses we use around here. He can just continue to enjoy his time off." Buck gave the horse's neck and affectionate slap."
"Actually, I think he could keep up quite well. At whatever task you set him to. Please, feel free to use him. He might be getting a bit bored by his 'vacation.'"
"Well, maybe I will take him out for a little ride. Put him through his paces."
"I think he would enjoy that. But my list of 'thank yous' to the various members of your family continues to grow ever longer."
"Aw, that ain't nothin.' Ridin' horses...that's just doin' what we do."
"Yes," she said with a slightly enigmatic smile, "I hope I can do what I do as well."
Deciding, as she often did in life, the direct approach was best, the next day Eleanor spoke to Victoria as they were sewing, "I wonder if you would consider granting me one more kindness among all the many you have already show me."
"Yes, of course," Victoria said looking up and smiling.
"I would like to do a portrait of you; to have you sit for me."
Victoria looked up in surprise. "A portrait? Of me?"
"Yes."
"Of course I am flattered, but," Victoria hesitated. "there already is a portrait. My father commissioned it several years ago. An artist came all the way from Mexico City."
"Yes, I have seen the painting in question. Your husband showed it to me."
"You have? He did? But why would he..."
But before Victoria could continue, Eleanor interrupted. "Tell me, do you like the portrait?"
Victoria hedged. "Well perhaps there are some things about it I like LESS...or some parts that I am a bit...dissatisfied...with, but..." she finally gave up. "No," she admitted with a sigh.
Eleanor nodded. "And quite right too. This so-called artist from Mexico City may well have been from the city, but he was no artist."
Victoria smiled a little wanly. "Papa usually has such good taste in these things."
"Well, perhaps filial love overcame his judgment and once the painting was accepted there was nothing to do but pretend to enjoy it."
"But you really want to paint me?"
"Very much so. It would be an honor and a pleasure. And frankly, a way for me to repay your family's many kindnesses. At least a little."
"Well,"said Victoria, a little nervously. When...how do we...you...start?"
All practicality now, Eleanor replied, "The first thing, is for you to decide what you want to wear. We should go look at your dresses."
So for the next hour or so, the two women opened the armoire and a closet and pulled out various outfits.
"It should be something fairly simple. NO mantillas or fans," Eleanor said firmly.
"What color should it be?" inquired Victoria.
"I think you are fortunate in that almost every color looks good on you."
"John likes this one especially," Victoria said, laying a dress of light emerald green.
"Its lovely," Eleanor agreed, "but the most important thing is that YOU are comfortable in what ever you pick; more than comfortable. You should feel at ease and confident. Nothing fancy; something you wear around the house, but especially enjoy wearing."
Finally they settled on one of her simplest, yet most flattering outfits...a magenta skirt with a bright pink, almost fuschia, scooped neck blouse.
"Wear your hair down," Eleanor decreed, adding firmly, "And if you want to wear jewelry, it should be something very simple."
Later that night, as she and John lay in bed, Victoria said, in a tone somewhere between puzzled and awed, "She is so different when she is being...well...a painter than when she and I are sewing or just talking together."
"How so?!"
"Well, as a painter, she is almost..." Victoria hesitated a bit, unwilling to criticize her new friend. But the truth won out. "Well...she is quite ...mandona...bossy. Which she is not at ALL otherwise."
John had to laugh. Just a little.
"Why do you laugh?"
Feeling like he might be treading into dangerous waters, John did a bit of hesitating himself, "Oh, just that, you know, it takes one to know one."
Victoria sat up, indignant. "I am NOT bossy!" she proclaimed.
"Right...right..." John hurriedly agreed. "Boss," he added softly..
"Oh, you...you..."
But by that time John had pulled her into an embrace, though Victoria did murmur into his ear, "I'll show YOU who is boss."
Victoria's portrait sitting for Eleanor was actually standing. Eleanor had Victoria stand at the top of the short set of stairs that led up to the bedrooms. She posed for several hours, but over two days, and though still 'bossy', for both their sakes, Eleanor was generous with rest periods. After they were done, Eleanor took the canvas and retreated to an al fresco studio. It was difficult to find a space in the house that let in enough light without becoming an oven. But Eleanor was able to work outside, in the north side of the house…cordoned off by strongly worded 'keep out' signs that John provided.
When she was at work, she seemed utterly focused and oblivious to the comings and goings of any of the family or the hands. "I think you could fire a shot gun over her head and she wouldn't flinch." Buck remarked. She could work for hours, when the light was right, resting her leg occasionally by sitting on a long legged stool that Buck had crafted for her. No one even dared ask when the portrait might be ready. But when she joined them for meals, or when she and Victoria chatted or worked together she was the congenial and interesting guest they had come to know.
"It is very interesting, you know," Victoria commented as they sewed together one day.
"What's that?" Eleanor asked, carefully rethreading her needle.
"It is as if you live in two different worlds...one where you are painting and another for...well...everything else."
"Do I? Well, yes, perhaps I do. My father used to say the house could burn down around me if I was working, and I wouldn't notice."
Victoria smiled. "Buck says a shot gun could go off next to you and you wouldn't jump."
"Oh dear, let's not let him test that theory!"
"No, of course not," Victoria said with a laugh.
"I suppose you are right though. I do find that when I have an easel in front of me, I tend to disappear into it. The sketches are different. I take in more of the surroundings even if I don't actually put everything on paper." She put down her work for a moment. "But when there is a painting before me, and I stare at the canvas and a painting emerges, it is almost like looking into a pool of water, where I am searching out what lies just below the surface. I find I have to work very hard to keep the image before me...so it doesn't slip away." She smiled. "Hence the obliviousness, I suppose."
"It sounds very tiring."
"Tiring and exhilarating at the same time." She bent over her work again, and then said, "I think the image in your portrait has almost fully emerged."
"You mean it is finished!?"
"No...but it is very close. One of my weaknesses as a painter is not knowing when to stop...to stop fussing. I don't want to make that mistake here. So soon. Very soon."
Eleanor was as good as her prediction. She wanted to present her painting during the daylight, (though, like all portrait painters she had taken into account that it would be often seen in candlelight and lamplight as well), so the next Sunday, when work on the ranch eased as much as it ever did, she announced at breakfast her intention to show them all her work. It was hard to tell who was more nervous about this presentation; the painter or the subject and her family.
Eleanor asked Blue to help her bring the work down from her bedroom. Blue set the painting, on its easel and hidden from view by a cloth, in the middle of the living room and stepped back, joining John, Victoria, Mano and Buck gathered round. Eleanor took a deep breath, but didn't say anything...because really, what was there to say?...and pulled the covering away.
There was a collective intake of breath, followed by a collective silence. Finally Mano said, softly, "Magnifico." And then repeated more loudly, "Magnifico!" Blue quickly chimed in, "It's wonderful! Just...incredible." Buck added, "Well, ain't that something. That'll take your breath away, that will."
Eleanor had painted a slightly less than life size portrait of Victoria. Even though you couldn't see the stairs, her hand resting on the balustrade placed her at the top of the stairs perfectly. And even though you couldn't see her feet, the way her body was depicted made it clear that she had just started down the steps. Her skin and hair were luminous with an afternoon light that caught the plain gold cross she wore, and infused the adobe wall behind her with a warm glow. The choice of clothing turned out to be inspired, the rich color vibrating off her skin, her long hair the richest of blue black. But what was most arresting about the painting, by far, was Victoria's expression. Her lips were slightly parted in the beginning of a smile and her eyes were alive with anticipation. Eleanor had captured not only her subject's great beauty, but, in her expression, also her great joie de vivre and animating intelligence.
Eleanor was pleased to hear the positive responses of Mano, Blue and Buck, but she was growing increasingly nervous because neither Victoria or John had said a word, though both continued to stare intently at the work.
Finally Victoria turned to her and said, "It is wonderful Eleanor...I think perhaps you flatter me, but it fills me with great joy. I thank you from the bottom of my heart."
Eleanor let out a sigh of relief. "I assure you...and others will as well...that I don't flatter you at all. And I am so pleased that you are pleased."
Victoria turned to John, placing her hand on his arm and said, "And what do you think, my husband? You have said nothing."
John only looked back and forth between his wife and her portrait. For the painting had knocked him into one of his frequent bouts of near total reticence. He tried, and failed to get a few words out about how deeply he was affected by the painting. Finally, looking at his wife, he said the only thing he could think of, which also happened to be his greatest compliment to the painter, "It's almost as beautiful and wonderful as you are."
Everyone laughed with at least some relief at that and offered more compliments and thanks to Eleanor for her work. If it hadn't been morning, someone, (most likely Buck or Mano), would have broken out the whiskey and wine, But Victoria promised a special dinner where indeed, many libations were shared.
Eleanor's leg had been rapidly getting better and a few days after the successful unveiling of the portrait, Doc Plant arrived to unveil Eleanor's leg, pronouncing it well and truly healed. Much to the genuine disappointment of the entire High Chaparral family, Eleanor began to make plans to leave ranch. "I am sad to leave," she admitted, "but duty calls and I must get back to my work. And for awhile, I will just be in Tucson and we can visit there." "Yes, that will help some," Victoria agreed.
Victoria helped Eleanor pack her clothing while Blue helped her organize her art portfolio. "I want to leave these here," she said, handing Blue a batch of sketches. After I leave, your father and Victoria can decide what to do with them."
Slowly, Blue, with Victoria coming to stand next to him, went through the sketches that Eleanor had made of the people and the life of the High Chaparral. There was the one of Joe he had seen earlier, but in slightly more finished form. And one of Sam, standing in the doorway of the bunkhouse, coffee in hand, laughing at something. There was Reno with his guitar, watched by Pedro, as group of hands played a card game behind them. There were sketches of cattle and horses and one Blue especially liked – a detailed view of a horse's hoof as Ira bent and cleaned the hoof; again, even though it only showed the top of Ira's head, it was indisputably he. Soapy and McAdoo tail to nose, keeping the flies off. And then...Buck feeding an apple to Rebel. That one was striking both for the way it utterly captured Buck at his most relaxed...hat down his back, head tilted as if in deep conversation with his horse, and also for the fact that like all the other sketches it was in black and white, but the apple had been daubed with a perfect tint of red. Mano was portrayed, in the middle of a card game...hat tilted back, and of course, laughing, his eyes flashing with delight. Then there was the one of Blue himself. He was pictured leaning on the top rail of the corral. He held his hat in his hand, and wore an expression that was not precisely unhappy, but seemed quite serious, as if he might have been seeing something, not in the corral, but on the horizon
"Oh that's very good," murmured Victoria. Blue nodded. "I look...well, I don't look like a kid," he said with satisfaction.
"But," Victoria added, "there isn't one of John. Did he tell you not to draw him?" she asked Eleanor with more than a hint of suspicion.
"No...it wasn't that. And I wouldn't have paid any attention anyway." She paused. "I just found him very difficult to get down on paper."
"But he is so handsome! Or, at least I think so," Victoria added, blushing.
"Oh, the actual facial characteristics...the planes of his face, were...are...straightforward enough. It's just that..." she seemed unsure how to explain. "Look," she finally said to Blue and Victoria, "what do you like best about these sketches? The ones of people, that is."
That gave both Blue and Victoria pause. "Well," Blue finally said, "I think it is the expressions."
"Yes! That's it." Victoria enthusiastically agreed. "As if you could see inside and show more about the person that just how they look...more...oh, I don't know, exactly, just more."
Eleanor nodded. "And what about the portrait of Victoria?"
"Same thing," Blue said firmly. "I mean it is, well, overall, more because of the colors and all, but it is still the expression."
"Its as if I am expecting something...something wonderful and happy," Victoria said a little dreamily.
"You are." Eleanor said with a smile. "That is how you look every time you hear John's voice or his footfall coming into the house."
"Oh," Victoria said, blushing again.
Eleanor laughed. "Somehow you even manage to look that way even when you are annoyed at him."
"But what does that have to do with not making a sketch of Pa?" Blue wanted to know.
"Just that I had the devils' own time trying to find his expression. I mean, when he isn't giving orders to the hands, or playing chess, or arguing with Mano or Buck, working on his books, or even looking at you," she said nodding to Victoria.
Blue laughed. "Well, what else is there?"
"This, I hope." She pulled one more drawing from her portfolio. Just a bit larger than the other drawings. It was of John...sketched as if she was seeing him in profile, but also a little from behind. He wasn't wearing a hat, and his hair curled down over his collar. The sharp planes of his jaw and cheekbones were impressive and accurate. But, Eleanor was right...what really stood out was his expression. Even from that angle, his eyes stared out further than even Blue had...seeing beyond the horizon to some unknown vision of his own.
"Oh." Victoria said softly.
"Yeah." Blue agreed. "That's him."
Once Gabriel, ("He really is all you said," Buck had confided to a pleased Eleanor), was hitched back to the cart and all of Eleanor's things loaded, there were many heartfelt goodbyes all around. Finally, with Rafi barking with excitement, the remarkable Mrs. Loring headed off to Tucson...this time escorted by two ranch hands that John would brook no argument on sending.
After she moved on from Tucson, Victoria received many letters from her friend and the rest of the family were recipients of wonderful the post cards, often decorated, back and front with one of her own sketches. From this they learned that Pacific did indeed smell wonderful to her and that she did in fact make it to the Yukon to paint the native tribes there, and that eventually she made it safely back to Rhode Island.
About a year after that, her book ...the book of color portraits of Tribal members with accompanying smaller black and white drawings, and a minimum of text, arrived with an inscription to them all "To all the High Chaparral Family, for your kindness and inspiration, from your always grateful artist, friend, Eleanor Loring." "Small 'a' art,' Blue said quietly to himself.
Everyone admired the book very much, looking with special interest at the early painting of the Eastern Tribe members. "I'll bet that's the Abak..." Blue struggled to remember the word, "...Abenaki man that she first mentioned. That got her going on all this."
Still, as Victoria said to Mano on another evening as they were turning the pages, "It is very beautiful. But also a little sad. As if they could see...or maybe Eleanor could see a future without them." "Si," he agreed. "Even angustioso."
"What does that mean?" asked Blue coming to join them.
Mano considered for a minute, finally translating to, "'heartbreaking.'"
Blue nodded, but then added, "But also indomitable."
All of Eleanor's works found a place in the expanding Cannon ranch and Cannon/Montoya families. Framed carefully, the sketches became part of the visual history of the ranch for its inheritors. As for the portrait of Victoria, after it was framed, John wanted to put it over the fireplace, an idea his wife firmly rejected. "For one thing," she explained, "I like the landscape that is there now VERY much...and for another, if you put ME there, I will look like some hunting trophy...a stuffed mule deer!" "Oh no," her brother teased, "a mountain lioness at least!"
John didn't see it that way...but it was her portrait and he knew better to argue this point. Ultimately, the portrait found a home across from the dining room table. ("It will be out of the direct light there," Blue pointed out, "so it won't fade.") From there, it would welcome visitors and embrace family members for generations to come.
The end.