“I did. I imagine most folks around here knew Elizabeth—at least, folks of a certain age.” Samuel gave me a wink and ran a hand over his thinning gray hair. “She was a Coppertian, after all.”
I stared at him, stunned. “Wasshe?”
“Yes, of course. She owned your house once upon a time,” he said, seeming bemused. “You didn’t know?”
I shook my head, but of course, it made perfect sense. So many of the paintings of Copper Lake looked like they could have been painted in my backyard… because they had.
“I didn’t know a single thing about my house when I bought it,” I admitted. “Except that it was close to Tam’s house, and it felt… happy.”
It felt like a silly thing to say about an inanimate object, but Samuel simply nodded. “I always thought so, too. My mother and Elizabeth were friends, so I spent quite a bit of time there as a boy. Elizabeth and Jean were Copper-plates back then—summer residents,” he explained, “but they moved here full-time in… oh, ’76 or thereabouts? When I was in high school, anyway. Jean taught English at the high school.”
“Jean?”
“Jean Soler.” Samuel tapped the edge of the canvas gently. “Elizabeth’s partner.”
I stared at the woman in the painting. At her secret smile. At how the light seemed to caress her. At how she radiated off the canvas, though I couldn’t have picked out one remarkable thing in her figure or her features that made her beautiful.
Elizabeth had painted Jean in a way that rendered the stunning lake, the vibrant trees, and the expansive sky as mere backdrop for Jean’s heartbreaking loveliness.
“When you say partner,” I asked softly, sure I already knew the answer, “you mean…?”
He smiled. “I mean they were very much in love, yes.” He sat back, steepling his fingers, and his face took on an abstracted look. “If I recall correctly, Elizabeth was already a fairly established artist when they met. Jean was a writer—brilliant woman, worked for several magazines. They collaborated on a project, don’t ask me what, and… sparks flew.” His smile softened. “And kept flying, as long as I knew them.”
“And… and people here were okay with that?” I demanded. “Two women, in the seventies?”
Samuel tilted his head from side to side. “There might’ve been some folks who muttered behind their hands. But most folks just saw two women who made each other happy. Small towns can be surprising that way, Delaney. We know each other too well to waste our energy on hate.”
“Huh. The rest of the world wasn’t like that then. Hell, it’s not like that now in lots of places.”
“True.” He pursed his lips. “Which might explain why these paintings were hidden, I suppose. I never knew Elizabeth painted Jean like this. I imagine she kept those paintings close to her heart. I did hear that when Jean died in the nineties, Elizabeth changed. Retreated from everything, even her art.” He shrugged. “She might’ve hidden these away, not knowing there’d come a time when their life together would be viewed as anything but scandalous.”
My chest tightened as I studied the painting again. “That’s really tragic,” I said softly. “Because this is beautiful.”
“Theywere beautiful,” he said. “I remember thinking so, even when I was a kid. And they set a high bar for love, let me tell you. I spent years searching for a relationship like theirs. A true partnership.”
“Did you find it?” I asked, noting the gold band on his finger.
Samuel smiled, turning the ring thoughtfully. “I did. But I had to come full circle to find it. Isn’t that always the way?”
I shook my head. “I don’t follow.”
“I grew up here, but I couldn’t wait to leave. Real life happened in big cities, I thought. So I became a reporter for theBoston Globe. Spent fifteen years there, covering everything from city politics to international crises.”
“Impressive,” I said, meaning it. “So why’d you come back?”
“My mother got sick. Cancer,” he said simply. “I took leave and came back here to help care for her, thinking I’d stay a few months. Then I met her doctor, Marcus, and we’ve been together ever since.” He laughed out loud. “Dear God. The expression on your face, Delaney.”
“Sorry! Sorry,” I said. “It’s just very…” I hesitated. “Hallmark movie?”
“Yes, so my niece tells me,” he said wryly. “And yet…”
“But didn’t you miss it?” I demanded. “I mean, I’m sure Marcus was worth it, but wasn’t it kind of a letdown, covering the annual town spelling bee and whatnot, when you could’ve been covering so many bigger stories?”
Samuel’s eyes twinkled. “That’s the secret no one tells you, Delaney. The stories aren’t bigger in the city, just louder. Here, I know the people I’m writing about intimately. I know theirwholestory, not just the newsworthy moments. I still do cover big stories, just… from a narrower perspective.” When he leaned back this time, his chair creaked. “I find it more fulfilling, honestly.”
“I… I suppose,” I said, not entirely convinced.
He shrugged. “Not for everyone, for sure. But if you ever decide you’re interested, let me know. TheGazettecould use someone with your talent, whether it’s telling Elizabeth and Jean’s story—” He nodded down at the painting. “—or something else entirely.”
