Harp's Manor

INSTALLMENT XI

May 19, 1928

How lonely a turn things have taken! And how bad things are looking!

The cause of all my woes occurred on Friday. I was meeting Mr. Forrest for my weekly painting session. I remember his outfit particularly well, for it was so very bizarre. He was wearing a lilac suit and vest, with loose lapels and a tall, pointed collar. Underneath the vest was a light green shirt, topped by a necktie in the most stunning hue of blue paisley. Resting on his head was a straw hat doing its best to impersonate a stovepipe hat. I hadn't any idea where he found one so tall.

"Miss Thornton," he greeted me with a bow. I was afraid the hat would fall off his head.

"Mr. Forrest," I said. I attempted to keep a neutral face, but another glance at the hat broke my resolve. "What in the world are you wearing?"

"High fashion," he replied with a smile. "I was at a convention with Mr. Stephenson earlier today, and he insisted that I wear this."

"Mr. Stephenson must get his eyes checked. Why in the world are you still wearing it?"

"To make people laugh, of course. It's always much better speaking to someone and having them laugh than having them say nothing." He paused. "The hat, though, is of my own wardrobe, so please refrain from insulting it."

I raised my eyebrows. "May I ask where you acquired such an... interesting item?"

"Custom-made by an old friend," Mr. Forrest said, beckoning to me and beginning to stroll into the gardens. I followed. "I helped him out of a few tight spots with the bank, so to express his gratitude he offered to make anything I wanted."

"And that was what you wanted?"

"Admittedly, I asked for an inch tall- you know, low is much more innocuous and stylish nowadays- but the poor chap must have misheard me. His hearing was never the same after the war." He paused, a peculiar expression on his face. "Anyway, he ended up presenting me with a hat one foot tall. I am never one to turn down a gift, but at that moment I was strongly tempted."

"But you still kept it, clearly," I pointed out. "And are wearing it!"

"I needed something just as ridiculous to match the rest of my attire," Mr. Forrest explained. "Ah, look at this lovely little spot. What do you say we rest here and study nature through our brushes?"

We settled underneath a groaning weeping willow, across from a tiny fountain with Venus memorialized in the center. Mr. Forrest explained he wanted to experiment with 'perspective art,' and was hoping that, by painting the dangling vines of the willow but not the actual tree, it would produce a desired effect. The dangling leaves were quite heavy, nearly obscuring our position from onlookers. How he intended to see beyond them was lost on me.

Sitting on the tender grass in the soft May air, with a little canvas square propped in front of me, I felt a strange sense of peace wash over me. I still had no idea what I was doing; but something about the blurry sunshine dotting out from behind the thick white clouds, combined with the sweet scent of honeysuckle and the prickly sensation of the soil below me, effortlessly flooded my mind with serenity. I glanced over; Mr. Forrest was already beginning to sketch the horizon around the fountain, squinting around his easel. The light scratching sounds made by his pencil blended into the calming atmosphere.

It was a near perfect afternoon. The sun was still high above us, obscured enough to keep us from boiling in its heat. The cool, mild breeze stroked my face, dancing visibly in the leaves of the willow. The sky was a blue so solid, it looked as if I could reach up and touch it.

I don't remember dozing off, but the distant sound of voices startled me to consciousness. My eyes flew open; I was quite startled! I was about to open my mouth and say something, when I perceived Mr. Forrest's startled face before me with a finger to his lips. Holding my tongue, I sat up and peered through the draperies of the willow, scanning for the location of the noise.