In the second bedroom closet, the suitcases were stacked on the floor under the clothes.
“I think she likes being useful,” Sonya said. “And yeah, has to be a she.”
“I wish we knew her name.”
“So do I. I think she must have been a servant. I started to make one up for her, but that seems wrong.”
Her phone jumped out with Little Richard’s classic “Good Golly Miss Molly.”
“Molly!” they said together.
“You know what else that means?” Cleo said.
“They know each other. Clover either knew Molly when they were alive or…”
“They got acquainted after. Thank you, Molly, for saving me so much time. I don’t see my spring and fall jackets in here.”
“I bet we find them in the coat closet downstairs. Efficient. She—Molly—does like to play with things. Perfume, pretty things.”
“She can play with mine all she wants. Are you up for carrying the rest to the studio?”
“That’s the plan, and Molly saved us half an hour.”
They carted the first load up. The minute she stepped into the studio, Cleo set her box on the desk, did a turn.
“Oh God! I love this space. It’s absolutely perfect. Look, the moon’s up, over the water.”
From the Gold Room came the pounding.
“Oh, fuck off,” Cleo snapped. “You can’t spoil this for me.”
After setting her box beside Cleo’s, Sonya looked around. “It is perfect, and the view slays, but are you sure you’ll be all right up here?”
“Bet your ass. I’m going to get the last box.”
“Trey put what you sent with Mom marked for the studio in the closet. What the hell was in that big box? It weighed a ton.”
“Mostly canvases and paints, more tools. I’m going to take time between jobs—and make more time between jobs—to paint. For me. Be right back.”
When Cleo dashed off, Sonya did her own turn. The pounding lowered to a few angry slams.
She had to admit, it already felt like Cleo. She walked to the closet to drag out the big box.
And saw the painting propped on top of it.
The bride wore a ring of flowers over straight blond hair that rained past her shoulders. Her simple white dress fell to the ankles of bare, narrow feet. Its empire waist circled below full, high breasts. Between, the dress covered the dome of belly.
She carried a nosegay in her right hand and wore a gold band with two entwined hearts on the third finger of her left.
She’d seen pictures. If she hadn’t, with the loving details of the portrait, she’d have recognized Clover. Her father’s birth mother.
She’d passed the shape of her nose, the wide bow of her mouth to her son. And so to her granddaughter.
Emotion, unexpected and poignant, flooded through her.
“The last and final,” Cleo said as she came in. “So it’s officially official— What is it?”
Sonya just pointed.
When she joined her, Cleo put a hand on Sonya’s shoulder. “I’m going to take a wild guess. That wasn’t there before.”
“No. The closet was empty when Trey put your supplies in there. It’s Clover. It’s my father’s birth mother. And, Cleo, my father painted this. I know his work, and if I didn’t, there’s his signature.”
Reaching up, she laid her hand over Cleo’s. “How did he paint her—the woman who died giving birth to him? How did it get here, in the manor? Did he dream of her, the way he did the manor, the mirror, his brother? I think that must be it.”
“You should take a picture of it, send it to Winter, ask if she’s seen it. Either way, I’m betting you’re right about the dreams. And a twin thing again?”
“Like the painting of the manor. Collin saw it somewhere, somehow, bought it.”
“It follows, doesn’t it?”
“I need to sit a minute.”
When she did, on the floor, Yoda crawled into her lap, and Cleo crouched down.
“I’ll get you some water.”
“No, I’m okay. Just wobbly for a minute. It just fills me, and hollows me out at the same time. Dad painted her; Collin brought her here. They connected.”
“Now you have her, and that connects you. Sonya, it’s beautiful work. She’s … well, she’s adorable. We should take her downstairs. Nobody puts Clover in the closet.”
With one hand stroking Yoda, Sonya leaned her head toward Cleo. “You’re right. We’ll take her to the music room, with Johanna.”