All Saints’ Day gives us opportunities to grapple with the sometimes-complicated legacies of important figures in our lives. These people were not, after all, perfect. The person who inspired us may have also disappointed us. The figure who exemplified love may have also exhibited spectacular dysfunction.
To reflect on sorting through these difficult legacies, I share below the selection from Suddenly Color, the second novel of my Sacred Grounds series. The main character, Kat, has learned new information about her deceased grandmother that creates dissonance in her sense of who that grandmother was. Kat remembers a woman who inspired her passion for art, and yet Kat is only now discovering the details of her grandmother’s long struggle with mental illness. She’s processing these discoveries even as she’s living out the love of art that her grandmother left her.
If you’ve read this far, and if you’ve resonated at all with the experience of complicated legacies in your own life, then I hope you’ll enjoy this glimpse of a story …
From Chapter 2 of Suddenly Color: A Sacred Grounds Novel Book 2 (Clay Patin Press 2023)
“Wow,” said Paul the next afternoon as we rode our bikes north on the rail trail. “You had no idea?”
“None,” I said.
We’d lucked out in our choice of cycling days. The sun shone in a vivid blue sky above us, and yet clouds here and there kept the brightness out of our eyes. Tree leaves rustled in a 70-degree breeze. We couldn’t have chosen a better afternoon to get out. I, too, felt better than I had in days. I’d finally gotten a good night’s sleep, and I had the energy to keep pace with Paul. It felt wonderful.
Not everything felt wonderful, though. The conversation with my mother still bewildered me.
“I knew Grandma had some odd ideas,” I continued, aware that I hadn’t processed any of this out loud yet. “I knew she wasn’t especially trusting of people. Well, she was very distrustful of a lot of people. But that doesn’t automatically mean paranoia and hallucinations.”
“I’m rifling through my memories for something I may have missed.”
Suddenly Color: A Sacred Grounds Novel Book 2
“Only in her case, it did,” he observed.
“In her case, it did,” I repeated. I took a deep breath and thought vaguely that I’d caught a scent of honeysuckle. I didn’t pause to glance around for it, though. My mind was racing ahead on the topic of my grandmother.
“Was there ever any diagnosis?” Paul asked.
“I didn’t think to ask. I need to ask. Sounds like the family never talked about it.” I thought a moment. “I can’t believe I never saw that side of my grandmother. Even if no one talked about it, how could I miss hallucinations? I know I didn’t spend much time alone with her, but still.”
I saw Paul shrug from the corner of my eye.
“I’m rifling through my memories for something I may have missed. I …,” I sighed. “I’m sorry,” I added with a laugh. I knew Paul hadn’t heard me monologue like this before. I tended to be a private person. This must seem very unlike me. “I’m going on and on.”
I keep thinking that your mother gave you a gift in letting you enjoy your grandmother when you were young. You didn’t have to know more than a child needed to know.
Suddenly Color: A Sacred Grounds Novel Book 2
“You’re processing,” he said, warmth in his voice. “It’s okay.”
I felt my shoulder muscles relax a little. His voice could do that to me. Turning my head and taking a breath to speak, I met his dark brown eyes. It struck me yet again that eyes as dark as his shouldn’t be able to gleam as brightly as they did. Breaking eye contact again, I tried to refocus on the thing I’d been about to tell him. What on earth was it?
“You were about to say something?” he asked, clearly having no idea what his eyes did with my ability to focus.
“Yeah,” I said, finally remembering. “To top it off, I lost my grandmother’s ring. You know the one I always wear? She gave it to me when I was little. I’ve had it all these years, and now I lose it. I lose the grandmother I thought I knew, and I lose the ring she gave me – all in the same week. Almost fitting, don’t you think?”
I glanced over at him again, expecting to see a wry smile as he agreed with me about the irony of it. Paul only stared ahead, though, his expression unreadable. This caught me up short. He usually listened with such empathy. The warmth I’d heard in his voice a moment ago had struck me as classic Paul. His lack of response made me wonder if my final monologue had gone too far. I knew the idea of mental illness troubled a lot of people. It troubled me, for that matter.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, glancing back at the trail. “I go on and on even after apologizing for it. I’m probably overreacting to all of this.”
“I don’t think you’re overreacting at all,” he said with a gentle voice. “It’s all a lot to take in.”
I gave him a smile and then looked ahead again.
“Thanks for letting me vent,” I said.
“You know I want to know what’s going on.”
“I know,” I said, smiling at the warmth that had returned to his voice.
We rode in silence a few minutes. When he spoke again, he said:
“I keep thinking that your mother gave you a gift in letting you enjoy your grandmother when you were young. You didn’t have to know more than a child needed to know.”
I hadn’t thought of it in that way. I’d felt horrified to have something that important kept from me. What Paul said sounded right, though. I treasured this part of talking with him. His perspective always held such compassion.
“I like your way of looking at it,” I said finally.
We fell into silence, riding side-by-side under the lush canopy of overhanging trees. Only early May could bring such shades of green. I glanced over again. As usual, his smile made me smile. I couldn’t believe I’d only known Paul for something like six months. It didn’t seem possible that I’d spent so little time with him and yet had come to feel so comfortable with him. Perhaps that shouldn’t have surprised me, though. Paul had a way of putting people at ease. He’d make an entire room feel suddenly friendly by the simple fact of entering it.
Paul and I had been through a lot together in these last few months. He’d listened to me again and again as I’d needed to talk. I’d done my best to listen to him, too, when he’d been willing to talk. Experience can breed comfort and familiarity, I supposed. In our case, perhaps it really had. I took a deep breath and let it out.
“So,” I said, having the sense I’d said all I knew to say about my grandmother. “Have you thought more about which art class you’d like to take?”
“I have,” he said, a grin suddenly filling his face as he glanced over. “I like your suggestion about drawing instead of painting. That seems right for a beginner like me. Are you sure you don’t mind?”
He looked at me with those darkest of brown eyes that I still found arresting. In fact, I found myself looking into them so happily that I only realized he’d asked me a question after he returned his gaze to the trail.
“I don’t mind at all,” I said quickly, recovering.
“All right then.”
“All right then,” I repeated. “Your schedule is trickier than mine, so you choose which class.”
“I was thinking about the figure drawing class on Tuesday evenings.”
I looked over at him expecting a joking smile. Again, his expression surprised me. His face held only seriousness.
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he said, glancing over at me with confusion. “Why not?”
“Well,” I said, unable to keep from smiling again, “maybe I thought, because you’re a pastor and all, you might not be into that kind of thing.”
“What kind of thing?”
“Nude models.”
“Did the description say that?!” he asked, his voice a notch higher than usual. “I can’t believe I missed that.”
“I don’t think the description said that, but isn’t that what ‘figure drawing’ means? Drawing the human figure?”
He glanced over at me again, studying my face a second, before looking back ahead at the trail.
“Yes,” he said, “and I’d enjoy drawing people, but ‘figure drawing’ doesn’t automatically mean naked people, does it?” he asked, sounding incredulous.
“I think that’s what the term means in the art world.”
“Eastport isn’t exactly the art world.”
“No,” I agreed, laughing. “Eastport is certainly not the art world.”
“You’re the artist, not me,” he acknowledged, “but I can’t picture the Eastport Art Center offering a drawing class with naked models.”
I still couldn’t keep myself from grinning the grin that I knew had to be spreading across my face. I didn’t feel a need to press the matter, though. I’d invited Paul to take an art class with me to help in his goal of taking off his pastor hat sometimes, trying new things, and nurturing his life outside of a church. I hadn’t cared much for church for a while now, so I could support those goals. If “figuring drawing” meant what I thought it did, then Paul would definitely gain some experience with life outside of church.
“I’m game for whatever you want,” I said, still looking ahead. “It’s your call.”
After only a beat, he said, “Okay, then. Sign us up for the figure drawing class.”
“Okay then,” I echoed. “And thanks, Paul,” I added, trying to bring some seriousness back into my voice. “It means a lot that you’re trying this with me.”
“Glad to,” he said. A lock of brown-black hair that had snuck out of his helmet was waving in the breeze. “I’m glad you pushed me on it. Besides, you remember the other half of the deal, right?” His smirk combined with the lock of hair gave him a mischievous look. “I’m doing this thing you chose, so next you’ll do something that I get to choose.”
“Absolutely,” I said with energy. I’d been waiting for this, curious where his mind would go but also hoping that whatever it was would give me ideas for a good birthday present. He had a birthday coming up later this summer, but I still felt stumped about what to give him. “What are we doing?” I asked eagerly.
For the briefest moment, his expression fell. I caught sight of what looked almost like sadness. I’d seen it in him before, but he always pushed the expression away as soon as it came.
“Still thinking,” he said, glancing over at me as he brought a pleasant smile back to his face. “Stay tuned.”
I stared at him. He offered no explanation. I guessed this wasn’t the time or place to push him on what that meant. I made myself a mental note, though, to circle back to this. I’d resolved to stay patient. For now, all I said was, “Okay, then. I stand ready.”
Click here to learn more about Suddenly Color: A Sacred Grounds Novel Book 2 (Clay Patin Press 2023) and where to find a copy.
Callie J. Smith 
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