The Marriage Portrait

“I’ve been looking at these pictures all morning and I still haven’t gotten tired of looking at them,” he told her, his eyes making another survey of the room.

The pictures he referred to were portraits sketched by Cassie. Eighteen pastels of married couples. Two sketches—one as newlyweds, the other as they currently were in the golden years of their marriages. She’d titled the exhibit “Everlasting Love.”

“Thank you. That’s one of the nicest compliments I could receive,” she said sincerely.

“Did you know that when you add up the total number of years all of these people have been married, it comes to exactly one thousand?” He didn’t wait for her to answer, but said, “Dorothy figured it out.”

Dorothy was the woman in portrait number four, Emmet’s wife of fifty-one years. At first she had been a bit reticent about posing for Cassie, but after sitting down to coffee and doughnuts and discovering that Cassie’s grandmother had belonged to the same Sons of Norway lodge as Emmet and Dorothy, she’d become one of her staunchest supporters.

“You could have called this ‘A Millennium of Love,’” Emmet continued. “Wouldn’t that have been a great title?”

“It certainly would be accurate, wouldn’t it?” she answered. She didn’t tell him that Dorothy had suggested the very same thing and on more than one occasion. With all the hype that had preceded the turn of the century, Cassie hadn’t wanted to use the word millennium in connection with her work.

“These portraits aren’t just about numbers,” she told Emmet. “They’re about people who have worked hard to keep marriages intact through loss and suffering. The faces in these pictures have had great joy, but they’ve also lived through wars and economic hardship. And despite all the social and political turmoil of the past century, their love has lasted.”

“Ah, that is so true,” he said, a gnarly finger propped against his chin as he studied the portrait of a couple who’d been married seventy-two years. “With those colored chalks of yours, you tell so much. The love, the joy, the wisdom…it’s all there.” He took several steps to his left until he stood in front of his own portrait. “I mean, look at my Dorothy. When I look at the picture it’s almost as if I can hear her saying ‘Everything’s going to be all right, Emmet.’ You have a gift, Cassandra. You show the best of people.”

“I only draw what I see,” Cassie told him. “The emotions expressed here are not mine. I’m just the instrument for showing who these people really are, and each one is someone very special.”

“And I thank you for showing that to the world. Not many people would devote an entire exhibit of art to old people.”

“Well, I did, and I’m very glad that I took the time to get to know these wonderful married couples.” She spread her arms in an encompassing gesture. “They are my tribute to aging and to love that endures the test of time.”

She again surveyed the room, appreciating the lighting and the spacing of her portraits. Even though the center wasn’t an art gallery, the staff had constructed a very elegant and artistic display of her work. It reinforced her decision to have the opening at the center rather than in an art gallery.

“You did a wonderful job arranging the portraits, Emmet,” she complimented the older man.

He smiled. “I had help. My sister used to work at the Walker. Of course, she’s retired now, but she has a good eye, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I do. I’d like to meet her. Will she be here tonight?”

“As a matter of fact, she will. And so will lots of other people. It’s going to be a wonderful opening.”

“I’m sure it will be.” Cassie had a rush of nervous excitement at the thought of a project so dear to her heart finally being ready for public display. “What time would you like me to be here?”

“Maybe an hour before opening…would that work for you? We’ve invited all of the married couples in the pictures to come early so they can see the exhibit before it’s open to the public.”

“Good. I’m looking forward to seeing them again.”

“And they will be delighted to see you. Will you be bringing a guest?”

“Yes, I will. A friend of mine.”

“Might I ask this friend’s name…for a name tag, of course,” he asked with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Her name is Claudia,” Cassie answered, knowing perfectly well that Emmet was curious to know if she had a special man in her life. Every time she had sat down to begin another portrait, it never failed. She was asked the same question, “Are you married?”

And when she’d say that she wasn’t, she’d get a similar response, something like, “I can’t believe a beautiful girl like you is still single.”

Then she’d mention that she was a widow and the bemusement would turn to sympathy, producing comments such as, “Oh, you poor girl…to have loved and to have lost…he wouldn’t want you to be alone the rest of your life.”

Emmet and Dorothy had been no different from the other seniors and she suspected that Emmet’s curiosity about her guest this evening was spurred by his wife’s interest. Something that was confirmed by his next statement.

“You’re bringing a girlfriend.” He sighed. “Dorothy will be disappointed. She’d hoped that by the time all of the portraits were finished you’d have a young man and your next exhibit might be newlywed love.”

“No, I’m afraid I have no such plans,” she said with an apologetic smile.

He reached for her hand. “Not to worry. You’re young. You have plenty of time to make plans,” he said consolingly.

Cassie didn’t need to be consoled. She wasn’t pining after her dead husband, nor was she longing for a second chance at love. She was comfortable with her single status, which was probably why she found the “Everlasting Love” project so fascinating. In an era when so many marriages failed, it was refreshing to work with those that had remained solidly intact for more than fifty years.

“I’d like to say maybe you’ll meet some nice young man here tonight at the opening, but our guests this evening will probably all be senior citizens,” Emmet told her with a look of regret.

“I can’t think of a nicer group of people to share my work with on opening night,” she remarked. She was grateful when he was paged by the office to take a phone call and the subject of her personal life could be set aside. Cassie gave him another smile, assured him she’d be on time this evening and waved goodbye.

While he was gone, she went over to the portrait with the number one beside it. It was of her own grandparents, William and Mary Carrigan. Little had she known at the time she had drawn them that it would be the inspiration for an entire project.

She looked at the happy faces smiling at her and felt all warm inside. They were such dear people and, like the others, happily married for over half a century.

“Sharing. That’s the key to staying married,” her grandfather had told her on more than one occasion. “Never keep anything from each other. You must be best friends and share everything.”

Cassie sighed. She’d followed that advice during her short marriage to Darryl. Unfortunately, he hadn’t. A tiny stinging sensation erupted in her chest and she determinedly pushed such thoughts aside.

No point in thinking about the past. It was gone. So was Darryl. She was happy. She had a life—not the life that these senior citizens in her portraits had, but a good, fulfilling life.

As she gave one last glance to the exhibit, she told herself that everlasting love was wonderful—for some people. But not everyone.

Not her. She sighed, then went home to shower and put on her opening night dress.

“DR. MAC, I HAVE that information you wanted.” Tabitha handed him a small stack of papers. “Here’s a listing of the art galleries in Minneapolis and St. Paul and their current exhibits by local artists.”

“I didn’t realize there’d be so many,” he said, leafing through the stack. “Thank you. I’m sure this will be very helpful. I only hope it didn’t take up too much of your time.”

“Actually, it did, but if you clue me in on why you need this information, I’ll forgive you,” she said with an impish grin.

Michael debated just how much he should tell his assistant. “I’m looking for a particular artist, that’s all.”

“Would this be a female artist by chance?” He grinned. “As a matter of fact, it is. Satisfied?”

“So you want to go see her work, is that it?”

“I am curious to see it, yes,” he admitted. “If you had given me her name, I could have eliminated all the paperwork,” she said, nodding to the stack of computer paper on his desk.

“That’s just it. I don’t know her name.” Tabitha put her hands on her hips. “Then how do you expect to find her?”

“Looking at this list, I’m not sure I will.”

“Well, good luck. And if you need any more help, just let me know,” she said with a cheerful wave before shutting the door on her way out.