Diane Stuckart - A Bolt from the Blue

Blinking back sudden tears, I studied the image of a young man-thin but wiry and possessed of a calm smile-who sat upon a grassy knoll. His hands casually wrapped around one knee, he watched with happy amazement the miraculous scene before him. Behind the youth stood a man old enough to be his father. Though his hair was gray and his features and body thicker, he bore a striking resemblance to the young man upon whose shoulder his strong hand rested. His air was respectful, in keeping with the wonders nearby, but his look of paternal pride was reserved for his son.

A short distance behind the pair, a second young man was poised in mid-run, as if rushing to see the miracle before it was too late. Indeed, such was his hurry that his cap had tumbled from his tangled mane of black hair. He did not look back, however, but kept single-mindedly to his pace. A smile danced upon his pockmarked face, and his expression was that of a true believer whose faith had at last been confirmed.

I was still studying my work when the chapel door creaked open behind me. I sensed the Master’s presence almost before I heard his soft footsteps upon the stone floor. Wordlessly, he paused beside me and for a long while studied the portion of fresco into which I had poured my heart. At last, he turned back to me.

“Well-done, young apprentice,” he said, the warmth of his smile soothing all of my aches. “I had expected much of you, and yet you surpassed those expectations. This is a work worthy of a master.”

Before I could reply, his smile broadened into a grin. “And I see you have taken a master’s liberty by putting yourself into the scene, as well, if perhaps symbolically.”

He pointed to the painted image of a hawk perched upon a tree behind the figures of Constantin and his father. Dark of feather and green of eye, the small raptor lifted a single wing, as if about to take flight.

I felt myself blush as I returned his grin. “I could not help myself. . though, of course, I would never have dared to paint my face among the worshippers.”

“Ah, but that is half the fun,” the Master countered, his grin taking on a sly edge. “Surely you saw that I did not hesitate to give myself a most prominent role in the scene.”

Staring at the fresco, I frowned for a moment as I tried to pick him out from the painted crowd. It was then that I noticed what I had missed before, that the Christ figure bore more than a passing resemblance to the Master as he must have looked a decade earlier.

“But what if the duke notices?” I gasped out, torn between being scandalized and amused by this subtle bit of blasphemy.

Leonardo merely shrugged. “I suspect he will be more likely to believe that the resemblance is to himself, if he notices anything at all.”

The soft chime that was his wrist clock sounding the hour put a halt to that moment of amusement.

“It is finished,” he softly said, a shadow stealing over his handsome features. “You have done what you were meant to do here, and it is time for you to leave us. Your father is waiting outside the chapel gates to take you back to the city, so that you can start for your home on the morrow. And so, I fear that nothing more remains than to say good-bye to my dearest Dino.”

You cannot say good-bye, I wanted to cry out, for I cannot bear to leave the castle, to leave you! But a painful lump had lodged in my throat so that the words remained unspoken.

Swiping away a few errant tears that had slipped down my cheeks, I took a steadying breath and asked instead, “Will you make my farewells to Signor Luigi? He was a true friend to me, and I shall miss him despite his sharp tongue.”

“I will tell him,” he agreed with a hint of a smile, “no matter that the good tailor will be loud in his protests before he ever admits his fondness for you.”

“And Vittorio, do not let him pine too long for Novella,” I rushed on. “He thinks himself in love with her, you know.”

“I know, and I shall counsel him to patience, for I suspect the washerwoman and her daughter may one day return.”

“And don’t forget Pio. He must have his game of wrestling with a bit of blanket each day.”

“The hound will have his amusements, I assure you.”

Unable to think of any further excuses for delay, I lapsed into silent misery. I knew I should flee before I made a fool of myself, and yet I yearned to draw out this last moment for as long as I could. I cared not that each passing second deepened the wound in my heart, if it meant I could spend a few heartbeats longer in his presence.

Leonardo met my anguished gaze with a look of regret and spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “Delfina,” he said softly, “you must leave now, no matter that it breaks my heart to see you go.”

“It breaks my heart, too,” I whispered so quietly that I wondered if he heard the words.

And then, choking back a sob, I fled the tiny chapel as if the devil himself were at my heels.

It was several days after I had returned to our small town that I found the courage to unpack the bag containing the apprentice Dino’s worldly possessions. The rough sack held far more upon its return journey than it had when I had started out. . just as I had brought back with me far more knowledge of the world than had been mine when I left. And so, gently, I poured the bag’s contents out onto my bed.

To be sure, one part of me had been tempted to consign it all to the fire, to put that small portion of my life behind me, but in the end I could not. For among the items were the three notebooks that I had kept in emulation of Leonardo.

More than books of sketches, the tiny volumes had become a chronicle of my life during those months when I had lived at Castle Sforza. The memories they held burned with both passion and pain. . memories far too raw, most of them, to be held up for examination in the light of day. But one day, I would want to relive those moments of love and fear and laughter.

Just not yet.

Two of my three notebooks I had already tied shut, for the secrets they held had threatened to spill from them in careless disregard for my own feelings. I found another piece of cord and secured the third book, as well. Many of its pages were still blank, but that was as it should be. Should I ever be tempted to keep such a notebook again, I would fi nd a fresh new volume in which to begin.

For good measure, I wrapped all three volumes together in a heavy silk veil and tied it into a neat bundle. That bundle, in turn, I carefully hid atop my wardrobe, out of sight of anyone else but where I could retrieve it whenever I wished. That accomplished, I began sorting the rest of Dino’s possessions.

My bowl and spoon were there, as was much of the coin that my father had given me to pay for my apprenticeship, and which I had hidden in the toe of my spare boots. A change of linen and a cloth with which to scrub my teeth added to the pile. I’d also accumulated a few small trinkets from the occasional market day. The tunics and trunk hose in which I’d first disguised myself had belonged to my younger brothers, but they had long since outgrown those clothes. I shook that boyish garb free of its wrinkles and folded it into a neat pile. While I no longer had a use for the clothing, I was loath simply to toss it away.

Along with that simple garb, I found that my father had also packed away the page’s outfit that Luigi the tailor had made for me at Leonardo’s request. I felt a twinge of guilt at seeing it there, for it was far more costly than any clothing I had ever owned. Had I packed my own bag, I would have left it behind so that another youth might wear it should Leonardo find himself in need of an apprentice disguised as a servant.