Page 31 of Theo of Golden

Theo’s eyes filled with tears again — weariness? Hope? Forgiveness? Surrender? — as he lay his head back and looked into the open sky above him.

A single star caught his eye.

A tiny glimmer.

Searching from horizon to horizon, he confirmed that it was the first and only star in the sky.

“Tita, darling, look. A star… for us.”

He heard a lone dove in the distance and imagined his daughter beside him. Imagined that she too saw the ballet of the birds, saw the single star — was the single star? — heard the mournful song.

He rose, clasped his hands behind his back, and went home.

Looking back on that moment, he realized that, in the time between the quarter hour before sunset and the first star of dusk, somehow under the spell of that April evening in France, his splintered soul had begun to heal. It would happen in fits and starts. It would be a healing that would never, at least in this life, be total or final. But it was the moment when the fever broke for him.

And the moment when heaven took possession of his soul.

A host of faint recollections — words from his mother, the Story he had been taught from the priest, fragments of music, images of the Christ that he had pondered in museums around the world, books he had read — all converged in the beauty of that riverside moment and coalesced into a name, a hope, a Love that changed him forever.

Theo eventually sold the majestic house and moved far away from the parish where his daughter was buried. In every place he ever lived after that, he insisted his home be within walking distance of a river, with a view to the west, and with a bench or a place to put one.

And on many days, sometimes for many consecutive days at a stretch, he would check the local morning paper for the exact time of sunset to ensure that he would be punctual for his date with a ten-year-old girl whose laughter was a murmuration and whose memory was a single star, the brightest in all the sky.

CHAPTER 18

Three pristine blossoms of gardenia, in a vase on the credenza beside Mr. Ponder’s desk, perfumed the office with their ineffable sweetness.

In front of the desk stood Mrs. Gidley.

Mr. Ponder reached out to give her a piece of paper. “Anita, here are two more names for Theo. And here are his letters to go with them. Do these things first, please.”

Mrs. Gidley looked at the list with the same enthusiasm she might have given a speeding ticket. She shook her head. “How many of these do you think Mr. Theo is going to do?”

“From what he tells me, he wants to give all of the portraits to their owners. That’s what he calls them, ‘owners.’ I believe there are over ninety altogether. I’m impressed you’ve been able to find addresses for all of them so far. Especially the students.”

Mrs. Gidley was pleased with the compliment. “Some of them have been pretty hard to find, but Shep knows most of the people. Between him and the internet, we’ve been lucky. But I still think this is all pretty strange.”

She was not yet willing to acknowledge her enjoyment of Theo’s project and her growing sense that she was part of something admirable.

“Mr. Ponder, even now, I’m not sure I trust the man. There’s just something suspicious about him. I can’t put my finger on it but….”

Mr. Ponder looked up. “Anita, have a seat. I want to tell you something.”

It was obvious from his tone, a tone she knew well, that he had thought about whatever it was he was about to say.

“Anita, you know our business as well as I do, and I don’t like keeping secrets from you. You know that I trust you. That’s not the issue. It’s just that there are times I’m required to keep things to myself, and this is one of those times. Theo insisted upon it. I’ll admit he’s an unusual case, but I at least want you to know this.”

Mr. Ponder had Mrs. Gidley’s full attention for whatever “this” happened to be.

“Before taking Theo into Ponder House, I made a number of phone calls in his presence and also did some other due diligence. You know I wouldn’t have taken him on if I thought there was a problem.”

Mrs. Gidley nodded.

Mr. Ponder paused. “Anita, many years ago, Theo was a client of my father.”

Mrs. Gidley sat up straight. Her eyes registered utter surprise, lifting like drawbridges to allow entry of the revelation into her mind. She scrolled through her memory for any clue that Theo had been in Ponder House during her decades of employment there. Her memory was blank.

“I checked our files,” he continued. “Theo suggested I do so as proof of his character, and I found Dad’s notes. It verified what Theo had told me about himself, and that’s why I took him on as a client. I want you to know he is not a man to fear or be suspicious about. That’s all I can tell you, but I hope it’ll put your mind at ease.”