Sweet Olive (9780310330554) by Zondervan Publishing House Page A

pottery sat on a bookcase in the corner.
    To the side was an array of carvings, glasswork, and figures that looked like they were made from fancy gourds.
    “Do you like my picture?” the girl of about six asked.
    Squatting, Camille nodded. “Those look like the trees across the road.”
    “That’s what they are!” the girl exclaimed, her missing front teeth obvious in her big grin. “How’d you guess?”
    “You drew those angles perfectly.” Camille smiled. Her own brief stint as an art teacher pierced her heart.
    “That’s what Aunt Ginny said.” She twisted her head to look into Camille’s eyes. “What’s your name?”
    “This is Miss Camille,” Ginny said, hanging up the phone.
    “My name’s Kylie,” the girl said.
    “Look at my picture.” A boy of about four held out his drawing, his eyes downcast. His hair curled into a sweet sphere around his head.
    “That’s my brother, Randy,” Kylie said. “He’s shy.”
    Camille sat on the floor beside him. “I’m shy too.”
    Ginny raised her eyebrows as she put the phone on a small table cluttered with art books and paintbrushes. “They don’t usually take to visitors. I guess they know you appreciate fine art.” She gave Camille a small smile.
    “They’re gifted.” Camille forced herself to stand and backaway from the table, although the setting made her want to sit down and draw something. “You are a fantastic teacher.”
    “I can’t take credit for any of this.” Ginny put her hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Folks say there’s something in the water out here.”
    “Whatever causes it, keep it up.”
    “We’re doing our best,” Ginny replied, her voice losing some of its warmth.
    “All of this work is … I’m at a loss to describe it.” Camille gestured at a display of primitive oil paintings on a massive piece of Peg-Board, similar to one in her dorm room in college.
    “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Ginny said. “That’s why my house looks like a gallery.”
    Camille picked up a small basket made of woven pine needles. “This is one of my dreams—a house filled with original art.”
    Ginny’s eyes widened and Camille walked over to a muted painting of a Louisiana swamp, murmuring her praise.
    “My brother did that, only a few weeks before he died. He saw nature differently than most Louisiana men. Todd said we shouldn’t expect everyone to see the world the same way.”
    “That’s why I love art,” Camille said. “There’s more going on beneath the surface.”
    “Sort of like your oil-and-gas business, I suppose.”
    “They’re nothing alike.” Camille’s voice was abrupt.
    “We’re blessed with more than our share of fine artists out here,” Ginny said. “And apparently we have a lot of gas too.”
    “All of this was done by local artists?”
    Ginny looked like a parent bragging on a child. “Neighbors on a one-mile stretch of road created all of this.”
    Camille raised her eyebrows.
    “Paintings. Pottery. Carving. Weaving. Sculptures.” Ginny gestured to a series of stands Camille had not seen. “We fire that raku in the backyard.”
    The black clay showed through the colors in vases and geometric sculptures, and Camille spent a few seconds looking at each piece.
    “Go ahead. Pick them up.”
    “I’m afraid I might break something.”
    Ginny tsk-tsked. “You’re not the kind of person to break things.”
    Camille picked up a rectangular vase. “This is beautiful.”
    The classical tune blasted out of Ginny’s phone again, and she motioned for Camille to follow her into the kitchen.
    Camille set the vase down, giving it one last gentle touch.
    “No news,” Ginny said into the phone. “I plan to send out a group e-mail tomorrow.”
    A voice sounded angry on the other end.
    “Feel free,” Ginny said. “The children are here this afternoon, so I’m going to have to cut you off.” More loud words erupted. “Let me know. I’ve got to go.” Ginny frowned before laying the phone