The owner of the art gallery smiled and looked at me kindly. Then, as he shared heartfeltly about the past, I learned about the truth.
My mother and Mr. Reuben Fraser, who was the owner of this art gallery, knew each other from that serene little town. They were not just neighbors, but they played an important role in each other’s life growing up. Mr. Fraser was passionate about art from a very young age, whereas my mother had a magical touch where she could transform emotions into beautiful, scenic art pieces.
Their friendship had transformed into a very close bond of mutual understanding and rapport over the passage of time.
“Hilda’s talents were a gift from the heavens. Her art wasn’t just a combination of lines and colors, but also a true reflection of what she was feeling inside.”
Mr. Fraser’s words were filled with nothing but admiration and fond remembrance of my mother’s talents, but I sensed that there was something more to that.
“She once told me that every piece of her art was a love letter she had left to the world, hoping that someone else would understand the story beyond her art.”
I stood quietly in front of Town in Morning Glow and through her art, I could almost feel the serenity and warmth my mother was feeling at that time.
Tears blurred my vision once more, but this time, it was from how moved and liberated I felt.
“Since we’re both from a small town and had tried our very best to get to where we were from the village, we treasured our relationship very much. At that time, we were even supposed to get married.”
I was very surprised by this. However, after looking at the adoration in his eyes, I could tell that he must have really liked my mother.
“After that. I realized Hilda could paint very well, and was very talented and capable. I didn’t wish to restrain such an outstanding person to my side.”
To truly love someone was to try to make sure the other person lived a wonderful life, instead of obstructing their path to a greater future.
“After we’ve left our village, we all had different dreams, so, we ventured onto different paths.”
What caught me by surprise was that Mr. Fraser had gone with others to try and make money abroad, and he had succeeded.
After he became rich, he opened an art gallery right away because he knew that my mother wasn’t able to sell her drawings.
He merely wanted to help my
mother solve her pressing issues, so he used all he could, even if it may not be much, to help her. So, he bought over all her earlier works.
“We once stayed up all night talking our hearts out, and that was the happiest time of my life. Later on, I found out that that night was the last time we could ever see each other.”
Mr. Fraser’s voice slowly became more solemn as he sunk into his memories. Sorrow and heavy-heartedness filled the air.
He turned around, took out an intricately designed wooden box from his desk, and placed it gently in front of me.
“This was the last thing Hilda left with me. She said that if you’d ever appear, I should pass this to you.”
There was a solemnness in his tone, as if the thing he had passed to me was not just a box, but a vesse that carried a profound history and emotions.
I received the box with trembling hands and slowly opened the box.
There was a small, slightly dated necklace inside with a small emerald stone as its pendant. It gleamed softly under the light.
My heart shook. There seemed to be a memory that had resurfaced and had overlapped with reality, however, that memory was fuzzy.
“All these years, I thought my mother suffered from mental illnesses and that was why she overdosed and died.”
This was what Jack had told me, but I didn’t think that was the truth.