Elizabeth 03: The Art Student

Jonathan and Irene were positioned to see the couch painting first as Edward pulled back the cover. Both looked thrilled at the sight. "Oh, Edward, that is absolutely brilliant!" Irene announced. "She looks heavenly!"

"Amazingly accurate," said Jonathan as he admired Edward's rendition of the body he knew so well.

"And beautiful," concurred Benjamin at his first look. Agnes joined him for a glance, and silently she admired the intimate dignity her former fiancé had captured so well.

Elizabeth was the last to look. All of her friends awaited her verdict, but she had little to say as she drank in her own image. Looking at it now somehow felt more intimate than posing for it had, and yet she was proud of herself for having sat for it even so. Edward had made her face and body alike look more radiant than she ever saw it herself, and she adored how peaceful and pleasant the image looking back at her was.

"I can't...I'm speechless," Elizabeth said at last. "Incredible. I'm not that beautiful in real life."

"Of course you are, darling," Jonathan reassured her.

"Well, you have to say that," Elizabeth replied, drawing laughs all around. But she quickly added, "Amazing job, Edward. You will have to write and let me know just whose sitting room will feature me on full display." The idea gave her the same thrill she got every time she was aware of another woman casting a furtive glance at her bush in the baths. In spite of herself, Elizabeth could not resist imagining all the horny young men who would gaze upon her body in future years and never know who the hirsute beauty was. The idea was delicious from a safe distance.

"Don't forget, there will be two such rooms," Edward reminded her, as he unveiled the second painting with Elizabeth sitting nude by the fire. Although Elizabeth's body was on less-direct display, it was even more intimate and sensuous than the first, with warm light casting an enticing glow on her skin. It drew another round of awestruck admiration, and no one saw fit to comment on its majesty.

No one except Agnes, who declared, "So wonderfully inviting."

"Inviting?" asked Irene and Benjamin in unison.

"Perhaps I say that only because I know Elizabeth, but inviting is the perfect word to me," Agnes explained. She is – if you will pardon my saying this in your presence, Elizabeth, but after all, it is your body on display – she is an immensely inviting person. Who else among us would be willing to bare her body and soul as she has done twice here, and will us all to share the private beauty with her? I mean, if you know Elizabeth, you look at both of these images and you see someone who has known hate and humiliation for the silliest of reasons, but who resisted the temptation to give in to bitterness and instead has learned to love herself completely, and to inspire the same in her friends. Look at the way she's looking at us in both paintings. 'This is who I am, and I have nothing to be ashamed of. Come with me and share the natural beauty.' So yes, inviting is the word."

The others all looked in silence at the two paintings and thought about Agnes' words. The silence was broken only by a sniffle, and all eyes turned to Elizabeth. She was looking misty-eyed at Agnes. "Remarkable," she said.

"Remarkable?" Agnes asked.

"That you could see all that in the paintings, and I was never aware of it all myself. But you are right, I see that now. Agnes, you should write a book. You truly have as much a way with words as Edward does with paints!"

"I agree," Jonathan added.

"Likewise," said Irene. "That was as beautiful as the paintings. I hope you write those thoughts down for posterity when you have them."

And that is how I, Agnes Marlston, came to write these intimate memoirs of my mentor, my sister in spirit, the most dazzlingly liberated woman I have ever known: Elizabeth. Besides saving me from a loveless marriage, she taught me to stand on my own two feet in a world that does not make that easy for a woman; and she served as an inspiration to embrace my true self regardless of what anyone else had to say about it. I have often told her that preserving her beautiful, inspiring story was the least I could do in return. In response she has always denied having done anything beyond being a friend. But a friend is just what the naïve young woman I was in those days needed, and she was just the sort of friend I needed. There are many more stories I have to share with you, dear reader, about Elizabeth and Jonathan and their friends, to say nothing of their four beautiful children. And in good time, I shall. But for the moment, I must take my leave and enjoy a bit of quiet time by the fire. Recalling Elizabeth's inner and outer beauty alike often has that effect upon me!