Snapshot Fiction: The Sitting

“Painter-girl, how long does it take you to paint a portrait? Will it be ready before the Masquerade?”

Vinca grit her teeth and hoped Luca couldn’t see her irritation. She very much wanted to say it would go much faster if Luca would learn the value of silence. “It takes as long as it takes,” she said serenely, mixing a dark green to mimic the girl’s dress. It had taken two full sittings of arguing with the child and her chaperone to convince them she needed to be wearing colors more complimentary to her complexion. Of course they wouldn’t believe her until Papá told them. Obviously she was just the “painter-girl” and didn’t know what she was talking about!

“What kind of answer is that? Do you not know?”

The smooth stroke of the brush along the canvas soothed Vinca’s thoughts and for several moments she forgot about the young woman sitting on the chair draped with silk before her.

“Painter-girl, I asked you a question!”

“I have a name,” Vinca replied quietly, refusing to acknowledge the question.

Luca seemed taken aback. “I am aware of that.”

“Then use it, or I will not answer you.” More mixing and soon a layer of lighter green started to grown on the canvas showing the highlight of the rich fabric of the gown.

“You must answer me,” Luca said.

“Speaking is not required to paint.”

Silence greeted that statement and Vinca glanced around the canvas at Luca. The girl seemed to be considering her words with more thought than she expected.

“My apologies, Vinca,” she said, suddenly seeming more adult than she had at the beginning of the conversation. Odierna, her aunt and chaperone, tried to hide a smirk but did not insinuate herself into the conversation. Vinca wondered if Luca’s spoiled tongue were an issue they were already having. Compared to others she had encountered, though, Vinca found Luca to be rather mild in her temperament, despite her occasional tendency. She expected that eventually Luca’s behaviors would shift from spoiled child to outspoken adult and she did not envy the rest of the family in dealing with the woman she would become. She was already proving to be quite intelligent which could be considered inappropriate for a woman all by itself without the addition of a sharp tongue.

“Your portrait should be completed by the time your family’s masquerade happens,” she said, well aware of the mid-summer party already planned at the Vettori estate in the country. Luca was so excited about it she brought it up at least once during every sitting. The progress on the portrait went well enough, Vinca felt confident it would be ready within the week.

“My mask is a butterfly!” Once more Luca was a girl, the maturing young woman she had been a few moments before thrust aside in her excitement. “It has sheer silk for wings and ribbons and pearls!”

“You are not supposed to tell anyone what mask you wear beforehand.” Vinca smiled at the girl’s exuberance. Surely everyone in Siena knew what mask she would be wearing! “The game is to guess who is behind it.”

“Oh Vinca, everyone will know it is me! Bartolo says I will look more like a stick with butterfly wings than a girl!”

“I think you listen too much to what Bartolo says. Sometimes brothers like to pick at their sisters.”

“Domenico never says things like that.”

She had no answer to that, preferring to avoid him as a topic altogether, and focused more on the painting. After several moments of silence Luca spoke again. It seemed she couldn’t bear to go too long without some sort of noise, even that of her own voice.

“What mask will you wear?”

“For what?” Vinca asked, her thoughts focused completely on the shading of the sleeve.

“For the masquerade! You have to have a masque.” Her tone seemed so firm and sure Vinca almost felt guilty about deflating her enthusiasm.

“I am not wearing one. I am not attending the masquerade.”

“But you must! Odierna! She must attend.”

The old woman looked up as if this was the first she was aware of the conversation taking place. “Attend what?”

“The masquerade. Have you not been listening?”

The woman chuckled. “Obviously not, child,” and she turned her attention back to the knitting in her lap.

Luca huffed and slapped her hands down in her lap. “You have to come, Vinca.”

“Shhh.. Please be still so I can paint, Luca.” She waited for the girl to settle back into place before continuing. “It would not be appropriate for me to be at such an event.”

“Why not?” Vinca could almost feel the girl’s stare boring through the canvas. Sometimes she found it startling how wise Luca was in some areas and yet so immature in others. However there was only so much to be expected of a child barely thirteen years old.

“My social standing is far below those who would attend such an event at your family’s estate,” she explained.

The silence from Luca began to bother her and Vinca peered around the canvas to study the girl’s expression. She wasn’t sure she liked the determined look she saw on her face. “Luca,” she said quietly and the girl looked up. “It is not an event for commoners. You are old enough to understand that.”

She did not answer but could tell by the girl’s brooding sulk that she knew what Vinca said was true. She didn’t like it, but understood the truth of it.

“I think I have enough today, Luca,” she said with a smile. She set her brush aside and pulled the protective cloth over the painting. She knew that was something else that irritated the girl but for this one she had picked up her father’s habit of keeping the work hidden from all eyes until it was complete; including his.

“Shall I come tomorrow?”

“The day after, if you please. Tomorrow there is no need to make you sit when all I shall be doing is mixing paint.” She really didn’t need the girl to sit at all any longer but she suspected the sessions had become a relief to boredom and loneliness for the child and would not cut her off from them yet. Luca’s crestfallen expression when told she shouldn’t come the next day confirmed Vinca’s suspicions.

“Very well,” she said, her obvious disappointment only slightly bordering on sulky.

“I thank you for your time escorting Luca, Signora,” Vinca offered a hand to help Odierna to her feet. The woman seemed spry for her age but more than once Vinca had seen her legs stiffen up after having sat for the length of Luca’s sitting.

The woman nodded and motioned Luca to precede her out the door. She seldom said anything, a habit which at first bothered Vinca but something she had come to suspect was just part of her personality. After they were gone she turned with a sigh to the workshop.

“You work well with her,” her father called from behind his easel. He had remained amazingly quiet through the entire sitting; so much so she had forgotten he was there.

“Thank you, Papá,” she picked up her brushes and began cleaning them.

“Now honestly, how much longer have you to go, hm?”

She smiled. He had noticed her evasive answer. “Within the week, Papá. I am unsure how to tell Luca, however. I think she has grown fond of the sittings.”

He snorted. “Of course she has! You only treat her as a child when proving a point to her. The rest of the time you treat her as a friend. I would imagine she has had precious few of those!”

She didn’t mention that she also thought the girl was looking for someone that would treat her with more kindness and respect than her brother did. It wouldn’t be proper for her to voice her opinion of the oft-mentioned Bartolo and his insults toward Luca. She could tell that each one was carefully crafted to destroy the confidence of a girl who had a budding intelligence and will that would put many men to shame.

“I daresay she may wish to continue to visit when the portrait is done.”

Vinca heard the question in the phrasing and thought about it for several moments. Perhaps it would be good for the girl to continue their friendship. Fina had met her briefly too and seemed to like her. Supposing her family didn’t mind her spending time with them perhaps she would like to return on occasion. “I think that would be lovely,” she said honestly. “She has times when she is very aware of her status above us but not as often as many I have seen.”

Papá smiled and nodded. “Excellent. I will be sure it is made clear that she is welcome to visit my daughters if she should so desire.”

“Papá, what if my painting is not good enough?”

“If you believe it will be, then so shall it be. If you believe it will not, then so shall it be.” He disappeared again behind his canvas and she sighed. When seeking reassurance, sometimes he was not the best at giving it.

“Thank you, Papá. May I go?”

The grunt from behind his easel seemed to be assent and she left the room, still nervous about the quality of her own work, even though it was nearly complete.