CHAPTER ONE

Remington Jirles, the proprietor of Visions of Willow Creek in Willow Creek, Ohio, stood back and crossed one arm over his narrow midsection and rested his elbow on it, fingertips tapping his lips as he surveyed the painting he'd just hung. After a few moments he gave a satisfied hum and shifted his warm gaze to the young woman standing by his side.

"What do you think?"

Miriam Zook folded her hands in front of her and pursed her lips thoughtfully. She tilted her head, setting the strings of her crisp white prayer kapp swinging as she considered her newest painting. Like all her work, this was an idealized portrait of a scene from Amish life, done in acrylics. In this case, the scene depicted a typical wash day on an Amish farm. A long clothesline stretched between a big white farmhouse and an even bigger red barn. Clothes fluttered in a breeze one could almost feel, the impression fortified by the swaying of nearby trees and the colorful dresses blowing against the legs of two young Amish women who were busily hanging the final items on the line.

Perhaps Miriam, age twenty-five and Amish herself, had taken a few liberties when it came to the laundry. She reflected that most households didn't have so many colorful dresses and shirts hanging out at one time, and the addition of two beautiful quilts, while perfectly possible, was also idealized.

 

She chuckled, and Mr. Jirles gave her a questioning look. "Something not right? I can switch it to another location." He squinted at the painting and shook his head. "But I really think it's perfect here. Look—the lighting catches the jewel tones of the things on the line, especially those gorgeous quilts—just right."

"Oh! Nee, it's fine. I was just thinking that nobody's clothesline is that colorful. It's more a combination of the best items from several clotheslines." She gave him a conspiratorial smile, and he laughed.

"Well, that's why we call it an idealized portrait, my dear. You paint scenes filled with life and color that compel the eye to wander from detail to detail, ever delighting the viewer with some new surprise. It's a perfect scene from a perfect day. Yet entirely possible!"

"Ja, you're exactly right." She nodded and gave a pleased sigh. "And I confess it makes me happy to paint pleasant scenes. I think everyone has enough sadness in their lives. Who needs to look at it in a painting?"

"With how well your paintings sell, your instincts about what people like are obviously spot-on, young woman. In fact, I wanted to speak to you about amending our arrangement. Do you have a few minutes?"

Slightly alarmed, Miriam turned to look at Mr. Jirles. "Amending it? In what way? Do you want to carry fewer of my paintings?" She swallowed, disappointment filling her at the thought. While her art was carried in several other shops in Ohio's Amish country, Mr. Jirles' shop was the only actual art gallery that carried her work, and he commanded higher prices than the tourist shops in Sugarcreek, Berlin, and Millersburg that sold her smaller pieces for considerably less than the prices set at Visions of Willow Creek.

"Goodness, no! The opposite. I was in Sugarcreek last week and saw what your work is bringing there—and, my dear, they're robbing you." He held a hand up before she could speak. "You're the artist. But when it comes to selling art, I'm the expert."

"But how can they be robbing me?" Miriam scrunched up her nose as she pondered this. "They're paying me the percentage of each sale we negotiated."

"Did you negotiate? Or did they tell you what they'd sell your work for, and how much you'd get? And am I wrong, or do they get the lion's share of the sale?"

"Well, yes, but they provide the venue, and otherwise my art wouldn't be seen."

"That may have been fair a couple of years ago when you were an unknown, but your popularity has grown very quickly, Miriam. Are you aware that I have calls weekly from people in other states looking for your work?"

"You've mentioned that there was growing interest, but those stores are where most of the tourists shop. The buses stop there. My sales are gut, judging by the fact that they keep placing orders for more paintings."