His Masterpiece

By Deborah Bainbridge

As the sun hit the Louvre from a million different angles, I wiped a tear. Now was no time to let disappointment engulf me.

I can do this. I can go inside. Mamma flew all this way.

I plastered on a smile and took one agonizing step after another.

“Natalie!” Mamma’s Italian accent was familiar and warm. Her luxurious black hair bounced as she closed the gap between us and pulled me into an embrace. “The thought of spending Mother’s Day without you was unbearable.”

“Buona festa della mamma. My talented girl. I’ve wanted to take you to see the Mona Lisa since you started painting when you were seven.” She stretched out her hand. “I can’t believe you’re twenty-two.”

We sauntered through priceless works of art. Departing the Venus de Milo, the Grande Galerie welcomed us to the Italian Renaissance.

Mamma studied me. “Something’s off. You’re not peppering me with shading and brushstroke comments.”

It’s Mother’s Day. I will not cry.

She lifted my chin, forcing our eyes to meet. “What’s wrong?”

A tear escaped. I whispered, “If only I could get the blending right…”

“What do you mean?”

“Da Vinci was a master of soft blending. If I don’t refine the technique, I won’t pass my entrance exam into Les Beaux-Arts… my dream.” I bowed my head. “I’ll never be good enough.”

“Natalie Rose, never is not in our vocabulary.” Mamma frowned, enveloping my hands in her warm ones. “You are more than capable. You may not believe in yourself, but I believe in you enough for both of us.”

“Thanks, Mamma.”

“No more tears.” She flashed a cheery smile. “Didn’t we come here to see the Mona Lisa?”

I straightened. “We did.”

A beautiful woman in a gray skirt and floral blouse approached. Her strawberry blonde ponytail hung to her waist. “I heard you mention the Mona Lisa. I’m the tour guide, Genevieve.”

“Sylvia. And this”—Mamma waved toward me—“is my daughter, Natalie.”

“Enchanté. Follow me.” Genevieve guided us into a room on the right.

Wow. I gravitated toward the painting as if Mona Lisa herself beckoned.

“Sylvia, did you know da Vinci created depth using light and shadow—an optical illusion—to bring his masterpiece to life?” Genevieve smiled. “No matter where you stand, the eyes of the Mona Lisa follow.”

Mamma arched an eyebrow and walked toward the back of the room.

As I turned to follow, Genevieve said, “I overheard your conversation in the Galerie.”

I felt my cheeks flush hot.

Genevieve gestured toward the hallway. “Like you, each of these artists faced trials. If they had given up, their work would not hang here to inspire us.” She adjusted her necklace. “You are God’s pièce de résistance. You must share your gifts with the world.”

Me? A masterpiece?

She reached into her bag then handed me a paintbrush. “This has been passed down in my family for generations. Use it during your test then return it afterwards.”

Why would she entrust this to me?

Genevieve turned to address new visitors arriving. “Bonjour. Hello. The guided tour of the Mona Lisa will begin momentarily.”

Mamma joined me, pointing at the paintbrush. “What’s that?”

“Genevieve let me borrow it. For my test.”

“How sweet!”

I yawned. “Sorry. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Why don’t you find a place to rest? We’ll join the next tour.”

We walked into the hallway, and I collapsed onto a bench. “Maybe I’ll just rest my eyes. You should look around, Mamma.”

“And leave you?”

I scanned the room. “I’ll be fine.”

She grabbed my purse before departing. “I’ll just browse through the Denon Wing and be back.”

I listened as Genevieve began the tour nearby. “For over five hundred years, mystery has surrounded the Mona Lisa. Most agree she was Lisa Gherardini, an Italian noblewoman, but no one knows for certain.”

My head bobbed. I concentrated on her lilting French accent.

“Imagine being painted by da Vinci himself…”

I closed my eyes for a moment.

“Signora?” A blurry man with an aged face and long beard came into focus.

I startled, then jumped up from a wooden stool. “Where am I?”

“Have you grown tired, my lady? Or can we finish?”

I stood in a room of stone wearing a strange dress. “I don’t understand.”

“Would you like to see our progress?” He turned a canvas.

I squinted into the very eyes of the Mona Lisa.

I must be dreaming. “Who are you?”

“Leonardo da Vinci, of course.”

Yep. Definitely dreaming. Which means… I’ll wake soon. I suppose there’s no harm in asking…. “Signore? Would you teach me how you blend colors?”

He looked at me, mouth agape. “You will ruin your gown.”

I smoothed the fabric. “I’ll wear an apron.”

Da Vinci stroked his beard. “I confess I understand the desire to paint. I see you are prepared.” His eyes darted to the paintbrush in my right hand. “That seems familiar.” He shook his head. “Ramblings of an old man. Sit here, and I’ll get you a canvas.”

He settled next to me.

“Start with the green. Continue by layering the colors as I instruct.”

Hours passed.

“All you need now is a little practice,” he proclaimed.

I reviewed my performance. Amazing. Trained by the master himself.

A thought occurred to me. I could solve the mystery of the Mona Lisa. “Sir, would you say my name?”

He shrugged. “If you wish, Signora—”

“Natalie,” a soft voice beckoned.

Signora Natalie? No. That can’t be right.

“Wake up, sleepyhead.” Mamma’s face clarified. “I think you were dreaming.”

“But, I—”

“The tour is about to start!”

“There’s something I need to do first.” I hugged her tight. “Thanks for always believing in me, Mamma!”

I turned and approached Genevieve. “Thank you. I no longer need this.”

As I handed her the paintbrush, Genevieve gestured to a smudge of green paint on my finger. “I see your trip to the Louvre was… instructive.” She winked. “Another mystery from the master.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Deborah Bainbridge is a Christian, wife, and mother who enjoys running, traveling, writing short stories, and cookies. Her genres of choice include fiction and mystery. Throughout her life, she has been inspired by J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, J.K. Rowling, and Suzanne Collins. She is thankful to her friends and family for their encouragement and dedicates this story to her genius daughter, Genevieve, her talented daughter-in-law, Natalie, and Natalie’s sentimental mamma, Sylvia!

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