The Chrysalis by Heather Terrell Page B

outdone yourself.”
    As the crowd returns to its gaiety, relieved, Johannes hears a clamor. The guards scuffle into the room, trying to hold back an intruder. The man breaks free of their grasp. It is Hendrick, shouting that Master Van Maes has misled the burgomaster. The painting was finished not by Master Van Maes’s hand but by the hand of his apprentice. Hendrick lunges toward Johannes.
    The burgomaster yells out to his guards to take the imbecilic man away, to put him in shackles. They seize Hendrick and whisk him toward the exit.
    The master rises on unsteady feet. Johannes rushes forward to assist him but is brushed away. “Burgomaster, please order your men to let him go. He is one of my journeymen. He tells the truth—at least, in part.”
    The burgomaster raises a hand, staying the guards for a moment but not signaling Hendrick’s release.
    The master explains, his voice strong in conviction but weak in intensity. “My Lord, I apologize for the intrusion of my journeyman into your celebration; he has stolen from me the ability to make a planned announcement at a more opportune time. As you so graciously acknowledged, illness recently came to my family home. It took my wife and baby boy and felled me for a period…before I could finish the portrait. A gifted painter from my studio, fresh from his master test, completed the unfinished portion—the likenesses of your children—in time for this evening. I had hoped to introduce his work tonight and to present him as my partner.”
    â€œThis is the man here? This boy?” The burgomaster gestures to Johannes, his brow arched quizzically. Johannes freezes in fear, in disbelief.
    â€œYes, his name is Master Johannes Miereveld.” The master bows his head, surrendering to his sentence.
    A long pause ensues while the burgomaster considers the master’s fate, weighs the impact of it on his own. He settles on acceptance. “Master Van Maes, I shall consider myself fortunate to be the first recipient of Master Miereveld’s work; I am certain I shall not be the last.” The burgomaster welcomes Johannes to the table.

thirteen
    NEW YORK CITY, PRESENT DAY
    O VER THE COURSE OF THE NEXT SEVERAL WEEKS, MARA spent her days at work and her nights with Michael. Their relationship moved forward with an intensity she had never known before. For the first time in a long time, Mara felt joyous. Although she’d dated since Sam, the men always seemed two-dimensional: the clever banker, the brooding artist, the humorous marketing executive. She had neither the time nor the inclination to animate those possibilities. With Michael, such investment wasn’t necessary: He was fully, immediately enfleshed.
    The impulse to share her delight tugged constantly at her. Despite all her earlier reservations, Mara wanted to introduce Michael to her friends and colleagues—especially Sophia, with whom she’d shared nearly everything for years and with whom silence felt like a sacrilege. She wanted her father to meet him; wished her grandmother were alive to approve of him. But she knew better than to act on her whims. Once she opened the door and fully welcomed Michael into her life, even if it were just to family and friends, her professional goals would be jeopardized. For at least as long as the
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case continued and he qualified as a client, their relationship needed to remain a secret.
    In the nighttime hours, Michael pursued her, forcing her to come out of hiding, even from herself. She told him stories she’d kept locked away even from Sophia, saying them aloud in the cocoon they created for themselves, a private hibernation made easy by the cold winter nights. She toppled the myth of her father, the successful politician. She revealed his shady connections, forged in his desperation to bury his South Boston, Irish roots in political success. She disclosed the story behind his marriage to her mother, the prize