Free Agnes and the Renegade (Men of Defiance) by Elaine Levine

long.  
      This would be a work that impacted its viewer as soon as he entered a room, one the viewer could never forgot. It would assault the viewer with the truth of his own soul, the cost of his own choices, the emptiness of his own losses, and the bitterness of dreams he would never fulfill.  
    She would paint Chayton, but he was a mirror to all humanity.

    The work continued for a week in long days, interrupted only by occasional breaks for food or sleep or chores. The canvas was too large for any of her easels. She had to rig up a support structure for it with chairs from the house and the framing of the art stands that Logan’s men had made. She painted the top half while standing on a table in front of the piece.
    At last, when it was finished, she cleaned her brushes and moved everything out of the way so that she only saw Chayton’s portrait. She’d captured him perfectly: the pride in his stance, his athletic build, his facial structure, his complicated adornment, his fringed leather clothes. He stood on the steep slope of her hill, the rocky ground his backdrop. The work was as precise as a photograph and as eloquent as a stage drama. She hadn’t manipulated anything about it. Not the colors of the earth or the sky, not any of his features. The piece was just truth. His truth. His story. The absence of herself—as a woman, and especially as a white human—in the work let her art say what thousands of voices couldn’t.  
    Life hurts.
    God, she wished Theo could see it. She slumped to her knees, her strength failing her after the long days of painting. She’d taken care to give herself breaks this time, but she needed air. And sunshine. She gave the work one last look, deciding that she wouldn’t sell it. She’d include it in her show, if she was lucky enough to get one, but the work was too meaningful to exchange for money.  
    Which made no sense, because she desperately needed money, if she wanted to keep Theo’s studio.

CHAPTER SIX

    Aggie started a stew from her supplies of dried ingredients for lunch a few days later. Hearing a horse out front, she wiped her hands on a tea towel, then went out front to see whom it was. Logan dismounted. She waved to him, waiting while he finished tying up his horse. “What brings you out today?”
    “I promised Sarah I’d swing by and check on you while she was gone. How are you getting along?”
    “I’m quite well, thank you. Is Sarah on a trip?”
    “We have friends down south of Defiance. She and White Bird went down to visit them.”
    “I have a fresh stew cooking. Would you care to join me for a bowl?”
    “Thank you, no. I won’t stay—just wanted to see that you’re getting along all right.” He looked toward the large tent that was set up next to her house. “How’s the tent working out for you?”
    “Wonderful. It was a brilliant idea. I’m so glad you suggested it. The light is perfect in there. Bright. Diffused. It’s pleasant to work there anytime, but especially in the afternoons.”
    “Mind if I have a look at your work? I’ll admit I’ve had to keep myself busy so that I don’t come down and pester you.” He grinned at her.
    Aggie laughed. “Of course, you’re welcome to go see. I just finished another painting. I’d like to get your opinion of it.”
    Logan flashed a smile at her, then headed toward the tent. Aggie followed him inside. Chayton’s portrait was set up directly opposite the entrance. Logan ducked inside, then came to an abrupt stop. She slipped in next to him as he stared at the painting, his face going lax in disbelief. She couldn’t tell if he liked the work, but he certainly had a visceral reaction to it—almost to the point of not breathing.
    After a while, he looked at her. A muscle was knotting and releasing in the corner of his cheek. She thought she saw moisture pooling in his eyes. He turned on his heel and left the tent, striding over to sit on the bench in front of her cabin. He sat with his