After River by Donna Milner

prices first. Probably cost an arm and a leg.’
    Mom was the most patient person I know, but when she made upher mind on something she expected action. She was a worker, a doer, and she thrived on concrete results. Still, she seldom went against Dad, and certainly never in front of a stranger. But she had made up her mind to have this portrait and in that made-up mind I imagined she could already see it hanging in a place of honour above the piano. I saw the determination in the way she sat up and squared her shoulders.
    The salesman looked helplessly from Dad to Mom.
    Then I saw it in her eyes. The briefest flicker, a movement, a flash, there, then gone. In that fraction of a second she told him, without saying a word, where the sale rested.
    â€˜Well, Mr Ward sir, let’s see,’ the salesman said as he pulled out a letter-size sheet of paper from a flat leather folder. ‘Here we are.’ He passed it down to my father. ‘The price list. The sizes, descriptions, all the prices are there.’
    My father crushed out his cigarette and put on his reading glasses. He picked up the paper and leaned back, the chair creaking in protest as the front legs lifted off the floor. The clock over the stove ticked into the silence as my father pondered. After a few moments he laid the paper flat on the table and smoothed it with his hands. Mom’s eyes followed his fingers down the list. As he touched each description, I saw her shrug her shoulders as if indifferent to the selection. When he reached the last line, she gave the briefest of nods.
    â€˜Well, Nettie,’ my father finally said. ‘I think this one might do.’
    My mother smiled, ‘Yes, I think you’re right,’ she said. ‘And the mahogany frame will go nicely above the piano.’
    Father handed the sheet back to the salesman. ‘All right then, that’s the one we’ll have.’ He flashed a smile and a wink at Mom. ‘Now, how long before you deliver it?’
    The salesman began writing the order. ‘Let’s see, large portrait size, thirty inches by forty-two inches, hand-painted watercolour, mahogany frame. Hmmm.’
    Forty-two inches wide ? The picture would be much larger than any other in our home. It would cover most of the flocked wallpaper above the piano, dwarfing the photographs scattered over the long lace doily on the piano top.
    â€˜That should not take more than a few months,’ the salesman said directing his words to Mom now. ‘You should surely have it by Christmas.’
    My mother’s mouth opened, her shoulders sagged as if air were escaping and deflating her body. ‘Christmas?’
    â€˜Let’s just put a rush on that,’ the salesman said quickly and wrote a note on the invoice. Even strangers could not stand to disappoint my mother. Sometimes I believe she relied on that.
    â€˜It won’t cost any more,’ he hurried to inform my father. He finished writing and tore the sheet from his order book. He gave the carbon copy to my father, who glanced at it then folded it and tucked it into his shirt pocket.
    â€˜That will be half now and half when it is delivered,’ the salesman said. ‘Will that be a cheque or cash?’ He pulled out a receipt book. ‘That’s an even eighty-five dollars for the first payment.’
    My father’s mouth opened briefly and then clamped shut. I could see his jaw muscles working as he started to rise. ‘I’ll get my wallet,’ he said.
    â€˜No.’ Mom placed her hand on his arm. ‘The egg money is going to pay for this.’
    Dad started to protest then sat back down.
    â€˜Just a moment,’ my mother said to the salesman. She rose and walked out of the kitchen. I heard her go into her bedroom andopen the doors to her wardrobe. She returned carrying a folded white envelope. She counted out a stack of one and two-dollar bills while the salesman made up a receipt.
    I’d