She reached into the compartment and picked up the rolled parchment.
She untied the simple piece of brown string holding it together and unrolled it slowly on the floor.
It was a beautiful watercolor painting of them both. Edward had a friend in the village who was an artist, and he had paid the man with his hard-earned wages to paint them in secret.
In the painting, the sun was shining brightly. Celine was sitting on a simple wooden swing hanging from a large oak tree. She was wearing a plain cotton dress, not the heavy silks her mother forced upon her. She was laughing, her head thrown back in pure joy.
And standing right behind her, pushing her on the swing, was Edward.
He was wearing his simple work clothes. His sleeves were rolled up, showing his strong arms. He was smiling down at her, his eyes filled with absolute, complete devotion. He looked so happy. He looked so incredibly alive.
