The Artisan Heart

by Dean Mayes

  Isabelle’s own taunting giggles seemed loudest as they echoed in her mind, serving only to anger her further. She checked her watch, craning her neck to see along the road in both directions.

  “Where the bloody hell is he?”

  WHEN ISABELLE AND GENEVIEVE STOPPED outside the Luschcombe cottage some twenty minutes later, Isabelle’s jaw dropped.

  Hayden was perched on a ladder, wrangling what appeared to be a solar panel in a sling, attached to a series of ropes and pulleys, up to the roof. He grunted and wheezed in the throes of his ambitious task, the muscles of his shoulders and back straining enticingly against the fabric of the sweaty V-neck tee he wore, despite the chill.

  Isabelle shook her head, flummoxed, and quickly arranged her features into a glare, planting her hands on her hips while she waited for him to notice her.

  The large panel swung in the sling as Hayden reached down with a gloved hand to pull the leading rope, advancing it ever so slowly. Just as it seemed he was about to prevail, his grip faltered.

  Cursing, he paused, resting his head against the veranda to calm himself. He stretched his neck up and down to loosen his muscles. As he turned his chin towards his left shoulder, he caught sight of Isabelle and Genevieve.

  He flinched and almost lost his balance.

  Isabelle stepped up to the gate. “So,” she began. “Were you going to let me know how the delivery went?”

  Abandoning his grip on the ropes and allowing the panel to hang precariously, Hayden grasped the side of the ladder so he could focus on Isabelle. “It went well,” he reported. “Everyone received their deliveries and submitted follow-up orders.”

  Though Isabelle felt a rush of joy, it collided with her resolve to remain pissed off. “Repeat orders? Were you going to tell me?!”

  “I placed the papers in your letter box,” Hayden said, turning his attention back to the roof. “I made sure they were securely folded and out of the weather. It looks as if it might rain today. I stored the racks at the back of your house.”

  Isabelle felt her face flush. She hadn’t thought to check either location.

  Hayden turned to the rope beside him and hefted the solar panel once more.

  Isabelle rested her elbows on the gate, watching Hayden with a mixture of exasperation, frustration…and something else she couldn’t quite name.

  Beside her, Genevieve adjusted her grip on Rameeka America and reached out to prod Isabelle sharply in her thigh.

  “Ow!” she hissed, glaring at her daughter, who jerked her head sideways at Hayden. He was adjusting his stance on the ladder, steeling himself for one final attempt at bringing the panel within range of the roofline.

  When Genevieve poked her leg again, Isabelle shook her head and batted her hand away.

  “Why are you still standing here?” Genevieve signed forcefully.

  Isabelle blinked, working her jaw but failing to produce a response.

  Finally, she relented. She opened the gate and slipped through as Genevieve nudged her from behind. Again, Isabelle slapped her hands away as she stopped at the foot of the ladder. She looked up, shielding her eyes from the sun.

  “Can I help?” Isabelle offered.

  Hayden gritted his teeth as he pulled hard on the rope, finally bringing the solar panel to his level. Reaching down, he felt for the underside of the rectangular panel, then lifted it up and over the edge of the roof. With a harrumph of satisfaction, he eased it into position between a set of securing brackets. “I’m sure you have more pressing matters to attend to.”

  Isabelle contorted her features into a derisive scowl as he descended the ladder.

  Well, excuse me.

  Glancing at Genevieve, she folded her arms as Hayden stepped off at the bottom and removed his gloves, setting them down at the top of the stairs. He retrieved some tools from the foot of the ladder and returned them to a nearby tool chest. Then he rose to his full height, placing his hands in the pockets of his jeans and looking up at the newly-secured panel.

  They were less than a meter from one another now, and Isabelle eyed the corded muscles of his biceps below the edge of his sleeves, feeling very aware of his proximity.

  The awkward little boy was gone. Well, almost. His thick shock of uncooperative hair was the same, but now it loaned something wild to his features. His square jaw moved in concentration as he figured out his next task, yet there remained a gentleness about him, like the quiet and eager-to-please boy she remembered from their youth.

  She realised Hayden had seen her watching him and though she jerked her head away, she knew she’d been caught. Embarrassment prickled the back of her neck.

  Dammit, she cursed herself.

  She knew she couldn’t just stand there like this. She surprised herself with an almost involuntary urge to speak. “So. I heard you, ah, liked my loaf.” As soon as she said it, she berated herself. Liked my loaf? What kind of idiot says that?

  Hayden smirked and looked sideways at her. “Yes. I did.”

  Isabelle felt like smacking herself in the forehead.

  Sensing her discomfort, Hayden rescued her by clearing his throat. “Is there a mechanic nearby who can fix your fuel line?”

  Fuel line?

  “Well—” Isabelle huffed. “There is a mechanic at Rawson. I haven’t asked him yet, but I’m sure he’ll charge like a stuck pig.”

  She glanced at her daughter. Genevieve was hugging Rameeka America to her chest, grinning behind the doll’s Rastafarian hair. Isabelle pulled a face at her.

  Hayden turned and removed the ladder from the roof, laying it on the path. He ascended the stairs to the veranda, paused at the top step, and made his way to the front door.

  Was that it? Isabelle wondered.

  Signalling to Genevieve, she turned and prepared to open the gate.

  “I can fix it,” Hayden called from behind her.

  Isabelle stopped and looked over her shoulder. He was standing at the rail.

  “I reckon I know where the blockage is,” he added, nudging the deck of the veranda with the toe of his boot and looking down at it to keep from meeting her gaze.

  “Aren’t you a doctor?” she questioned. “Of people?”

  “I’ve picked up a few things here and there. Your issue sounds similar to one I had with the Holden when I first bought it. I was chasing the problem for weeks.”

  Isabelle titled her head.

  “What’s it going to cost me?” she ventured.

  Hayden shrugged. “Another loaf? Two, perhaps?” Relaxing her arms, she flicked a sideways glance at Genevieve, who snorted into the hair of Rameeka America.

  Isabelle ushered Genevieve forward. “I assume you have the tools you’ll need?”

  “I do,” he confirmed.

  Backing through the gate, Isabelle reached up under the brim of her hat to smooth loose strands of hair over her ear.

  “See you soon, then.”

  THE VAN WAS PERCHED AT a downward angle in the driveway, its front tyres resting on a pair of steel ramps. Isabelle lay on her back underneath it, while Hayden lay at the side, guiding her towards the fuel line.

  “Be careful when you detach it from the tank,” he warned. “Even though we’ve syphoned off most of the fuel, there’ll be some left in the line itself.”

  As Isabelle struggled, she glanced at Hayden.

  “Trust me,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’m keeping my head well out of the way. You wanna pass me the torch? I can’t see a thing under here.”

  Hayden reached for a torch and handed it to her.

  Training the beam over the underside of the van, Isabelle identified where the fuel line exited the tank. She had already loosened a metal clamp, but the rubber hose refused to yield its hold on the end of an outlet. “You better be right about this,” she cautioned, shifting her body to get a better grip.

  “We’ll see.”

  Isabelle shot him a look of disbelief. “We’ll see?”

  Hayden blinked, searching for
a better answer. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  “That does not inspire confidence.” Isabelle tightened her fingers and pulled. Suddenly, she felt the end of the line give and she gasped.

  “What’s wrong?” Hayden asked.

  “Nothing,” Isabelle grunted, preparing for another try. “It moved. I think I can get it.”

  She braced herself and pulled. This time, the line slipped free and she flinched as fuel spurted from its end.

  Hayden got to his feet and circled to the front of the van. Leaning into the engine bay, he identified the other end of the fuel line, and he loosened the clamp and slipped it free. Isabelle came up beside him, her expression indicating she was not amused.

  “Nice of you to give me the easy task,” she commented.

  Hayden smiled and stole a glance at Genevieve, who was observing them from her vantage point, sitting cross-legged on an old tree stump.

  He gave her a clandestine wink as he pulled the fuel line up through the engine bay.

  “Now what?” Isabelle felt less and less comfortable with the idea of her vehicle being taken apart yet again.

  He coiled the line in his hands, then bent down to the tool chest and took out a small air compressor, equipped with a cord that terminated in a plug. He also took out a roll of electrical tape.

  Handing the plug to Isabelle, Hayden indicated to the van’s interior. “This goes into the cigarette lighter.”

  Genevieve came up and watched as he wedged the compressor’s nozzle into one end of the fuel line. He wrapped the electrical tape around both, ensuring the two of them were sealed.

  Isabelle, meanwhile, had settled into the passenger seat and was waiting for his cue.

  “Okay,” he called. “Plug it in.”

  The air compressor’s motor pulsed to life, forcing air into the fuel line. Hayden stood and uncoiled it on the ground, motioning to Genevieve to stand clear. He watched as the fuel line became rigid and the air compressor’s motor pounded noisily. Without warning, there was a loud pop as a thick, black projectile shot from the end of the fuel line and splattered against a nearby fence post. Genevieve wrinkled her nose, seeing a thick sludge oozing from its end.

  “What on Earth is that?” Isabelle exclaimed.

  “A buildup of gunk from the tank, I’d say,” Hayden said. “The fuel itself, perhaps. How long have you had this van?”

  “Not long. I bought it from an auction house.”

  “That could explain it. Fuel can do some strange things when it’s allowed to sit for an extended period. You can unplug the compressor now.” Hayden stood and surveyed the rear of the property, looking for something, noting the bake house with its stout chimney standing proudly against the afternoon sky.

  “I need a bucket,” he signed to Genevieve. “Preferably a metal one.”

  Genevieve thought for a moment, and darted behind a large water tank, emerging moments later armed with a metal bucket.

  “Good,” Hayden mouthed, giving her a thumbs-up. “Fetch me some water from the tank, please. ”

  Hayden coiled the fuel line and held it as he waited for Genevieve to return.

  “Now what?” Isabelle asked.

  “We need a solvent of some kind, something that will dissolve gunk and crud. We’ll loosen any debris from the inside of the fuel line, then we’ll flush it out and reinstall it,” he explained. Genevieve hefted the bucket and set it down before Hayden. He pressed the coiled fuel line down into it until it was submerged.

  “I’ve got some citric acid powder in my kitchen,” Isabelle ventured.

  Hayden nodded. “That should work.”

  Isabelle disappeared inside the house. She returned with a small container and handed it to Hayden, who popped the plastic top and dumped the entire contents into the bucket of water.

  “Good thing I’ve got another one of those,” Isabelle remarked. Genevieve watched, fascinated, as the water in the bucket began to fizz.

  Hayden rose and placed his hands on his hips. “And now, we wait.”

  Genevieve looked pointedly at her mother and made the sign for a cup and saucer.

  Isabelle took the hint.

  “I’ll make us some tea,” she said.

  ISABELLE SET A TRAY DOWN on the table and stepped back so Genevieve could place a plate of sliced fruitcake beside it. Mother and daughter looked across at Hayden, who was gazing out across the back garden towards the hillside. Genevieve rounded the table to take up a position opposite her mother and set her bear and doll beside her.

  Isabelle lifted the teapot and began to pour, the sound prompting Hayden to turn.

  Genevieve waved him towards them.

  “I hope you like chai,” Isabelle said.

  He took a cup from her. “I do.” He gestured at the bake house. “I don’t remember seeing that building when I was last here. It was a ruin, if I recall.”

  “I only finished it a few months ago,” Isabelle said. “I pretty much built it from the ground up. You’re right—there wasn’t much left of it.”

  “You built it, really?”

  “Not all of it,” Isabelle responded. “I did have some help with the stone base and the brickwork for the oven. But most of what’s standing there is me.”

  “And it works?” Hayden continued, oblivious to how he sounded. Isabelle suspected his questioning wasn’t meant to sound offensive but her features darkened nonetheless.

  “Yeah, it works,” she shot back. “I’ve fired it a few times. It’s working now, in fact.”

  Wow! His lack of self-awareness is next-level!

  Hayden wandered towards it, his curiosity piqued. “Can I look inside?”

  Isabelle’s eyes widened surreptitiously. She followed him over to the bake house and opened the door, standing aside to allow him to peer inside.

  Though small, the interior offered a comfortable workspace, the dominating feature of which was the brick oven that occupied an entire wall. A steady fire burned inside. In a nook underneath, a neat stack of firewood lay in wait. A preparation area opposite comprised a stainless-steel benchtop and sink and various cooking implements hanging from a shadow board. A trio of wooden bins sat underneath a single, curtained window. The timber floor underfoot was dusted with flour, and along with the smokiness of the fire, Hayden could detect a faint scent of bread. It was neat and tidy with everything convenient and accessible for the single operator. And it was quite warm, too.

  He was impressed. “This is very good. Very functional.”

  “Thank you,” Isabelle said, pleased. “I have everything I need to run an artisan bakery.”

  “How long does it take to prepare the oven?” Hayden asked, leaning in to inspect the oven’s opening.

  Isabelle rubbed a spot on the doorframe with her thumb. “A bit of time,” she said, glancing back at Genevieve, who was engaged in some sort of conversation with Rameeka and Lily.

  “How much time?” Hayden turned to face her with the affect of a surly university professor.

  An involuntary smile tugged at the corners of her lips. In spite of his boorishness, she did love to talk about her oven.

  She set her teacup down and sidled up beside Hayden. “I start it the afternoon before a bake,” she began, placing her hand near the oven’s opening. “Once the fire is hot enough, the heat gets stored in the heat bank up in the dome,” Isabelle bent down so she could point up and into the cavity. “In the evening, I prepare the loaves, and by about two the next morning, the oven is ready.”

  “How do you ensure it doesn’t get too hot?”

  Isabelle squatted to the floor and pinched some flour dust between her thumb and forefinger. “There’s the old-fashioned way,” she said, flicking her wrist, releasing the small puff of flour into the oven. It caught fire immediately, burning brightly and briefly. “If the oven is too hot, that’s what happens.” She paused and pointed up to an ornate temperature gauge on the oven’s brick surface. “But this is much easier. Agnes is good at telling me when she
’s ready.”

  Hayden smiled. “Agnes. I like that.”

  “Occasionally, I’ll have to mop down the baking surface to cool it because it’ll be one to two hundred degrees warmer than I need it to be, but it gets cold enough up here at night so I don’t have to do it often.”

  Isabelle took her cup from the bench and exited the bake house, prompting Hayden to follow.

  “How long have you had the bakery?” he asked as they rejoined Genevieve at the table and sat down. “It’s been sitting idle for so long.”

  Isabelle looked over at the house. “Four years,” she said, her voice containing a mixture of pride and weariness. “It’s taken me that long to get where I am now, just starting to break even.”

  Hayden followed her gaze across the property as he sipped his tea. “I wouldn’t have picked you for a baker,” he said.

  Isabelle blinked at him. “Pardon?”

  “I kind of figured you for something less…noble, judging by the way you and your friends used to bait me.”

  Isabelle’s jaw went slack and she almost dropped her cup. Genevieve glanced from her mother to Hayden.

  “Th-that was a long time ago,” she stammered.

  Hayden tilted his head from side to side. “True.”

  “Well—I didn’t pick you for a doctor, either,” Isabelle shot back indignantly, immediately feeling pathetic for having done so. She became aware of Genevieve, who had turned her attention towards him with concern. Her small hand jutted out across the tabletop to touch his arm.

  Isabelle felt a pang of guilt and she leaned forward in her chair. “Look, I was a shit of a kid,” she said. “It was boredom, I guess.”

  Hayden nodded, and Isabelle’s features softened. “I am sorry for… you know. For the way we treated you.”

  “As you say, it was a long time ago,” Hayden conceded. His mouth curved into a half smile. “And I can admit I was an easy target. What we were as children doesn’t necessarily translate to the people we are now.”