The Artisan Heart

by Dean Mayes

  Isabelle wiped her eyes and tried to smile, her lips shaking with the effort of it. She reached out, gathered up her daughter, and lifted her onto the bed. They cuddled close and Genevieve lifted the blanket over her shoulders so she could settle beside her mother.

  They lay together for several moments.

  Genevieve’s hands rustled underneath the blankets.

  “What’s going to happen?” she asked, wielding her fingers around the bulk of her teddy bear.

  Isabelle regarded her daughter. “Nothing. Nothing is going to happen.”

  Genevieve shifted to sitting. “Is he going to go away?” She moved her hands forcefully, adding emphasis to her question.

  Her mother didn’t respond. Isabelle looked away as Genevieve’s frustration became visible. “Why?” She thumped the index finger of her right hand against her left collarbone. “How can he?”

  Genevieve watched her mother like a hawk as Isabelle twisted herself so she could sign clearly.

  “It’s complicated, Genie. It’s a lot of grown-up stuff I don’t really know how to explain.” Isabelle lifted her chin towards the ceiling as tears threatened again.

  Genevieve scrunched up her lips angrily.

  “I’m not stupid, Mum,” she signed. “I know about grown-up things. That woman and Hayden were married, weren’t they? He told me he was married once. She hurt him.”

  Isabelle stretched her fingers. “Yes. But—” Her hands hovered in the air between them. Slowly, she drew her arms close to her chest and rocked them back and forth, as though she were cradling a child.

  Genevieve grabbed her mother’s arms to stop the action. “Are Hayden and the woman having a baby together?” she pressed.

  Isabelle dropped her hands into her lap.

  Genevieve shook her arm. “I don’t want him to go away, Mum. He can’t go away.” She was angry now. Angry at Hayden. Angry at her mother. Genevieve did not want her mum to give up like this.

  Isabelle drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. She rested her head on her knees.

  Suddenly, Genevieve scrambled from under the covers. She leapt from the bed and ran from the room.

  “Genie!” Isabelle cried out, and cursed herself for the futility of it. She prepared to launch herself from the bed, but at the sound of Genevieve’s bedroom door slamming, she shuddered and stopped.

  She listened for her daughter.

  Retreating back and drawing her blanket up around her shoulders, Isabelle rocked back and forth.

  The ensuing quiet was punctuated only by her sobs.

  ~ Chapter 24 ~

  BY MID-MORNING ON THE FINAL SATURDAY OF THE LJUSFEST, LARGE CROWDS HAD CONVERGED ON THE TOWN CENTRE. The attractions had opened well in advance of the official midday opening, and once more, the music and atmosphere were lively. This was the event for the festival, heralding the arrival of spring.

  From her vantage point at a table in the general store’s outdoor dining area, Genevieve watched the parade as it made its way along the main street, encouraged by the onlookers who lined the route, clapping and cheering.

  Men, women, and children, all dressed in Victorian-era costumes and livery, strolled along beside a trio of brightly decorated horse-drawn carriages, ferrying occupants who waved at the audience as they passed by. The town fire truck crept along behind them, adorned with streamers and bearing the men and women of the local brigade. A group of vintage motor vehicles followed after the truck, all polished chrome and lustrous paintwork. Six mountain horses, ridden by local high-country farmers, trotted along next, and bringing up the rear was the brass band, who accompanied the procession with music designed to keep the participants in a rhythm of sorts.

  Genevieve watched all this with disinterest. Resting her chin in her hands, she fidgeted as the procession passed by. Sam sat beside her on the bench, and his attempts at licking her cheek only caused her to recoil in annoyance.

  Everything felt terrible. Horrible.

  Her mother had barely spoken to her this morning, except once, to snap at her for pressing about Hayden.

  “We won’t be seeing Hayden anymore,” her mother had signed. “He is going away and he won’t be coming back. You have to forget about him.”

  Genevieve had been shocked by the forcefulness of her mother’s rebuke, and she hadn’t made amends before going to work.

  Annette stood beside her, clapping along, while Max stood on the path in front of them with Ivan Rumph and other members of the committee. Annette regarded Genevieve’s impassive expression sadly.

  She’d offered to watch Genevieve for Isabelle while she worked, well aware that both Genevieve and Isabelle were feeling the impact of the unfolding situation since Bernadette’s arrival. No matter how much Annette tried to lift Genevieve’s spirits, it seemed nothing could make her smile.

  For a child who embraced the wonderment of the world—despite the challenges of being unable to hear it—today, she was starkly closed off from it.

  Isabelle had also retreated. Though she’d accepted Annette’s offer of babysitting, when Annette extended it to helping in the bakery, Isabelle refused. Annette had never seen her so distraught, even with the brave face she wore.

  The parade passed in front of the Corner Stores and rounded the bend, disappearing. The roadside audience dispersed along with it, trailing after the procession.

  Max signalled Annette with a tilt of his head.

  Annette stooped down in front of Genevieve. “Would you like to go up to the rotunda and see the horses?” she signed, in the hope of getting a smile.

  Genevieve shrugged and fingered the zipper of her jacket.

  Max and Annette exchanged a look. She turned back to Genevieve, offering her hand.

  Genevieve considered Annette’s hand. After a beat, she took it and allowed Annette to lead her from the table.

  “I feel utterly helpless,” Annette said as she approached Max. “The poor child is hurting.”

  Max took the dog lead from Annette and rested a hand on Genevieve’s shoulder. “We can only try and make today a little brighter. Take her mind off things.”

  He dropped to his haunches and offered Genevieve a bushy-bearded smile. “Perhaps we could get an ice cream from the park.”

  Genevieve’s lips twitched and she signed a thank you. She took Max’s hand and together they turned towards the street.

  While Max wrangled with the excited pup, Genevieve glanced at the crowds of people emerging from the Corner Stores, milling about in the park attractions and by the fence that bordered the edge of the park. Leaning against the rail stood a tall, heavy-set man wearing a thick, checked mountaineer shirt and jeans. He had a closely shorn head and a trimmed beard. Though he was a stranger, something about him seemed familiar. Genevieve blinked as she realised he was staring at her.

  The man smiled and waved before curling his hands around in front of him.

  “Hello, Genevieve,” he signed.

  Genevieve gave a little shudder and halted in mid-step. Her pull on Max’s grip prompted him to look at her.

  “Everything okay, sweetheart?” he asked.

  Without responding, she quickened her pace.

  Genevieve glanced back in the direction of the stranger and saw him still standing there. The beard. The intense blue eyes. She searched her memory for some recollection of that familiar face.

  A folder on the kitchen table, beside Constable Gregor’s police keys. Secured to the edge of the document inside, a small photograph…

  It was the man in the photograph, from when Constable Gregor had come to visit her mother.

  Stifling a gasp, Genevieve looked up at him, and he gestured for her to keeping walking, then turned and disappeared into the crowd.

  Genevieve searched the faces nearby, but she could not find him again.

  Arriving at the rotunda, Annette, Max, and Genevieve appraised the gathering of parade participants and onlookers. Max pointed to one of the carriages and led them towards i
t, spying the driver feeding a handsome grey horse.

  “G’day, Libby,” Max greeted, turning to introduce Genevieve to the driver. “Young Genie here needs a little bit of a pick-me-up.”

  “Max!” the driver exclaimed happily, before bending down to shake Genevieve’s hand. “Would you like to meet my horse?”

  Genevieve offered a nervous nod as she stole a glance back at the park.

  With Max by her side, she gingerly approached the animal, its head now lowered into the chaff. She reached out and ran her hand down its neck. Annette was encouraged to see Genevieve’s smile as she touched the animal’s shining coat.

  “Yoo-hoo! Annette!”

  Annette turned to see Margaret Parton waving to her from the road.

  “Oh, hi, Margaret!” Annette ventured over to her friend and the two women embraced and fell into conversation.

  Genevieve continued to pat the horse while Max chatted with Libby. Again, she searched back over her shoulder, through the crowd, but was distracted when the horse lifted its mouth to her hand. She jumped as the horse snuffled against her palm.

  Suddenly, it raised its long neck up into the air. Overwhelmed by the height of the animal, Genevieve stepped back, nudging against Max’s leg. He patted her shoulder.

  Genevieve turned from the horse to gaze out across the rest of the parade participants.

  Over by the rotunda, the group of vintage cars was parked alongside the dividing fence. As her gaze wandered over the cars, they came to rest at the rear of the last vehicle.

  He was standing there. The bearded man. Looking at her with that curious smile.

  Stealing a glance at Max and Annette, and seeing they were both still engaged in conversation, Genevieve focused on the stranger. Recalling the document Constable Gregor had brought when he’d come to visit, Genevieve tried to remember the details. There was a name—a name she’d known from witnessing conversations between her mother and Max and Annette and others, like Constable Gregor.

  A name.

  Mitchell.

  Looking down and away, Genevieve tested it on her lips.

  Slowly, she took a few steps in his direction, stopping at the edge of the road beside the stone wall. Genevieve eyed him cautiously. The familiarity she had felt struck her again and she watched as he put his hands in his pockets, turned from the car, and walked away from her, heading back towards the park. Despite everything her mother, Max, Annette, Ivan—even Chas Kraetzer—had told her about strangers…

  Genevieve followed him.

  ISABELLE FLIPPED THE “OPEN” SIGN backwards on the bakery door and served the last of her customers, ushering them out with goods in hand. She hung up her hat and her apron and changed before locking up and making her way to the general store.

  Finding it closed, she scanned the street towards the bend. From the drift of the festivalgoers along the roadway, she surmised that people were congregating in the centre of town. She didn’t envy being among them, no matter how briefly. She was tired, emotional, and all she wanted to do was collect Genevieve and return to the sanctuary of home.

  She gritted her teeth, put her head down and walked into the throng. Better to get this over with now, rather than have to return again later. She could take comfort in the likelihood she wouldn’t see Hayden. She doubted he would be in this crowd.

  It didn’t take her long to reach the rotunda, where Isabelle found Max and Annette engaged in separate conversations near a horse and carriage.

  Annette spotted Isabelle and waved her over. “How are you, love?” she enquired empathetically. Isabelle swallowed a lump in her throat, fearing she wouldn’t be able to hold herself together.

  “Hi,” she greeted, acknowledging Margaret with a curt nod. Looking around, she asked, “Where’s Genie?”

  “Oh, she was just having a pat with the horse.” Annette turned, noticing Genevieve was no longer there.

  She frowned. “Max?” she called. “Is Genie in the carriage?”

  Max paused in mid-conversation and glanced at the horse. He turned and examined the carriage. It was empty. “She was right here.”

  Excusing herself from Margaret, Annette scanned the area in front of the rotunda and across to the Star Hotel. Isabelle turned on her heel and glanced back in the direction of the park while Max walked around the horse and carriage. He completed his circuit, appearing a few feet from Annette. Husband and wife looked at each other.

  Genevieve was nowhere to be seen.

  Isabelle turned back, her voice cracking. “Where is she?”

  THE STRANGER WAS SITTING ON a park bench by the creek. Genevieve approached and he smiled, signing a greeting and mouthing the words, “Hello, Genevieve.” Genevieve stopped a few feet away.

  “That’s a nice…” he paused, searching his memory for the correct sign. “Bear. That’s a nice bear. What’s his name?”

  Holding his gaze, Genevieve brought her right hand up to the side of her face, pointing her fingers together and drawing them down her cheek.

  The stranger chuckled. “Oh, I’m sorry. Her. Well, what’s her name?”

  Genevieve hesitated then signed, “Lily.”

  “Lily,” he replied, his fingers fumbling on the letters as he delivered them. “Nice name for a bear.”

  Genevieve smiled. Swinging her backpack from her shoulders, she set it down to put Lily inside it, beside Rameeka America, and closed the flap.

  She regarded him. “You know my mum,” she signed, finishing her sentence by scratching the side of her nose.

  He smiled at her. The man unzipped his jacket and Genevieve watched as he revealed a small rectangle of card. Proffering it in front of him, he encouraged her to take it.

  Genevieve inched forward and held out her hand as he set it down into her palm.

  It was a photograph.

  A photograph of this man, lounging happily with a woman with long, brownish hair, and an infant child. Genevieve blinked, realising the woman was her mother. Her lips parted and she turned to the stranger.

  “My name is Mitch,” he signed, pointing over the top of the photo. “And that’s your mum. And that’s you.”

  Genevieve glanced between him and the photograph, then set it down on her backpack.

  Mitch.

  “You’re my father.” Genevieve couldn’t decide whether to add a note of question to her signing of that statement. She decided not to.

  Mitch smiled. “I am,” he said. Returning to signing, he repeated his acknowledgement. “I am. I’ve been away for a while.”

  “Away? Where?” Genevieve quizzed. She handed the photograph back to him.

  Mitch waved his hand at her, palm up. “Keep it,” he signed. He looked skyward thoughtfully. “A place far away from here. I had to stay there for a while.”

  “Why?”

  Mitch smiled at Genevieve’s persistence. “I had to do some work for someone. I needed to make sure I finished it before I could leave.”

  “And you’ve finished now?”

  “I have. Now, I’m home. I wanted to see you and your mum. There’s so much I want to talk about.”

  “You want to talk to Mum?” Genevieve weaved hope through her fingers as she signed her question. A smile crept across her face and Mitch patted the bench. “Come,” he said. “Sit down.”

  Genevieve approached him and Mitch watched her as she held her backpack close.

  ISABELLE MARCHED TOWARDS THE COTTAGE with Max following closely behind her. Her features were taut. She was barely able to prevent herself from breaking into a run as she negotiated her way through the people wandering up and down the road.

  Hayden was sitting at the top of the steps, nursing a cup of coffee and staring at the ground. As Isabelle crossed up onto the grass, he sensed right away something was wrong. Setting his cup down, he stood as she opened the gate.

  Isabelle covered her mouth with her hand, fighting to choke back a sob.

  Hayden’s stomach plunged as he hurried down the steps to her. “What�
��s the matter?”

  “Is Genie here?” she rasped. “Did Genie come here?”

  Hayden shook his head. “N-no.” He glanced over at Max. “What’s going on?”

  “I can’t find her anywhere. She was with Max and Annette but she just—disappeared. She hasn’t returned to the bakery and she’s not at the store. This is the only other place she’d come.”

  Hayden held out his hands. “I haven’t seen her.”

  Isabelle doubled over as panic threatened.

  The front door to the cottage opened and Bernadette emerged from inside. Seeing Isabelle, she stiffened.

  “We’ve searched everywhere,” Max said gravely. “We haven’t seen her for half an hour.”

  An alert tone sounded from a UHF radio holstered at Max’s side. He unclipped it from his belt and hit the transmit button. “Nette? We’re at the cottage. She’s not here.”

  There was a burst of static. “Max. We’ve passed the word around,” Annette’s voice sounded. “Amber Rillby says she thinks she saw Genevieve at the park with someone she didn’t recognise. It was a man. Andrew Parton chimed in shortly after. He’s checking on a section of railway track about halfway between here and Thompson River. He says he saw a dark grey four-wheel drive vehicle barrelling along the main road, blasting its horn and causing all sorts of mayhem about twenty minutes ago.”

  Isabelle whipped her head around. “What?” she hissed. “A grey four-wheel drive?”

  “Nette,” Max said carefully. “Did Amber Rillby describe this man to you?”

  “Yeah. He was tall. A beard. Looked like a bear.” There was a pause. “Max, I think it might have been Mitch Crowley.”

  Isabelle’s knees buckled and Max had to lurch to prevent her from collapsing. Hayden turned and bounded up the steps, knocking his coffee cup over and spilling its contents over the veranda. He brushed past Bernadette and went inside.

  Max held the radio close to his mouth. “Annette. Are you certain?”

  There was a pause. “Yes, Max. You’d better get back here straight away.”

  As Isabelle righted herself, the Holden’s engine roared to life in the driveway. Reversing into view, Hayden pulled up in front of Isabelle and Max.