by Gamet, Amy
He nodded and raised his hands in surrender, reaching into the pocket of his coat.
“Call me if you want to talk, or if you need help. Whoever hurt this man is still out there.” He pulled out a business card and pointedly placed it on her desk. “I just want to help you, Julie.”
Then he was gone.
Chapter 2
The evening landscape glowed blue in the moonlight, as a silent rush of flurries fell in a continuous swirl onto the blanket of white below.
Inside, a freshly cut pine tree glowed with a single strand of white Christmas lights, its illuminated branches bare of ornamentation. Two dogs slept in front of a crackling fire, one small and gray, the other big and yellow and loudly snoring. Neither was disturbed by the low howling of the wind nor the clink of tools from the kitchen table.
Gwen Trueblood’s art studio was pristine, with neatly kept wooden drawers and rows of labeled plastic containers. But it was a glorified closet, a staging area where she stored her supplies and prepared her materials. The kitchen was where she engaged her art, whether it be a bold pair of fused glass earrings or a loaf of fresh, crusty artisan bread.
Granite countertops mixed rich hues of gold with rusty reds and oranges in bold waves and specks. The cupboards were handcrafted of warm cherry with strong lines and careful moldings, their hardware a unique mixture of colored glass and sparkling metal that coordinated with the sunset colors of the granite around them.
A hefty island was surrounded on three sides by generous work areas, industrial appliances, and two oversized sinks. Pendant lights hung like jewelry, glittering in their display of brightly colored glass and dazzling metal. In the daytime the room would sparkle from the sunshine pouring in from the tall south-facing windows.
An impressive coffee maker and a craft kiln were displayed with equal prominence on the counters, along with a hand-woven basket filled with fresh fruit, an irregular loaf of golden-crusted bread, and a half-full bottle of red wine. Gwen was expecting company despite the weather, so she worked on a glass mobile and a rich pot roast at the same time. Both were for her niece.
She selected a deep purple from the stack of glass sheets before her, and worked to score it carefully before snapping the sheet into perfectly formed pieces. Beneath her hands, the glass became a series of graceful triangles that longed to twirl on metal strings.
In her mind’s eye, Gwen could see Julie driving through the snow, though the treacherous travel was not what concerned Gwen. Far more worrisome was the heavy heart she sensed in the woman at the wheel, and the simple reality of her destination. She knew that Julie would not come to Vermont unless something was terribly wrong.
She had invited Julie here, as she did every Christmas, hoping that her sister’s daughter would come for a visit. But she understood more than anyone that Julie had her demons, and her reasons for staying away were not likely to change.
Pulling the pile of glass sheets onto her lap, Gwen sifted through them as she thought about Julie. Purple was the dominant color, but she could also feel red and sharp bits of yellow. She took the colors out of the pile and began to score the sheets into small shapes and skinny lines. Relying on her natural sense of balance and proportion, Gwen worked to create shapes that represented the emotions clamoring around her niece, then set them on top of the purple triangles in pleasing asymmetry.
As she completed each piece, she added a metal hook between the layers of glass and arranged them on the rack for firing. The pieces would fuse together in the kiln, creating one smooth surface that retained the separate colors. Then Gwen would combine the fused glass pieces with hammered brass and mirrors to create a mobile for her niece.
Gwen set the rack into the kiln and fired it up. The pieces of glass would slowly be transformed into their new shapes—reminiscent of the old, but stunning in their combinations. The high temperatures required for the metamorphosis meant that the pieces would not be cool enough to touch until morning. Gwen reflected that the process of change was often an arduous one, both in art and in life.
Turning her attention to the large copper pot simmering on the stove, she removed the lid and bent her head close to the soup to inhale its rich scent. It was not a fatted calf, but the intent was the same. Gwen was celebrating the arrival of her long lost niece, and she wanted everything to be special for her. Mentally she imagined that Julie was getting close, so she began to chop up the parsley and basil on a thick bamboo board. They would be added to the pot just before serving.
The ringing of the doorbell woke the dogs and set them to barking. Gwen smiled and rushed to answer the door, her joy at Julie’s arrival somewhat tempered by her concern. She opened the door and a dense gust of icy wind entered the cozy house.
Upon seeing her aunt, Julie’s half smile collapsed into a grimace. Gwen pulled her into the house as she shut the heavy door against the arctic air, bringing Julie straight into her arms for a tight squeeze. A stranger might have thought they were sisters rather than aunt and niece, separated by only ten years or so and equal in height and build.
“What’s wrong, Julie?”
She choked on the words as they came out of her mouth. “My dad died.”
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About the Author
Amy Gamet is a former teacher turned stay-at-home mom. She discovered she loves writing more than she ever loved the Pythagorean Theorem. She lives in New York State with her husband and children.
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Author updates can be found at www.amygamet.com.
Table of Contents
1997
2012
2004
2013
Bonus Excerpt: Meant for Her (The Love & Danger Series, Book One)
About the Author
