by Lois Richer
“But I could have helped you with that. You know I have connections with a number of galleries. Why didn’t you ask?”
He huffed his disgust. “I wasn’t going to be another hanger-on, Ashley, like Kent.”
“You’re nothing like Kent.”
He ignored that, begging her to see it through his eyes.
“Since you’ve come here, how many people have stopped you on the street, asked you to look at what they’re doing? How many more since you’ve started work on the gallery?”
“Lots of them.” Her mouth pursed. She shook her head at him. “I’m not going to lie and tell someone their stuff is good if I don’t think it is, but at the same time, I want the opportunity to be the first to show artists from Serenity Bay. That’s what my gallery is about.”
The glint of hurt in her eyes forced him to realize she was on the wrong track. There could be no pretending now. Either he told her the truth and looked a fool or Ashley believed he thought her gallery wasn’t good enough.
“I’m scared. Okay?” He kicked his toe against the carpet, hating the words.
“What?” She stared at him as if he’d just asked her to swim in the bay.
“I said I’m scared. I wanted to keep my little secret in the back room, get those carvings done and ship them off to someone who doesn’t know me.”
“Ah.” She actually had the nerve to smile. “I see.”
“I don’t think it’s funny.”
“I do. I’m the one who’s been confiding her fears and you’re telling me you’ve been keeping your own secret.” Ashley wagged a finger at him. “That’s not playing fair.”
“It’s not about fairness. It’s about taking the risk, doing what I told myself I’d do and living with the consequences. If what’s in there is a lot of garbage, then I’ll know and I can forget about my silly dreams.”
“It’s not garbage, Michael. Far from it.”
It was his turn to smile. “Thank you. You’re very kind. But you’ll forgive me if I don’t pin my hopes on that.”
“Are you deliberately trying to be offensive?” she demanded. “I’ve scouted out some of the best pieces for a number of galleries across the country. I think I know what I’m talking about.”
“I’m sure you do.” He leaned over, brushed his knuckles against her cheek. “But you’re not exactly impartial, Ashley.”
“Oh. So I’d lie, tell you it was good even if it wasn’t? That’s insulting.”
“I didn’t mean it to be. I just meant—” Michael struggled with the appropriate words. “You wouldn’t want to hurt my feelings. Believe me, I appreciate that.”
“And if I did?” She rose, stood glaring at him. “If I told you that your work is nice, pretty, but it isn’t the kind of work a gallery can promote, not the sort of carving anyone will long to collect—if I told you that, what would you do?”
“Stop carving.” He didn’t even have to think about it.
“Finally some truth.” She slapped her hands on her hips, her eyes frosty. “That’s why you kept it a secret, Michael. Not because of any of your silly reasons, but because you’re afraid you’ll have to hand your dream over, put it in someone else’s hands. And if they say it isn’t great, you’re willing to stop doing what you love. That’s really sad.”
“I just want to get enough done for a show,” he tried to explain, rising to follow as she left the room. “Where are you going?”
He didn’t need to ask. She was headed for the workroom. His workroom.
“Ashley, I—”
“Hush!” She quelled his protest with one glare. He’d never seen her so angry. She picked up a sculpture of Tati. “What were you thinking of when you did this? You weren’t thinking of a showing then, were you?”
“No,” he admitted.
“I can tell. It’s a work from your heart.” She set that one down, picked up another of his daughter. “This one is for your show, isn’t it?” She inclined her head, waited for his nod. “Do you know how I can tell?”
“No.” Her intuition amazed him.
“Then I’ll tell you. It’s not that it isn’t good. It is. Very good. But the sparkle is missing. The little whimsical tilt to the eye or the uplift of the nose—I don’t know. It’s just not there. This piece is more intricate than the first, much more difficult, I’m sure. But it doesn’t have the same presence. I can’t hear her laughter when I look at it.”
“Oh.” Michael sat down, feeling as if he’d been sucker-punched and couldn’t catch his breath.
Ashley’s face softened. She walked over to stand in front of him, put her hand under his chin to force him to meet her gaze.
“I know you want a showing, Michael. You want to prove that you have what it takes, you want to stuff the critics’ words in their faces and show the world. You want the satisfaction that a successful show would give, the approval sticker that you interpreted God’s plan for your life correctly.”
“Yes.”
“But most of all I think you want to give Tati something to brag about, to get yourself onto an equal footing with Carissa, maybe even show her up. Why? Because of the way she handled Tati?”
He said nothing, because he couldn’t deny it.
“I’m not saying these pieces wouldn’t give you acclaim. Any gallery would take them and be happy to sell them.” She leaned in, her breath whispering across his cheek. “But is that enough for you? You have so much more to give. A God-given talent to see beyond, inside, to the heart, and to let us see there too, if we’re intuitive enough to look.”
Her quiet words humbled him.
“Stop thinking about showing your work, Michael. Think about what’s hidden in the wood, what you want to reveal. That’s when you’ll know you’ve fallen in with God’s plan. That’s when the sparkle will burst out of your work and draw in people who just want to see it. That’s the reason Tati will be proud.”
He rose, drew her into his arms, rested his chin on her head.
“You are a very smart woman, Ashley Adams.”
“I know art,” she shot back. “Plus, I’m very good at telling other people what they should do. Just not so good at following my own advice. But I’m trying.” She tipped her head, met his gaze. “I’m really trying.”
He wanted to kiss her.
But a rap on the front door drew them apart.
“Can you see who that is?” he asked. “I’m just going to check on Tati, make sure we haven’t disturbed her.”
“Okay.” She walked out of the room, leaving him alone to get himself together.
Michael closed the studio door and was about to enter Tati’s room when a sharp cry pieced the silence of the house.
“Go away!”
His walk toward the front door turned into a run as Ashley’s terrified voice begged for help.
“Michael! Make him go away.”
*
Oh God, please help.
Ashley backed away from the door, away from the face that, no matter how much she prayed, never left her dreams. She pasted herself against the wall, slid along it until she came to the kitchen. She ducked inside, grabbed a knife from the block as if it could protect her from the monster at the door.
How had he found her? Why had he come here? To take Tati?
“Ashley? What’s wrong?”
“Make him go,” she whispered. “Make him go away.”
She heard Michael speaking, then he said something and the door closed. A moment later he was beside her, his hands easing the knife from her fingers, drawing on her arms, urging her toward the table.
“Come sit down. Come on, Ashley. You’re all right. I’m here.”
“Is he gone?” Her voice emerged in a croak. She surveyed the room, dared to look into the living room. No one.
“He’s gone now. It’s okay. You’re safe.”
She concentrated on breathing deeply, exhaling slowly, forcing a sense of calm onto her body. Eventually she was able to look at Michael.
&nb
sp; “You saw him, didn’t you? You saw the man at the door.”
“Yes.” He frowned, clearly surprised by her outburst.
“It was him! That’s the man who grabbed me. Now we can call the police.” She rose, reached for the phone. Michael’s hand on her arm stopped her from dialing. “What’s wrong?”
“Wait a minute. Just let me think this through.”
She sat again while Michael frowned.
“That’s the man who grabbed you when you were a child?”
“Yes. I told you that.” He was acting so strangely. Ashley frowned. “Do you know him?”
“Of course. Ned Ainsworth.”
“The police can find him from that.” She tried to reach for the phone but again he stopped her.
“Wait!” he ordered when she pulled away. “Ashley, you can’t go accusing this man of abducting you almost twenty years ago.”
“Why? He did.”
“Are you sure?”
Ashley froze, felt the rise of panic inside. “You don’t believe me?”
“Yes, but—” He tried to take her hand, but she pulled away. “It doesn’t make sense. Ned’s a carver, like I am.”
“Where does he live?”
“I don’t know. I only met him once. Somewhere up by Cathcart House, I think. But—”
“By Piper’s house?” She stared at him as the faith she’d tried so hard to bolster ebbed away. The hairs on her arm rose. “You mean he’s been living near me all along? Where?”
“I don’t know. That’s what I’m saying. I’m not sure anyone knows anything much about Ned. I don’t think he lives here year-round. When he is here, he keeps to himself.” Michael flushed at her indignant glare. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I can’t believe he’d do something like that, Ashley. I just can’t. Tati met him when I did. She was never afraid.”
“Those are the kind of people you should fear the most.” She turned her back, stared at the wall, willing the tears to subside. Of all people, she’d been so sure Mick believed her. “I’d better go.”
“Wait, Ashley.” He gripped her shoulders, turned her to face him. “It’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s that I think there has to be some other explanation.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice troubled. “If we could find him, you could ask him—”
“I don’t ever want to talk to that man again.” She struggled to keep a lid on the cauldron of worry that bubbled inside. “Besides, I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“Then I’ll look while you’re gone.” He shrugged. “There has to be some explanation. I think he’s had a place around here for a long time. I can’t imagine he’s stayed knowing you could identify him.”
“There was never a formal charge.”
“No, but he’d have it constantly hanging over his head. If he was some kind of pedophile, wouldn’t it have happened again? As far as I know, it hasn’t.”
“That’s true,” she admitted quietly. “I checked the newspapers. There haven’t been any reports that are similar to what I experienced.”
As numbness invaded she pulled on her coat and her boots.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his face troubled. “You’ve come so far. And now for this to happen—it’s hard.”
“Maybe it’s the wake-up call I needed,” she whispered as she dragged on her gloves.
“What does that mean?”
She looked at him, really looked. He was a man she’d admired, had a crush on, fallen in love with. He had a rare talent for capturing expressions with his carving. He was a wonderful father to a little girl, who reached inside and grabbed her heart with both hands.
But when push came to shove he hadn’t trusted her. He didn’t believe her.
The sting of knowing that she’d trusted wrongly again bit deeply. Ashley forced down the tears with an iron will. She wondered how he’d react to the picture inside the flat box she’d left on the counter.
“I hope you have a very Merry Christmas, Michael. Just do me one favor, will you?”
“If I can.”
“Don’t let Tatiana out of your sight. If it happened once it could happen again. And I wouldn’t wish what I’ve gone through on my worst enemy.”
“Oh, Ashley.” He drew her into his arms, kissed her. When she didn’t respond he sighed, drew back. “Tati isn’t only my child, she belongs to God, as well. He’ll protect her.”
She nodded, pulled open the door.
“That’s what I thought,” she whispered. “But look what happened. My attacker is still free. And I’m still afraid.”
She closed the door and slowly walked to her car while scanning the yard for signs of the cat that had terrorized the town or the man who still had the power to terrify her.
As always, fear was her companion on the ride home.
*
“I wonder what Ashley’s doing now,” Tati murmured as she waited for Michael to braid her hair. “Do they have Christmas in Hawaii?”
“Of course. I’m sure she’s getting ready to have dinner with her family, just like we are.” The gift he’d shipped overnight express would have arrived by now. He wondered if she’d understand the significance.
“I think she’ll go swimming today. That’s what I’d do. Wanda says—”
Tuning out Wanda’s sage advice, Michael finished braiding Tati’s hair, tied on the pink satin ribbons and helped button the dress he’d scoured online catalogs to find.
“You look very pretty, Tati. Just like a princess.”
“Thank you, Daddy.” She hugged him tightly, then pulled away, her face wistful. “Do you think Mommy’s having Christmas?”
He caught his breath at the yearning that washed over her face, struggled to stuff down the imp of jealousy that danced inside.
“I’m sure she’s singing carols with the angels, Tati. Or maybe dancing a special ballet for God.” It was the best he could do on such short notice. “Now you go watch your new video about Baby Jesus while I get ready, okay?” He debated the next words only for a moment. “And don’t open the door for anyone.”
“I know, Daddy. You told me a bunch of times.” She favored him with a frown then skipped out of the room and down the hall, her shoes tapping a rhythm that expressed her happiness.
Michael climbed into the shower with a prayer that the Christmas spirit would wash away all their cares and worries—if only for today. He’d just lathered his hair when Tati burst into the room.
“Ashley phoned, Daddy! I’m going to talk to her now, but you can have a turn after me.”
“I’m coming,” he said, to the sound of the bathroom door slamming shut.
Grumbling about her timing while his brain gave praise, Michael rinsed off, pulled on his robe and grabbed the phone by his bed.
“Daddy said we could sleep in today but I didn’t sleep in. I was too awake. I was thinking about my mommy.” A tiny pause. “But I’m glad you called.”
“Me, too, Tati.”
“Did you go swimming on Christmas?”
“Yes. I just got out of the water. I pretended it was a big snowbank and that you and I were making snow angels.”
“I like swimming. And snow angels. Santa brought me a princess dress, Ashley.”
“Are you wearing it now?” an amused voice asked.
“Yes. It’s so pretty. It’s not white. It’s pink. I think that’s nicer than white. And I have matching tights and—”
“Merry Christmas, Ashley.”
“Merry Christmas, Michael.”
Silence lasted about three seconds until Tati burst in again, explaining how much she loved the artist’s set Ashley had given her.
“I already did two drawings,” she said. “Daddy said they’re the best he’s ever seen.”
“And I love the Christmas picture you gave me. You must do another so I can put it up in my gallery when it opens.”
So she was coming back. He felt relief, and a bubbling joy th
at couldn’t be quelled. Michael let his daughter babble on while he got a grip on his emotions, then spoke up.
“Give me a chance now, honey, will you?” he asked.
“Okay, Daddy. Bye, Ashley. Merry Christmas. I love you.”
“I love you, too, sweetie.”
The phone banged down so hard Michael winced.
“Sorry about that.”
“She sounds delighted with her dress.”
“Yeah. Some things are easy.”
“She was talking about Carissa. Did she have a bad dream?”
“No, nothing like that.” They kept the repartee of small talk going but all he wanted to ask her was if she’d forgiven him.
“She’s adjusting well. I hope all her memories will remain sweet.”
“Yeah.”
“Are you cooking Christmas dinner?”
“Are you kidding? We’re going over to Mom’s. The girls are home. It will be bedlam.”
“It sounds wonderful.”
Another awkward pause.
“I got your gift this morning, Michael. It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
Disappointment welled up. She hadn’t understood the significance of it.
“I called it Faith,” he told her quietly.
“Yes, I saw that. It’s a beautiful depiction. I don’t know how you got the fingers so perfect.”
He let that go. “I know I disappointed you, Ashley.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does. I didn’t mean to diminish what you went through but I did and that hurt you. I apologize.”
“I didn’t make it up, Michael. I’m more certain than ever that it happened.”
“I know.”
“You believe me?” she asked, her surprise evident. “Really?”
Faith. He’d worked it out while his fingers had smoothed the rough edges of the cypress wood carving of her face. The carving still wasn’t quite finished but his decision was made. Either he put his faith in her, wholeheartedly trusted her and moved on from there, or he didn’t and Ashley shut him out. He chose the former.
“I believe you, Ashley.”
Her silent doubt transmitted clearly across the phone line.
“That’s what my carving means. I don’t know why Ned did it, what caused his actions. I can’t accept that he wanted to harm you, but I do believe that you were abducted by Ned.”
