THE POTTER’S DAUGHTER
By
Daniel Arthur Smith
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
The Potter’s Daughter
Copyright © 2009 by Daniel Arthur Smith
All rights reserved Holt Smith ltd
Also for Kindle by Daniel Arthur Smith
The Literary Series
The Potter’s Daughter
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Opening Day: A Short Story
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The Cameron Kincaid Adventures
The Cathari Treasure
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The Somali Deception EPISODE I
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The Somali Deception EPISODE II
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The Somali Deception EPISODE III
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The Somali Deception EPISODE IV
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The Somali Deception THE COMPLETE EDITION
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* * * * *
For Susan, Tristan, & Oliver, as all things are.
* * * * *
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
A Note from the Author
About the Author
Connect with Me Online
Chapter 1
Abby sat on the split log bench sliding her skates back and forth into the grooves of the snow beneath her. She pressed her palms upon her thighs and extended each leg, one at a time, in a slow rhythm. Her knees rose and fell in time with deep soft breaths. Though her legs were tight, the skates felt good. Tense since arriving in Willow Lake, she thought a long skate would give her an opportunity for a much needed work out. Abby took in a deeper breath and rolled her head from one side to the other then stretched back, exposing her thin neck above her scarf. She peered through the branches of the willow above and slowly exhaled. The willow had noticeably grown since the last time she looked up from this bench. Her eyes ran up the trunk through naked branches to the top of the tree some fifty feet above where she sat.
Fixed high in the willow tree were two thick steel cables. Abby traced one back to the house and the other to the studio. Abby’s father feared that one day the willow would slip down the embankment into the lake. He had assured Abby that the equal tension on the cables would maintain the willow’s upright position. Though Abby doubted her father’s laymen engineering she never outright disputed him. Adding one more contention would not benefit either of them and to her the cables fastening the tree were trivial.
Abby gave her legs a final stretch. She adjusted her pink knit cap firmly and pulled her chestnut ponytail out of her scarf. Leaning cautiously against the weeping willow Abby raised herself off the bench then with small crunching steps moved down the embankment onto the ice directly below.
The lake had little snow cover and would be easily traversed yet the only skating Abby had done in years was around the small city rink at the park. A rink that would fit thrice into Bellen Bay and Caroline’s house was far around the point and half way across the long Willow Lake. Already so late in the day Abby pondered if she had underestimated the effort involved in skating as far as her cousin’s after so many years off the lake. She set out into the bay to counter any mounting hesitation. To skate across the lake may be more of an undertaking than she had imagined yet standing on the shore would not get her there any faster.
Abby balanced on one blade then effortlessly switched to the other gliding over the frozen lake. When she rounded the point to turn toward her cousin’s she could see that the eastern sky across the lake was already a dark hue of blue and the details of the trees along that shore were becoming indefinable. Above the sky was grey while to the left in the western horizon remnants of soft sunlight were disappearing fast.
Rather than hugging the shoreline, Abby headed out toward the center of the lake.
The openness of the frozen lake and the brisk air was a welcomed change from Abby’s father’s mess back at the house on shore. For Abby’s father bachelorhood had become a liberty from household responsibility. When she had arrived at her father’s house on the lake, most every inch was covered with newspaper or clothing. Before the house could be cleaned, Abby spent a day simply organizing the mess. All of the laundry needed to be done and there was not a clean dish in the kitchen. What little was in the refrigerator had to be thrown out. Her father had never been stellar at keeping house yet his skills had deteriorated to almost nonexistent in the twenty years since her mother had passed.
Abby’s father did not bide well with her ordering him around. Often she had to seek him out in the studio when he was supposed to be helping her in the house, and though he would perform the tasks she asked of him, she could hear him grumbling under his breath.
Out on the ice there was no mess, no father to chase down, and Abby did not dwell on why she was in Willow Lake instead of the city.
In the catharsis of the skate, Abby felt she could go the entire length of the lake.
When Abby reached Caroline’s, yellow lights twinkled within the eastern tree line, headlights and shops animated the village at the northern tip of the lake, and the last remnant of day silhouetted the western tree line with a strip of tangerine sky.
* * * * *
Chapter 2
Caroline’s husband Brian greeted Abby as she skated up to the lakeside.
“Took you long enough,” said Brian. He offered his arm out for Abby. With his help, she pulled herself up from the ice onto the terrace to remove her skates.
“I’m sorry. I had a late start. I hope Caroline’s ok.”
“Quite alright. Caroline has almost everything wrapped up and she is excited to see you. We both are,” said Brian.
“You are so sweet. That must be what Caroline sees in you.”
Abby sat on a stone bench then unlaced her skates. The house stood on a hill above her overlooking Willow Lake. During the day, the house was hardly visible from the lake below. She looked up at the lights of the kitchen and could see Caroline and the five-year old twins trying to see out the large glass doors. Abby waved as she crossed the weathered boardwalk between the terrace and the steps of the house. Through the surface of the snow bordering the walk pruned shrubs shivered in their burlap wraps among the parched straw colored ornamental foliage.
As Abby and Brian topped the steps Lily and Andrew ran out of the kitchen door bundled in heavy winter attire. They scuttled toward Abby then squeezed her legs tightly when they reached her.
“Hey! Let’s get inside before we freeze to death,” said Abby.
Abby led the group stumbling into the kitchen where Caroline was preparing for the party. Food in different stages of preparation covered every counter. The aroma of cooked meats and spices filled the room and the sweet smell of a baking cake lingered above the oven.
Caroline’s blonde hair was held back with a headband and the oversized collar shirt she wore had flour on the tails and cuffs.
Caroline embraced her cousin. “Hey sweetheart,” said Caroline. They kissed the others cheeks three times, like they had learned years ago on their summer abroad in Holland. “Back on the skates, huh? How is it out there? The edges were a bit creaky last weekend.”
“Seems ok now, I’m sure this last cold snap took care of that,” said Abby. She removed her cap, scarf, and down vest and took the hot mug of coffee Brian offered her, “Thank you, nice and hot.”
Lily ran toward the den, kicking a few strewn wooden blocks in her wake, “Abby come with me!”
“No! Come look at my room. I got new bunks. We can play sleepover,” said Andrew as he cast off his wool hat and mittens and tossed them onto the floor.
Brian grabbed the mittens off the floor, “Forget it, we’ve got to go. You can see Abby later today.” Brian turned an eye to Abby, “Sorry hon, we were just on the way out the door, trying to give my darling wife a little uninterrupted time to prepare for tonight’s festivities.”
“Oh God, I’m so sorry. Happy Birthday Brian,” said Abby, “I nearly forgot.”
“Don’t sweat it. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate right now.” Brian leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. He assumed things were tense at home with her father.
“Come on kids. Let’s get to the pool before it gets too late,” said Brian.
“It’s started snowing. Look Mom, it’s snowing,” said Lily as Brian shuffled the kids back out the kitchen door where large flakes were beginning to fall.
“Indoor pool?” asked Abby.
“Indoor pool at the community center, at the fairgrounds behind the Stone Tavern,” said Caroline.
“Willow Lake is booming, first fine dining at the reopened South Point Inn, now a community pool.”
“All the amenities of the city.”
“And the kids are getting so big. I can’t believe it. It seems like it was just yesterday you were out to here,” Abby made a circle with her arms far away from her belly.
“I guess I was, and it feels like yesterday,” said Caroline pouring herself a cup of coffee.
“So how are you and Will fairing over at the studio?”
“Well, you know Dad. He has a charming way of stressing me out.”
“I’m really sorry about that hysterical call before you left the city, I guess I kind of lost it huh?”
“No, I think I needed it. It snapped me out of the state of denial I was in. I think I thought if I ignored it, it would go away, but you were right. He’s getting noticeably worse. I called Dr. Roberts last week. He said Dad’s tremors are happening more often than he’s letting on, of course. He suggested I start looking for someone to help him around the house.”
“Hmm. What do you think about that? I can imagine what Uncle Will will think.”
“Yea, he’ll hate it. But I’m sure not going to hang around to take care of him, and I can’t have him burdening you guys.”
“Oh, he’s not a burden. It’s just been a little tough lately, that’s all. Hey, did you ever take that Asian cooking class you were talking about? I have all the makings for these fantastic spring rolls. Do you mind? I’m a bit behind schedule?” Caroline pulled a plate of shredded vegetables and a stack of wonton wrappers from the refrigerator and set them in from of her cousin.
“Sure. I’ll give it a try. I never told you what happened in that class. I went to a few, but the whole group, except the teacher, were married couples and I felt out of place.”
“Was the teacher cute?”
“He kept hitting on me.”
“Well?”
“Well nothing! He was older,” Abby paused, “and I’m not looking.”
“What do you mean you’re not looking?”
“Just that, is that so bad? Oh yum, give me a lick.” Abby reached over Caroline’s shoulder and dug her finger into the bowl of chocolate frosting her cousin had taken from the refrigerator.
“No, of course not. But you can’t stay single forever, that small apartment of yours has to get lonely.”
“Yea,” said Abby in a singing pitch, “but dating is really not going anywhere.”
Abby meant what she said about dating. Though the city was chock full of interesting people and she had tons of great friends, all of the men she dated turned out to be flawed. These flaws usually became apparent when she thought everything in the relationship was going well.
There was the graphic artist with the chiseled chin and the hazel eyes that could talk about color and design for hours and could have been a catch had he not had such a profane mouth. The musician with the dark curly hair and the thin frame that declared women were not capable of the passions necessary to create true art, meaning that he thought women were inferior altogether. Then there was the media exec a friend had set her up with, a philanderer that could not keep his eyes, much less himself from wandering.
“All of the men I am meeting are coming up losers,” said Abby.
“Hmm. Well that’s lousy. How are things at the Museum?” asked Caroline.
“Well, actually pretty good,” said Abby.
Abby was glad that Caroline had changed the subject from dating to the museum.
Last Friday had been the most incredible day at work. Abby was assigned the Renoir exhibit and her boss Olivia hinted that she would be up for promotion when Olivia left for maternity leave. Abby imagined herself a managing curator. She would wear her hair up and abandon her plain ponytail. She could buy real cosmetics, discard her jumble of drug store brands, and carry a proper handbag instead of her battered leather backpack. She saw the promotion as an excuse for her to get serious.
The new exhibit Abby had been chosen to work on fascinated Caroline.
The Renoir exhibit would be a premier show at the museum. This would be the third exhibit project for Abby and the largest. The exhibit would feature over 100 paintings and drawings from Renoir and other artists representing the development of impressionism. The project management for this exhibit would take months of planning, collecting, and marketing. To Abby, this was a sign her career was definitely on track.
The girls chatted for some time. Caroline asked questions and listened for details that she would never hear in discussions on the lake. Coffee turned to chilled white wine as they went on to talk about other artists they loved. They talked until Brian and the twins returned to dress for the party, and then they talked some more until they themselves went upstairs to dress.
* * * * *
Chapter 3
On the western shore of Willow Lake, three structures h
uddled amid the evergreens. The shoreline studio dwarfed the tool shed nestled in the trees opposite the lakeside yard and the main house stood recessed between the two. From the house and the studio large bay windows peered out across the lake to the eastern shore. At the lakeside, a weeping willow towered over the compound.
Kiln rooms added to the side of the studio housed industrial electric kilns and gas-burning giants. The old wood-burning kiln which Will preferred stood half dug into the ground by the tool shed. Despite the old kiln being Will’s preference the oven did not get much use anymore.
Inside the studio were two large tables with urns ranging in size at different stages of completion. On the far wall were stacks of clay sacks and the smaller tool and paint storage rooms. The bathroom was in the corner. Everything was coated in a fine layer of clay dust giving the room a distinct grey accent. Lined up and evenly spaced under the large window stood five pottery wheels. Sitting at one was Will.
Will had spent most of his sixty-seven years in this greyed studio and was as much a part of the workshop as the clay and urns themselves. All of his memories came from this place. Bellen hands had built the Bellen studio. Will had grown up in the studio and there he had raised his children.
The potter’s wheel is where Will felt most comfortable. The wet clay felt moist against Will’s hands lightly running between his fingers. Delicately the clay was brought to life by his seasoned touch. Will had learned how to be a potter from his father and in turn had taught his son.
For generations the Bellen name was synonymous with hand crafted ornamental urns. Since Will’s grandfather had built the studio, trucks had come to Willow Lake four times a year to pickup urns ready for consignment. Will was proud that Bellen urns had been taken as far away as China and India.
The urns were all of sizes and degrees of ornamentation. The cremation urns were always in demand and there were standing orders with the best interior design firms for several of the tall highly decorated urns to be displayed in the lobbies of hotels, custom homes, or large city apartments. Some urns were special order. Will’s father used to boast that President Roosevelt had two tall urns put in the White House that were made with his own hands, the hands of a Bellen.
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