“They are. I’m drowning my sorrows in them,” said Abby.
“Everything all right outside?” asked Mitch.
“It’s all trouble you don’t want any part of,” said Abby.
Mitch raised his beer up to his chest, cocked his eyebrow, and with a comical Bogart impression said, “I don’t mind a reasonable amount of trouble.”
“Sam Spade, nice,” said Abby.
“When I was a boy I wanted to be Sam Spade,” said Mitch. “As far as I was concerned being a private detective was top of the heap. Do you like Sam Spade?”
“What curator wouldn’t be intrigued by a golden falcon encrusted from beak to claw with rare jewels created by the Knight Templar of Malta in 1539?”
“Touché,” said Mitch.
“Plus there’s Sam Spade, that’s one of my favorite movies of all time.”
“Cheers,” said Mitch. “Cheers,” said Abby.
“Is the real Maltese Falcon in a museum somewhere?” asked Mitch.
“Not at all,” said Abby, “but it was based on a real sculpture called the Kniphausen Hawk made in 1697. No romantic story like the Maltese Falcon, but it was still covered in jewels.”
“I’d rather have a good story over the jewels,” said Mitch.
“Agreed,” said Abby.
Mitch finished his beer. “Can I get you another glass of wine?”
“I would love one. However, after seeing that parking fiasco I’m pretty sure I’m on driving duty,” said Abby.
Across the room, Mitch and Abby could see Will’s face glowing as he was describing something to the Lumsdens’. In an exaggerated gesture Will was making a large circle with his hands from above his head to his waist and then from his chest to the extent of his arms, all the time holding a three quarter full wine glass. His eyes were fixing to and from Hank and Mary Lumsden’s faces to judge their reaction. Either they were totally enthralled by the story or waiting for the red wine to come jetting out of the glass straight into there faces.
“So you’re driving him home?” asked Mitch.
“I think it’s best,” said Abby.
Trying yet again to use the voice of Bogart, Mitch said, “You’re a good man, sister.” Abby answered with her own Bogart impression, “Don’t be too sure, I’m as crooked as I’m supposed to be.”
* * * * *
Chapter 7
The buckwheat batter sizzled into perfect round circles upon the hot skillet. Caroline always made perfectly round pancakes. As a child, her parents took the family to the Lakeside Diner every Sunday after church. The cook used the skillet to flip the cakes way up in the air astonishing all of the wide-eyed children in for Sunday breakfast. She had to use a spatula to flip them, which frustrated her just a little. Every time Caroline had tried to flip pancakes with the skillet, they ended up hanging off the edge of the pan or landed on the stove.
The twins were singing along with a man in an animal suit on the television when Caroline called to them to get ready for breakfast. Their song switched from the sing along to an assailing yell as they ran toward the kitchen to reap the strawberry jam and maple syrup that would be covering the silver dollar pancakes their mother had made for them.
Andrew and Lily climbed onto the stools at the island counter and, paying no attention to their small forks, began eating the little stacks on their plates.
“Pancakes, how yummy!” said Mitch as he walked into the kitchen with Brian.
“Have some. There’s plenty,” said Caroline. She handed Mitch a small plate and gestured toward the platter stacked with the silver dollars.
“Thanks Mom. Don’t mind if I do,” Mitch took the plate and sat down on the end stool next to the twins.
“You threw a great party last night,” said Mitch to Caroline as she handed Brian a plate.
“We were so glad you came,” said Caroline. She put the mixing bowl into the dishwasher. “What did you think?”
“About the plans for the Walker house? Well Brian just showed them to me and I think they are amazing as always, but the material costs are going to go way up.”
Caroline cut him off, “—No, not about that.”
“What do I think about what?”
“Oh never mind.” Caroline frowned. “Hey are you going up to the Johansson house this morning?”
“Sure am, why?”
“Would you mind dropping something off for me?” asked Caroline.
“No not at all.”
Brian’s eyes met with Caroline as she walked into the other room. She scrunched her nose at him and grinned.
A moment later Caroline came back holding a paper bag, “Could you please drop these at the Bellen house? It would be a big favor. Abby forgot these and I want to get them to her along with some food for her and her Dad.”
“For Abby eh? Well I guess.”
“Thanks Mitch, I would really appreciate it. I have to get the twins ready for school and need to express mail those papers to the Walkers and--,”
“—Ok, ok no worries. I have to run to the garage first but I can drop the bag off after that.”
* * * * *
Abby heard the whistle of the teakettle. She pulled her sweater over her head and walked into the kitchen. She was startled to see someone standing on the porch. The shadow could not be Will because she had just seen him out by the lake. A soft knock came on the door and Abby peered through the light lace curtain. Mitch was standing on the porch in a dark brown Carhart jacket and bibs. He held a ruffled brown paper bag under his arm and was gently knocking with two coffees stacked in his hand. Abby opened the door with her usual ‘always happy to see you’ smile.
“Hi there,” said Abby. She sincerely was happy to see him.
“Hey there,” said Mitch. “I’m sorry to bother you.” He offered her the paper bag adding, “Caroline asked to me drop this off.”
“Thanks.”
“No bother at all.”
Mitch peered past her to the whistling kitchen.
“Oh,” Abby glanced over her shoulder, “I was just about to have a cup of tea. Would you like one?”
Mitch smiled and gestured toward the two coffees that he held in his hand. “Right,” said Abby. “Well come on in then.”
“It’s no problem?” asked Mitch.
“Don’t be silly.”
Abby opened the door farther and waved her arm back into the kitchen.
“Well here is the kitchen. Let me take your jacket and have seat at the table,” said Abby. She hung Mitch’s jacket on one of the hooks by the door then took the kettle from the stove.
Mitch raised a coffee cup toward the painting above the table, “That painting really captures the morning view of the lake.”
Abby paused and gazed at the painting, “The lake is lovely with the sun shining down on the surface.” She then returned to the counter to prepare the tea.
“That’s pretty much the way the lake is right now. It’s a beautiful day out there,” said Mitch.
“That is something I do miss about being out here.”
Abby stood at the counter for a moment then removed the steeped bags. She brought two cups of Earl Grey tea to the table and set one in front of Mitch.
“You have to try this. I am sure the coffee is getting cold by now.”
“It is,” said Mitch. He actually had just bought the coffee at Lakeside Diner before coming over.
Mitch tasted the tea, “Its delicious.”
“It’s because of the honey. I mixed it in with the milk.”
“Is this honey from Mr. Wilkin’s hives?”
Abby nodded, “A local treasure.”
“It is indeed local treasure,” said Mitch. He pushed the bag forward, “So Caroline sent these.”
“Alas, the package. What’s in there?”
“Your skates, some food from the party. Caroline said to drop it by, so…”
“Mission accomplished. My skates. Nice. Thank you so much.”
Abby took the bag from Mitc
h. She put the food containers on the table and placed the skates on the floor. Abby had not needed the skates at all still she truly appreciated Mitch dropping them off and was truly enjoying his company.
Mitch asked Abby about working at the museum. She told him about her job and the chance of the promotion. Mitch in turn told her about working with Caroline and Brian. Like old friends, their conversation flowed easy and time flew quickly. The teacups emptied and neither minded.
* * * * *
Chapter 8
The Bellen studio had developed some refined systems over the many years in operation. The pottery moved through a make shift assembly line. From the wheels, the pottery was placed on one of the tables near the entrance of the studio. All of the detail work such as the grapevines and ivy were adhered to the urns and then after drying all were loaded into one of the kilns. After firing, the kilns were unloaded to the tables on the far side of the room to be painted and if needed glazed before being fired again. Will had started the new order this morning with this first urn, so he had to make room on the tables by filling the kiln.
Five four-foot high urns were detailed, dried, and ready for firing. Will prepared the kiln and then went to the table to begin loading the urns. The urns were ornamented with flora and fauna and these particular urns composed a set, each one with different flowers and birds. The first urn Will picked up had long stems of honeysuckle and hummingbirds. Will was able to create the clay hummingbirds in minutes. The detail of the honeysuckle still took a good part of an afternoon. Each petal was made separately and then added to the flower on the stem. Will wrapped his arms around the urn and effortlessly lifted, the entire weight bearing on his strong legs. He carried the piece into the kiln and then returned to the table to get the second urn. This urn had beautiful sparrows and cherry blossoms.
Will put all of the weight on his legs again and lifted the second urn carefully then turned toward the kiln. A tremor began in his forearm. Will squeezed the urn hard and tried to hurry his legs, to no good. His forearm then his hand went weak. The urn began to slip. Will was powerless to do anything. Quickly he tried to kneel to bring the urn closer to the ground to avoid a crash. Will’s arm gave out first. The urn fell from his grasp onto the cement floor with a loud thwacking sound.
Down on one knee Will stared at the at the large triangle shard of grey clay with the cherry blossoms still intact and closely bound to their branches. Across the floor were spread pieces of sparrow and blossom. Will inspected the pieces where they fell while he massaged his weak arm. The hand that had failed him was shaking slightly. He squeezed his palm tightly to steady the shaking. Then in a quick motion, without getting up from the floor, he grabbed the large shard with both hands and threw the clay at the wall letting out a loud wail as he did so. The shard fragmented into small pieces upon hitting the wall. Will’s face was red. Needled pains shot through his weak arm. He picked up another large piece next to him and threw this shard less forcefully than the first. The shard landed short of the wall and broke apart on the floor.
The studio door swung open and in came Abby and Mitch. Will was still kneeling over the broken urn. Abby could see there was broken urn all over the floor at the end of the studio. She knew exactly what had happened. If the urn had just broken her father would have simply mended the clay before firing. The debris was a tell tale sign that urn broke because of an episode.
“Are you alright Dad?”
Abby knew the answer before he spoke.
“Yea,” said Will, “I tripped.”
“Are you sure that is what happened?”
Will raised his voice, “I said I damn tripped. Isn’t that enough for you people? It’s this damn floor.”
“Yea, alright Dad. We heard a loud noise and just came to see what the hell happened.”
Will was still rubbing his arm, his head bent toward the floor, “I guess I better get the broom and clean this up.”
“You remember Mitch?”
“Of course. I’m old, not senile. Hey there Mitch.”
“Hey there, Will,” Mitch replied. “You need help cleaning up?”
“No,” said Will, his voice calm and softer. “No, you kids go ahead.”
Mitch turned to Abby.
“I should probably get going anyway,” said Mitch.
“Thank you for bringing the skates by,” said Abby then quickly added, “And thank you for the conversation. It was nice.”
“Me too, I mean thank you for the tea, and the conversation,” said Mitch.
Mitch turned and walked out the doorway. “What a girl,” he thought as he made his way to his yellow pickup. The conversation really had been refreshing and Mitch felt that he had connected with someone in a way he had not in a long time. As Mitch got into the truck, a smile crept across his face. Abby was waving good-bye from the door of the studio. Mitch waved to Abby, backed his truck out of the driveway, and kept smiling.
Abby walked back into the studio and discovered her father still on the floor. Will had not moved from his kneeling position. Walking over to the side room to grab a broom she said, “I don’t remember the last time I saw you smash an urn. I’ve seen you repair worse.”
“Well I dropped it. Is that what you want to hear? Damn, it’s not the first time I dropped a piece of damn clay.”
“Colorful language,” said Abby as she started to sweep up the remnants of the urn strewn across the room. “I bet you can’t even get up.”
“I can get up.”
Will lifted himself from the floor hobbling a little on his right leg as he did.
Abby walked toward him, “Let me help you.”
“I don’t need help!”
“I think that is exactly what you need.”
Will raised his voice again, “I think you need not worry about it.”
“Well how long do you think it will be ‘til I have to? Give me a heads up so that I can know ‘now it’s the time to worry!’” Abby threw down the broom and stormed out of the studio.
Will had never been one to yell yet lately his voice was rising quite a bit. Yelling was something Abby was not accustomed to and certainly not going to stand for.
Will slowly walked over to where Abby had thrown the broom. He bent forward and picked the broom up with his good hand. His other arm was not shooting pain anymore. Will opened his hand stretching his fingers wide and then pensively he closed them together into a tightened fist. A fist that still felt weak.
* * * * *
Chapter 9
Walking into the Stone Tavern Abby was washed with a wave of warmth. The whole place had the smell of burning wood and stale beer. The room was full of people shooting pool, leaning at the bar, and sitting at the yellow lacquered pine tables. A group of men and women standing at the bar wore full body snow suits, some blue and others black, all undone to the waist with the sleeves hanging behind them like tails. They were the owners of the small fleet of snowmobiles parked in a line outside of the tavern.
In the corner of the room was a small stage that held the house band’s equipment and a space cleared for dancing. The equipment consisted of microphones, monitors, and a single bass drum kit. Tonight the two men on stage in blue jeans and t-shirts were not using any of the equipment. They sat on stools with acoustic guitars and were playing a mix of originals and alternative rock covers. They switched off on vocals, sometimes harmonized, and chose their material well. The music was not the kind to dance to, though the melody did tempt one to sing along if caught off guard.
Sitting in the center of the room between the pool table and the hearth were Caroline and Mitch. Mitch was pouring the last of the beer into Caroline’s glass mug. Brian was behind them carrying a fresh pitcher from the bar over to the table. Abby removed her vest as they exchanged hellos - kisses three times for Caroline - and then hung the vest on one of the pegs that jutted out from the large wooden pillar next to the table.
Caroline touched Abby’s arm, “Glad you could make it.”
“Wednesday at the Stone Bar,” said Abby as she sat in the empty chair at the table. “How could I miss it?”
“Well it could be karaoke night,” added Brian and they all laughed.
Wednesday night at the Stone Tavern was a regular occurrence for Caroline and Abby when they were young. In the winters of their youth the tavern was the only place to unwind during the week. In the summers, the tavern was a great kickoff to the local cottage and beach parties. For Caroline and Brian the tavern was a regular occurrence since they had moved to the lake. A time to swing back a couple of mugs and commune with the other locals as they discussed hunting and fishing, building and tearing down, and how the bad winter of fifteen years ago compared to the winter of thirty years ago. The Stone Tavern’s smell, the warmth, the conversations, and the faces of the old timers holding up the end of the bar were very much a part of home as the lake.
Brian poured Abby a mug of beer then refreshed his own. Abby needed to slip a second hand under the heavy glass mug when she took the handle so she could have a steady sip. Abby took a drink and let the foam momentarily sit in her mouth before swallowing. She truly enjoyed beer on the rare occasion. She preferred wine yet pitcher beer from the tap was an old indulgence from her childhood. The beer tasted delicious in the warm room.
“You came just in time,” said Caroline. “These fellas have been talking about the new snowmobiles outside since we got here.”
“Well a man has to have an appreciation of machinery,” Brian retorted.
“There was a new one?” asked Abby, her eyebrow lifted.
“Exactly,” said Caroline lifting her mug to toast her friend.
The discussion at the table stayed light as they drank their beer and joked with each other. There was a new project coming up that was still in the architectural stages. Abby enjoyed hearing Brian passionately explain archways and stairwells though most of the conversation was Greek to her. As she listened to the architect and the carpenter’s vision of the project to come, she noticed that both were wearing wool sweaters. She caught herself thinking how handsome Mitch looked in his. The sweater added to his musculature giving Mitch a statuesque quality that she had not seen in him before. Caroline touched her hand then winked when Abby glanced at her.
The Potter's Daughter (Literary Series) Page 3
