Yesterday Mitch excited Abby. How could she not be attracted to someone that spontaneously performed a song in her honor? She certainly felt physically attracted to him at the bar although that might have been the beer. Abby feared today may be different.
When Abby stepped through the door Mitch greeted her by yelling across the house.
“Hey there Abby!”
“Hey Mitch!”
“We’re up front. Watch your step coming out of the mudroom and across the kitchen, and head into the sitting room!”
Bright lights bounced off fresh white paint in every room Abby walked through. The sitting room was a large room facing the lake with a large angled fireplace on the corner of the outer wall. A chandelier cast out yellow light onto the walnut floor and left a dim shadow in the fireplace. Abby decided that the chandelier was faux crystal because there was far too much to be real. From the sitting room, Abby could see Mitch’s reflection in the next room from a dimly mirrored set of shelves behind a bar. Mitch was standing in front of the bar talking to one of the carpenters. He looked stunning to her. Abby’s heart beat noticeably faster. She felt a definite attraction today.
From where Abby, stood she could see the lake vista. Newly seated bay windows faced north and east. Through the north window Abby could see the cerulean midday sky blanketing the horizon. The eastern window overlooked the terrace and the glassed-in porch.
Abby gestured toward the outside terrace, “Can I go out there?”
“Sure. Just a second though, it might be better if I come out with you. It’s a bit rickety in spots.”
Mitch finished his conversation with the carpenter then joined Abby.
The two went out on the porch and then out the door to the wooden deck terrace.
“It seems solid enough,” said Abby.
“For the most part. I wouldn’t trust these old wooden steps though. Most of them are rotten. They’ll be replaced this summer after the new gas lines are run for the pool.”
“Pool?”
“An infinity pool. Right here under the terrace,” said Mitch.
“And overlooking all of that,” said Abby. Abby rested her eyes closed then inhaled deeply taking in the brisk air and the whole of the lake and countryside. She opened her eyes and relaxed her shoulders, “Not a bad day at the office.”
“Except for the ice road across the lake,” said Mitch, “It looks pretty much the same as it did a hundred years ago.”
The ice road ran from the IGA in the village to the South Point Inn on the other side of Willow Lake cutting the distance and time off the trip from one side of the lake to the other December through March. The ice road was the road that fisherman used to get to their ice shanties in the center of the lake and snowmobile enthusiasts made part of their route when riding the trails. The ice road also created a direct route of travel to the ski lodge on Mount Frisia. Abby did not like the ice road much and could not wait to get from one end to the other when she needed to travel across the lake because the thought of driving over the ice in something as heavy as a vehicle always churned her stomach.
A slight wind chilled the terrace. “That’s from the lake,” said Mitch. “Let’s go back inside. I’ll give you the grand tour.”
The two went back into the house that now seemed far warmer than when the two had stepped outside.
“So who is paying for all of this?” asked Abby.
“An investment group from the city hopes that the place will become a premier spa, bed and breakfast sort of thing.”
“Ah, how nice.”
Mitch showed Abby the rooms on the main floor she had missed coming in. Then he took her upstairs and showed her the bedrooms to be decorated in contemporary style, each of course with a separate bath. Three tradesmen were at different phases of construction as Abby walked through the upstairs rooms. A lot of the interior was complete still Abby could see there was trim work, painting, and stucco yet to be done.
The third floor consisted of luxury spa suites overlooking the lake. These two and three bedroom suites were larger than Abby’s fourth floor city apartment and loaded with amenities. In the middle of the grey marble bathrooms were stone hot tubs and glassed-in showers that had water jets floor to ceiling in every corner. The views were better in the luxury suites then two floors below. On the horizon to the north, Abby could see Fremont and to the east, she could see skiers on lift to the top of Mount Frisia, the large hill at the lakes southeast corner.
“You know these will fill up,” said Abby.
“You still haven’t seen my pet project,” said Mitch.
* * * * *
Chapter 14
Mitch led Abby back to the main floor library then through a sheet-curtained door that led into a large room built on to the side of the house. If Abby had closed her eyes, she would have thought she walked into the center of a pine grove. The large room was entirely pine paneled except for one wall that had a very large velvet curtain. Three rows of large cushion armchairs filled the room. The trim across the top, bottom, and sides of the wood panels was embedded with the details of routed design work, and seated within the center of the wall panels were custom sound cushions.
“This theater has been my pet project,” said Mitch.
“It’s amazing,” said Abby. “How much of it did you do?”
“Practically all of it, except of course the curtains, chairs and movie equipment.”
“Did you design this?”
“Not exactly,” said Mitch, “ I kinda played it by ear – like jazz, ya know?”
“Whadda ya mean jazz?”
“You know,” said Mitch, “ I had to build this theater so I picked a place outside the library in the fall when I could still get a good foundation down. Once I had the foundation I had the bass line.” He slowly drew a horizontal line through the air to illustrate his point. “I already knew the melody in as much as a theme. I mean the room was to be a theater. The movie equipment had a set of requirements. The rest I just made up as I went a long – like making up notes.” Mitch made a rapid conducting motion, “Like jazz, I filled in the spaces in between the bars.”
“Heavy,” said Abby.
Mitch took Abby’s hand, eased her down into a cushion chair next to him, and in his Bogart voice said, “The stuff dreams are made of.”
Abby and Mitch took in the room.
“That’s a great perspective,” said Abby. “I’ve never seen a theater like this before. Pine paneled.”
“I like tackling work like this, creativity in limits, your cousins make good partners.”
“I can see why they like working with you,” said Abby. She inspected the pine details. “How did you get the detailing so ornate?”
“Having Brian show me Roman and Greek reliefs until my eyes popped out and then a lot of hours practicing with the router. I enjoy the way the wood smells when you work with it, how the process relaxes the mind. It’s Zen like I think.”
“I can appreciate that,” said Abby, “ sometimes I get so caught up in my work it gets to the point where it takes over everything else.”
“That’s not exactly what I mean,” said Mitch. “ I don’t think about it that way. Getting caught up in something that takes over.”
“Well,” said Abby, “my work can be an escape from the world around me. The city isn’t like out here, you have to find a place to hide from it sometimes. It can suck you in and thrash you. You have to work to keep yourself sane. Isn’t that what you mean?”
“I don’t know if I am trying to hide from the world. I want to be part of my work, what I’m doing, not a slave to it,” said Mitch.
“What’s the difference if you enjoy what you’re doing?” asked Abby.
“I dunno, but I think you got something there,” said Mitch. “I don’t suppose you want any tea.”
Abby did want a cup of tea and was pleased that Mitch remembered.
When they exited the theater to the library Mitch gestured for Abby to step to the left
.
“I forgot to show you the guest entrance,” said Mitch.
They went through the foyer to the porch and looked out the window to the circular end of the drive.
“Step out the door and look to the side,” said Mitch.
Abby did and saw on either side of the double oak doors two four-foot high, three-foot circular urns with embossed ivy decoration.
“I think they’re Bellen’s,” said Mitch.
“They seem to be close, but I have never seen this design before. I wish we could see the mark on the bottom.”
“Unfortunately they weigh half a ton. We’re going to move them inside later, we’ll take a look then.”
“I can’t wait to see,” said Abby. Mitch and Abby went back inside.
They went to the kitchen where Mitch filled an electric kettle with water and then put the plug into a wall socket next to the stainless steel stove. From his lunch pail, Mitch produced milk from a short blue thermos and even some honey.
“You were pretty sure I was going to stop by,” said Abby.
“Not in the least.”
“I hope you aren’t trying to impress me.”
“Well, yea.”
“Good job then.”
Mitch put out two ceramic mugs and a box of Earl Grey. “So you must think of Willow Lake pretty nostalgically. I mean you grew up here and everything but it has to be pretty far removed from where you are.”
“It’s removed alright.”
“How are things in the city?”
“Things are fine, the job is good,” said Abby. “It’s not here.”
Mitch raised his brow. “This back-water you mean?”
“Yea, that’s what I mean,” said Abby. “No of course that’s not what I mean. I mean it isn’t here. Simply that. Here everybody knows you. You’re not from here, I am. Everybody knows my business, my past. There, I blend. I get to choose who I want to be, how I want to be. I don’t get that here.”
“So you don’t like the ‘every body knows your name’ thing, eh?” asked Mitch.
“It’s not that in so many words.”
“What do you mean? I kinda like it.” Mitch leaned his back against the counter picked up a spoon and began to stroke the end.
“It’s just that here I am ‘Will Bellen’s’ little girl, and there, I’m ‘Abby Bellen woman-of-the-world’.”
“I thought Caroline said that you girls had a great time growing up.”
“We did, it was great, and I wouldn’t trade it. But I had to get out of here. I mean after,” Abby hesitated, “after my mom died, and then after high school. I had to get out of here.”
“Your Mom, right, sorry. Caroline told me about her, said she was some kind of firecracker artist. Caroline said she was an inspiration.”
“Yea she was all of that all right.”
“That had to be rough dealing with the cancer, being a teenager, losing your mom. Good thing you had this whole community to support you.”
“To support me, to remind me everyday, to treat me like I was broken. That’s exactly why I had to get out of here.”
“You still won’t catch me in the city, but I think I get it.”
“What do you get?”
“I get the ‘where nobody knows your name’ syndrome, I guess it works for everybody that moves around. Nobody knows you so you can invent yourself.” Mitch turned and placed the spoon he had been fiddling with into a mug and unplugged the electric pitcher that had already heated the water to a boil. “Here you felt you were ‘Will Bellen’s daughter’,” said Mitch, “ there you invented Abby Bellen, the great curator.”
“And you Mitch Carlson, you’re not from here, who were you before you reinvented yourself?”
Abby opened the Earl Grey.
“No great mystery Abby,” said Mitch taking a tea bag from Abby. “I was a coffee drinker.”
* * * * *
Chapter 15
Will went into the house to get more coffee. The coffee can Will kept by the automatic drip in the studio was empty. He opened the yellow cupboard above the counter and pulled down the can kept there only to find few grounds inside. “How long since we had coffee in the house?” he thought. Shuffling further behind the sugar packets and cubes, the pink and yellow sweeteners, and the honey, produced no coffee. Will pulled out three boxes of tea instead. Holding two boxes in one hand and the other at arms length he tilted his head back to read the label. This did not satisfy Will so he reached into his pocket and put on his wire frame glasses for another look.
“Ok then,” mumbled Will, “herbal assorted mint, raspberry… no.” Will set the box on the counter and inspected the next. “Bergamot. Ughh.” Will set down the Earl Grey and turned to the last box that read ‘Black Breakfast Tea’. Will smirked and nodded his head. He tapped the box on his palm and scanned the kitchen.
The kettle was on the back of the counter. Will grinned, set the box of black tea down by the stove, and then filled the kettle with water from the tap. He put the kettle on the stove and then sat down at the table to wait. From the driveway came the sound of the pickup. Abby walked into the kitchen to see her father sitting peacefully watching the stove in anticipation. Abby stood for a moment contemplating whether to leave him for a while or to get the conversation over with that she had been dreading.
“Hey there, what are you doing?” asked Abby.
“ I, am having, a cup of tea,” said Will, as if he had been planning a cup of tea all morning.
“Mind if I join you?” asked Abby. She removed her coat.
“Please do, please do,” said Will graciously. “I heard the old truck pull in. I hope it ran all right for you.”
Abby hung her coat on a hook next to the door, “Yea it was fine, thanks.”
Will brought his elbows to the table, clasped his hands, and then began tapping the ends of his fingers together. “Hey, Abby, about the Stone Bar --.”
Abby interrupted, “That…”
Will now regretted mentioning the bar. He had not even had a cup of tea yet.
“I’m sorry,” said Abby.
Will did not miss this window. “You’re sorry,” he opened his hands to her, “no I’m sorry honey. I forget myself sometimes.”
“It’s ok,” Abby turned away from Will and walked over to the open tea cupboard.
“I forget myself too,” said Abby.
Abby saw the empty can of coffee and understood Will’s sudden inclination for tea.
“You wanted a black tea?” asked Abby.
“Yea, the ‘Black Breakfast Tea’, that’s the one I like,” said Will.
Abby took out the honey and two tea bags, one Earl Grey and one black tea, and placed them into two cups. She then put the rest of the tea back into the cupboard and closed the door.
Abby realized that Will had not had an afternoon caffeine fix and decided she should ease off, or at least be subtle. She was right to think both were relieved to put yesterday’s incident behind them. Still Abby’s back was to Will as she straightened the counter and sorted his dishes from lunch.
Will dropped one hand onto his knee, put his back to the wall, and began tapping the table with the other as he watched Abby straighten the counter.
“So what did you think of that big old monstrosity up the hill?” asked Will.
“You should see the place. Brian and Caroline really know a thing or two and Mitch is doing a great job. I think it’s going to be a real nice resort. It’ll stir up a lot of business for the village and lodge.”
“Can’t say we don’t need it, lodge almost went under again last year, new owners bailed, sold quick. That house is still going to be an eye sore though. I grew up with that thing looming over the lake, been empty most of my life, half my fathers too. Gives me the creeps,” said Will, he shook his jowls, “Ahuhuhuh.”
“Well, it’s not going to be empty any more,” said Abby.
“Still gives me the creeps.”
“There were some old urns up there,”
said Abby, “a lot like ours but different somehow, nothing I’ve ever seen you make or in the scrapbooks.”
“They’re ours all right. Your great grandfather made them custom. Thick as hell so he could carve down the ivy.”
“I’ll have to tell Mitch he was right.”
“That’s how we ended up out here you know.”
“I thought we were on the lake further back than that.”
“The property was in the family further back but we didn’t start hauling urns out of here until your great-grandfather built the studio and wood kiln to make those urns in particular. His pottery studio had been in Fremont. This isn’t the Bellen’s first,” said Will. “Built the business selling to all the rich people on the hill here, and in the city, then other cities, and so on, and so on.”
The flames licked the bottom of the kettle which started whistling at first a low pitch and then higher. Abby pulled the kettle off the burner and poured hot water into the two waiting cups to steep the tea.
“So those were the first urns?” asked Abby.
“Oh no. He made urns back in Fremont, that’s how he got the commission,” said Will, “but it was a small part of his business. He made a lot of salad bowls and cups, practical things people could use. My Dad said he had a good contract making clay insulators when they ran the first electric from the dam through Fremont, less then a penny a piece, but a fair amount of money at that time. But the lake business changed everything.”
Abby faced Will, “I never knew.”
“Yea, well, I guess I told your brother.”
Abby turned her back to Will again and prodded the tea bags. Michael had been the protégé, the obligatory male apprentice in the Bellen line of clay artisans that went back farther than Will’s grandfather, all the way back to northern Italy as far as she knew, and Will would be the last in the tradition. That was made clear to Abby when Will stood above Michaels casket.
The Potter's Daughter (Literary Series) Page 6
