The Artisans

by Julie Reece

  “Quit it.” Maggie shoves his formidable shoulder. “Don’t make her feel worse. What are her options?”

  When I returned from Gideon’s house to the shop, Ben was asleep on the storeroom floor. I woke him up, filled him in, and waited for a response. Lifting his head, he stared up at me for a minute. Then he drooled on himself before his eyes glazed over and he face-planted on his pillow. He’s been there ever since. Beat up and drying out, he needs the rest.

  I needed to talk to someone, and so despite Gideon’s warnings, I phoned the only two people in the world I trust. Both would endure being flayed alive before they’d tell anyone my secrets.

  Maggie faces me. “I’m sorry, Raven. I’d be scared to death if I had to live in that creepy old house with total strangers.”

  “Yeah, thanks for that.” My wry smile is meant to convey two things: I’ll face this decision better with my cynicism intact, and I know she loves me.

  Dane’s palm casually covers the spot where Maggie touched him. She’s five-foot-two and curvy. Okay, plump, but despite her lack of stature, the girl packs a wallop. Dane’s eyes harden, his jaw clenches. She’s killing him, has been since they met a year ago, and it’s a sweet, slow, torturous thing. He’d die for her and she has no idea, stupid girl. I can’t tell her either since he’s convinced her dad’s middle-class income makes her too good for him. That and he promises never to speak to me again if I do. The sad thing is he means it.

  “No, but really,” Maggie goes on, “Suppose Maddox sticks to his word? He’s greedy, but that doesn’t mean he’d hurt Raven. He said she could go to school, where she’ll be expected and seen every day. Ben gets the expensive counseling needed to get sober, and Rae gets experience designing for a huge corporation.”

  All the girl needs is a set of pom-poms. She’s delusional, but I love her. Maggie frowns when I pat her hand.

  “What? I’m serious.”

  Dane opens his mouth, but I cut him off. “I know you are, Mags.”

  She looks from me to Dane, as if convincing us is her life’s ambition. “All right, think of it like an internship you don’t get paid for. Maybe Rae’s name starts popping up in magazines or on runways. Once the year is over, Maddox might write her a recommendation, even give her some recognition. It might actually work out okay.”

  Dane stares at Mags, mouth agape. “Sure, if he doesn’t rape or kill her first. Maybe he’ll make her president of Maddox Enterprises. Even better, they’ll get married and have five kids. Are you insane?”

  I cringe, and Maggie’s hand shoots out. Her arm braces against my chest as though I’m a passenger in her car and she’s slamming on her brakes. “Shut up, Dane. I’m trying to be optimistic. It’s not like she has any choice.”

  She’s right about that.

  “I’m sorry,” Dane says, without an ounce of sincerity. “But I’ve done some checking, heard some creepy ass shit about that house—ghosts, disappearances, a drowning … ghosts. You want her to sleep there for a year?”

  “Still not helping.” I roll my eyes heavenward and silently ask for help.

  “Cut it out,” Maggie orders.

  “No. He’s stealing her designs, pure and simple,” Dane tosses his hands in the air. The movement highlights the intricate tattoos on his mahogany skin. “That rich asshole sees her talent. He’ll rob her blind, make millions off her skill, and she’ll get the shaft. Raven has to finish high school, leave Sales Hollow, and go to college.” He crosses his arms, like he’s some Persian King and his opinion makes a difference.

  Only Dane would put the words ‘Rae’ and ‘college’ in the same sentence. He ought to know better, but the kid never gives up on anyone but himself. The truth is my dreams for a solid future died with my mother. I just didn’t know it then.

  Sales Hollow High has a graduating class of one hundred students, the largest in years. Few will stay, though. They’ll go to college at UGA or ‘Bama, anywhere but here. Design school in New York? I wish. It’s out of reach even to dream about SCAD right here in Savannah. Bringing me again to my current, hopeless situation.

  Maggie’s cheeks flush. “What’s your solution, Dane? Put them on a bus? Where would they go, they’ve got no money.” Her short, blond bob bounces with her head shake. The single pink stripe in front swishes like a ribbon.

  “At least the bus is a chance. Look, I’m not trying to be a jerk, but Ben made his choices. How long does Rae have to keep paying for them?”

  Maggie tucks a lock of platinum hair behind her ear as she does whenever she’s frustrated, and with Dane, that’s pretty much all the time. “She’ll get there. She’s seventeen years old, for crying out loud. A lot could still happen to her. For her, I meant for her …” Maggie’s expression twists into an apologetic frown.

  My stomach lurches, inviting my breakfast to reappear. “No offense, but all this cheering up is making me ill.” I slide off the hood of Maggie’s car and head toward the shop’s front door. “I need to talk to Ben.” No use putting this off any longer. “I’ll see you guys later, okay? Since I only have a few days left of freedom, please don’t fight.”

  Dane and Maggie’s spines straighten. They send stiff smiles my way, and Dane raises a hand. I acknowledge the try, but as I head inside to find Ben, I hear their argument rekindling.

  The bell clangs as I push the door open. Edgar comes running like a dog, greeting me with his silly, high-pitched meow. I bend, lifting the oaf into my arms and yell, “Ben?”

  “Yep.” His voice travels from somewhere deeper in the store.

  When I glance in the storeroom, he’s sitting on his sleeping bag. The man from my childhood was kind, and strong, and handsome. Only a shadow of that man rests bruised and beaten before me. Left eye swollen shut, he peers at me with his right. His cheeks are sunken, skin sallow and paper-thin. Dark veins fork over his red, swollen nose.

  “You hungry?” I ask, noting the tremor in his hands. He shakes his head. With his injuries so severe, I’m guessing he drank what booze he had stashed at the shop and hasn’t been able to get out for more. I ease onto the floor across from him and adjust Edgar on my lap. “Decision time, Ben. We’ve got to choose what to do. I leave for Maddox’s place at the end of the week. What about you?”

  I love my stepfather, no question, but I ready myself for the lies I assume are coming. The excuses as to why he can’t go to rehab. Empty promises, the apologies, pleading, anger, defensiveness, and tears loom on the horizon of all our talks. My responses always follow. I apply a thick layer of guilt, manipulation, fear, exhaustion, resentment, and false hope that if we do the same things one more time—something will magically change. Ladies and gentlemen, please choose your partners. It’s time for the spotlight dance between alcoholic and enabler.

  Ben lifts his chin. “I’m going to Maddox.”

  I stiffen. His response is a dance step I don’t know. “He’ll hurt you, Ben, maybe worse.”

  “So, I should let you take that risk?” I open my mouth, but Ben raises a quaking palm effectively silencing me. “Hear me out, okay?” I nod, unwilling to entertain any idea having to do with him meeting Maddox. “I’m not a young man, anymore. When your mother died, anything good inside me did, too. For her sake, I deluded myself into thinking I’d stay, take care of you, but it’s all been a lie.” He runs his hands through his greasy hair and squeezes. “I failed you, and I failed her, and the more I fail the more I drink.” He lifts his head, his hands dropping to his lap. “You’re better off without me.”

  “No.” Even if it was true, what he’s missing is the hope that he and I could still be a normal father and daughter. This is our chance.

  “Let me do this,” he says. “For once in my life let me do the honorable thing. Let me go to be at peace, to rest with your mama. It’s what I want.”

  Anger boils in my gut like a pot on the stove. “What you want?” I bite my lip to curb my tongue and choose my words carefully. “You want to talk about
honor? Doing the right thing? What is that exactly, Ben, and right for who?” The roil of bubbling fury in my stomach simmers barely below the surface. “If you want to be a hero, then make your decision based on me this time. What I want, because it’s always been about you, hasn’t it?”

  He winces, but I’m just getting started. “Did it ever occur to you that just because I can survive and feed myself doesn’t mean that I want to? I don’t enjoy being alone, Ben. I’ve had enough of that. You’re the family I have left and the only link to my mother. Your memories of her are precious to me. I remember our life in the before, when you were my Poppa.” I don’t know what causes me to use the old title. Perhaps on principle because I haven’t called him that in years. “You matter to me! Don’t you understand?” Tears slip down my face. Old wounds reopen as I try and explain what he means to me. Exasperation swamps my lungs, and I heave a breath.

  “I’m sorry.”

  My shoulders slump. “Don’t be sorry. Be brave. Go to rehab.” My eyes implore him to simply try.

  “What if rehab don’t work?”

  My mind screams, but I fight to keep my voice steady. “One of two things will happen to us now, Ben. If Maddox is full of shit, we both die. You said yourself that’s what you want anyway, but if you’re getting help at a rehab that we could never afford otherwise, it’s worth the risk to me.” I lean against the stock shelf behind me with a long sigh. “Truthfully, the reason I’m going is because I honestly believe Maddox wants my designs to rejuvenate his clothing business, and not my life. I really do. I have something he wants, and that’s why he won’t hurt me.”

  My stepfather rubs his hand over the sprouting silver whiskers on his chin.

  I have no idea if my theory about Gideon is right, but I have to convince Ben. It’s my best attempt at bluffing, and I learned from a pro. “And here’s the million dollar question, Pops. What if rehab does work?”

  He glances at me and shrugs. A tentative smile pulls at his lips while tears still shimmer on his lashes. “It’s a gamble.”

  “I’m willing to bet on you.”

  “Always did like the long odds.”

  “A hundred to one, but think of the payout.” I’m done coaxing. The cheese factor is climbing, and I’m running out of gambling euphemisms. “What’ll it be, Pops?” He’s squirming, rubbing his gnarled hands together. I can almost see the gears in his head turning. Thinking, scamming, plotting a way out; he’s searching for another option. One that will bring his next drink, his next fix, but we both know that isn’t going to work. Not this time.

  “What the hell.” He finally says, “I’ll go.”

  Chapter Four

  A heartbeat later and the week is gone. The night’s sky is inky and calm. It’s as if someone drew a black sheet between the earth and sun, then poked holes in the fabric with a pin to let dots of light shine through.

  All I have in the world fits inside two duffle bags. They sit like a bad omen on the backseat of my car. Earlier, I refused Dane and Maggie’s offer to come with me, but promised I’d call tonight once I’m situated. I’ll keep that promise, if only to keep Dane from showing up and tearing the front door off its hinges to check on me.

  At eleven thirty today, a stretch limo pulled up to our little storefront and collected Ben. Swallowed up behind a big, black door of opulence, he’s heading to Belle Meade, a rehab center in Savannah, forty-seven miles away. What will come of all this I can’t say, but a tiny wing-beat of hope flutters in my chest.

  “Might as well get this over with, old man,” I say to Edgar, as I heft the strap of his carrier over my right shoulder. My purse and two duffle bag straps hang at awkward angles over my other arm as I make my way to the front door. Heavier than anticipated, the weight of my luggage affects my balance. Good thing I’m in my black, military boots. I waddle to the front stoop and drop all but Edgar in a heap at my feet.

  The door swings open while my finger is poised at the bell. A stout woman in a conservative blue dress greets me. “Mercy me, child. Why didn’t you ring for help?” Her cheeks are bright pink. Scratch that, her whole face is pink, arms too, like she’s allergic to air. She’s huffing and puffing as though she ran to the door, and her eyes match the color of her dress. “I’d have sent Mr. Jamis down to fetch your bags straightaway. We’re all so excited you’ve come to stay.”

  Yeah, I’ll bet, though her smile is genuine enough. “It’s no bother,” I say. “I’ve got it.” Perhaps I will have one ally here, after all.

  “Miss Weathersby, I presume. So nice to meet you, my girl, I’m Jenny. And who’s this little nugget?” She squeaks, bending to peer inside the pet carrier. “Oh, well I never. What a little lamb you are. Hello, pussycat.”

  Never mind she just referred to Edgar as a lamb, she’s nice to my cat. It’s official. I like her. She motions me inside with instructions to bring Edgar and leave my bags. I obey. My heart pounds as I step through the doorway. Dark, hollow, the foyer swallows us like a great throat. The place seems different somehow, now that I’m to stay instead of confronting Gideon and leaving like the last time.

  “This way, dearie,” Jenny says. “You have quite a walk, but I dare say you will manage the distance far better than I will.” I follow her plump form up the creepy stairs I viewed during my first visit, to the smaller, creepier stairway veering to the right. “You’re on the third floor.”

  My brow creases with my confusion. “Up there? But I thought—”

  “What? That you’d sleep in the servants’ quarters with ‘ole Jamis and me downstairs?” Not exactly, I’m thinking more like a damp basement or freezing dungeon. “Master Maddox gave detailed instructions concerning you. Your rooms, work area, and study are all together in the eastern part of the house. No one will bother you there.”

  I’m not worried. Okay I am, but presently, I’m more curious. My status is prisoner. I don’t care what other name Gideon is claiming to hide his indecent proposal under. We pass no one on our way. I’m wondering where everyone else is in this enormous house, and I say as much.

  “Oh, there’s no one else stays here but me and Mr. Jamis, now. There was a time, of course, before the Master passed away … Well, never mind about that. Mr. Maddox keeps to the west wing for the most part. You’ll not be going over there, mind you. Don’t forget. And the cellar, under no circumstances should you go into the cellar, nor the attic. If you need anything ask me.”

  She peers over her shoulder, searching my face for a response, I guess, so I nod. The last place I want to be is near Gideon or in some dreary cellar. Hell, I didn’t even know anyone had a cellar in the lowlands. Any basement would be underwater, wouldn’t it?

  My breathing increases with my steps. The panting coming from Jenny up ahead reminds me of a freight train. How she goes up and down these stairs every day without keeling over, I don’t know. Maybe she doesn’t.

  The older woman turns lights on as we pass. The elegant furniture lining the hallway is covered in dust, and cobwebs connect the arms of crystal chandeliers dangling from molded ceilings above.

  I glance at huge black and white photos in walnut frames. People I assume are ancestors of the Maddox family adorn the walls. They’re placed intermittently between various oil paintings and gilded mirrors. In one, an older gentleman stands in the yard outside next to a big white horse, in another a middle-aged man poses with his gun and black and white hound.

  As I pass one of a young boy with dark hair, his handsome face engages my imagination. Who were you? I wonder. Something about the image gives me an eerie feeling. Big and sorrowful, his life-like eyes seem to follow me. In most of the old photos I’ve seen, the subjects look stern or bored, but most of these people appear startled, even shocked. Edgar’s meow is deep and guttural, setting me more on edge. Oh yeah, we’ll sleep like babies in this museum of nasty curiosities.

  At the end of one hallway, I stop dead. This frame is larger than the others. The woman in the photo is youn
g and very beautiful with curling hair, a full mouth, and large, expressive eyes. Though the picture is done in black and white, her chenille halter dress is modern, chic—and looks expensive.

  “Ah me,” says Jenny. “Did I lose you, dearie?”

  I glance up. “I’m sorry. A lot to take in, I guess.”

  “Of course, I understand. There will be plenty of time for that later.” She follows my line of sight back up to the photograph. “Mrs. Maddox, before she left us.”

  “Gideon,” I clear my throat, “Mr. Maddox was married?” I thought him way too young, but who knows with these freaky people.

  She purses her lips. “I’m referring to Mr. Maddox senior, Nathan. The woman in the picture was my mistress, his second wife, Desiree.” Her eyes narrow and her lips pull back in a sneer. The idea the housekeeper didn’t care for her former mistress seems an understatement.

  Mistress? I can’t believe she just said the word mistress. Good Lord, I’m stuck in an episode of Downton Abby. Though more sophisticated, Desiree doesn’t appear a whole lot older than me.

  “Mr. Maddox was a hard man, but we all grieve his passing. Oh, but pardon me, it’s wrong to speak so of the dead. You’ll forgive the musings of an old woman.”

  “Mr. Maddox is dead, too?” When Gideon said he ‘ran things,’ I should have put it together. No wonder he thinks it’s no big deal that I move in here with him. No daddy around to monkey with his decisions.

  “To be sure, miss. Gone four years last August, and broke his son’s heart, poor lad. Shall we press on? There’s much to do before dinner.”

  “Yeah, sorry. I got distracted, I guess.” Why hadn’t his father’s obituary shown up on my Google search? Dane hadn’t mentioned it. Maybe he didn’t know. So, Gideon is an orphan, like me. Well, sort of. I do have Ben. What would Gideon have done to Ben had he come for the meeting instead of me? How can someone as young as Gideon already be so ruthless, so full of hate? The housekeeper’s description of ‘poor lad’ confused me. It hardly fit with my opinion.