The Potter's Daughter (Literary Series) (4 page)

When Abby’s brother died, his jeep
flew off the road, hit a tree, and then smashed into the rocks at South
Point.
 
The accident report read
‘unsafe conditions’.

Will had used that term to shut
Abby down successfully.
 
She would
not be getting in the way of his good time.
 
He removed his coat and scarf then
handed them to Jenny, the neighbor girl Caroline had hired to help at the
party.
 
Then he entered the large
main room, peeked around, made smiles to familiar neighbors, and made comments
under his breath to Abby as to which smiling face was an idiot and which owed
him twenty dollars.
 
Will’s beige
wool sweater complimented his silver hair and contrasted his blue eyes in a way
that made them look brilliant.
 
Will
spotted the bar and walked there directly.
 
Abby did not follow him.

Abby picked up the white wine that
she had set on the maple side table then headed toward the kitchen at the other
end of the house.

Set out on the kitchen island was a
buffet.
 
There was a bright orange
ceramic plate with small chicken and egg meatballs covered in a ginger teriyaki
sauce.
 
A baby blue square ceramic
plate held enoki mushrooms wrapped in bacon.
 
There were many swiss, cheddar, and
havarti cheeses with thin herb flavored crackers next to sopressata sausages,
salami, tuna salad, potato salad, and a local favorite, cream cheese and green
onion wrapped in sliced ham.
 
Abby
picked up a small plate and fork and allowed herself to become distracted.

Especially enjoyable were the
meatballs, they were downright addictive.
 
Lightly grilled in the ginger teriyaki sauce they tasted like candy.

“They’re delicious right?” said
Mitch.
 
He had walked up to Abby
from the side and she had not seen him.
 
Abby cleared her throat with a drink of wine.

“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.”

* * *
* *

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 Mitch.
 
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.

* * *
* *

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.