Read Online The Artisans by Julie Reece - Free Book Online Page B

warns. “It’s an ancient building, dangerous, and there’s black mud around the pond that’ll suck you down and bury you alive.” I think she’s exaggerating until she adds, “Lost a lawn care worker back there two years ago. Shame, he was only twenty-six.”
    Whoa. Millpond. Bad news. Got it. “I’ll only be gone an hour or two,” I assure her. “I need to clear my head.”
    “Then a walk’s the best thing for you, poor dear. Wait a minute …” She rushes to the double stove and back, clucking her tongue like a chicken. “Here, take these with you.” She deposits two warm sugar cookies in my hand. Without another word, she scoots me out the back, letting the screen door slam shut as though I’m a cat put out for the night. I can’t help my smile. I think the old girl likes fussing over me, and I can’t pretend I don’t enjoy the attention.
    I wander the grounds, eating my cookies and letting the soft breeze caress my skin. The air smells salty, and I know the river isn’t far off. A crow on the branch of a tree is joined by several more. A rhyme from my childhood comes to mind.
    One for sorrow
    Two for mirth
    Three for a funeral
    Four for a birth
    Five for heaven
    Six for hell
    Seven’s the devil his own self …
    That’s all I remember. I always get stuck after the seventh crow.
    Under the oak, a wooden swing hangs from a massive tree branch, and I can’t resist. When I plop my butt on the wide seat, my hands wrap the thick ropes on either side. I rear back and pump with my legs. My mom was with me the last time I did this. A lump forms in my throat.
    Her memory is worn and fading, but I can still picture her in my mind, her dark curling hair falling over her shoulder as she taught me to thread a needle, or the way she bit her lip in concentration piecing a pattern together. Mom took me with her shopping. We scoured antique stores for vintage fabrics. Thrift stores and flea markets provided the occasional treasure, as well.
    I smile remembering her frustration while at the sewing machine. She wasn’t a very good seamstress, never able to accurately produce the visions she dreamed in her mind, but she knew about quality and craftsmanship. Mom said I got my talent from my father, a tailor who worked for my mother’s parents in their shop and died in a car accident before I was born.
    Then in walks Mr. Weathersby, an apprentice her folks hired out of necessity after my dad passed away. He fell for mom instantly, never mind she carried another man’s child. Me. Ben didn’t care. A smile tugged at mother’s full mouth as she explained her feelings for him came a bit slower. Married young, I think she must have loved my dad a whole lot, and didn’t want to let go. With her pregnancy advancing and few prospects, mom was continuously thrown in the path of their handsome new employee. Ben was more than willing to fill in as husband and father, and his patience paid off when she finally said yes.
    I never knew any father but Ben. He was kind and gentle and we were happy, until we weren’t.
    All the romantic movies in the world won’t convince me to commit to any one person. I wanted to, once, back in middle school. Then I got smart. Sure mom cared about Ben, but I don’t think he ever took the place of my dad in her heart. That had to hurt. I saw what love did to Ben after she got sick and died. I know what love did to me as I watched my stepfather slowly pickle himself to join her. The agony Dane goes through believing Maggie is too good for him, suffering through her indifference. No thanks.
    Suddenly angry, I leap from the swing and land in the soft grass with a thud. I’m marching through the trees but with no idea where I’m headed. There’s nowhere to go. A pretty jail is still a jail. I’ve been imprisoned in one form or another for a long time with no end in sight. I could let that break me. It might be easier to quit. But that’s what Ben did, so instead I let the anger fuel my resolve.