Читать книгу A Ring and a Promise - Lois Richer - Страница 11

Monday mornings were always hectic.

Today leaned more toward crazy.

Anticipating the furor, Abby had arrived early. She filed her approved sketch for a newly commissioned diamond engagement ring, made changes another customer had requested on an anniversary ring and released the delicate tiara she’d created for a local fashion show.

Then she allowed herself a coffee break and a few moments to study the ring she wanted to send in for her contest entry. It was almost ready. A tweak or two and—

A child’s wail erupted from the front of the store. Assuming it was Brett or Brady, both of whom knew exactly how to create disaster at Weddings by Woodwards, Abby hurried toward the sound. She found Donovan kneeling in front of Ariane, his face taut with worry.

“It’s okay, Ari. Just tell me what’s wrong? Are you sick?”

One negative head jerk.

“Is it your clothes? But this is the school’s uniform.”

Ariane wailed a little more. Only it wasn’t really a wail. More like a soft, mewling cry.

“Honey, if you’ll just tell me what’s wrong, I’ll fix it. Do your shoes hurt?” Another shake of that dark glossy head left Donovan looking completely mystified and adorably uncertain.

Although she longed to ignore them both, Abby had to help.

“Hello, Ariane. Donovan. Can I help?”

“I don’t think so, thanks, Abby. Something’s wrong, but—” He stopped as Ariane walked over and threaded her hand into Abby’s. “Oh.”

“I have some drawing crayons in my office,” Abby mused. “Why don’t you come and draw me a picture while we figure out what’s got you so upset?”

Ariane nodded and after a reproachful look at Donovan, walked beside Abby to her office. Seated in a chair, she waited until Abby handed her crayons and some paper. Then her eyes moved to Abby’s ring for the contest. She poked at it curiously, picked it up and slid it on her finger.

Donovan stepped forward as if to stop her, but Abby rested a hand on his arm.

“Wait,” she murmured.

Ariane studied the ring for several moments. Then she put it back and began drawing a representation of it but with added swirls that resembled a flower circling the stone. It took Abby several moments to recognize a gardenia—Winifred’s favorite flower. Did the girl know Art had commissioned the ring for Winifred?

Ariane held up the paper for her to see.

“It’s lovely. May I use it in my design?”

Ariane nodded.

“Good. Now, tell me what’s wrong.” Judging by Ariane’s frown, this was touchy territory. Abby got the ball rolling. “Today’s your first day of school, isn’t it?”

The little girl nodded while big tears dripped down her cheeks.

“But that’s not a sad time. School is fun. You’ll see.” Abby hunched down beside her. “There are lots of books. Do you know how to read?”

Ariane nodded, sniffed.

“She loves stories,” Donovan added.

“And there’s playtime. And craft time. You’ll be good at that.” She touched the girl’s cheek, dabbed at her tears. “You’ll learn lots and lots of new fun things. I did.”

Ariane grabbed another paper. Did you wear a uniform? she printed in a childish scrawl.

“Yes. So did Donovan.”

Ariane tilted her head to see if it was true.

“Abby’s was always clean. Mine got a little dingy.” His funny face made Ariane giggle.

“I suspect you’ll be very popular at school, Ariane. Just like Donovan was.”

“Abby always got the best marks. She beat me in spelling. But I beat her in baseball.” Donovan winked at Ariane who glanced from him to Abby, her confusion evident.

“We got to be friends. When you go to school, you’ll find a friend, too. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Ariane’s bottom lip thrust out. Abby glanced at Donovan. But he was clearly confused by the girl’s distress and couldn’t help. Abby tried again.

“Wouldn’t you like to go just to see who’s there?” She crossed her fingers.

Ariane shook her head.

“But how can you know what might happen if you never try something?” Abby wasn’t sure how to approach this. Being an only child didn’t offer a lot of knowledge about kids.

“Keep going,” Donovan urged.

Abby shot him a glare. As if she didn’t have enough to do. But suddenly she had an idea.

“Do you like ice cream, Ariane?”

Ariane nodded eagerly.

“You had to eat an ice-cream cone first to know you liked it, right? It’s the same with school,” Abby said.

Ariane’s glowering glare said she wasn’t buying Abby’s train of thought.

Abby looked to Donovan for help. Worry colored his eyes and spread fine lines over his forehead. He would be no help.

“What flavors of ice cream do you like?”

Ariane drew a cone with ice cream with brown dots.

“Chocolate chip?” Abby grinned when the child nodded. “What other kinds?”

Ariane frowned, poked at the cone she’d drawn.

“Yeah, I know. But there are lots more ice-cream flavors than that. I often try a new one, just in case I might find something better than butter pecan. It’s my favorite.” Abby picked up a crayon and drew a cone with a pink top. “Strawberry. Peach. Fudge, they’re all pretty good, but butter pecan is the best. Do you like these flavors?”

Ariane pointed to the fudge and the strawberry.

“You don’t like peach?”

Ariane’s shrug said she’d never tried it.

“I like peach. And pistachio. That’s my favorite.” Donovan was getting into the game. “Do you like pistachio, Ari?”

She frowned, thought about it then half shook her head no.

“How do you know?” Abby asked. “Did you try some?”

The little girl crossed her arms across her thin chest, leaned back and glared at them both. She wasn’t going to be easily persuaded. Abby didn’t want to alienate her, but she had to emphasize what she might miss, so she pressed on.

“I know two boys, your cousins, who love bubblegum ice cream. Lots of kids do. You probably would, too,” Abby mused, “if you tried some. Just as you’d like school, if you tried it.”

The dark head gave a very emphatic negative shake.

“Really? You’re sure about that?”

Ariane wasn’t backing down.

“You’re positive? You won’t change your mind and love it later?”

Ariane’s head moved from side to side as her jaw tightened.

“I don’t think that’s true. I think you’re afraid.”

Donovan caught his breath and shifted, but Abby stepped sideways so Ariane couldn’t see him. She kept speaking.

“I think you’re terrified, Ariane. And I don’t like that. You know why?” She waited a moment. “Because being afraid isn’t a good enough reason to miss out on stuff. So here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to dare you to go to your first day of school. I’m going to double dare you to go and meet the other kids and the teachers and go to all the classes. What do you think of that?”

It was a gamble that the child would understand the concept of a dare, but it paid off. Clearly Ariane got it. She glared at Abby, but her face showed she was listening. Abby crouched down in front of her and took one hand, folding it into her own.

“I can’t imagine someone who comes to Denver all the way from Paris can possibly be afraid of school. You have schools in Paris, don’t you?”

Ariane nodded.

“And I bet some kids wear uniforms to them, too, don’t they?”

Another nod.

“In fact, you’re pretty experienced and school isn’t such a big deal for you at all.” Abby let the words drop away in the room’s silence watching as Ariane’s shoulders lifted in growing confidence.

Her big brown eyes studied Abby for several moments more. Finally, Ariane pulled her hand from Abby’s, walked over to Donovan and put her tiny hand in his.

“So you’re taking my dare?” Abby kept her face impassive as Ariane nodded. “Okay. So if you’re wrong and you do like school, I win a huge ice cream cone. Butter pecan. And you have to buy it, right?”

Ariane glanced at Donovan and rolled her eyes as if to say “Adults are so lame.”

“Yep, that’s the deal.” Donovan winked at Ariane.

“And if I’m wrong and Ariane doesn’t like the school, I’ll have to buy her a different flavored ice-cream cone for the next four Saturdays. Agreed?”

Donovan nodded, but Ariane’s confidence was clearly wobbling.

Abby faked a frown.

“You know, just to make sure you two don’t try and pull one over on me and pretend you win, I think I better go along and see for myself. Buying so many ice creams could be costly and I don’t want to work any more overtime.”

“Abby, that isn’t necess—”

Ariane grabbed her backpack. The thunderclouds dissipated from her face.

“I don’t believe this.” Donovan shook his head. “Now you’re ready to go?”

She nodded, grinned.

“Never turn down a dare, huh?”

She scribbled I like choc’lat ice cream.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” He sighed, shook his head. “If you’re sure you can spare the time, Abby, let’s go. School starts soon.”

No backing out now. Abby grabbed her purse and followed them after locking her office door. On the ride to the school, she told silly jokes she’d overheard Brett and Brady regale their sister Emily with. That seemed to help Ariane forget the miles for a time.

She glowered when they pulled into the parking lot, but with one little hand firmly embedded in Donovan’s and one in Abby’s, she climbed the stairs, determination written all over her face.

The teacher had been well apprised of Ariane’s situation and used a creative and unusual way to involve the little girl in the class activities. So engrossed did Ariane become that half an hour later, when Donovan tapped her on the shoulder to tell her he’d see her later, she simply fluttered her fingers and went back to work assembling the puzzle she’d been given, although she did spare a big smile for Abby.

“You owe me a double butter pecan.” Abby brushed a hand against the glossy dark hair, then followed Donovan from the room and to the car.

“That went well. Where did you learn to deal with little girls?” he asked as he pulled out of the parking lot. He made it sound as if she inhabited Mars where children weren’t allowed.

“I was one, remember?” Abby frowned. “I had second thoughts about the first day of school, too.”

“What did your parents do to reassure you?”

“Told me about all the lovely science courses I could take.” She deadpanned a look at him. “I chose the painting corner.”

“Were you good at painting?”

“Better at getting paint all over myself. Not a good thing.”

He chuckled at the image she’d created. Silence stretched until her nerves screamed a protest. She had to break it.

“How’s your work going?”

“It’s different than I expected.” Donovan frowned for a minute. “Everyone is so used to the agency’s way of handling our PR that trying to spring new ideas is hard work. But I’ll get there.”

“I’m sure you will. What kind of ideas?”

His face altered as if he hesitated to say what was really on his mind.

“Donovan?” Her stomach clenched. Something was up.

“Grandmother is supposed to be the one to tell you this, but I’m guessing she hasn’t gotten around to it yet.”

“To what?” Her forehead pleated in a frown. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. She just wants us to work together and come up with a new image for the jewelry department at Woodwards.” He held his breath, hoping Abby wouldn’t flatly decline.

“Work together? Us?” She frowned. “I don’t know anything about marketing.”

“But you know a lot about the jewelry department.”

“True.” Abby had been itching to make changes for ages although there’d been no opportunity to do much with Winifred out sick. “But I’m up to my ears right now. Especially with the contest. I can’t fit another thing into the day.”

“It doesn’t have to take a lot of your time. Maybe you could tell me what you envision and I could come up with something. I’ve already done a survey of our client base. Age, income, all those variables that go into a wedding. I needed the info for the national campaign I’m supposed to get rolling.”

“I see.” This sounded like it would entail a lot of contact with Donovan, something Abby wanted to avoid.

“The thing is,” he paused to turn a corner. “In all our departments, we miss a large demographic. People think of us only as a bridal store or as wedding planners.”

“And Woodwards has more to offer than that.” She nodded, intrigued in spite of herself. “It’s true of jewelry, too. Who would you target first?”

“Middle-aged to seniors, baby boomers, folks with disposable income who want to celebrate their past or look ahead to the future.”

“Actually, the ring I’m working on now is for someone in exactly that group.” Abby wasn’t sure how much to tell him and whatever she did say had to be held in strictest confidence.

“Senior or baby boomer?”

“Senior. He’s a wealthy man who has spent his life making money and now he realizes that the only joy it brings is in sharing it with someone he really cares about. That’s what I want to show in my ring.” She huffed a sigh of frustration. “That’s what I thought I was showing until Ariane drew that gardenia.”

“Grandmother loves gardenias,” Donovan murmured.

Abby remained silent. He pulled into the parking lot, parked the car and studied her.

“You already knew that.”

“Yes.” She couldn’t bring herself to break a confidence.

“She’s a senior. So is Art. He definitely has a lot of money. Look at his car.”

Abby looked at Donovan instead. Saw understanding dawn.

“You’re saying Art is going to give my grandmother a diamond ring?”

“I’m not saying anything at all.”

“You don’t have to.” Donovan laid one arm on the steering wheel, his shock obvious. “But—they’ve just met!”

“Correction. You just met him. Winifred has known him for quite a while in very intense circumstances. That makes a difference.”

“Does the family know?”

“Of course not. This is Art’s secret. He wants to do it his way. I have no intention of spoiling that.” She gathered her purse, undid her seatbelt. “And neither can you,” she warned, glaring at him.

“But—marriage?” Donovan gaped. “She’s been a widow for—”

“Too long. Art makes her happy.” Abby avoided his stare. “Anyway, no one said anything about marriage to me. I was commissioned to make a gift and that’s what I’m doing.”

“Come on. A ring with a three-carat diamond?”

“Would be a very nice gift. It doesn’t have to automatically mean marriage.” She climbed out of his car and shut the door, suddenly irritated by his comments. “But what if it does? Surely that’s up to them to decide? Why should you object, except that you’ll have to find your own place to live?”

His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

“Isn’t this exactly what we’ve been talking about? Figuring out the needs and wants of those who could be Woodwards’ new clients?”

Abby studied him for a moment, then walked swiftly into Woodwards. She went directly to her office and dealt with each and every matter that came up. At five o’clock she shut her door, pulled out Ariane’s sketch and went to work, forming a delicate but strong platinum gardenia that would shelter but also enhance the dazzling diamond she’d chosen. By nine-thirty Abby had a prototype that amazed even her. She dialed a number.

“Are you busy?”

“You have something?”

“A preliminary.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Ten minutes later, Art buzzed the back door.

“I hope you like it,” Abby murmured as she led him to her office. She slid a cloth off her work and showed him.

His reaction was everything she could have wanted.

“God surely does know how to direct a fellow to the right person for the job. And he certainly gave you a talent, Abby.” He bent, studied the ring from every angle.

Abby waited, nerves on tenterhooks.

This wasn’t God’s doing, she wanted to yell. This is me in spite of God. God hadn’t been part of her life since Donovan walked out on her and their dream. At least, she’d thought it was theirs.

“Finish it.” Art straightened, pulled out his checkbook and wrote in a sum that made her eyes pop. “This is your commission. Use it however you want.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you very much.”

“Don’t thank me, Abby.” He tilted on his heels, his face shadowed. “God has blessed you with a glorious gift that deserves to be displayed. But can I give you some advice?”

“Of course.” She held herself very still, waiting for the changes she was certain he’d ask for.

“There are a couple of verses in the Bible—I think I was meant to pass them on to you.”

“I see.” Why didn’t God give her the verses himself?

Art pulled a piece of paper from the stack on her printer and began writing in a big, ranging scrawl.

Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world, but be a new and different person with a freshness in all you do and think—Matt 10:29–31.

“That’s the NCV translation,” he added as he handed the paper to her.

A freshness in all you do and think. So God approved the contest?

“Thank you.” Abby stuffed the paper into a pocket. “Art, you realize you won’t be able to give this ring to Winifred if I enter it in the contest?” She had to be certain he understood he couldn’t pop it on her finger right away.

“Time’s not right for us yet,” Art agreed quietly. “But it is right for you. Get that thing finished and on the way to New York. Then get started on the next one.”

“Any ideas what that should be?” Abby tossed him a cheeky grin.

Art didn’t laugh. Instead his demeanor grew quite serious.

“You’re going to the wrong source. I’m not the one you should be asking.”

She knew he meant God.

Abby thanked him again for his generous check, but after Art had left and she stood alone in the massive Weddings by Woodwards building, she couldn’t stop his words from repeating inside her mind.

Could it really be that for five years she’d misunderstood God? That he didn’t want to foil her goals but to help her achieve them? That God had actually given her the need to create jewelry?

No. If that were true, then God would have given her parents who understood her dreams, who encouraged her to reach for them and achieve them. He would have kept Donovan here so he could support her dreams.

For so long Abby had been fighting to achieve her goals. Surely God should have eased her path, helped her.

Shouldn’t he?

For a tiny infinitesimal moment Abby wondered what Donovan would say about it. But then she recalled the verse. New and different; freshness in all you do and think.

Definitely time to get rid of the old pattern of worrying about what other people would think and be who she really was.

“Grandmother, there’s no need to explain. If you don’t like the idea, I’ll come up with another. It’s not a problem.”

But it was. More than two weeks and so far nothing Donovan had been able to suggest seemed to jibe with Winifred’s ideas. Neither was he making much headway with Ari. She still held herself at a distance from everyone, including him. Donovan was frustrated.

“I appreciate the work you’ve put into this, son. It’s just—not quite there yet.”

“So I’ll pull together some different ideas tomorrow. Right now I think I’d better go in search of Ariane. She’s been waiting quite a while.”

“You haven’t found a place for her to spend afterschool hours yet?” Winifred’s disapproval was obvious. “It’s not good for her to be alone so much, Donovan.”

“I know. Olivia thinks she’s got a place locked down in the daycare she and Reese use when they have to work late, but the spot isn’t available until the first of the month. Until then, I don’t have any other choice but to have Ari brought here.”

“I would have thought there would be some afterschool programs she could join in, but at least she’ll soon be with other children. She needs to open up.” Winifred closed the portfolio he’d given her and handed it back. “Talk to Abby again and let me know as soon as you have something else I can look at.”

“Will do, Grandmother.” Donovan bent, kissed Winifred’s white curls and left her office pretending nonchalance.

The truth was he was fresh out of ideas, and for an idea man that was unacceptable. Worse than that, he did not want to keep running to Abby. She’d told him the changes she envisioned. That should be enough.

Only it wasn’t. He couldn’t seem to translate those ideas onto paper.

“Hey, Katie, have you seen Ariane? I know she arrived, but—”

“The driver dropped her off a while ago. She was in here for a bit, but then she left. Maybe to get a drink? I wasn’t paying attention. Sorry.” Katie offered him a distracted look as she hurried away to solve some problem.

Fiona ushered a client out of a fitting room and through the front door before dragging a hand through her hair.

“That was a toughie. She has no clue what she wants.”

“Those are your best weddings, Mom,” he cheered her on with a hug. “Seen Ariane?”

“Olivia was here with her and the twins when I went in for the consult. Olivia wouldn’t have just left her alone. She may have wandered off somewhere. In my experience, girls usually like the fabric room.” Fiona glanced at her watch, smiled at the woman entering the building. “Hello. I’m so glad you made it.”

Fiona gave him a questioning look.

“Go on with your client. I’ll find her,” he whispered.

“Thanks, honey. We have to check out that reception hall tonight or I’d—”

Donovan shook his head at her and pointed. “Go.”

The rest of the family was equally involved in business, so Donovan didn’t bother them, simply walked through the enormous building, intentionally leaving Abby’s section until last. Not that he was avoiding her, exactly.

Okay, he was. But fatherhood meant he was supposed to handle whatever problems came up, not depend on someone else to solve them. Donovan couldn’t help glancing toward the jewelry designer’s domain. When he saw a small dark head next to Abby’s toffee-toned one, he realized he’d have to face Abby sooner than he’d planned. He moved to the doorway to watch.

“I really like the way you’ve made that banding line accentuate the front of the bracelet, Ariane,” Abby murmured. “It looks a lot neater now.”

Ari smiled to herself as she threaded another bead onto a pliable string that already held a number of beads. She worked quickly, threading, twisting, tying, until she caught sight of him in the doorway. Immediately she set down her things and walked over to him as if duty called.