Читать книгу Whispers Of The Heart - Ruth Scofield - Страница 9

Barefoot, wearing threadbare jeans and a jade-green T-shirt, Autumn Barbour stood silently, one foot resting on her opposite knee, and gazed north from her sixth floor window. From here she caught a glimpse of the Missouri River through the fresh green sproutings of spring.

Below the south-facing windows of her new apartment lay the inner city—including the new Federal Building a few blocks distant, and farther, the old landmark, the Power and Light Building that for many years, though no longer, held the distinction of being the tallest in Kansas City.

She liked this view best. Here only a few tall buildings edged her sight.

Tonight she’d spend her first night in her new home. Tonight she’d be on her own for the first time in her entire life.

Autumn let out a long, releasing sigh. She liked this visage high above the street; it opened up that closed-in feeling she sometimes battled and eased her jitters. This place was home now. It would be her haven.

Only this morning she’d reassured Spring as they said their goodbyes, how convenient she found her new location, how excited she felt at the prospect of living in the heart of Kansas City’s oldest section. It was different from anywhere she’d ever lived.

Close to the Riverfront Market, she could walk to do most of her vegetable and fruit shopping at the fresh food stands or find a meal in one of the restaurants there if she chose not to cook. If she was brave enough to face a restaurant alone.

Also, she could cover the three-block run to Mirror Image, the small art gallery that sometimes showed her work, in five minutes. And the rear of this property held a secured parking lot, a safe place to store her car. If she had to, she’d drive to wherever she needed to go, but she liked the idea of walking. She’d work out her other daily needs as time went on, she’d insisted for Spring’s sake.

She sighed again, already missing her sister dreadfully. Spring had postponed her leaving until Autumn had settled on this place, fretting over leaving her behind. On her own. Alone.

Alone to battle her overwhelming fear of being caught in a crowd of people. Until now, she’d had Spring and Uncle William to help her face the panic that had often reduced her to a cowering, curbing child. Before he’d died, she’d made Uncle William a solemn vow to conquer her fears, and more recently, given Spring her promise that she wouldn’t become a recluse.

Spring worried about her far too much, and in truth, Autumn had to force herself to appear in total control of things before Spring would consent to go. But at twenty-three, Autumn felt it way past time. Not only was it something she felt compelled to do—learn to live alone, efficiently self-contained in spite of her disability—but Spring had to feel free enough to lead her own life. Autumn couldn’t remain a protected child forever, too fearful and too needy of her sister’s confidence.

Now they each had their chance.

She still missed Uncle William, though. Without ever having discussed it, she knew her sister did as well. He’d been their staunchest anchor since their earliest memories. His death nearly four months ago still left her sorrowful. But the money he’d left them had come with instructions to use it to fulfill their dreams.

Lifting her gaze, she studied some far-off clouds. The weather was changing. For both she and Spring, life had changed, and would again, now. But while Autumn was perfectly content to stay in her home environment, Spring wanted to continue her studies in costume clothing design in New York or Paris or Italy. Not only could Autumn not allow Spring to dawdle another year, not even one last month on her account, she’d had to positively push her sister to cut the ties. Being twins didn’t mean they had to live as though joined at the hip, for heaven’s sake.

Tonight would be her reality. Being alone, living alone. The feat wasn’t exactly daunting, but she’d never done so before and thought it a great test of courage. Yet other people lived alone with disabilities, she reminded herself, and surely she could, too.

Shaking off her pensive mood, she moved about the huge loft room, making mental notes of things to do. Touching piece by piece the old living room furniture she’d brought from Uncle William’s house, she felt pleased with how perfect it looked arranged around the new, white, handcrafted wool rug to form her sitting room.

Turning slowly, she stepped around the open-ended, angled corner wall that gave her bedroom some form and privacy. Her white iron bed sat on a raised platform, semienclosed by sheer drapes. A dreamer’s bedroom, to be sure, romantic and soft, with high unadorned windows.

She passed through the other opening to wander back into the main room. The opposite corner held her small kitchen replete with shining new appliances. A small table for only two sat against one large bank of windows; she’d never need dining space for a larger crowd, she’d told the builder. Her entertainment plans extended no further than an occasional visit from a school chum and Spring’s trips home.

A full third of the space lay disorganized and incomplete. This northeast corner would become her studio. Autumn gazed with mixed emotion at the stacks of packed art materials. Eager to delve into them, she yet hesitated. The shelves still needed to be installed. She could wait until they were done.

After that, she would have no excuse to leave it undone any longer; she’d be truly settled. This would be home, there’d be no going back to the safety of the suburban house she’d shared with her sister and uncle, even in her thoughts. She’d have to cook meals alone, eat alone, go out alone, start painting on her own. Without interruption, yes, but without conversation, without exchange of thoughts or plans or—

A loud rapping sounded like sudden thunder. Autumn jumped and whirled, her heart beating rapidly. It came again, and she realized someone was at her door. The builder had bookshelves still to install; it must be he. Taking a deep breath, she went to answer it.

Someone besides the carpenter stood there. She remembered him, of course. How could she not? The man who’d looked at this space when she first came to see it. His tall, solid body suggested he might be good model material, she recalled thinking that day. She’d watched from lowered lids as he’d sauntered into the open room, speculation in his interested ginger-brown eyes as his gaze went from Spring to her.

That ginger-brown gaze had remained on her for a very long time, sending her a little buzz along with it. She’d felt herself respond in spite of herself.

Although a bit disconcerted at the time, Autumn wasn’t really uncomfortable. She merely thought him puzzling. Interesting. Usually men found her sister the more attractive of the two.

Autumn didn’t date much. Rarely alone. Not at all, recently.

His gaze still shone like crystallized ginger.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she found her toes curling under. She should have put on her shoes!

Uncle William used to scold Spring and her for their penchant to throw off their footwear at every chance, with a caution of “you are not flower children” hanging over their heads.

Now she could only think of how childish she must appear as Brent’s gaze swept over her.

“Yes?” she said.

“Hello, I’m Brent Hyatt, remember?” he answered with a confident, inviting smile. A wide smile that dominated and charmed, although his features weren’t classically handsome. “We met a few weeks back when we both looked at this place at the same time.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Well, I wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.” He proffered a handwoven basket filled with kiwis, strawberries and spring daffodils. “I’ve watched the plumbers and carpenters come and go from across the street. I’ve just moved into my new offices myself, you know. I’m not all settled yet, either, but I thought if you need someone to give you a hand with anything…”

“That’s very kind of you,” she said, taking the basket “but I think all the heavy work is done.”

“Okay. Well, here’s my new business card, just in case. Please feel free to give me a call if there’s anything I can do for you. I usually hang around until six or thereabouts on most business days.”

“Thank you.”

“There’s some nice places to eat down the block. Would you like to come out for a cup of coffee or a soda?”

“Thank you again, but…no…I have so much to do.”

“All right. Maybe another time more convenient.”

His ready smile tilted, giving his features that unusual charm. Autumn thought her heart tilted just a bit along with it. Perhaps she should accept. Genuine friendship was a precious commodity, according to Uncle William.

He turned as the elevator hummed downward. Now he’d have to wait for it to return.

“Remember, I’m right across the street. Hyatt Architectural Services.”

“Yes, I’ll remember.” She lifted his card, waving it to let him know she’d keep it.

“I’m even around some Saturdays,” he said as the elevator returned and the doors opened.

Two men, one slight of build and one huge, husky, blond giant stepped off, each carrying a tool chest. Behind them, a dolly held a stack of lumber, precut and stained.

“Hello, Josh. Sam.” Brent greeted them as old acquaintances. “What are you two doing up here in the old center of town?”

“Hiya, Brent,” the husky giant spoke. “Well, you know how it is. We go where the work is. Heard you were moving your offices. You coming into this building?”

“I’m across the street. You men still working for Lenny?”

“Yeah, he’s got us doing the go-backs on all the finishing work,” Josh, the slight, dark-headed one said with some disgust. “You still doing your house renovation?”

“No, it’s complete. Got a couple of new projects I’m doing.”

Autumn cleared her throat. Couldn’t these men chew the rag another time? All she wanted were her bookshelves. She’d already waited all day for them to arrive. Well, most of the afternoon, anyway.

At the sound of her bid for attention, Josh turned her way. “You the lady who wants shelves?”

“Yes, that’s right,” she replied, flashing a slight annoyance Brent’s way. “Won’t you come in? I’d like you to get started.”

“I’ll let you boys go to work.” Brent nodded and stepped into the elevator. “See you around, Autumn. Stop over when you wrap it up, if you’ve a mind, guys. I might have something for you myself.”

“Sure thing, Brent,” Josh agreed.

Autumn retreated into her apartment, the carpenters following. An hour and a half later, she barely heard a light bell over the sound of pounding hammers. Her doorbell?

At least this time she wore her shoes. Brent’s smile, only a tad apologetic, gave her the feeling he might have been born with it in place.

“Sorry. My last time to interrupt you. At least for today.”

“What is it?”

“Sam’s phone isn’t working. His wife is having a baby and he’s needed. Lenny—his boss—called my place. It seemed just as easy to trot across the street as to find a new phone listing.”

“Oh. Well, come in.” She swung the door wider and stepped back. A break in the noise gave her a chance to call over her shoulder. “Sam?”

“Yeah?” Spotting Brent, Sam laid his power drill down and came forward, his blue eyes questioning.

“Lenny’s been trying to reach you,” Brent told him. “Guess your phone’s on the blink and he missed you before you left the truck.”

“Yeah, my two-year-old dunked it in the bathtub last night. What’s up?”

“Your wife called. Lenny says not to worry, her mom’s with her, but Ashley wants you to meet her at the hospital. Seems you’re having a little girl this time?”

“You’re joking me. The baby isn’t due for another month!”

“Don’t know about that, Sam, but this is no joke.”

Near panic in his eyes, Sam turned Autumn’s way. “Can I use your phone, miss?”

“Certainly.” The worry in the young man’s gaze tugged at her heart. She pointed to the slim white cordless phone. “There, on the kitchen table.”

As Sam bumped into an overstuffed chair in his hurry to get to the kitchen side of the room, Josh joined them, his hammer dangling from one hand. “What’s happening?”

Brent explained.

“Oh, man. Ashley’s had nothing but problems with this kid and it ain’t even born yet. Sam’s been chewing nails.”

Sam ended the phone connection, his gaze clouding. “Josh, we have to go. Gotta pick up my truck so I can—”

“Don’t waste time, Sam,” Brent said, taking a key from his ring and tossing it. “Here, take this. My car is the red sedan right behind my building. You’ll recognize it, it’s the same one I had last year when you fellows did that work for me. It has a phone. I’ll find you later.”

“Thanks, Brent,” the blond giant said, catching the key out of the air. “I owe you one, buddy. Josh?”

“Never mind me, man. Brent’s right, just get going. We’ll catch up with you later.”

For a moment the apartment was silent as the three of them listened to the clatter of Sam’s descent down the stairs. He hadn’t waited for the elevator. Slowly, Autumn turned to glance at the two men remaining. The air around her felt like an anticlimax.

“Well…I hope everything turns out all right,” she said. “For the baby and mother.”

“Oh, I’m sure God and His angels are already on the job. Sam talks to Him every day. Never seen nothing like it,” Josh assured, shaking his head in puzzlement. “But Sam believes it.”

“So he should,” Brent replied. “Nothing like firsthand experience to make a believer out of you. He and Ashley had a scare last year when Sam was in a car smash-up,” Brent said for her benefit.

Then he turned to Josh. “Say, let me give you a hand with finishing Miss Barbour’s shelves, here.”

“Uh, that’s very nice, but—” Autumn began.

“Wouldn’t mind your help, Brent,” Josh accepted. “Just another hour should finish it up.”

“Really, perhaps it should wait,” she insisted as the two moved past her into the studio. Against the wall without windows, brass brackets stretched from near the floor to almost the fourteen-foot ceiling.

“Shouldn’t leave ’em half finished if we don’t have to.” Brent glanced at her with friendly determination as he shed his sport jacket and draped it across the back of the sofa. He then turned to study the project. “Hey, this will give you tons of storage, but you’ll need a ladder to get to the top shelves.”

“Yes, I suppose so. It’s intended to hold my supplies.” She gave up her protest as he picked up a prefinished board and blew on it to clear it of dust. Josh continued with the power drill, putting the last of the screws into a bracket.

Autumn didn’t know what to do. Oh, there were things she ought to do—like put away the last of her clothes in her bedroom closet, or arrange the cooking utensils she’d brought from the old house. But she found herself unable to do anything except simply watch Brent concentrate on the job at hand. She had an unfettered view of him.

While Josh checked the oak shelves, Brent climbed Josh’s ladder, the muscles beneath his brown striped golf shirt stretching as he reached above his head to place the shelves. In his effort to get them just right, his jutting chin struck her as purposeful, his relaxed mouth a model of male beauty. She liked his intense energy, and again thought of how to capture the effect of his movements in clay.

That was all it was. Simply a fascination from an artist’s soul who saw beauty in many people. This one man in particular. Was that so unusual?

More than an hour later, the two men stood back to examine their handiwork. Autumn stood beside them. The finished project looked awesome, with more shelves than she’d ever hoped for, or perhaps fill.

“Is this everything you want, Ms. Barbour?” Josh asked.

“Yes, it looks wonderful,” she murmured, glancing at all her boxes. Perhaps she’d fill most of it, after all, but there’d be little wall space for pictures. She picked up an architectural drawing she’d done last year, wondering where it should go.

Brent noticed her tentative move, then glanced at the picture.

“I recognize that,” he said, giving the piece a nod. “Did you do those projected art drawings of the Genesis Project for Lewis and Blake?”

“Yes, I did. Why do you ask?”

“I thought them very well done.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you on payroll there?”

“No, I freelance.” When she had to, she could work commercially. If the circumstances were…right. She never accepted a job unless it met her needs.

“Great!” He leaned one raised palm against her kitchen table, letting his arm take his weight. His smile spread easily across his face, while his ginger gaze held hers in friendly persuasion. “I’m looking for an on-call artist who does quality work. May I ask your fees?”

“Um…I’m not sure I’ll take on any more commercial work for a while. It would have to be something very special.”

“Ah. All right, then.” He seemed disappointed, but straightened, giving ready acceptance to her answer. “Well, stop over and visit our offices sometime. If I’m not there, my top man, John, can show you the kinds of things we do. You might see something that would excite you. And let me know when you’re interested in working again?”

“Okay. Thank you for, um, offering.”

“Sure. Glad to. Well, bye again.”