His Winter Rose and Apple Blossom Bride (38 page)

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered as the tears welled. “Why do you keep pushing me?”

“Because I love you and I don’t want to see you hurting any more.” He didn’t touch her physically, but she felt imprisoned by the steady knowing light in his eyes. His breath brushed over her like a caress. “You’re afraid to live, Ashley. You’ve already wasted years letting fear eat away at your life, taking control of who you are, of what you can and can’t do.”

He held his hands palms up, as if offering her something.

“Aren’t you tired of it? Don’t you want to be free?”

She shook her head slowly as the truth flared in her brain. “I’ll never be free of what happened to me. It’s part of who I am.”

Michael stepped back as if she’d physically pushed him away. His face whitened, but he remained still. After several moments he spoke, but pain echoed through his low throaty voice.

“It’s part of who you
were,
sweetheart. It doesn’t have to be part of who you are now. Not unless you let it.”

“Michael, I—”

“No, don’t say anything else. Let it go.” He closed his eyes, shook his head, sighed. “I’ve been a fool. It doesn’t matter what I say, the only way you’re going to break free of this snowbank of fear that’s got you imprisoned is to face it down. I realize now that you’re not ready to do that. I’ll pray God will help you, Ashley. I don’t think anyone else can.”

He looked at her for several moments, as if storing up a mental picture of her. Then he walked toward the door.

“Wait, Michael. What—”

He didn’t turn around.

“If you need me, if you decide to stay, if you want to meet with Ned—” His breath whooshed out. “I’m here, Ashley. I love you, and more than anything in the world I want you to be whole. But I can’t live looking over one shoulder at the past. When you’re ready to look at the future with me, all you have to do is call me. I’ll be here.”

Then he opened the door, slipped through and closed it quietly behind him. The silence was deafening.

* * *

“Daddy?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“Why doesn’t Ashley come to visit me anymore? Did I do something wrong?”

Michael closed his eyes and prayed for the wisdom to be the parent Tatiana needed.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Tati. Ashley’s been very busy with her new gallery. And she’s helping Piper with the winter festival. She’s very busy.”

“She said that yesterday.”

“You saw her? When?”

“When we went to the library. All the kids get to go on Thursdays, you know that.”

Yes, he did. He also knew how many times he’d longed to drive up to the house on the hill and bang on the door, demanding Ashley tell him whether or not she was leaving. But he’d heard nothing from her for weeks.

Maybe it was better that way.

“Tomorrow her gallery is opening. Can we go?”

“Tati, I’m not sure Ashley would want us—”

“She wants me to come. She said I should bring my picture so she can hang it up. Can we go, Daddy? Please?”

Those big eyes reached into his soul and Michael knew he couldn’t deny her. “Okay, we’ll go tomorrow afternoon. Grannie’s going to take you to the play in the evening while I work backstage. Then we’re going to Piper’s house for a party. How does that sound?”

“Good!” Tati wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed as hard as she could. “Thank you, Daddy. I love you this much.”

“I love you, too, sweetie. Now it’s time to sleep.”

“Are you going to work in your shop?” she asked, clouds filling her wise eyes.

“For a while. But I’ll have the monitor. If you call, I’ll hear you.”

“Okay.” But she didn’t lie back. Instead she scanned the room. “It couldn’t get in the window, could it, Daddy? Wanda says cougars can break into a house if they’re really hungry.”

“Wanda’s not right about that,” he said, wishing Wanda would keep her thoughts about that marauding cougar to herself. “The glass is too heavy. Anyway, the blinds are closed so he wouldn’t be able to tell you’re in here. You’re safe here with me, sweetheart. And if you start to worry, you know what to do.”

She nodded. “Pray.”

“That’s right. God will always hear you.” He tucked her in, gave her a butterfly kiss and waited for the giggle that completed their ritual. “Sleep tight,” he whispered as he switched off the light.

Michael waited a few minutes until he was sure Tati was settled, then he entered his workroom, setting the monitor on a table. A cursory glance around the room drew a frown of worry. Were they good enough? Would anyone want to display his work?

Would he ever make it as an artist?

The phone broke through his self-doubts.

“Hi, honey. Are you working?”

“Hi, Mom. Just got Tati to bed. What’s up?”

“I’ve just had word that a friend of mine is going in for major surgery tomorrow afternoon and I’d like to be there for her. But I promised to take care of Tati while you’re working the sets for the play. I was wondering if you’d mind if I took her with me. I might stay over.”

“Mom, you don’t want Tatiana in a hospital.”

“Well, you can’t keep her backstage, either.”

“No.” He stifled the sigh. Despite his original protests Michael had come to enjoy the play and the actors, even agreed to be set manager. He couldn’t very well quit the day of the final rehearsal. “I’ll find someone to watch her, Mom. You go, be with your friend.”

“You’re sure? I could ask Ashley—”

“I’ll handle it. Thanks.”

“What happened, son? I thought you cared about her.”

“I do. But Ashley doesn’t feel the same way.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah. Me, too,” he said with heartfelt sadness.

“Keep trusting God, Michael. He’ll see you through it.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t bother looking after the house while I’m gone. Ida Cranbrook will stop over. She and Harold overheard me on the phone at the coffee shop.”

“Okay. Have a good trip.”

After he’d hung up, he stared at the snapshot he’d pinned to the wall before Christmas—Ashley laughing as she chucked a snowball at him. His heart squeezed at the emptiness of life without her.

Why bring her here if not to heal her fear? Why can’t I push her out of my heart if she’s not Your choice?

The questions never changed and answers weren’t forthcoming. For the first night in a very long time Michael gave up on any idea of carving, switched off the lights, and, after a quick check on Tati, returned to the living room. He lit a fire then sank down beside it with his Bible in hand. It fell open to Ecclesiastes.

“Everything is meaningless,” says the Teacher, “utterly meaningless! What do people get for all their hard work? Generations come and go, but nothing really changes.”

“That’s depressing,” Michael mumbled, but he kept reading, hoping for some ray of light that would explain his current predicament. He pressed on through twelve chapters, his heart searching. In the final verse of the final chapter Michael read,

Here is my final conclusion; Fear God and obey His commands, for this is the duty of every person. God will judge us for everything we do, including every secret thing, whether good or bad.

Every secret thing. Every secret thing.

Why did that stick in his mind?

He glanced at the opposite wall where Ashley’s Christmas gift, a charcoal drawing of Tati, hung. She’d captured his daughter’s every nuance from her tip-tilted nose to her dusty cheeks and mud-spattered overalls, half in, half out of her boots.

Carissa would never have allowed such a picture to hang on her wall. Carissa had been all about perfection. In her dancing, in her costumes, in her life. She’d risen to the top of her field because she gave nothing less than her best. And people applauded that.

Michael froze, caught the thought and held it.

People’s applause. Did it really mean so much?

How many times had his daughter raved about her mother and the hordes of fans who asked for her autograph after a performance, the people who flocked to the side doors just to catch a glimpse of her? Carissa, whom adoring fans mourned, whom newspapers applauded, whom his own mother had revered—was he envious of her fame, of her ability to make people notice her?

Michael set aside his Bible, walked back to his workroom and studied the pieces he’d selected to show. Shutting out all emotion he assessed them clinically.

Except for a few, they were showy pieces, larger-than-life faces that didn’t require analysis to discern their meaning. The majority were crowd pleasers, faces that would draw a laugh or two.

Yet there, in the middle of them all, sat Maria, staring at him.

The contrast in his work bowled him over. He sank down on his carving stool, stunned by the differences between the pieces. Why? How had he managed to create something totally unique in some and settled for “good enough” in the others?

Ashley’s words echoed with haunting clarity.

Stop thinking about showing your work. Think about what’s hidden in the wood, what you want to reveal. That’s when you’ll know you’ve fallen in with God’s plan.

Suddenly he understood why that first showing had been a disaster. He hadn’t found the glory because he hadn’t given his customers anything to think about. The question was, would another show follow the same path?

Michael turned a piece of mahogany over and over, but no picture sprang to mind. For once his mind was too busy assimilating the truth he’d kept hidden inside for so long.

He couldn’t compete with Carissa. He couldn’t give his daughter a fine home, fancy clothes, a rich and famous lifestyle. And even if he could, what good would it do to diminish his daughter’s mother by trying to outdo her? Tati loved Carissa. She had only memories to cling to. It was his job, as her father, to help her keep those intact.

The truth was, it wasn’t just Tati he’d been trying to impress.

What he really wanted was to prove to Ashley Adams that his work—that
he
—was as good as anyone she’d ever find, including whatever was in Paris.

Chapter Thirteen

T
he Adams Gallery.

Smooth brass letters pressed against the stacked stone wall were classically cool and elegant. Totally Ashley. Michael stepped through the front door and swallowed.

She’d created a home for beauty.

He held tightly to Tatiana’s chubby fingers as they stepped out of the foyer into the main rooms. Simple plain walls stood stark and bare save for the pieces Ashley had displayed in a wash of natural and artificial light.

“Daddy, look!”

Tati’s tug on his sleeve drew his attention to a long narrow window on the right, in what was once the dining room. Framed by the window stood—Faith?

He couldn’t believe it. He moved nearer to get a better look. The sculpture he’d given her for Christmas perched atop a white cube, catching the light from outside and reflecting it back.

Michael stared at the polished black walnut, his fingers curling as he remembered how he’d felt releasing the image. A hand reached upward, into the light, pressing through a heavy covering of black so that each fingertip, each knuckle, each flexing muscle was revealed.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” a woman said. “I’ve looked at it from many different angles and I see something new each time.” She pointed to the palm of the hand cupping the little bit of paper he’d enclosed at the last minute, naming his gift. “It’s called Faith. I wonder who the artist is.”

“My daddy—”

Michael shushed Tati before she could say anything. The woman smiled then moved away to examine a brilliant blue weaving. Only then did Michael notice the small plaque on the clear plastic case covering Faith. Not for sale.

“Hi Ashley.” Tati’s cheerful voice drew his attention.

Michael turned, saw the woman who inhabited his dreams standing across the room, speaking to someone. He was about to hush his daughter again when Ashley grinned, waved and after murmuring something to her guest, hurried toward them.

“Hello, sweetie,” she said, hugging Tati. “Michael.” Her gaze never quite met his. “Did you bring your picture, Tatiana?”

“Yes.” Tati waved the sheet she’d created.

“Good. Let’s you and I go hang it up while your daddy has a look around.” She glanced at him. “It’s okay, isn’t it?”

“If you have time.” He watched them leave, his heart thumping madly as he noted the hollows in her cheeks and the narrowness of her waist. Clearly she hadn’t yet resolved her problems. But at least Ashley was still here and not in Paris.

“Excuse me.” The man Ashley had been speaking to touched his arm. “I understand you’re Faith’s creator.”

Michael smiled. “I think that distinction belongs to God. But if you mean the sculpture, yes, it’s mine. Or rather Ashley’s. I gave it to her.”

“Nice gift.” He thrust out a hand. “Ferris Strang.”

“Michael Masters. You’re visiting Serenity Bay for the winter festival?”

“Mostly to see Ashley’s gallery. I was half hoping it would be horrible and she’d have to come back and work for me. I should have known better.”

“She’s certainly talented.” Michael moved from one exhibit to the next, amazed by the details she’d thought to include. Nothing had been left to chance.

Strang followed him through the building, pointing out things Michael wouldn’t have noticed.

“Clever to hide the lights in here,” he said when they moved down the hall. “The natural light is great but on a cloudy day the pieces need a boost. The ordinary person wouldn’t notice the subtleties but Ashley has a way of honing in on these things. I’ve never met anyone more adept at display.”

By the time they arrived in the sunroom where Ashley was just emerging from the kitchen, Michael had to agree.

“It’s perfect,” he told her quietly. “You’ve done a fantastic job.”

“Thank you.” She motioned toward the kitchen. “I’ve just put on a pot of coffee. Are you two interested?”

“I’m more interested in what else your friend has done,” Ferris hinted.

“Of course. Michael, why don’t you—”

“Actually, I don’t have anything I want to show at the moment,” he interrupted, ignoring Ashley’s surprised look. “I’m in the middle of revising my approach.”

“From the looks of that piece out there, I don’t think you should. It’s an amazing work. I interpret it as an inner struggle, to break free of the doubts and believe. Am I close?”

“Exactly.” Michael nodded. He accepted the coffee from Ashley, sat where she indicated. Tati was busy at the table creating a new picture, her tongue peeking out from between her lips.

“Ashley mentioned you’re a teacher.”

“Yes, I teach a shop class at the high school. We built the sets for the play that’s starting tonight.”

“I see.” His nose turned up just the tiniest bit. “Will you send me some pieces when you’re ready? I’d be interested in seeing them.”

Michael couldn’t look away from Ashley, though she barely looked at him.

“That’s a good idea, Michael. You have some great pieces and Ferris puts on wonderful shows. I know that’s what you were working toward...”

The words flowed past, but he barely heard them. His mind was too busy realizing that she was distancing herself. He faced the truth. She would leave, move on as best she could, still carrying that daunting fear, never quite free. Managing.

He couldn’t bear to think of all she’d miss.

In that instant Michael made up his mind to do the only thing he could for a woman he would always hold in his heart.

“Tell you what, Ashley. I’ll give the Adams Gallery first dibs if I decide to sell. If you think any would suit Ferris, you go ahead. Minus your commission, of course.”

“But I wouldn’t dream of—” A customer interrupted and Ashley left to deal with her inquiry, but only after frowning at him.

Michael ignored her glower, rose, set his cup in the sink and picked up his daughter’s jacket. “Come on, Tati. I’ve got to go to the school and get the sets organized for the play tonight.”

“But I’m not finished with my picture.” Her cupid’s mouth set in the stubborn line that spelled trouble.

Michael wasn’t in the mood to bargain.

“You can finish it there. The art kit Ashley gave you for Christmas is in the car. Okay? Now let’s go.” He zipped up her jacket, pulled on her mittens and buttoned his own coat. “Nice to meet you, Ferris. I hope we see you at the party tonight.”

“Well, I don’t know—”

“Good. See you.” Michael didn’t stick around to hear the rest of it. An idea flickered at the back of his mind. He needed to get out of here, needed time and space to think things through.

Ashley frowned, fluttered a hand when Tati called goodbye, though she didn’t move from her patron. That was okay with Michael. He just wanted to escape.

He drove toward the school with thoughts circling his brain like bees near honey. The dress rehearsal plodded on with a thousand flaws. He listened to each request the director made, adjusted the sets as best he could, all the while watching Tati busily drawing her picture.

When everything was set, every last detail in place, he gathered up his daughter and packed her and her art supplies into the car.

“This isn’t the way home. Where are we going, Daddy?”

“We’re going on a little errand. It shouldn’t take long.”

He pulled up in front of the town office, his mother’s voice echoing. Ida Cranbrook. Why hadn’t he thought of her before? Ida made it her business to know everything that had anything to do with Serenity Bay. As town clerk she certainly ought to be able to tell him where to find Ned Ainsworth.

It took Ida four phone calls to adjacent counties and a talk with one of the oldest members of Serenity Bay, but by the time Michael left he had a piece of paper with a name and a phone number.

“Please let it be enough,” he prayed as he headed for the fast-food joint that would fulfil Tati’s demand for supper. While they were there they met Wanda and her mother.

God must have approved Mick’s plan because his daughter was invited for a sleepover at her best friend’s home, leaving him free to carry out his idea.

* * *

Cathcart House teemed with people. Piper and Jason had invited everyone who’d assisted in any way with the winter festival, and it seemed that no one had declined.

Ashley refilled coffee carafes, stacked canapes on platters and generally assisted as best she could until Piper caught her and insisted Rowena do something to get their friend to mingle among the guests.

“This is a night to celebrate. Don’t you dare let her hide out in the kitchen, Row.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Rowena slipped her hand through Ashley’s arm and drew her among the milling crowd. “It’s quite a tribute to our Pip, isn’t it?”

“She deserves it. She’s put in hours on this project. Jason, too.” Ashley sipped her fruit punch, trying to pretend a nonchalance she didn’t feel.

“He’s over in the corner, watching you.”

“Who?”

Rowena shook her head. “Oh, Ash. Don’t you know you can’t fool me? I know you.” She tugged on her arm. “Come on, you can reintroduce me to Michael. I must say he’s improved a lot over the past ten or so years.”

“No!” Ashley jerked to a halt, grimaced at the sticky sweetness that spilled over onto her fingers from the punch glass. “Stop teasing, Row. It’s not funny.”

“No, I can see that.” Rowena met her glare, warm sympathy lurking in the depths of her eyes. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I know you care about him.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” She motioned to the left. “Did you meet the man who plays the lead in the play? He’s right over here.” Ashley drew her friend toward the burly bearded fellow who’d brought the stage to life.

“We’ll talk later,” Row whispered before she was drawn into another conversation.

Ashley ignored that, kept herself busy moving from group to group, accepting compliments on the gallery, speaking to the friends she’d made. But her eyes disobeyed and kept returning to Michael.

He finally approached her when the crowd had thinned out and only a few people were left.

“Ashley, I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

She wore a white mohair sweater and matching wool slacks that were fully lined but still she felt a cold shiver of apprehension crawl up her nerves.

“You didn’t bring Tatiana?”

“No, she’s staying with Wanda. A sleepover.” He frowned. “Can we talk? In the den?”

“I thought we’d said it all last time,” she murmured, praying her friends would be too busy to notice them.

“Not quite.” He had her arm and was leading her toward the study.

Ashley followed, wondering what more there was to add. He’d basically told her goodbye on New Year’s Eve.

He drew her into the room, closed the door and stood in front of it. She frowned, wondering at the odd look on his face. She followed his glance, gasped and reached for the doorknob as panic filled her body.

“Get him out!” she panted. “Get him out of here.”

“Wait a minute. Just hear me out. Ned didn’t kidnap you, Ashley. I asked him and he said—”

“What does it take to get through to you?” she snapped, shoving her shaking hands into her pockets as she gauged the distance between herself and her nemesis. She glared at Mick. “I do not want to talk to this man. Ever. I do not care what he has to say. I do not care what you have to say.”

“But if you’d only listen.”

“
You
listen, Michael Masters.” She moved until she was only inches from him. “You know how I feel.” She didn’t care that her voice sounded raw, only that her heart was breaking. “You of all people know. The fact that you could bring him here, into this house where I’m living—” She shook her head, fought for a measure of control.

“Ashley, listen.”

She pushed past him, gripped the doorknob and pulled open the door as she drew a calming breath.

“I trusted you, Michael. How could you do this?”

“I wish you would trust me, Ashley. But more than that, I wish you’d trust God.”

“Get out. And don’t come back. Either of you.”

She pulled the door closed behind her, turned into the hall and climbed the stairs. Once inside her room she locked the door. A long time later Piper knocked and asked if she was all right.

“I’m fine, Pip. It was a lovely party. I’m going to sleep.”

“Okay.”

Silence. Then Rowena scrabbled at the door.

“I won’t go away until you open it.”

She’d expected that. Ashley rose, calmly walked across the room and opened the door.

“I’m fine, Rowena. Really. Just a little tired. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

“You’re sure? Michael said—”

“I’ll
see
you in the morning.” She quietly closed the door, twisted the lock. Then she prepared for bed, but before she climbed into the big four-poster she checked the window lock and rechecked the door.

He knew where she was. He’d actually been here. That was bad enough.

But the deep twisting hurt of knowing that Michael had led him straight to her burned more deeply than she could have dreamed.

She curled up into a ball under the downy quilt and pretended to sleep.

Tomorrow she’d leave for Paris.