Stony River (71 page)

Walking home through the spring twilight, vaguely troubled that of all the colors available for the roadster, Jillian had chosen firecracker orange, Sevana was still favoring Adriel’s class. Joel and Chantal would be in the same city—an unsettling thought—but it was a big place, she would probably never run into them. It wasn’t the rural town she was hoping for, but maybe she could still find a place to keep the sheep. Finally she decided to call Mr. Thane for more information on the program. She would put off making a final choice until she had all the details.

But as excited as she should have been to have this new opportunity opening up before her—instead, for every day Willy stayed away, the worse she felt. Despite David’s sound counsel, and a private showing of the wolf picture Jillian had shamelessly stolen out of Len’s house for the occasion (all the more impressive because it proved once and for all that Jillian was capable of producing realistic art if she wanted to)—Sevana felt she had lost one of her closest friends when Willy had stalked out the door.

Of course his out-of-bounds display the other night hadn’t been in good character; but on the other hand, the severity of it had shocked her into seeing how much he cared for her. Who else did she know, who would be so upset if she refused them her heart? She had trouble thinking of anyone who cared for her at all. Her father loved her deep down, she was sure, but he had never expressed it except to provide well for her and try to persuade her—albeit out of well-meaning concern—from being who she was. Fenn certainly didn’t love her; he could barely tolerate her. Joel—she knew he valued her friendship, but he had never once hinted it might rival the soul-involving way he felt about Chantal. Len might have had a crush on her, but it wasn’t as strong as his regard for Willy. Even Trick, with his proposal to set up housekeeping together, hadn’t been in love with her, hadn’t even known her; she was simply the only girl from which there was to choose.

The truth was, she was completely alone. And she had scorned the devotion Willy offered her, without counting in the fact that he was the one person who truly desired her in his life. Had that been a wise thing to do? How rare was love, anyway—and would she ever find someone else who regarded her the same way? Jillian had said Willy wouldn’t stick around for the long term—but Jillian didn’t know Willy had told her he loved her, or seen the look in his eyes when he’d said it. It still sent tingles over her skin whenever she recalled it. It was true Willy had his share of faults, but so did she, so did everyone.

She played a game in her mind, to name a fault of Joel’s. Too serious and inward, maybe, until she remembered his ringing laugh and how his earth-brown eyes could dance with such warmth. Too methodical, perhaps—his outdoor tools consistently honed and hung in orderly rows on the barn wall, his ropes coiled in exact twists, his kindling split in uniform sticks, his woodworking chisels and gouges oiled and stored in a hinged, clasped box he’d made himself. But she admired his precision and industry. No, the only fault she could fix upon was his emotional indecision—for he had said no to Chantal and then taken her back. And at that point, she realized it was exactly what she was thinking of doing with Willy, and criticized him no more. Emotions were not easy to define or simple to deal with—black or white, good or bad, yes or no. They were complex; they occupied more than one level. She could not fault him for what he had decided in his life, nor was she to say he was wrong.

These reflections occupied her day and night. Granted, she didn’t love Willy as she loved Joel; that had been the sticking point all along. She doubted she would ever love anyone else with such singleness of heart. But should she discard a chance for a good relationship just because she was permanently in love with a man she couldn’t have? In spite of her earlier conclusions, she was starting to think Willy’s esteem a more desirable thing than she’d originally believed. Even her own response while in his arms had proven her very real attraction to him. And in a complete about-face, she was beginning to regret that she had so bluntly and unambiguously turned him down.

Saturday afternoon Willy came bursting into the shop, and he had news. He had found a shop, just what he’d had in mind. It was in an excellent location, and the rent—well, it was higher than Lethbridge, of course, but very reasonable for Calgary. As enthusiastic as he was about it, however, he didn’t try to persuade her to come see it as he once would have done. There was a perceptible reserve in his manner toward her, a wary look in his smoke-colored eyes.

Nevertheless she was relieved he had returned in such a better frame of mind. “What are your plans?” she asked, searching his face for the friendliness that used to light his eyes before she had so carelessly thrown it away.

“I’m going to move after class ends. But I’ve already put money down, and I can start remodeling now.” He paced to the window before turning to her again. “I’ll be pretty busy going between here and there. It’s going to be asking a lot of you, taking responsibility of the shop during the times I’m gone. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, I don’t mind. I’ve managed all right this week.”

“Yes—and done a fine job of it, I’m sure.” An unreadable look flickered across his face before he hurried on: “I’m going back tomorrow—I have a little more business to tie up, but I’ll be back for class Tuesday. Anything you need before I go?”

Her heart stopped for a second, then began to race. Maybe she should tell him what she’d been thinking. Uncertain, agitated, she only said, “I’m making out a new paint order. Do you want to look at it?”

He waved it off. “I’ll leave it to your good judgment.” He crossed briskly to the back room with the stride of a man going places, and ironically, Sevana felt a twinge of being left out, that his new direction did not include her—though it had been by her choice alone.

She hadn’t meant for Willy to see the course information Mr. Thane had sent her, but when he discovered it under the counter and asked about it, she admitted she might enroll. He said it couldn’t be a better opportunity for her, but that was all. She knew it was still hard for him to accept, and fully understood why he was so quiet.

She didn’t see him all day Tuesday and wondered if he really would make it back in time for class. She went down early to unlock the shop in case he didn’t; but the door was open and he was at his desk, looking all the latest fashion in an open-throat striped shirt and short new haircut. He glanced up from his papers with a smile—but in his eyes, still, that guarded look for her. “Hi, Sevana. I’ve got the deal wrapped up. It’s mine, for fame and glory.”

“I’m so glad, Willy. I have no doubt it will be.”

“How have things been here?”

She told him of the day’s business, and then there was a little loss of words between them before they heard the first sounds of students entering the building. She took a place at the table, wishing they could talk but not knowing what to say. His reticent manner hurt her—she wanted to get past it and find the old Willy again. Helplessly she watched him stack his papers together and rise to greet the arriving pupils with his natural aplomb.

Perhaps it was her state of mind more than the subject, but class was hard for Sevana that night. She struggled with the assignment, and Willy was so busy that he bent down and whispered as was his custom that he’d help her after class. When they were alone in the room, he cradled his chin in his hand as he considered her dilemma. “Let me see.” He seized the brush and sat beside her to try his hand at it. He then explained what he’d done, and had her take over.

“That’s it!” she said admiringly. “You are so talented, Willy!”

“Thank you, my dear,” he said lightly in the old way—but when she glanced over at him, he was looking away from her with a clamped jaw, as if for a second he’d forgotten himself. It was very quiet in the room. She began cleaning her brush; but feeling it was now or never, she abandoned the brush to the turpentine and said in a peculiar voice, “Willy, I want to talk to you.”

“No
.
”
He started up so vehemently that he upset his chair, and it fell backwards on the carpet. “Don’t say anything to me. I was wrong, I admit it; I’m not going to play games with you anymore, Sevana. I’m going to stop trying to change your mind.” He smiled weakly in a half-hearted attempt at humor. “I’m going to let you go—slip through my fingers, as someone once said.”

“No, Willy, you don’t understand,” she said, springing up before he could walk away. “I wasn’t going to say anything like that. The fact is, I’ve had time to think while you were gone. I don’t like being so far and distant from you, not knowing what you’re feeling and thinking. I feel as if all the sunshine is gone when I can’t find a smile in your eyes for me.”

He was standing in the middle of the room, listening in a half-puzzled, half-skeptical way as she went on: “I may not be in love with you the way I lo— the way I imagine love to be…but I do love being with you; and anyway, you’re right about Joel.” She snatched some air and forged ahead when he still said nothing to encourage her. “I’d rather have a life in the real world instead of wishing mine away. What I mean is—” she began to falter in her unassisted monologue, clasping her hands in front of her for reassurance as she continued, “I’ve decided against Vancouver. I want to move to Calgary with you.”

He found his tongue at last. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you?” he demanded with a warped smile. “This is some kind of revenge you’ve cooked up for my little indiscretion the other night. Len and Ralf are hiding in the closet to witness my humiliation, am I right?” Spurred by his certainty, he went to jerk open the closet door on the vacuum cleaner and the feather duster.

She was smiling through tears that had come without her knowing why. “It’s not revenge and it’s no joke, Willy. It’s gratitude for all you mean to me. I don’t know why it took me so long to see. I guess I’m not too logical sometimes.”

As he became persuaded regarding her sincerity, a liveliness crept back into his face. “You’re an artist, Sevana.” He opened his arms to her in the confidence he’d been forgiven. “A starry-eyed, dyed-in-the-wool artist. Nobody says you have to be logical.”

“Oh, Willy,” she said with a relieved laugh, stepping into his welcoming embrace.

When he put her from him, remembering he’d better not move too fast or he might scare her from her decision, his face was flushed with excitement. “I found a great apartment only two blocks from the new shop,” he told her, with the easy boyishness she’d been afraid she would never see again. “I won’t be there forever, but it’s perfect for now. I already put down a deposit. Maybe you’d like to reserve one for yourself. I heard there’s an opening across the hall.”

“Maybe…unless I could get a little farm just outside Calgary,” she hesitated.

“Little farms just outside Calgary start at a quarter-mil,” Willy quenched her promptly.

She’d always known she would probably have to end up selling her unexpected little flock. She swallowed down a lump in her throat as she thought of Gyrfalcon’s pleading look. Buying the sheep had been just one more evidence of her being an impractical dreamer. What had Willy been telling her? “Well, then, the apartment sounds like a good idea.” It was a bit difficult to think in concrete terms of the new direction she was taking.

“Sure, toss it around. Another option, if you want to save rent, you can just move in with me.” And he walked around the classroom, collecting the things he’d used for the lecture in his suave, self-assured way.

Sevana found her eyes following him as she packed her paintbox. He was truly a magnetic, light-up-the-room personality. The direction she’d chosen made all the sense in the world. She returned his smile across the room.

He saw her to the balcony, where he brushed his lips against her hair—pacing himself to keep her trust. “You won’t regret it, Sevana,” he whispered in her ear.

CHAPTER 50

Willy was gone again next day like a whirlwind, his head occupied with mortgages, appraisals, interest rates, insurance, and closing dates. Sevana did the one thing she could do to help him, by making sure he had nothing to worry about at the shop. But alone in her apartment at night, she envied him his activity—wished her own mind could be filled with a flurry of things to do, instead of being so peculiarly disengaged and quiet.

She put off telling David her plans, but couldn’t keep secret forever the fact that she was moving to Calgary. But even when she broke the news on a Sunday morning before church, she didn’t tell him she had also chosen Willy as part of that future. She felt he would not approve, after everything that had happened to argue against the advisability of it. David didn’t question her decision, but although his response was bravely positive, she felt in his eyes there was something he wanted to say.

Painting class ended that Thursday, and Willy ran her up to Calgary the day following to show off his shop and apartment. He himself had a dinner engagement with a prominent Calgary artist regarding a private business deal he was hoping to pull off, thereby giving his new shop’s reputation a substantial boost right from the start.

He took her to his highrise apartment, innovative and luxurious. After showing her through it, he poured wine and proposed a toast in front of the wide bay window looking out at the city. “Welcome home, Sevana.”

The words struck an incongruity to her with their sound, the way a discordant note clashes against one’s sense of tone. Even the clink of their glasses following that, added to the tension of the disharmony. “Say, if you’d like to come to my meeting with Stefan tonight, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind,” he offered generously.