The Artisan Heart

by Dean Mayes

  Isabelle’s eyes filled with moisture. Her dream had been realised.

  From the kitchen, the aroma of fresh bread baking in the electric oven wafted through into the shop. Hayden had lit a fire in the adjacent living-room heater, its subtle smokiness adding to the ambiance of the interior.

  It was finished.

  They’d made it happen. Together.

  She turned towards Hayden and ran her hand along the counter as she approached him. She placed her palm on his chest.

  “I can’t believe it,” she said. “Thank you. For everything you’ve done.”

  “This was all you,” Hayden replied. “I was just the hired help.” He raised an outstretched hand to Genevieve. “Of course, we can’t forget our foreman, here,” he signed proudly. “I think Genevieve has earned enough pocket money to see her through until university.”

  “Absolutely,” Isabelle agreed, drawing her daughter to her side. She hugged her close and planted a kiss on top of her head.

  The three of them took in the resurrected shopfront.

  It was Genevieve who broke their reverie. “What’s next?” she queried.

  “Well, we bake. This is only the beginning,” Isabelle signed. “It’s time to see if I can really run a shop.”

  THE MONTH-LONG VINTER LJUSFEST ARRIVED in Walhalla, and much to the delight of Max, who strolled through the town centre on opening morning, it was clear the entire township had come on board.

  He could see a number of residents still working on their houses, putting the final touches on their lighting displays, while elsewhere people were tending their winter gardens, edging lawns, pruning flower bushes, painting fences and bridges over Stringer’s Creek. Though it remained frightfully cold, everyone worked enthusiastically.

  The tourists had been pouring into Walhalla. The bed-and-breakfasts had been booked right up. The increased traffic was noticeable and Max found himself having to stick to the pedestrian paths, rather than saunter along in the middle of the road, as he usually did. The public campgrounds had become veritable tent cities and even there, visitors had gotten into the spirit of the occasion by dressing their tents in an array of lighting.

  The town centre was decorated with bunting and floral wreaths, completely ready for the official launch at midday. A brass band was ensconced in the rotunda, rehearsing for their first performance.

  Max checked in at the railway station and found a beehive of activity. From somewhere not far off, the sound of a train whistle issued into the morning sky and reverberated off the mountainside. Resting his elbows on the rail-yard fence, Max’s features brightened as a shining steam locomotive rounded the bend and chugged into view, pulling three passenger cars behind it.

  The sight of it made his heart leap.

  Making his way back to the town centre, Max paused at the Lodge Hotel and waved at Ivan, who stood on the porch, hands on hips, directing his own working bee. Some of his helpers were tidying the grounds, tending to the garden and mowing the lawn, while others—including Chas Kraetzer, of all people—were installing a lighting display that wrapped around the entire length of the hotel building. Andrew Parton gave Max a wave from the roof and Max flipped him a salute.

  Seeing Ivan’s crew had their hands full, Max continued onward.

  The activity was heartening to witness. The spirit of cooperation, from one end of Walhalla to the other, was vibrant and energised in a way he hadn’t seen for a long time.

  Rounding the bend, Max saw the bakery. He couldn’t help his eyes misting.

  It had been decades since he’d seen it open to the public. Already, several cars were parked out front and people were milling about on the porch, armed with baked goods in brown paper, or munching on delectable-looking treats.

  Passing in under the veranda, he peered through the window. Isabelle, outfitted in a white baker’s apron, was serving at the counter alongside Amber Rillby, who had come down from her own café to help out for a couple of hours during the morning rush.

  As customers filed out, Max slipped inside and waved discreetly, catching Isabelle’s attention. Even though she was busy, she sidestepped to meet him.

  “This is something I never thought I’d see again,” Max enthused. “What a welcome sight to greet your first day.”

  Isabelle blew a stray hair out of her eyes. “I started at two this morning with both ovens going at full tilt. I was worried I was overdoing it. Now I’m worried I’ll run out before noon.”

  Max tried to find words of support, but Isabelle squeezed his arm, letting him know he didn’t need to. “It’s a good problem to have. I’m still turning out loaves and I’ve got more help on the way.” Her cheeks reddened and Max smiled, knowing whom she was referring to.

  “I haven’t seen you this happy in a long time.”

  Isabelle tried to look casual, but she blushed and smiled broadly.

  “Hayden’s up at the cottage?” Max asked.

  “He’s doing some last-minute tidying and making sure his own lights work. I think he was worried his dad’s generator wasn’t going to cut it.”

  A new group of customers filed into the shop. Max winked. “I should let you get back to it. Will I see you later at the official opening?”

  “I’ll try,” Isabelle replied. “So long as I can convince my customers to wait for an hour or so. They might not like me closing up.”

  “That’s definitely a good problem to have,” Max said as he fingered the brim of his hat.

  MAX FOUND HAYDEN STANDING INSIDE the gate in front of the cottage, studying an array of twinkling fairy lights.

  The garden was immaculate. It looked better than it had in years, with new plantings of pretty flowers edging the two main beds on either side of the steps. The camellias framing the house were filled with buds that promised a flush of colour.

  “You know it’s bad luck to light up your house before dusk,” Max joked. “Margaret Parton will have a fit if she catches you.”

  Hayden acknowledged his presence, but his focus remained on the lights. “I’m making sure I don’t have any blown globes. You know how miserable I’d be if just one of them were out.”

  Max chuckled. “Everyone seems to feel the same. I wouldn’t be too concerned. The cottage looks wonderful. This is all you?”

  Hayden gave a single nod. “I’ve had a rush of inspiration. Seeing the whole town on board with this Ljusfest of yours—I’d feel as though I was letting the town down if I didn’t do it up right.”

  “Walhalla has polished up a treat,” Max enthused. “I’ve walked from one end to the other. The excitement is palpable.”

  Hayden smiled. “It was always going to pull together—it will be a great success.”

  “Speaking of success, I’ve just come from the bakery. Isabelle is firing on all cylinders. I think she might have created a monster.”

  Hayden’s lips tightened and he checked his watch.

  “I told her I’d be there twenty minutes ago,” he said, brushing his hands against his jeans.

  Max chuckled and slapped his hand on Hayden’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you like this.”

  Hayden paused, his expression taking on a wistful sincerity.

  “It feels good—to be a help to someone.”

  Max smiled as he went over and retracted the ladder leaning against the roof.

  “Your parents would be happy, you know. Lavinia would have loved to see what you’ve done with the garden and the house. Your father, too.”

  Hayden shot his friend a skeptical look, but said nothing.

  Taking the ladder from Max, he set it down on the path and brushed off his hands.

  “Come on,” Max prompted. “Russell would be tickled pink to know you’d done all of this. I just know it.”

  Hayden shook his head.

  “What is it, Hayden?” Max pressed.

  “He never forgave me, Max,” he said sadly. “He was so angry after Mum died, because I wasn’t here. No matter how much I tried to fix thing
s.” He sat down on the steps and his eyes became unfocused. “He shut me out. He punished me with his silence. So I stayed away, thinking he’d get past it as time went on. And then…time ran out.”

  Max came over and Hayden shuffled aside to make room for him on the steps.

  “Russell changed a lot after Lavinia died,” Max said. “Her death broke him. He’d lost more than a wife. Lavinia was his best friend. No matter what we did to try and help, the Russell we knew was gone. It just took a little longer for his body to die along with him.”

  The older man’s voice trailed away as he remembered something long forgotten. “And yet, near the end, I think Russell tried to come back from his grief. He tried to put things right with us.”

  Hayden frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Max tilted his head from side to side. “We didn’t see him for a long time. But, towards the end, he seemed to rally just a little. He allowed me to visit with him a couple more times. I think he might have been trying to make amends.”

  Max’s eyes drifted to the cottage. “There was so much happiness here. I remember all the good times. He was a big part of that. He loved his life. He loved Lavinia and he loved you.”

  Hayden lowered his head, struggling now to hold his emotions in check.

  “Tell me, have you managed to get into their bedroom yet? Sort through things?”

  Hayden shook his head. “I can’t,” he whispered. “I’m…it’s just…I’m not ready to.”

  Max rested a hand on Hayden’s shoulder. “There may still be something of that happiness in there, Hayden,” he said, trying to sound reassuring, even as his voice faltered. “I can’t believe Russell abandoned everything he once was to his grief. You just have to find it.”

  THE OPENING CEREMONY WAS HELD in front of the remains of the brick vault from the long-gone Bank of Victoria. A capacity crowd occupied every square inch of space around a raised stage adorned in colourful ribbons. Dressed in an uncharacteristic suit, Max stood with dignitaries from both state and local government as they cut a crimson ribbon. Enthusiastic applause went up in concert with a small cannon that fired confetti and ribbons into the air.

  Walhalla’s Vinter Ljusfest had begun.

  Along the length of the township, locals and tourists mingled as they took in the sights, sounds, and smells of the celebration. The town centre was alive with food tents offering a cornucopia of local delicacies and spirits. There were cheese makers, manufacturers of smoked meats, honeys, pickled vegetables, and chutneys. Isabelle had a stall, as well, manned by Annette.

  In the rotunda, the brass band played lively music for the passersby and the patrons of the hotel, who watched the performance from the upper balcony.

  The Corner Stores served a continuous stream of customers, while an acoustic trio entertained with guitars and harmonious vocals in the outdoor area of Amber and George Rillby’s café. In the gardens across from the Corner Stores, there was a spinning circle with women and men practising their craft at ornate spinning wheels. Several artists demonstrated their skills before a series of easels, painting mountain landscapes while encouraging children and adults alike to participate. A local blacksmith operated a portable forge out of the back of a custom-built four-wheel drive, showcasing his work to onlookers.

  A modest sideshow alley had been set up near the creek. Decorated in nineteenth-century livery, it featured a pretty carousel with handsome painted horses. There was a strongman striker, laughing clowns, a tincan alley and a “Beat the Buzzer” skill tester. A pair of ponies carrying delighted children were lead around the perimeter by Margaret Parton, who had swapped her signature shop apron and pocketed pencils for a festive dress with bright colours and an elaborate bonnet. The smell of freshly cooked popcorn and the bright pink hue of fairy floss brought smiles to the faces of both young and old.

  At the southern end of the town, the steam train, its carriages decorated in pretty bows and ribbons, ferried enthusiastic passengers from Walhalla’s station through the nearby Stringer’s Gorge. Live music from a trio armed with guitar, piano accordion, and flute entertained with up-tempo tunes. The pub was filled throughout the afternoon. As Ivan moved through the bar and the beer garden, he kept an ear to the various conversations taking place and smiled. Already, the Ljusfest was proving to be a runaway success.

  IN THE CROWDS OF PEOPLE making their way to and from these various venues, a lone individual, his features masked by a heavy jacket with a turned-up collar and a thick trapper’s hat, sauntered along the roadway. He held a match between his teeth and chewed absently as he took in every detail, searching while remaining inconspicuous. He was just another face in the crowd, completely unremarkable.

  He rounded a bend and stopped beside the creek. Jamming his hands into his pockets, he turned towards the bakery, tilting his head from under the visor of his hat as he watched people coming and going.

  Inside that building was everything he’d lost and the person who’d taken it. He’d been denied his rightful role of father, because of her. It had hollowed out his core, then filled it up again with a burning rage.

  It was so tempting to march in there right now and—

  No.

  He couldn’t be so reckless, the way he had once been.

  He had a plan, but that plan needed refinement.

  He would take back his past—his legacy. There was a place, far from here, where he and his daughter could start over.

  Nothing else mattered.

  A grin lifted the corners of his mouth.

  AS DUSK DESCENDED, THE TOWNSHIP became a wonderland of light.

  All across Walhalla’s narrow valley, every dwelling, house, and shopfront came to life with colour and light. Several of the more ornate trees had been recruited into the showcase, with twinkling orbs of varying colours and vibrancy adorning their branches, while gardens—both private and public—shimmered and shone with their own displays, creating cascades of movement and magic in the gentle evening breeze.

  Glittering light reflected in Genevieve’s eyes as she gazed up at the bakery’s veranda.

  Dressed in a pretty, European-inspired pinafore with a smart waist-jacket adorned with flowers, she stood holding a basket almost as big as she was. A patterned shawl with a hood was draped around her shoulders. In her basket, protected under a cloth, was a selection of cakes, sweet buns, and tarts prepared by Isabelle. Genevieve had been insistent on earning some of her own money by selling them directly to people throughout the evening.

  Isabelle appeared in the entrance of the darkened shop and paused to turn on the porch light and lock the door.

  Turning to Genevieve, she shivered, adjusting an oversized scarf over a tan knit that hugged her body to mid-thigh. Stylish black leather boots, slim-fitting jeans, a wool coat, and matching beret completed the fashionable ensemble.

  Genevieve grinned up at her mother and Isabelle frowned. “What?”

  “You’re wearing makeup,” she signed.

  Isabelle glared down at her. “So?”

  “You never wear makeup.”

  Isabelle screwed up her face, then turned to study her reflection in the shop window, arranging her hair underneath the beret with some urgency. “How do I look?”

  Genevieve stood straighter. “Really pretty, Mum.”

  Isabelle wasn’t convinced. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. And I’m sure Hayden is going to think so, too.” Genevieve spun happily on her heel and began marching ahead of her mother, away from the bakery.

  IN THE TOWN CENTRE, A party was in full swing, despite the chilly evening. Partygoers had gathered in the vicinity of the Band Rotunda, where Amber Rillby’s a cappella group was performing.

  Genevieve, with her sweet costume and fresh pastries, was a hit with the groups of people nursing cups of coffee and hot chocolate, warming themselves around the fire pits set up around the town. Isabelle hovered nearby, keeping one eye on her daughter while searching the crowd.

  “She’s go
t the entrepreneurial spirit!” Max called over the surrounding chatter. Isabelle turned as Max and Annette emerged from a crowd of people and sidled up to her.

  Isabelle cocked her head as Annette gave her a hug. “She is determined, no doubt about it.”

  “Takes after her mother.” Annette winked. She cast an admiring gaze over Isabelle’s outfit. “Don’t you look lovely! And here I was thinking your entire wardrobe consisted of bib-and-brace overalls and dusted-up work boots.”

  Isabelle wrinkled her nose as she smoothed down her jacket. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Nette.”

  “Right,” Annette shot back. “In any case, you’re beautiful.”

  Isabelle found herself lost for words. She rarely felt confident when it came to fashion, nor was she good at accepting compliments. Annette leaned in and slid her arm around Isabelle’s back, bringing her close with an affectionate squeeze.

  They looked out over the festivities. The road leading back towards the hotel was filled with smiling faces, all enjoying the winter’s evening. “What a beautiful night,” Annette mused. “I haven’t seen anything this lovely in a long time.”

  Isabelle nudged Max, who stroked his beard. “Gotta hand it to you, you and your committee know how to put on a show.”

  “Thanks, love, but if it weren’t for Hayden giving us a kick in the trouser-seat, I doubt we would have gotten here.”

  He frowned, scanning the faces around them. “Speaking of, where is that young man?”

  “He wanted to tidy himself up after helping me this afternoon,” Isabelle said, searching through the crowd.

  When Hayden did appear, she almost didn’t recognise him.

  Sporting a neatly trimmed five-o’clock shadow and wearing a Harris Tweed over a button-down shirt and jeans, Hayden emerged through the crowd and stopped a few meters away. Catching Isabelle’s eye with a lopsided grin, he held her gaze.