The Potter's Daughter (Literary Series)

by Smith, Daniel Arthur

  Abby could now see Will inside the coffin, next to him a photograph of an unsuspecting family twenty years passed, her father, mother, Michael, and her propped up in a black wooden frame. The room shrank as Abby glided to the side of her father.

  “That’s a nice suit,” said Abby in a soft voice. She reached in and felt the lapel.

  “Brian got it from the house. It was set aside per Will’s instructions. Brian said he had a few of them, I was surprised.”

  Abby sighed, “He wore them when he was young, Mom and he used to go to the city.”

  “Oh, I never knew that,” said Caroline.

  “He looks good,” said Abby.

  “Yes, he does.”

  “He would hate that.”

  “What?”

  “People always say things like that, ‘He looked good’. Will would hate that I said that,” said Abby.

  “Well,” Caroline paused, “Well, he does. Look at him. He looks great.”

  “He does, doesn’t he,” said Abby.

  “Are you ok? Do you want a minute?”

  “Yea, a minute.”

  “I’ll be over hear hon,” Caroline kissed Abby on the forehead and then squeezed her arm tight before walking to the row of chairs where Brian was waiting for her. Brian handed Caroline a packet of tissue wrapped in plastic. She quickly removed two tissues and dabbed her eyes.

  Abby placed both hands along the smooth edge of the casket and looked long into the pillow. She had not seen Will’s usually disheveled hair neatly combed or cut. Now he wore the style of a man she did not recognize. Not that Will could not pull off a look so debonair, even in the coffin he was a handsome man, still this was not his look. This was not her Will, the Will in the photograph with the perpetual boyish charm. Abby did see before her a peaceful Will and in that she took solace. That solace alone must have subdued her, for she could find no further feelings or thoughts at that moment. There was no misting of the eyes, no churning stomach, her jaw relaxed. Abby raised her hands lightly from the coffin and placed them back again. She would have more time to spend with Will at the funeral. The final goodbye to her father and the deliberation of what to do would not have to come right now.

  Abby turned away from the coffin to face the room. Brian and Caroline stood and stepped forward to embrace her. Abby felt the familiar peculiarity of all the adjoining rooms silencing to a murmur again. Not about to be made the center of attention due to sympathy Abby wanted to quell any unneeded tension before the tension arose. An overt smile to Caroline and Brian and an open embrace relaxed the tension in the rooms before uneasiness could mount.

  Over Caroline’s shoulder Abby saw Nathan for the first time. He sat against the wall with his hair pulled back and head hung low. Abby excused herself and Caroline whispered, “He has been taking this hard, he found Will and all.” Abby walked over to where Nathan sat and took the empty seat next to him. Nathan kept his head hung low not noticing that Abby had sat down. She placed her hand on his back and he slowly lifted his head. Nathan’s glasses were misty and his face red, and his nose running. In his hands was some crumpled up tissue.

  “Oh, Nathan. You poor dear,” said Abby as she gestured back to Caroline to bring over more tissues.

  Nathan sniffled and smiled, “I’m ok. How are you?”

  “Best as can be expected,” said Abby.

  “I have been praying for you,” said Nathan.

  “I’m sure you have. You’re so sweet.”

  Abby put her arm around Nathan and pulled his head on her shoulder, “It’s alright. Don’t cry. Will’s in a better place.” Abby could hear herself consoling Nathan with the same words she had heard all evening.

  “Do you think so?” asked Nathan.

  “Sure.”

  “Because I’m not so sure he was a believer. He liked to make fun on my account.”

  Abby thought about what Nathan said and responded, “Will liked to have fun. But he was a believer all right. I don’t think I ever met anyone madder at God than him. He had to believe in him to be that mad.”

  “He was mad?”

  “Not when you knew him, but when Mom was sick, and after she died. He finally made his peace.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so,” said Abby, realizing that she and her father had shared something all along.

  Nathan took tissues from the package that Caroline gave him and the girl’s consoled him until his sobbing slowed. Abby stood and once again embraced her cousins and whispered into their ears, “His timing couldn’t be better.” Caroline and Brian turned to see Mitch at the parlor door shaking hands with Josh Colden from the lumberyard. Brian stepped to the side, keeping his arm around Caroline and she continued to keep her arm around Abby in turn. Mitch matched eyes with Abby and the two shared a subtle smile. Mitch patted Josh on the arm and approached Abby. Mitch shook Brian’s hand and kissed Caroline’s cheek. Then Caroline handed Abby off to Mitch and the two embraced each other.

  “How are you doing?” asked Mitch.

  “I’m so glad you came. Now let’s get out of here,” said Abby.

  “Sure thing,” said Mitch.

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  Chapter 68

  The lake appeared pristine. The overcast sky made the ice a subtle blue among the grey shadows of the small snowdrifts. Abby stood with her arms crossed, white wine in hand, gazing out through the glass doors of Caroline’s kitchen. The kitchen buzzed with people moving about behind her. Though there had been a marathon of mingling, the lake took her attention when she passed by the doors. Abby had survived through the funeral service earlier in the day as a matter of course. The memorial service at Bennington had gone much the same as the viewing, with an even greater number of people, though Abby was not as surprised as before. Her vision of Will as obstinate and distant had overshadowed his pervasive charm that she knew now had such an affect on others. She did what she felt her duty, to greet everyone and share their celebration for her father’s life. Now at a second reception at Caroline’s, a smaller group of Willow Lake people gathered to pay their condolences. All of the greeting and congeniality had a toll that Abby started to feel.

  As Abby peered out across the lake, she realized that she needed to see the house. In the few days that Abby had been back at the lake, she had not been to the house or the studio. There had been no obstruction to a visit. There simply had been no real reason for her to go. Everything Abby needed was at her cousin’s house, the necessities of living, a room for herself, and family for support.

  Abby sighed and slowly turned from the glass doors. She scanned the faces of everyone in the room and, with a smile, excused herself. She made her way to the outer room toward the stairs. As Abby took the first step of the staircase she saw Caroline talking to Emma Shaw. Caroline raised her brow in Abby’s direction and Abby nodded back, and then went up the stairs to her room.

  In her room Abby slipped out of her skirt and blouse and put on blue jeans and a sweater. Then she pulled her skates out of the travel bag, sat on the bed, and placed them next to her. She crossed her arms and leaned forward, slightly bowing her head. A light knock came at the door and Caroline entered, “Hey, I thought I better check to see if you were surviving the marathon.”

  Abby turned her head to the side, grinned softly, and then said, “It keeps going doesn’t it?”

  Caroline took a seat on the bed on the other side of the skates, and then picked them up and held them. “Thinking of going out on the ice?”

  “Yea, I was. Do you think that’s stupid?”

  “You need some air. You should go for it. I’ll hold down the fort. It’s about to wrap up anyway.”

  “Thanks,” said Abby. “You know I don’t even know why I brought them. They were by the door when I left the city. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “Well,” Caroline held the skates out for Abby to take, “it’s a good thing you did.”

  Abby chuckled and then said, “Caroline.”

 
“Yea.”

  “Mitch went to the IGA with Brian. He’ll be back soon.”

  “Don’t worry about Mitch,” said Caroline.

  “Caroline.”

  “Yea.”

  “I don’t suppose you have a jacket I can wear. I don’t have a good one for the lake.”

  “Sure, let me get it for you.”

  The two went to the hall and Caroline took one of her jackets out of the closet as well as some gloves and a hat. “These will be better than whatever you have. Go out the front door so you don’t have to explain yourself to anybody. You can take the side deck around and then down to the lake.”

  “Thanks again,” said Abby, “for everything.”

  Abby did not bother to slip her sneakers on. She followed Caroline downstairs and per her cousin’s advice slipped out the front door without making eye contact with anyone. The crisp air washed against her as the door closed behind. She felt liberated from the duties of ceremony that had burdened her over the last few days. Abby moved hurriedly with quick short steps around the corner to get out of view from the atrium before putting the jacket on, and then she scurried just as quickly down to the deck by the lake. Abby only then glanced up at the house with some notion that she may have been followed before resting to put her skates on.

  For the first time since Abby had received the call about Will she felt light and rejuvenated. Abby laced her skates tight and put on her gloves and then eased onto the ice. With a few strides Abby launched herself out onto the surface of Willow Lake. At first she skated out toward the center of the lake. Her mind clear, only the sounds of each skate cutting into the frozen mirror below her and faintly off to her left, a quad runner pulling a skiff away from a shanty. From the distance the skiff was floating across the lake rather than being dragged on the ice. Abby picked up speed and let her legs go limber below her. On the edge of the lake the trees and houses were sleepy under the grey sky. The tree line pulled the grey from the sky, absorbing the dark though still early afternoon. Once out on the lake Abby let herself turn in the direction of her family home. Abby’s arms were by her side, she put her gloved hands into the wide pockets of the jacket, and she settled into a rhythmic motion, breathing slowly, moving effortlessly. She was honed on the direction that she had skated so many times before as a child.

  It was not until Abby came to the outcropping of the point before Bellen cove that her heart began to race. Around the point would be the house and the studio, The Bellen studio. Abby’s chest tightened and her mind raced with the name Bellen. Abby was now the only Bellen. Abby slowed then stopped. Abby wanted to be prepared for what she would see when she rounded the point. Pulling her hands from her pockets Abby shook her arms to loosen her body in an attempt to fight off the oncoming tension.

  Abby skated on. Her heart beat harder and her stomach ached. As Abby cleared the tall pine on the point the first thing she could see was the willow. Abby’s eyes widened and filled with tears. Abby skated forward stiffly. The willow spread shattered across the ice. A soft blanket of snow lightly covered the tree, broken midway in two, with branches scattered out into the cove. Held up like a large fan, the roots of the willow were pulled from the base of the shore.

  Abby tried to determine what the blue painted object was alongside the length of the tree. Abby coasted to a stop. She realized the object was part of the eave of the studio roof. Then Abby shifted her eyes to the house and the studio behind the tree.

  Abby dropped to her knees.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 69

  Because they had been patched Abby had not initially noticed that the ends of the eaves were missing. The materials the workman used to cover the holes were the same color of the buildings and from a distance blended with the rest of the buildings. Now closer, Abby could see that the top corners of each building had been torn away.

  Abby took a deep breath and tried to brush her tears away. The tears still came. She wept softly at first. Her breaths drew deeper and the weeping grew to a wail. Abby tried to rest on her feet behind her, and then slipped to the side so that she sat upon the cold lake. And there Abby sat on the ice reclaiming the grief that had bottled up inside her, the grief that she could not find or let loose at the funeral home. Abby leaned upon one hand and bawled out loudly, “We were just working things out!” and then after sobbing some more, “Damn you Dad!”

  Abby hung her head and sobbed loudly, she had nothing more to yell at the empty yard and the fallen willow before her. Though she had lashed out she was not going to let herself be angry with Will, no more than any anger she had harbored for her brother or mother before. Abby knew that she and her father had made their peace. Abby had never doubted his love for her. She grieved for time that had been lost that she wanted back and now would never get. She grieved the finality of Will’s absence. Abby grieved for the loss of her father.

  Abby’s nose was running and her cheeks were flush. She sat crumpled and sobbed heavily. Abby wrapped her free hand around her head and continued to break down. Minutes went by as Abby cleansed her heart of the agony that had bottled up. Abby sobbed until her sobs became cooing whimpers. Still Abby sat and wept. When she could sob no more she started to catch her breath and breathe deeply. Picking her head up Abby looked at the willow lying next to her. “Poor old girl,” said Abby. She raised herself back to her knees. She began to wipe her face with her gloves. Strands of hair matted by her chin. She put her hand into her pocket and fished around and then pulled her hand out, took off the glove and reached in again. This time she produced some tissue to wipe her eyes. Abby took yet another deep breathe. She picked herself up from the ice and made her way to the shore.

  Close to the base of the willow Abby could see the deep hole from where the roots had torn free. Carefully she pulled herself up on the bank, almost sliding back down for lack of footing for the skates. Once in the yard Abby examined the house, and the studio.

  Leaning on the corner of the house with his arms crossed was Mitch, his right hand scratching his chin. “I just missed you. Caroline thought you would come straight over here. She knows you pretty well.”

  Abby sighed, sniffled, and wiped her eyes, “That she does.”

  “The damage isn’t as bad as it looks. Just the ends of the eaves were torn free. I can have the boys fix it up in no time,” said Mitch.

  “Good. I want to move back in as soon as possible,” said Abby.

  Mitch stood up from the wall and took a few steps from the house. He turned and gestured to the eave, “The patchwork is pretty much sealing the eaves. I’ll check it out myself. But you could move back in now.”

  Abby motioned her head toward the studio, “What about that? It looks a bit worse.”

  “That’s just the siding,” said Mitch. “Easy enough to repair. I don’t think there is any foundation damage but we’ll do a full inspection.”

  “That would be great,” said Abby. “I tried to talk to Will about it before. But now I know what I need to do.”

  “What’s that?”

  “This is my house now, my studio. I’m the last Bellen. I’m going to find a way to make it work.”

  “You really thought this through?”

  “Not at all, but it just seems right. You know, Bellen pots from Bellen hands? I think I can make a life for myself here.”

  “Are you sure that’s what you want to do?” asked Mitch.

  “It’s been a long time coming,” said Abby.

  Abby then turned back toward the willow. On the other side of the crater from where the roots had been torn, the split log bench still sat undisturbed.

  “I could use a little help,” said Abby. Abby held out her hand behind her. She waited for Mitch. Mitch took her hand firmly, leaned beside her, and kissed her cheek. Abby led him over to the bench and the two sat down facing the lake and the length of the willow shattered on the edge of the ice.

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  The End

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  A Note from the Author

  Thank you for reading The Potter’s Daughter. The seed of this novel began some years ago as I helped a friend through a troubling time. Personal matters heavily burdened her and as a form of therapeutic distraction I created a writing exercise similar to one I had taught in the classroom. I had her choose scenarios, characters, locations and then I would write a short story or chapters based on our discussion and then have her write the next. As the writing process goes none of the initial manuscripts are in this work, still, the stories of a girl nicknamed Fish by her brother returning to her home on Lake Forrest resonated with me and remained in the back of my mind so that when several years later I came across the old chapters I became inspired to create a new story. There is a bit more to that tale that may one day be written down, as that friend became my wife and mother of my sons, as fine a love story as any New York romance ever told.

  If you enjoyed The Potter’s Daughter I would appreciate if you would share your thoughts in a review. Reviews help other readers that may have similar interest as you decide whether or not this is a story they would like to read.

  And again thank you.

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  About the Author

  Daniel Arthur Smith is the international bestselling author of The Cathari Treasure. American born, Daniel has traveled to over 300 cities in 22 countries, residing in Los Angeles, Kalamazoo, Prague, Crete, and New York.

  Daniel was born and raised in Michigan, graduating from Western Michigan University where he studied philosophy and comparative religion. He has been a teacher, bartender, barista, poetry house proprietor, technologist, and a Fortune 100 consultant across America and Europe. Daniel resides and writes in Manhattan with his wife and young sons.