“She always harping at you like that?” Mama Warner asked.
“She’s usually worse.”
Meg doubled back. “How can you walk so slow when your legs are so long? Usually I can’t keep up with you. Tonight when it matters, you’re slower than a turtle.”
“I don’t want to get reckless and drop my precious bundle here.”
As they neared the shed, Meg felt her heart flutter. She was afraid Mama Warner wouldn’t like the statue; maybe it was a mistake to show it to anyone before it was finished.
They walked into the shed, and Meg increased the flame in the lantern. As Clay walked by, she lifted the lantern higher and saw the same doubts reflected in his face. She didn’t know why it hurt to know that he was nervous about sharing his work. He had a rare gift, and she suddenly wished that he had gone to Europe, that he had developed his art and honed his skills.
Meg moved closer to the granite, and the shadows shifted over the stone. Mama Warner gasped. With tears filling her eyes, she covered her mouth with her gnarled fingers. “I want to touch him,” she rasped.
Clay shot his gaze over to Meg. She saw in his eyes that he hadn’t expected Mama Warner’s request. She also saw that he wasn’t about to disappoint the woman. He glanced at the stool, then looked back at her. “Go get Lucian. He should be in the house.”
Meg set the lantern on the table.
“I’m a lot of trouble,” she heard Mama Warner say.
She glanced over her shoulder. Cast in faint shadows, Clay sat on the stool, holding Kirk’s grandmother in his lap and shaking his head, a tender smile on his face. “No, ma’am. You’re no trouble at all.”
She patted his cheek. “You should have walked out my backdoor years back when you had a chance. You would have had a lot fewer lines in your face.”
“If I’d walked out your backdoor that day, I never would have been able to walk back in through it.”
He bowed his head. A lump knotted in Meg’s throat as she detected a subtle movement of his arms; she guessed that he was holding Mama Warner tighter. They didn’t seem to notice that she hadn’t left yet, but she felt as though she was intruding on an intimate moment that belonged only to the two of them.
Creeping out of the shed, she headed to the house. She knocked lightly and waited several moments before slowly pushing the door open. The amber glow of a dying fire in the hearth and the low flame in a lantern on the table threw a pale light over the room. She stepped into the house and picked up the lantern. The wall to her right contained a closed door, as did the wall to her left. She chose the door to her right. She walked across the room and tapped her fingers on the door. “Lucian?”
Carefully, she opened the door and peered into the room. A familiar scent greeted her. Clay.
Entering, she glanced at the bare furnishings. A cheval glass faced the wall, and she wondered why he didn’t want to look at his reflection in the mirror. Did he see a coward when he met his gaze?
A smaller mirror did hang on the wall above a washstand. She stood on the tips of her toes. She supposed he looked in this mirror when he shaved, although she didn’t think he could see much of his face at one time.
She imagined Clay holding the razor in his large hand, angling his chin, and peering at the mirror as he grazed the sharp edge over his face, removing a night’s growth of thick beard.
She touched the brush with which he tried to manage his hair. He didn’t have the skills with the brush that he had with a chisel and hammer. He could shape stone, but he couldn’t make his hair do anything but fall over his brow.
He’d tucked the quilts neatly into place on his bed. She wondered how far down he sank into the mattress. She wondered if he found sleeping alone as lonely as she did.
Turning to leave, she noticed an object on the dresser as the light of the lantern swung past it. She walked to the dresser and touched the stone.
He had carved a small girl sitting with her elbows on a table and her chin in her hands. The girl looked incredibly sad, as though she’d just lost something precious. One side of the rock was jagged as though whatever Clay had carved had fallen or broken off. She trailed her fingers over the braid along the girl’s back. She knew why the girl was sad; she was the girl.
“What are you doing?” a deep voice demanded.
Meg spun around, her hand pressed to her throat. “Oh, Lucian. I was looking for you.”
“You won’t find me in Clay’s room.”
“I didn’t realize it was his room … not at first, anyway. He needs you in the shed.”
He ran his hands through his hair. “Let me get a shirt.”
He disappeared in the darkness. She walked quickly out of the room and quietly closed the door. Lucian walked through a door across the room. “I’m ready.”
“I’m sorry,” she said as she set the lantern on the table and walked to the door. “I didn’t know where you slept.”
