Free Timepiece by Richard Paul Evans

inventions.”
    â€œYou give good gifts, David.”
    â€œI have a gift for you, too.”
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œIt’s heavy. And it is rather different, but I thought you might like it.” Hereached into the sack, lifting out a wooden box of dark, burled walnut. Leather straps ran across the top over an intricately carved Nativity and fastened into silver buckles. On the opposite side were two brass hinges skillfully forged in the shape of holly leaves.
    â€œIt is beautiful. Is it to hold Christmas things?”
    â€œIt is not empty.” David set the box next to MaryAnne. She unfastened its silver clasps and drew back the leather straps, then opened the box slowly. The interior of the box was lined with wine-colored velvet and occupied by an ancient leather Bible, its cover delicate with age and adorned with gold-leafed engravings.
    â€œOh, David . . .”
    â€œI thought you would like it. It is at least two hundred years old. I bought the Bible at an auction. Then I saw the box and thought it a good match.”
    â€œSir.”
    David turned. He had not seen Catherine approach. She stood outside the gazebo, holding a calling card in her outstretched hand.
    â€œGibbs has left a message.”
    â€œThank you.”
    David took the card. MaryAnne looked up from the box. “What is it?”
    â€œGibbs wishes to meet with me tomorrow. From the tone of the note, I suspect he is concerned about business matters.”
    â€œIs there something wrong?”
    â€œNothing.” He lifted the carousel again, then, winding it, held it out for Andrea. “All is well.”

    â€œIn Philadelphia I had such fortune to discover a most unusual piece, a sixteenth-century brass-and-gold sundial that duplicates the prophet Isaiah’s biblical miracle of turning back time.
    â€œÂ â€˜Behold, I will bring again the shadow of the degrees, which is gone down in the sun dial of Ahaz, ten degrees backward. So the sun returned ten degrees, by which degrees it was gone down.’
    Isaiah 38:8
    â€œThe gilded sundial is lipped to hold water and on one edge a figurine, a Moor, holds taut a line which extends from the center of the dial. The sun’s rays, when reflecting from the water, bends the shadow and, for two hours each day, turns back time. Its possessor was unwilling to part with it.”
    David Parkin’s Diary. April 17, 1909
    The next day, at Gibbs’ behest, David came early to work and attacked a pile of paperwork and financial documents. Not an hour into the day, there was a knock on the door. A grim-faced Gibbs pushed the door open.
    â€œDavid, may we have a moment?”
    â€œCertainly.”
    â€œHow was Philadelphia?”
    â€œI was only able to negotiate a partial price concession, but it is acceptable.”
    Gibbs frowned. In all the years he had known David, he rarely did not get what he wanted—and never dismissed compromise so readily.
    â€œYou look concerned, Gibbs. I received your card. What is troubling you?”
    â€œI am concerned. Our sales are down considerably.”
    â€œYes. I have seen the ledgers.”
    Gibbs sighed. “It is difficult without you here. You are still our best salesman. When we meet with the larger accounts, they are offended that you are not present. One asked me if they had fallen in our esteem.”
    David frowned. “Are we still making a profit?”
    â€œWe could be making more. There is such growth in this city.”
    David walked across the room and looked out the window to the traffic below. For a full minute he said nothing, then, in a softened voice, began to speak.
    â€œWhen is it enough, Gibbs?”
    â€œI do not know what you mean.”
    David raised his hands, his back still turned to his manager. “When are we profitable enough? When do I have enough money? I could not possibly spend all that I have in two lifetimes. Not in twenty lifetimes.”
    Gibbs