Free The Potter's Daughter (Literary Series) by Daniel Arthur Smith

chair next to him, and in his Bogart voice said, “The stuff
dreams are made of .”
    Abby and Mitch took in the room.
    “That’s a great perspective,” said
Abby.   “I’ve never seen a theater
like this before.   Pine paneled.”
    “I like tackling work like this,
creativity in limits, your cousins make good partners.”
    “I can see why they like working
with you,” said Abby.   She inspected
the pine details.   “How did you get
the detailing so ornate?”
    “Having Brian show me Roman and
Greek reliefs until my eyes popped out and then a lot of hours practicing with
the router.   I enjoy the way the
wood smells when you work with it, how the process relaxes the mind.   It’s Zen like I think.”
    “I can appreciate that,” said Abby,
“ sometimes I get so caught up in my work it gets to the point where it takes
over everything else.”
    “That’s not exactly what I mean,”
said Mitch.   “ I don’t think about
it that way.   Getting caught up in
something that takes over.”
    “Well,” said Abby, “my work can be
an escape from the world around me.   The city isn’t like out here, you have to find a place to hide from it
sometimes.   It can suck you in and
thrash you.   You have to work to
keep yourself sane.   Isn’t that what
you mean?”
    “I don’t know if I am trying to
hide from the world.   I want to be
part of my work, what I’m doing, not a slave to it,” said Mitch.
    “What’s the difference if you enjoy
what you’re doing?” asked Abby.
    “I dunno, but I think you got
something there,” said Mitch.   “I
don’t suppose you want any tea.”
    Abby did want a cup of tea and was
pleased that Mitch remembered.
    When they exited the theater to the
library Mitch gestured for Abby to step to the left.
    “I forgot to show you the guest
entrance,” said Mitch.
    They went through the foyer to the
porch and looked out the window to the circular end of the drive.
    “Step out the door and look to the
side,” said Mitch.
    Abby did and saw on either side of
the double oak doors two four-foot high, three-foot circular urns with embossed
ivy decoration.
    “I think they’re Bellen’s,” said
Mitch.
    “They seem to be close, but I have
never seen this design before.   I
wish we could see the mark on the bottom.”
    “Unfortunately they weigh half a
ton.   We’re going to move them
inside later, we’ll take a look then.”
    “I can’t wait to see,” said
Abby.   Mitch and Abby went back
inside.
    They went to the kitchen where
Mitch filled an electric kettle with water and then put the plug into a wall
socket next to the stainless steel stove.   From his lunch pail, Mitch produced milk from a short blue thermos and
even some honey.
    “You were pretty sure I was going
to stop by,” said Abby.
    “Not in the least.”
    “I hope you aren’t trying to
impress me.”
    “Well, yea.”
    “Good job then.”
    Mitch put out two ceramic mugs and
a box of Earl Grey.   “So you must
think of Willow Lake pretty nostalgically.   I mean you grew up here and everything but it has to be pretty far
removed from where you are.”
    “It’s removed alright.”
    “How are things in the city?”
    “Things are fine, the job is good,”
said Abby.   “It’s not here.”
    Mitch raised his brow.   “This back-water you mean?”
    “Yea, that’s what I mean,” said
Abby.   “No of course that’s not what
I mean.   I mean it isn’t here.   Simply that.   Here everybody knows you.   You’re not from here, I am.   Everybody knows my business, my
past.   There, I blend.   I get to choose who I want to be, how I
want to be.   I don’t get that here.”
    “So you don’t like the ‘every body
knows your name’ thing, eh?” asked Mitch.
    “It’s not that in so many words.”
    “What do you mean?   I kinda like it.”   Mitch leaned his back against the
counter picked up a spoon and began to stroke the end.
    “It’s just that here I am