of paper the size of one of these." She flipped through the blank sheets of drawing paper. "When it's ready, bring it back here."
The girl's anxious gaze shifted from Octavia's face to the pad of drawing paper and the crayons. She put her hands behind her back, evidently afraid that she might lose control and reach out to grab the art supplies.
She shook her head very fiercely.
"Anne?"
The woman who had accompanied the girl into the gallery a few days ago rushed out of Seaton's Antiques. Her head swiveled rapidly as she searched the sidewalk in both directions with the slightly frantic look a mother gets when she turns around and realizes her offspring has disappeared.
"Anne, where are you?"
"I'm here, Mom," Anne whispered.
Her mother swung around. Relief flashed across her face. The expression was followed by stern exasperation.
"You must not disappear like that." She walked swiftly toward her daughter. "How many times have I told you not to run off without telling me where you're going? This may not be Seattle, but the same rules apply."
"I was just looking in the window," Anne said in a tiny, barely audible voice. She kept her small hands secured very tightly behind her back. "I didn't touch anything, honest."
Octavia studied the woman coming toward her. Anne's mother appeared to be in her late twenties but if you had only seen her eyes, you would have added twenty years to her age.
"Hello," Octavia said in her best professional tone. "I'm Octavia Brightwell. You were in my gallery the other day."
"I'm Gail Gillingham." Gail smiled hesitantly. "I'm sorry if Anne was bothering you."
"Not in the least," Octavia said cheerfully. "I noticed that she was looking at the poster featuring the Children's Art Show. I thought she might like to participate. I have room for more pictures."
Gail looked down at Anne. "Thank you, but I'm afraid Anne is very shy."
"Who cares?" Octavia looked at Anne. "Lots of artists are shy. I'll tell you what, why don't you take these crayons and the paper home with you? You can draw your picture in private where no one else can watch you at work. When it's ready, just ask your mother to drop it off here at the gallery."
Anne looked at the crayons and the paper as though they were made of some magical, insubstantial substance that might disintegrate if she were to touch them.
Octavia did not say anything more. She just smiled encouragingly and held out the crayons and the paper.
For a long moment, Anne did not move. Then, very slowly she untwisted her arms from behind her back, reached out, and took the supplies from Octavia. Clutching them tightly to her chest, she stepped back and looked at her mother.
Surprise and a fleeting delight lit Gail's face. An instant later her pleasure was marred by what seemed to be uncertainty. She hesitated and then seemed to brace herself.
"How much do I owe you for the crayons and the paper?" she asked.
"The Children's Art Show has been underwritten by the Bright Visions gallery, which is sponsoring it," Octavia said. "All the entrants receive the same basic supplies."
"Oh, I see." Gail relaxed visibly. "Thank Miss Brightwell for the crayons and paper, Anne."
"Thank you," Anne repeated in the barest of whispers.
"You're welcome," Octavia said. "I'll look forward to seeing your picture."
Anne tightened her grip on the art supplies and said nothing. She still looked as if she expected the crayons and paper to vaporize in her arms.
At that moment, a familiar silver BMW pulled into the small parking lot at the end of the row of shops. Octavia's stomach fluttered. She glanced at her watch and saw that it was almost five-thirty. Nick was right on time.
Gail gave Octavia a grateful smile. "I don't know if Anne will actually do a picture for your art show, but she loves to draw and paint. She will definitely use the supplies."
"Excellent," Octavia said. She looked at Anne. "But I really hope you'll make a special drawing for the show. If you do, you
The girl's anxious gaze shifted from Octavia's face to the pad of drawing paper and the crayons. She put her hands behind her back, evidently afraid that she might lose control and reach out to grab the art supplies.
She shook her head very fiercely.
"Anne?"
The woman who had accompanied the girl into the gallery a few days ago rushed out of Seaton's Antiques. Her head swiveled rapidly as she searched the sidewalk in both directions with the slightly frantic look a mother gets when she turns around and realizes her offspring has disappeared.
"Anne, where are you?"
"I'm here, Mom," Anne whispered.
Her mother swung around. Relief flashed across her face. The expression was followed by stern exasperation.
"You must not disappear like that." She walked swiftly toward her daughter. "How many times have I told you not to run off without telling me where you're going? This may not be Seattle, but the same rules apply."
"I was just looking in the window," Anne said in a tiny, barely audible voice. She kept her small hands secured very tightly behind her back. "I didn't touch anything, honest."
Octavia studied the woman coming toward her. Anne's mother appeared to be in her late twenties but if you had only seen her eyes, you would have added twenty years to her age.
"Hello," Octavia said in her best professional tone. "I'm Octavia Brightwell. You were in my gallery the other day."
"I'm Gail Gillingham." Gail smiled hesitantly. "I'm sorry if Anne was bothering you."
"Not in the least," Octavia said cheerfully. "I noticed that she was looking at the poster featuring the Children's Art Show. I thought she might like to participate. I have room for more pictures."
Gail looked down at Anne. "Thank you, but I'm afraid Anne is very shy."
"Who cares?" Octavia looked at Anne. "Lots of artists are shy. I'll tell you what, why don't you take these crayons and the paper home with you? You can draw your picture in private where no one else can watch you at work. When it's ready, just ask your mother to drop it off here at the gallery."
Anne looked at the crayons and the paper as though they were made of some magical, insubstantial substance that might disintegrate if she were to touch them.
Octavia did not say anything more. She just smiled encouragingly and held out the crayons and the paper.
For a long moment, Anne did not move. Then, very slowly she untwisted her arms from behind her back, reached out, and took the supplies from Octavia. Clutching them tightly to her chest, she stepped back and looked at her mother.
Surprise and a fleeting delight lit Gail's face. An instant later her pleasure was marred by what seemed to be uncertainty. She hesitated and then seemed to brace herself.
"How much do I owe you for the crayons and the paper?" she asked.
"The Children's Art Show has been underwritten by the Bright Visions gallery, which is sponsoring it," Octavia said. "All the entrants receive the same basic supplies."
"Oh, I see." Gail relaxed visibly. "Thank Miss Brightwell for the crayons and paper, Anne."
"Thank you," Anne repeated in the barest of whispers.
"You're welcome," Octavia said. "I'll look forward to seeing your picture."
Anne tightened her grip on the art supplies and said nothing. She still looked as if she expected the crayons and paper to vaporize in her arms.
At that moment, a familiar silver BMW pulled into the small parking lot at the end of the row of shops. Octavia's stomach fluttered. She glanced at her watch and saw that it was almost five-thirty. Nick was right on time.
Gail gave Octavia a grateful smile. "I don't know if Anne will actually do a picture for your art show, but she loves to draw and paint. She will definitely use the supplies."
"Excellent," Octavia said. She looked at Anne. "But I really hope you'll make a special drawing for the show. If you do, you
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