Mountain Homecoming (30 page)

Rani directed one last glance toward the kitchen before she picked up the cornbread and took a bite. As she chewed, a new resolve began to form in her mind. She'd moped around Uncle Charles's house ever since she arrived, but she wouldn't mope any longer. She had come to Maryville to forget Matthew, and that was what she intended to do. From now on she would concentrate on keeping herself busy so she wouldn't have time to think about the man who had broken her heart. There had to be all kinds of things to interest her in a town this size, and she intended to find them all.

The visit to the potter's studio this afternoon was a good way to begin.

A bell over the door jingled when Uncle Charles opened the door for Rani to enter. Rani stepped into the artist's showroom and looked around in wonder at the assortment of bowls and vases displayed. The bright colors of the pieces that sat on shelves around the walls and tables across the floor made her pit-fired pieces look like dingy rejects.

“Look around and make yourself at home,” a man's voice called from a room at the back of the shop. A curtain hung over the door that led to the room and blocked her view of what lay beyond. “I'll be with you in a minute.”

“David, it's Charles Prentiss. Take your time. We'll just browse,” Uncle Charles called back.

Rani wandered to the far side of the room and gazed down at the pieces in a locked glass case but turned just a moment later when a man walked into the room. A long apron covered him from his chest to his knees, and specks of clay clung to the material. He stuck out his hand and hurried toward Uncle Charles.

“Dr. Prentiss, I'm glad you came in today. I've been working on some pieces for the exhibit in Knoxville, and I wanted you to see them. After all, you've encouraged me so much since I opened my studio.”

Uncle Charles waved his hand in dismissal. “That's because I recognize a gifted artist when I see one. You deserve all the accolades you're going to get in Knoxville.”

“Thank you. So, are you shopping or just visiting today?” the young man asked.

“Both, I guess. I've been meaning to get another of your pieces, but today I've brought someone who's very interested in seeing your work.” He motioned for Rani to join them. “This is my niece Rani Martin from Cades Cove.”

He turned toward Rani, and his eyes blue widened. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down and he took a deep breath as she walked toward them. When she stopped next to her uncle, his gaze traveled over her. “I'm David Brann, Miss Martin. I didn't see you at the display case. I'm delighted to meet you. Your uncle has spoken of you often.”

“He's told me about you and your studio too, Mr. Brann.” She swept her arm in an arc. “This is wonderful. I've never seen so many beautiful pieces together in one place before.”

He smiled and brushed the shock of blond hair that hung over his forehead out of his eyes. “Thank you, Miss Martin, but you are a very accomplished potter also.”

Her mouth dropped open in surprise. “How do you know that?”

He laughed, and the corner of his eyes crinkled. “Your uncle has quite a bit of your work in his home. I've admired it ever since I first saw it.”

She felt her cheeks flush, and she returned the young man's warm smile. “They look rather primitive compared to yours.”

A frown creased his forehead. “Oh, you musn't think like that. Every artist has their own special gift they bring to their work, and your pit-fired pieces are some of the best I've ever seen.”

She laughed. “Thank you for the compliment.” She glanced around the shop again. “Mine are all handcrafted, but I imagine you use a potter's wheel.”

He nodded. “I do, and I fire my pieces in a kiln I have out back of the studio.”

She clasped her hands in front of her and sighed. “A potter's wheel and a kiln sound like such luxuries to me. I dig my clay from a pit in a hollow near our home and fire it in a field next to our house. I've always wished I could learn to use a potter's wheel.”

“I'd be glad to teach you.”

Her eyes grew wide with excitement. “You would? I would be so grateful, and I'd be glad to pay you for lessons. When could you start?”

“There's no need for you to pay me. Doc has done a lot for me since I came to Maryville, and it would be my pleasure to return the favor. How about if we start this afternoon? I'm caught up for the day and don't have anything pressing.”

She turned to Uncle Charles, who had remained quiet through her exchange with Mr. Brann. “Do you mind if I stay, Uncle Charles? I can find my way back to your house when we're finished.”

Uncle Charles smiled. “Stay as long as you like, darling. I can come back for you later this afternoon, though.”

“There's no need for that,” David said. “I'll be glad to drive Miss Martin back to your home.” He turned and faced her. “That is, if you don't mind riding with me.”

For the first time since coming to Maryville, Rani felt a surge of excitement. She was going to learn to use a potter's wheel, and something in the easy manner she and David Brann spoke reminded her of the ease with which she and George had once spoken.

She smiled at him. “I think you look perfectly capable of handling a horse and buggy, Mr. Brann.”

His eyes sparkled, and he leaned closer. “I'm afraid the only horses I own are under the hood of my car.”

She gasped. “You own an automobile?”

He laughed and held up his hands. “Guilty. Do you still want to ride with me?”

She threw back her head and laughed. “More than ever. I've never ridden in a car before.”

Uncle Charles laughed and turned toward the door. “Then I'll leave you two artists to your work. Thank you for bringing Rani home later, David, and we'll expect you to stay for supper.”

His gaze swept Rani. “I would be delighted, Doc.”

When he had left, David turned to her. “My wheel is in the back room. I have another apron you can wear. I'd hate for you to get that pretty dress dirty.”

She laughed. “Don't worry about that, Mr. Brann. I'm used to having clay all over me.”

He cocked an eyebrow and studied her for a moment. “It is a rather messy medium. Before we start, however, there's one thing we need to get straight.”

“And what's that?”

“I'm not an old man yet, just turned twenty-six. And you're definitely not an old woman. So let's not have any more of this Mr. Brann and Miss Martin stuff. I want you to call me David, and I'd like to call you Rani. Is that agreeable with you?”

She smiled and stuck out her hand. “Hello, David. My name is Rani.”

He took her hand in his and squeezed. “Hello, Rani. It's good to meet you. I'm glad you came to my shop today.”

E
ven though Simon had said the men planned to come help build his cabin, Matthew doubted they would show up this morning. After all, they had too much to do on their farms, and it cut into a farmer's workday to put aside his chores. The fact that it was Luke Jackson's son needing help would probably keep them away too.

When Cecil Davis pulled his wagon to a stop at the cabin site, Matthew hurried to welcome the man who would lay the bricks Rani had made. Cecil climbed down from the wagon and nodded. “Morning, Matthew. Looks like a good day for workin'.”

Matthew remembered how Cecil's tall, muscular frame had always seemed at odds with the man's soft-spoken words. Matthew stuck out his hand and nodded. “I appreciate your help, Mr. Davis. Simon said he and John would be here, but I'm really not expecting anybody else.”

“No need to worry. They'll be along in a while. I passed by Pete Ferguson's place on my way here. It looked like he was loadin' up to come.”

“I told him he didn't need to push himself. He's still not over that accident.”

Cecil nodded. “I reckon he'll know how to pace himself. He's not one to pass up somebody a-needin' he'p.” Cecil paused and narrowed his eyes. “Just like you wasn't when you he'ped him.”

“I was glad to do it.”

“Well, Pete's been a-tellin' ev'rybody 'bout how you done come over there ev'ry day. I always knowed you was a good man, Matthew. I'm right glad you came on back home where you belong.”

Matthew realized Cecil had probably just made one of the longest speeches of his life, and the words felt like a soothing ointment applied to an open wound. Simon, Anna, Granny, and even Rani had told him he'd done the right thing in coming home, but he had thought them biased in their opinions. To have a member of the community voice those same words gave him hope that maybe he did have a place in the Cove.

He stuck out his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Davis. I'm glad to be back.”

Cecil shook his hand and nodded. “Cecil. Just call me Cecil.”

Matthew smiled. “I will.”

Two other wagons pulled into the yard and rumbled to the site. Simon and his brother John climbed down from one, and Howard Ledbetter and his son Edward from another. Within minutes Pete Ferguson had arrived as well as Joshua Whitson, William Carter, and his son Sam.

Matthew could hardly believe how quickly the men set to work. Before he knew it, Pete had organized the men into teams with different jobs and had sent them off in all directions. Then he had taken his place in a chair underneath a tree at the edge of the cabin site.

Matthew walked over to Pete and glanced down at him. “Are you making it all right?”

He chuckled. “I feel fit as a fiddle. It's good to be out ag'in.”

Matthew stared after the men who were walking toward the tree line at the back of his property. “I've said it a hundred times this morning, but I'll say it once more. I really appreciate what all of you are doing for me.”

Pete leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “Just helping a neighbor out. That's what we do in the Cove.”

Matthew closed his eyes and inhaled the sweet mountain air. “I guess that's right. We've always done that.”

He turned, picked up the axe that he'd propped beside a tree, and headed after the men who were on their way to chop down trees and strip them into logs for the home he'd dreamed of having. This was developing into one of the best days of his life. Everything would be perfect if his mother, Eli, and Rani were here to share it with him.

Rani studied the piece she'd just made on the potter's wheel. After a minute she shook her head, grabbed the wet clay, and dumped it back into the tub at her feet. “I'm never going to get the hang of this,” she cried. “Why won't it work for me?”

Across the room David looked up from the glaze he was painstakingly applying to a large bowl. “You're being too hard on yourself. Don't expect perfection at first. Keep trying.”

She jumped to her feet, grabbed a towel, and wiped the clay from her hands. “I've tried for three weeks, David, and it's not getting any better.” She wadded the towel into a ball and hurled it at her chair. “I might as well give up. I'm never going to be any good at this.”

David laid down the brush he held and wiped his hands on the front of his apron. He crossed his arms and leaned against the table beside him. “I'm beginning to think you may be right.”