“The woman has the ability to read people’s thoughts and she’s coming into her powers more and more as she ages,” she went on. “As the story evolves, a group of gypsies ask her to lead them because they revere her for her abilities. But she can’t leave her father, so she toils on until she comes across an evil plan to kill the king of the land.”
“The plot thickens.”
“She goes to the castle and attempts to find someone who will take her seriously. None will. So she calls on the gypsies to spirit her inside the castle, then risks her life by revealing her powers to the king’s court. Because of her, the assassination plot is foiled.”
Remy had built this whole story around a wooden circle with a hole through it? “Then she and the king marry and live happily ever after?” he predicted.
She appeared insulted. “No. Better. She becomes the king’s right-hand advisor. She and her father move into the castle, where they earn the respect of the court.”
He didn’t think he was a creative type because he couldn’t imagine making up a scenario like this. “What was the young woman’s name?”
“Emiline. There’s no detail about her that I don’t know. As her journey unfolded in my mind, I responded to what the wood told me it wanted to say.”
“Huh.”
“Yeah.” With a trace of uncharacteristic self-consciousness, she rubbed her thumb against the top of the statue.
“Is it because you get lost in your work that you have all those alarms set throughout the day?”
“Exactly. When I first started this, I’d get swept away and forget to eat and drink and sleep. Which didn’t end up going very well for me. So I tried the alarms and found that they don’t hinder my creativity. I’m always able to disappear right back into the carving when my work hours start.”
He nodded. “You love your job.”
“Yes,” she said simply.
“How long does it take you to complete a sculpture?”
“It varies. Anywhere from two weeks to two months.”
“Do you have an art degree?”
“No.” She returned to the stool, facing him, hooking the heels of her boots over the rung. “I was always artistic but when it came time for college, I had no idea what I wanted to do jobwise so I went with a marketable degree in Human Resources. It wasn’t until I moved here that I started doing this.”
“Why wood sculpture?”
“My grandfather, the one who built this place, enjoyed wood carving. He taught me the basics when I was little. Back then we made small birds, fish, boats, trees—that type of thing. He passed away before I moved here, but I found out from Leigh that he’d taught her everything he knew. Leigh caught the woodcarving bug. She went to conferences and took online classes and practiced. She doesn’t do much woodworking anymore but when I first came to Islehaven, she was still going strong.”
“Did she sell her pieces?”
“No. She’d tell you she had two of the three important components of a professional artist. She had dedication and passion.”
“What’s the third component?”
“Talent. She came to the conclusion that she didn’t have enough talent. But she saw something in me and so, for two years, she taught me. Which shows you how generous she is. She was determined that I’d become a professional artist, even if that wasn’t in the cards for her.” She crossed her legs, causing her apron to bunch. “Leigh gave her pieces away to loved ones. The heads on my bedside tables are hers.”
That explained a lot. “Was the rest of the art in the house made by your artist friends?”
“Much of it. My collection includes pieces of sentimental value and pieces that speak to me because of their fearlessness or uniqueness. I love a wide variety of art. The only stuff I can’t stand is the tepid commercial stuff. Like Siley. Or Dartin. They’re just in it for the money.”
“Where are your electric tools?”
“I don’t use any. My grandfather and Leigh were both purists in that way. So am I.”
She’d madeEmilineusing only her small hands? “Isn’t it exhausting to carve blocks of wood without power tools?”
“I’m stronger than I look.”
He pointed atEmiline. “I want to buy that one.”
