Chief Durand lifted his gaze to Damien, brows rising. “Interesting. Do you think you can mimic that technique?”
His voice didn’t sound skeptical, just questioning. Yet the inquiry didn’t help the ball tightening in Damien’s gut. “I’ve been practicing.” For many days, though only during daylight hours. He’d not allowed himself to work late into the night, for he needed his senses and reflexes to be as sharp as possible for this project.
The chief nodded. “All we can do is our best.” He motioned toward the sketches. “From these, I’d say you’ve mastered the style and images.” Then the man turned his focus fully to Damien. “I appreciate your efforts to help restore this chalice to its original condition. It means a lot to our people. We have so little that connects us to our heritage before our ancestors established Laurent. We’ve treasured this piece.”
Damien nodded. He could understand their desire, though he’d focused more on things that would connect him to his more recent heritage—Michelle and his parents.
“Do you know the full story behind the chalices?” The chief eyed him, pleasure curving his mouth.
“I remember my father saying it was handed down from his father, who received it from his grandfather. Two cups were given, one to him and one to his brother, part of a setengraved by the great Titus Trouvé. The one belonging to our family has been passed down the male line. Michelle, my sister, safeguarded ours after our parents died.”
He’d had no idea what a treasure they possessed. Michelle may not even have fully understood. The cup symbolized the gift of connection—of family, no matter how far separated. These people seemed to realize that. And now he was being tasked with the job of restoring the symbol of that connection to its original glory.
“There’s one thing I’d like you to remember as you’re working.”
Damien cringed at the chief’s words. Not one more layer of pressure being added to this already impossible task. But he forced himself to meet the man’s gaze. “Yes, sir?”
“No matter how well you duplicate the original etching, this will never again be an exact Trouvé work of art.” His dark eyes grew darker, as though he were trying to emphasize the importance of what he just said.
Was he so angry still about the damage Charlotte had inflicted? Damien had watched the chief’s response when Charlotte first revealed the damaged chalice—at least, until he’d realized exactly what the treasure she held out was. He’d not recognized any harsh anger in the man’s expression, only sadness. And disappointment when her father spoke of wishing she’d come to him first.
Damien swallowed, trying to force down the lump that had now risen into his throat. This had been an accident, and he would do everything he could to protect Charlotte from any recourse. “Sir, I know Charlotte never meant for this to happen. It was an accident, and I’m sure if she had it to do over again—”
Durand raised his hand to halt Damien. A hint of humor glimmered in his gaze. “You don’t need to defend my daughter to me, son. What I meant to say was that the final version of this chalice, after you’re finished with it, will no longer be only the work of Trouvé. It will also bear your own signature. A hint of your own style, even as you try to mimic another’s. As much as we want it to look like the original chalice, I have no doubt what you add will make the original even better.”
The knot in Damien’s throat melted, burning on its way down as he took in the man’s words. The faith he showed so freely. Only Michelle had ever believed in him so strongly. Well, and perhaps Charlotte.
He managed only a nod in response.
Chief Durand took the chalice and locked it in the brace he’d prepared for it. Damien positioned his pencils, chisels, and hammer so he’d have access to each as he needed them.
Then, with a deep breath and a heartfelt prayer, he set to work.
Damien had not expected the project to take this long, but as he tapped his smallest chisel into the edge of Jesus’s robe on the third day, he couldn’t deny the sense of satisfaction at each scrape that pierced exactly where and how deeply it needed to.
Nor could he deny the sharp ache in his shoulder after so many days of exacting work. Setting down his tools, he straightened slowly, easing his body out of the bent position.
“Shall I go get more salve for your neck?” Charlotteglanced up from the mending she stitched, concern marking her features.
He shook his head, then tried to still his wince at the pain that shot up his spine. “I have some left from what you brought before.”
She set aside the garment and stood. “The least I can do is rub out that knot again. You’re doing all the hard work to fix my blunder.”
Perhaps he should protest, but as her strong fingers worked in the salve and kneaded the pains in his neck and shoulders, he could only slump forward in a heavenly stupor. He should take more care with Charlotte’s reputation, perhaps not allow her to touch him like this, especially when they were alone.
He knew beyond a doubt she was the match God had created for him. How soon before he could speak those words aloud? They’d known each other for such a short time. She deserved to be courted properly, and that meant speaking to her father.
“Well.” Chief Durand’s voice rang across the workroom, as though summoned by Damien’s thoughts alone.
Damien jerked his head up, checking the man’s face for signs of anger at seeing them so near each other. Especially when he should be at work on the chalice. But amusement seemed the primary emotion in his expression.
Charlotte didn’t cease her efforts with his neck, though his own enjoyment of it wasn’t quite as intense with her father approaching them.
“Do you bring good news?” Her voice sounded hopeful.
“I do.” The chief stopped across the worktable from them and leaned closer to study Damien’s progress on the cup. “It’s coming along faster than I expected.”
Thankfully, Charlotte ceased her ministrations and moved back to her sewing as her father raised his gaze to Damien.
