A wagon sat in the middle of the path. As she watched, Douglas left the observatory, went to the side of the wagon, and grabbed another crate. As he lifted it, he looked up and saw her.
At least he was fully dressed.
But, really, should she be able to remember the sight of him naked so clearly?
Chapter 12
“What are you doing here?” she asked. Thunder rolled from cloud to cloud, deadening her words, tossing them into the wind as quickly as they were voiced.
He shook his head to indicate he didn’t understand, and she shouted the question again. Once more, he shook his head, then glanced upward at the lowering storm before setting down the crate, circling the wagon, and grabbing her arm to pull her inside the observatory.
He had made changes here, changes that she hadn’t authorized or approved. Changes that had forever altered the atmosphere of the observatory, her childhood sanctuary.
For long minutes, she remained silent, studying what he’d done. He’d wiped the dust from the shelves, loading them with his own possessions. Cylindrical glass vials sat next to an assortment of green-tinted bottles with cork stoppers. Wooden frames were propped on four of the shelves, each frame strung with a dozen or more filaments.
On one side of the room, Douglas had mounted alarge sheet of paper with an arrangement of numbers and letters written on it. Not a foreign language but something she couldn’t decipher. Two or three chests sat below each shelf. The worktable, made of wood and having lasted two generations, was now piled high with a series of trunks and crates.
“How did you get the roof open?” she asked, glancing over at him. “It hasn’t worked in years.”
His gaze traveled from the rounded top of the observatory to her face. “It just required a little oil,” he said.
The observatory had ceased to be her sanctuary. Douglas had put his mark on it as adeptly as if he’d written his name everywhere.
“What are you doing here?” she asked one more time.
“Satisfying my bargain with your father.”
She frowned, then remembered his words the night before about her waiting in judgment of others and smoothed the expression from her face.
“How?”
“By making diamonds,” he said, smiling.
She stared at him, every thought flying out of her mind. “Only God can make diamonds.”
“God has seen fit to share that knowledge with me,” he said, his smile not altered one whit.
“How?”
“It’s a process I’ve developed.”
She sat down on a crate and stared up at him. “That’s what my father was willing to invest in? A way to make diamonds?”
He nodded.
“And you’ve made diamonds before?”
He reached into his vest and withdrew a small black bag, then walked to where she sat.
“Put your hand out,” he said, and she found herself doing exactly as he asked.
Slowly, he covered the bowl of her palm with diamonds.
The observatory was barely lit by the open door, but the diamonds still sparkled as if they were a source of light themselves. She stared at her hand in amazement.
Finally, she tore her gaze away from the diamonds to rest on his face. He was still smiling.
She didn’t know what to say to him, so she only stretched out her hand, watching as he poured the diamonds back into the velvet bag.
