Chapter Thirteen
Elliott followed Mr. Gold down the steps to the jewelry shop below. He smiled and nodded, making comments when needed, but his attention was centered on Amber as she trailed along behind them. She was withdrawn, her eyes haunted, and her hands clasped in front of her. Which was completely opposite of the woman he had come to know. She was unusually direct for a woman, she always held her head high, and her hands were often the most animated part of her. But not right now, and he was struggling to figure out why. If she were his mother, he’d just say she was in a mood, but Amber was the most unflappable woman he’d ever met. Until today.
And all because her father had given her a dowry?
“I cut some new stones today,” her father said as he opened the door to the back of the shop. “Why don’t you see what design you can fashion for them?”
Obviously, he was talking to Amber, who looked up at her father first, then over to Elliott. “I do not like it when you discuss my future without me.” Her voice was firm and yet still respectful.
“Then leave the door open. You can hear everything we say. But if I am to lose my best designer, then I must have a few more things to sell before she goes.”
Amber sighed. “I am your only designer.”
“Not anymore,” her father returned. “I have a new apprentice. He draws beautifully, and he began today.”
Elliott saw Amber jerk in reaction. “Papa—” she began, her voice breaking.
“You were always going to grow up,Juwel,” he said softly, using the German word for jewel. “But even so, you will always be my daughter, and whenever you wish to sculpt, you can come here.”
She said nothing, but a sheen of tears was in her eyes. Her father hugged her, and she clasped him with a grip hard enough to turn her knuckles white. It was an intimate scene, and Elliott felt his chest tighten as he watched father and daughter say good-bye. They weren’t, of course. Amber would always be welcome here, and her father would always adore her. And yet, that was the way the moment felt. As if Amber were about to leave forever.
They stood there hugging for a long, long time until Amber lowered her arms. Her cheeks were wet, and she ducked her head away from Elliott. “I’ll go see what this new apprentice has done,” she said gruffly.
Her father snorted. “Nothing good, but there is talent there.”
She nodded and went into a room deep inside the building. She turned up lamps until the room was as bright as daylight, and Elliott looked in to see a workroom with a place for cutting stones, another with pencils and paper, plus carving knives and wax, and then an entire corner given to a kiln.
“This is where I cut stones, and she designs the jewelry,” her father said proudly. “When she was a child, she would spend every extra moment in here watching me and her grandfather work. She sketched until she could carve. I had meant for her to work the front of the shop because a pretty girl always helps with sales, but her genius is here. With the wax.”
Elliott had never seen jewelry made before. He’d never even thought to ask, and so he listened with interest as her father explained. “She carves the wax and makes something like this.” He held up a ring sculpted in wax. There was a place for the stone, raised leaves to twine around it, and a thick band, all exquisitely detailed. “This is put in here.” He held up a metal flask, and we surround it with a special plaster, then wait until it hardens. Then we put it in the kiln, and the wax melts away.”
“Leaving behind a mold,” Elliott said as he looked at an entire shelf of molds for rings, pendants, and brooches.
“She designed all of those,” Mr. Gold said, pointing at the top shelf. “A true artist, my daughter. Her hands were made for this work.”
Amber shot her father a wry look, and Elliott immediately guessed her thoughts. She was wondering—if her hands were made for this work—why had he dowered her so well as to marry away from it? This kind of work wouldn’t be acceptable in a titled lady. It was considered a trade for all that she seemed a true artist at it.
“Come, come,” Mr. Gold said as he tugged on Elliott’s sleeve. “Leave her to criticize the new boy’s sketches. We will drink and discuss matters.”
He wasn’t sure what there was to discuss, but this was Mr. Gold’s show, and so, he followed silently into the main showroom.
“We live upstairs,” Mr. Gold said. “Top floor where there is better sun. But that is not fit for company. So we sit here near my treasure, and we drink to her health.” From his expression, it was clear he meant his daughter was his treasure, not the gemstones or jewelry contained in this place.
“I will drink to that,” Elliott said.
Mr. Gold brought out a small table and chairs and set them in the center of the showroom. Then he produced a brandy fine enough that Elliott’s brows rose in surprise.
“When I toast my daughter, we drink the best,” Mr. Gold said.
Such pride in his voice, such love in his every word and gesture. Elliott couldn’t stop a pang of envy. His own father had passed before he’d seen Elliott grown. Worse, Elliott had been at school when the man was ill and had never had a chance to say goodbye. If his father had lived, would he beam with pride like Mr. Gold did? Would he pull out the finest brandy and drink to Elliott’s future?
He would never know. But in the absence of his own father, he would make merry with Amber’s. He toasted to her health, to her future, to a husband who understood how to make her happy.
“And how would he do that?” Elliott asked, his body warm with drink and good cheer.
“I tell you,” Mr. Gold said as he leaned forward. “When we left Germany, my baby girl cried. She cried and cried because she had cousins, you see. Family we have never seen again. I tried everything to make her happy. I plied her with sweets, sang to her at night, even carried her around like a baby when she had nightmares, and she was no baby then. It was heavy to carry an eight-year-old all night.”
Elliott laughed. “I’m sure it was.”
