On My Way - Eve Langlais Page 0,42

grated. She hated me, and yet I’d done nothing to her to warrant it.

The screws kept going in, and Brigda focused on those rather than face me as she said, “I need to get some glass cut to size. I’ll be back in a day or two to set the pieces.”

Meaning another few days before I could re-open my shop.

Great. With Christmas less than a week away, I would be squandering some of the best shopping days.

My teeny violin let out a tiny screeching note.

Shoulders back, head up. Yes, this was a setback. However, that didn’t mean I should pout in a corner. There was still plenty to be done. Online ads to place, announcing my grand opening. Taking pictures of the treasures and uploading them onto my new website that Winnie helped set up.

My whiz kid gave me a log-in and everything. All I had to do now was add pictures, descriptions, prices, and SKUs. Words that sounded daunting at first until Winnie sat down and showed me how to add a few items. It turned out it was simply a matter of filling the blanks. Once I saved an item as active, it automatically showed up on the website. We didn’t have online ordering completely set up yet; however, Winnie said the business might not thrive if we didn’t have some kind of option for it.

So much to do. So little time. I shouldn’t waste it. I spent the next hour and a bit taking pictures, which proved challenging. I had only limited lighting once the plywood was in place. The gloomy interior did not produce the kind of vibe I thought we should project. Good thing Mr. Peterson up the street had utility lights I could borrow that turned the shop bright as day.

I took my time cataloguing the various items and snapped several of the ornate box Darryl had pointed out from all angles. However, rather than put it away when done, I held it in my hands. It wasn’t especially heavy. Not hot or cold. The wood grain stained dark, almost black, with hints of auburn.

I traced the lines carved into it. Seamless and even. The person who chiseled the marks had spent time smoothing them and ensuring it was uniform all the way around. I might have suspected machine made, and yet, my gut said it was handmade. A closer inspection of the box had me remarking on the similarity of the symbols to those scattered around my home.

Could it be the same artist that carved the inside of my house had built this box? I intensified my perusal of the markings, seeking a signature of some kind. Perhaps a stamp that told where it was made. The pattern repeated on every side without any variation.

I had no idea how it sprang open, or if indeed it could open. Squishing it in various spots didn’t depress a secret mechanism. Could be it was solid, and yet I knew it to not be true, as every time I rotated it, I could feel the subtle tick of something shifting inside.

The faces of the box met in dark lined seams. Sticking a nail in them didn’t go far, nor did I want to pry it open and damage it. It must have a trick.

Not having the time to play with it, I placed it into my handbag. Perhaps later at home, in a relaxed environment, I’d know what to do. If not, perhaps the house would give me a tool that would.

Would it?

I couldn’t ignore the uncanny nature of my home. Furniture suddenly appearing and no one knowing where it came from. Design details changing. Garages replacing sheds…

I had a magic house. Just how far would it go to please me?

Done with my photography, I headed for the back where my pottery wheel beckoned. I really should have been taking pictures of the stuff stored back here, waiting its turn. But I still had tomorrow. Maybe even the next day what with my window setback.

Also, I’d been thinking. What if the mud in our lake suddenly became the next big thing? At any moment, the company would be going public. I knew they were gearing up for a New Year release. I should be prepared and have something in stock that might appeal to possible collectors. I ignored the niggle that said I’d be taking advantage of people looking to believe in something that didn’t exist.

Healing mud. Kane claimed it could fix ailments. Maybe it could,