The Potter's Daughter - A chapter each week - Complete Novel Available on Amazon

Chapter 8

The Bellen studio had developed some refined systems over the many years in operation.  The pottery moved through a make shift assembly line.  From the wheels the pottery was placed on one of the tables near the entrance of the studio.  All of the detail work such as the grapevines and ivy were adhered to the urns and then after drying all were loaded into one of the kilns.  After firing the kilns were unloaded to the tables on the far side of the room to be painted and if needed glazed before being fired again.  Will had started the new order this morning with this first urn, so he had to make room on the tables by filling the kiln.

Five four-foot high urns were detailed, dried, and ready for firing.  Will prepared the kiln and then went to the table to begin loading the urns.  The urns were ornamented with flora and fauna and these particular urns composed a set, each one with different flowers and birds.  The first urn Will picked up had long stems of honeysuckle and hummingbirds.  Will was able to create the clay hummingbirds in minutes.  The detail of the honeysuckle still took a good part of an afternoon.  Each petal was made separately and then added to the flower on the stem.  Will wrapped his arms around the urn and effortlessly lifted, the entire weight bearing on his strong legs.  He carried the piece into the kiln and then returned to the table to get the second urn.  This urn had beautiful sparrows and cherry blossoms.

Will put all of the weight on his legs again and lifted the second urn carefully then turned toward the kiln.  A tremor began in his forearm.  Will squeezed the urn hard and tried to hurry his legs, to no good.  His forearm then his hand went weak.  The urn began to slip.  Will was powerless to do anything.  Quickly he tried to kneel to bring the urn closer to the ground to avoid a crash.  Will’s arm gave out first.  The urn fell from his grasp onto the cement floor with a loud thwacking sound.

Down on one knee Will stared at the at the large triangle shard of grey clay with the cherry blossoms still intact and closely bound to their branches.  Across the floor were spread pieces of sparrow and blossom.  Will inspected the pieces where they fell while he massaged his weak arm.  The hand that had failed him was shaking slightly.  He squeezed his palm tightly to steady the shaking.  Then in a quick motion, without getting up from the floor, he grabbed the large shard with both hands and threw the clay at the wall letting out a loud wail as he did so.  The shard fragmented into small pieces upon hitting the wall.  Will’s face was red.  Needled pains shot through his weak arm.  He picked up another large piece next to him and threw this shard less forcefully than the first.  The shard landed short of the wall and broke apart on the floor.

The studio door swung open and in came Abby and Mitch.  Will was still kneeling over the broken urn.  Abby could see there was broken urn all over the floor at the end of the studio.  She knew exactly what had happened.  If the urn had just broken her father would have simply mended the clay before firing.  The debris was a tell tale sign that urn broke because of an episode.

“Are you alright Dad?”

Abby knew the answer before he spoke.

“Yeah,” said Will, “I tripped.”

“Are you sure that is what happened?”

Will raised his voice, “I said I damn tripped.  Isn’t that enough for you people?  It’s this damn floor.”

“Yeah, alright Dad.  We heard a loud noise and just came to see what the hell happened.”

Will was still rubbing his arm, his head bent toward the floor, “I guess I better get the broom and clean this up.”

“You remember Mitch?”

“Of course.  I’m old, not senile.  Hey there Mitch.”

“Hey there, Will,” Mitch replied.  “You need help cleaning up?”

“No,” said Will, his voice calm and softer.  “No, you kids go ahead.”

Mitch turned to Abby.

“I should probably get going anyway,” said Mitch.

“Thank you for bringing the skates by,” said Abby then quickly added, “And thank you for the conversation.  It was nice.”

“Me too, I mean thank you for the tea, and the conversation,” said Mitch.

Mitch turned and walked out the doorway.  “What a girl,” he thought as he made his way to his yellow pickup.  The conversation really had been refreshing and Mitch felt that he had connected with someone in a way he had not in a long time.  As Mitch got into the truck a smile crept across his face.  Abby was waving good-bye from the door of the studio.  Mitch waved to Abby, backed his truck out of the driveway, and kept smiling.

Abby walked back into the studio and discovered her father still on the floor.  Will had not moved from his kneeling position.  Walking over to the side room to grab a broom she said, “I don’t remember the last time I saw you smash an urn.  I’ve seen you repair worse.”

“Well I dropped it.  Is that what you want to hear?  Damn, it’s not the first time I dropped a piece of damn clay.”

“Colorful language,” said Abby as she started to sweep up the remnants of the urn strewn across the room.  “I bet you can’t even get up.”

“I can get up.”

Will lifted himself from the floor hobbling a little on his right leg as he did.

Abby walked toward him, “Let me help you.”

“I don’t need help!”

“I think that is exactly what you need.”

Will raised his voice again, “I think you need not worry about it.”

“Well how long do you think it will be ‘til I have to?  Give me a heads up so that I can know ‘now it’s the time to worry!’”  Abby threw down the broom and stormed out of the studio.

Will had never been one to yell yet lately his voice was rising quite a bit.  Yelling was something Abby was not accustomed to and certainly not going to stand for.

Will slowly walked over to where Abby had thrown the broom.  He bent forward and picked the broom up with his good hand.  His other arm was not shooting pain anymore.  Will opened his hand stretching his fingers wide and then pensively he closed them together into a tightened fist.  A fist that still felt weak.

* * * * *