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Chapter 14

Mitch led Abby back to the main floor library then through a sheet-curtained door that led into a large room built on to the side of the house.  If Abby had closed her eyes, she would have thought she walked into the center of a pine grove.  The large room was entirely pine paneled except for one wall that had a very large velvet curtain.  Three rows of large cushion armchairs filled the room.  The trim across the top, bottom, and sides of the wood panels was embedded with the details of routed design work, and seated within the center of the wall panels were custom sound cushions.

“This theater has been my pet project,” said Mitch.

“It’s amazing,” said Abby.  “How much of it did you do?”

“Practically all of it, except of course the curtains, chairs and movie equipment.”

“Did you design this?”

“Not exactly,” said Mitch, “ I kinda played it by ear – like jazz, ya know?”

“Whadda ya mean jazz?”

“You know,” said Mitch, “ I had to build this theater so I picked a place outside the library in the fall when I could still get a good foundation down.  Once I had the foundation I had the bass line.”  He slowly drew a horizontal line through the air to illustrate his point.  “I already knew the melody in as much as a theme.  I mean the room was to be a theater.  The movie equipment had a set of requirements.  The rest I just made up as I went a long – like making up notes.”  Mitch made a rapid conducting motion, “Like jazz, I filled the in spaces in between the bars.”

“Heavy,” said Abby.

Mitch took Abby’s hand, eased her down into a cushion chair next to him, and in his Bogart voice said, “The stuff dreams are made of.”

Abby and Mitch took in the room.

“That’s a great perspective,” said Abby.  “I’ve never seen a theater like this before.  Pine paneled.”

“I like tackling work like this, creativity in limits, your cousins make good partners.”

“I can see why they like working with you,” said Abby.  She inspected the pine details.  “How did you get the detailing so ornate?”

“Having Brian show me Roman and Greek reliefs until my eyes popped out and then a lot of hours practicing with the router.  I enjoy the way the wood smells when you work with it, how the process relaxes the mind.  It’s Zen like I think.”

“I can appreciate that,” said Abby, “ sometimes I get so caught up in my work it gets to the point where it takes over everything else.”

“That’s not exactly what I mean,” said Mitch.  “ I don’t think about it that way.  Getting caught up in something that takes over.”

“Well,” said Abby, “my work can be an escape from the world around me.  The city isn’t like out here, you have to find a place to hide from it sometimes.  It can suck you in and thrash you.  You have to work to keep yourself sane.  Isn’t that what you mean?”

“I don’t know if I am trying to hide from the world.  I want to be part of my work, what I’m doing, not a slave to it,” said Mitch.

“What’s the difference if you enjoy what your doing?” asked Abby.

“I dunno, but I think you got something there,” said Mitch.  “I don’t suppose you want any tea?”

Abby did want a cup of tea and was pleased that Mitch remembered.

When they exited the theater to the library Mitch gestured for Abby to step to the left.

“I forgot to show you the guest entrance,” said Mitch.

They went through the foyer to the porch and looked out the window to the circular end of the drive.

“Step out the door and look to the side,” said Mitch.

Abby did and saw on either side of the double oak doors two four-foot high, three-foot circular urns with embossed ivy decoration.

“I think they’re Bellen’s,” said Mitch.

“They seem to be close, but I have never seen this design before.  I wish we could see the mark on the bottom.”

“Unfortunately they weigh half a ton.  We’re going to move them inside later, we’ll take a look then.”

“I can’t wait to see,” said Abby.  Mitch and Abby went back inside.

They went to the kitchen where Mitch filled an electric kettle with water and then put the plug into a wall socket next to the stainless steel stove.  From his lunch pail Mitch produced milk from a short blue thermos and even some honey.

“You were pretty sure I was going to stop by,” said Abby.

“Not in the least.”

“I hope you aren’t trying to impress me.”

“Well, yeah.”

“Good job then.”

Mitch put out two ceramic mugs and a box of Earl Grey.  “So you must think of Willow Lake pretty nostalgically.  I mean you grew up here and everything but it has to be pretty far removed from where you are.”

“It’s removed alright.”

“How are things in the city?”

“Things are fine, the job is good,” said Abby.  “It’s not here.”

Mitch raised his brow.  “This back-water you mean?”

“Yeah, that’s what I mean,” said Abby.  “No of course that’s not what I mean.  I mean it isn’t here.  Simply that.  Here everybody knows you.  Your not from here, I am.  Everybody knows my business, my past.  There, I blend.  I get to choose who I want to be, how I want to be.  I don’t get that here.”

“So you don’t like the ‘every body knows your name’ thing, eh?” asked Mitch.

“It’s not that in so many words.”

“What do you mean?  I kinda like it.”  Mitch leaned his back against the counter picked up a spoon and began to stroke the end.

“It’s just that here I am ‘Will Bellen’s’ little girl, and there, I’m ‘Abby Bellen woman-of-the-world’.”

“I thought Caroline said that you girls had a great time growing up.”

“We did, it was great, and I wouldn’t trade it.  But I had to get out of here.  I mean after,” Abby hesitated, “after my mom died, and then after high school.  I had to get out of here.”

“Your Mom, right, sorry.  Caroline told me about her, said she was some kind of firecracker artist.  Caroline said she was an inspiration.”

“Yeah she was all of that all right.”

“That had to be rough dealing with the cancer, being a teenager, losing your mom.  Good thing you had this whole community to support you.”

“To support me, to remind me everyday, to treat me like I was broken.  That’s exactly why I had to get out of here.”

“You still won’t catch me in the city, but I think I get it.”

“What do you get?”

“I get the ‘where nobody knows your name’ syndrome, I guess it works for everybody that moves around.  Nobody knows you so you can invent yourself.”  Mitch turned and placed the spoon he had been fiddling with into a mug and unplugged the electric pitcher that had already heated the water to a boil.  “Here you felt you were ‘Will Bellen’s daughter’,” said Mitch, “ there you invented Abby Bellen, the great curator.”

“And you Mitch Carlson, your not from here, who were you before you reinvented your self?”

Abby opened the Earl Grey.

“No great mystery Abby,” said Mitch taking a tea bag from Abby.  “I was a coffee drinker.”

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