Woodcarver's Secret

Chapter 2 - Flames Dance (PART 6)

Sophia's thoughts ran in a tumble as she walked hastily home. There were two boxes, almost identical in appearance, both with mystical powers. So far, with hers, she had only seen visions that appeared to be scenes from other places and times—perhaps a minute peek into the history of the box itself. But what if it could perform miracles of the type she had now witnessed?

She had a brief glimpse of a life as a healer. No more would she spend her days uselessly brushing the dust off someone's furniture or cleaning messy paintbrushes while her father worked at his life's calling.

Perhaps I have found my own calling. The thought quickened her pulse as she turned onto Calle del Solano and made her way toward the Borega house.

From the dining room she could hear the lively sounds of a meal in progress, one that included visitors by the sound of it. She edged to the stairs and ascended quietly. In the studio her father seemed agitated.

"Where were you, girl?" He gestured toward the half-finished painting.

"A child was injured. I stopped to see if I could help." She reached into her bag and took out the linseed oil, setting it on the table. The carved box sat exactly where she had left it.

He made a scoffing sound and busied himself with his brushes.

"I brought you a treat." She unwrapped the cloth with the honey-coated bread inside. "Let me go to the kitchen and get some soup for you."

He eyed the bun but did not stop working turpentine into the delicate bristles.

"You've made good progress today, Papá. Stop for some food and a rest."

He sighed. "My shoulder aches. Worse each day, I am afraid."

Her gaze fell to the box.

"Go to your room, Papá. I shall ask the kitchen girl to bring the soup and then I will stop in and rub the painful area for you."

At last, a small smile. He set the brush down. Sophia guided him by the elbow, out of the studio and toward the stairs. After a quick trip to the kitchen, she came back to the studio.

She closed her eyes and remembered the old gypsy woman, how she had held the other box. The woman had murmured some words, something Sophia could not understand. If that was a critical part of the treatment, her actions now might have no effect. But it was worth the attempt. She held the box with both hands, fingers splayed, concentrating on the sensation of warmth that traveled through them and upward along her arms. She carried it up the back stairs, her hands becoming almost fiery hot by the time she reached Abran's bedroom.

"Papá, show me where it hurts."

When she applied her hands to the muscles along his neck and shoulder, he moaned quietly. His eyes closed as she applied slight pressure and moved over the aching places.

"My Sophia," Abran said, "you are such a kind girl. I feel so much better I shall go back to my work."

She stared at her own hands. How could this be? No time at all and he felt well enough to go to work? She thought of the young boy who had been unconscious one minute and sitting up the next. She nearly laughed out loud. The things she could do with this power! The numerous people she could help!

A tap sounded at the door. "All right, Papá, but eat your soup first."

She admitted the kitchen maid. The girl placed her tray on Abran's bedside table.

"What's this?" Sophia asked, noticing a bandage on the girl's hand.

"Carelessness. I'm sorry ma'am."

"Don't be sorry. Tell me what happened."

"My hand touched the large kettle over the fire. Cook insisted that I put this cloth over it."

"Let me take a look."

As her father sipped the hot broth from the bowl, Sophia unwound the cloth, which looked none too clean, revealing an inflamed spot the size of a coin. The servant winced and turned her head away from the sight.

Sophia tentatively touched the area around the wound and saw the redness fade before her eyes. She laid the palm of her hand softly over the spot; when she raised it the circle was just faintly pink. Her breath caught and the maid looked at her.

"It doesn't seem too bad." Sophia forced the quiver out of her voice, afraid of showing her excitement.

The young maid stared at her hand, then looked up. Sophia smiled, like a mother who had kissed away her child's small scratch. All better. The girl's face was full of gratitude as she left the room.

"What did you do just then?" Abran whispered once the door had closed. His eyes were sharp.

"It was not so serious a wound as the girl thought."

"And my shoulder? Did I only imagine the pain that has wracked me for weeks?" He held up a hand. "I am only cautioning you, my dear. Do not speak of this, and be very careful as to who might observe. Your acts of kindness could easily be taken the wrong way in these treacherous times."