"Hello," Octavia said. "Would you like to enter a picture in the art show?"
The child stared at her. She did not speak. "Every entrant gets a box of crayons and a pad of drawing paper," Octavia explained. "The rule is that the picture has to be on a piece of paper the size of one of these." She flipped through the blank sheets of drawing paper. "When it's ready, bring it back here."
The girl's anxious gaze shifted from Octavia's face to the pad of drawing paper and the crayons. She put her hands behind her back, evidently afraid that she might lose control and reach out to grab the art supplies.
She shook her head very fiercely.
"Anne?"
The woman who had accompanied the girl into the gallery a few days ago rushed out of Seaton's Antiques. Her head swiveled rapidly as she searched the sidewalk in both directions with the slightly frantic look a mother gets when she turns around and realizes her offspring has disappeared.
"Anne, where are you?"
"I'm here, Mom," Anne whispered.
Her mother swung around. Relief flashed across her face. The expression was followed by stern exasperation.
"You must not disappear like that." She walked swiftly toward her daughter. "How many times have I told you not to run off without telling me where you're going? This may not be Seattle, but the same rules apply."
"I was just looking in the window," Anne said in a tiny, barely audible voice. She kept her small hands secured very tightly behind her back. "I didn't touch anything, honest."
Octavia studied the woman coming toward her. Anne's mother appeared to be in her late twenties but if you had only seen her eyes, you would have added twenty years to her age.
"Hello," Octavia said in her best professional tone. "I'm Octavia Brightwell. You were in my gallery the other day."
"I'm Gail Gillingham." Gail smiled hesitantly. "I'm sorry if Anne was bothering you."
"Not in the least," Octavia said cheerfully. "I noticed that she was looking at the poster featuring the Children's Art Show. I thought she might like to participate. I have room for more pictures."
Gail looked down at Anne. "Thank you, but I'm afraid Anne is very shy."
"Who cares?" Octavia looked at Anne. "Lots of artists are shy. I'll tell you what, why don't you take these crayons and the paper home with you? You can draw your picture in private where no one else can watch you at work. When it's ready, just ask your mother to drop it off here at the gallery."
Anne looked at the crayons and the paper as though they were made of some magical, insubstantial substance that might disintegrate if she were to touch them.
Octavia did not say anything more. She just smiled encouragingly and held out the crayons and the paper.
For a long moment, Anne did not move. Then, very slowly she untwisted her arms from behind her back, reached out, and took the supplies from Octavia. Clutching them tightly to her chest, she stepped back and looked at her mother.
Surprise and a fleeting delight lit Gail's face. An instant later her pleasure was marred by what seemed to be uncertainty. She hesitated and then seemed to brace herself.
"How much do I owe you for the crayons and the paper?" she asked.
"The Children's Art Show has been underwritten by the Bright Visions gallery, which is sponsoring it," Octavia said. "All the entrants receive the same basic supplies."
"Oh, I see." Gail relaxed visibly. "Thank Miss Brightwell for the crayons and paper, Anne."
"Thank you," Anne repeated in the barest of whispers.
"You're welcome," Octavia said. "I'll look forward to seeing your picture."
Anne tightened her grip on the art supplies and said nothing. She still looked as if she expected the crayons and paper to vaporize in her arms.
At that moment, a familiar silver BMW pulled into the small parking lot at the end of the row of shops. Octavia's stomach fluttered. She glanced at her watch and saw that it was almost five-thirty. Nick was right on time.
Gail gave Octavia a grateful smile. "I don't know if Anne will actually do a picture for your art show, but she loves to draw and paint. She will definitely use the supplies."
"Excellent," Octavia said. She looked at Anne. "But I really hope you'll make a special drawing for the show. If you do, you can choose the color of the frame."
"You're gonna put it in a frame?" she asked in astonishment.
"Of course."
"So it will look like a real picture?" Anne pointed toward the framed paintings hanging inside the gallery. "Like one of those?"
"Yes," Octavia said. "It will look like a real picture because it will be a real picture. Just like one of those inside my gallery."
Anne was clearly dazzled by the prospect.
"Come along, Anne," Gail said. "We have to stop at the store and then we have to go home to help Grandma fix dinner."
"Okay."
Anne and Gail moved off toward the small parking lot. Nick was out of his car now, walking toward the gallery. He wore a long-sleeved, crew neck tee shirt and a pair of jeans. The snug fit of the shirt emphasized the contours of his strong shoulders and flat belly.
He paused to greet Gail and Anne with a friendly nod and a few words. When the short conversation was finished, Gail and her daughter got into an aging Chevrolet.
Nick continued toward the gallery.
Edith came to stand on the sidewalk next to Octavia.
"Such a sad situation." Edith shook her head and made a tut-tut sound when Gail and Anne drove past them down the street.
Octavia waved at Anne, who gazed fixedly at her through the car window. Hesitantly the girl raised a small hand in response.
"I assume you're talking about Gail and Anne?" Octavia said, watching Nick.
"Yes. Gail is the daughter of Elmore and Betty Johnson, the folks who run Johnson's Nursery and Garden Supply. She was such a pretty girl back in high school. Bright, too. Went off to college in Seattle." She paused and smiled at Nick when he came to a halt in front of her.
"Afternoon, Mrs. Seaton. Nice day."
"It is, indeed. I was just telling Octavia how Gail went off to college in Seattle and ended up married to that investor fellow who left her a couple of years ago and ran off with the decorator who redid his office."
"I'm afraid I didn't keep up with the gossip at the time," Nick said in a repressive tone that was clearly meant to change the subject. "I had my hands full in Portland."