Indelible by Laurie Buchanan (classic children's novels .TXT) 📗

basket is cocked on Libby’s hip. Her sapphire eyes twinkle in merriment. “Long enough. I just finished hanging a load of towels out to dry, but the sky has repainted itself a slate gray. I expect rain clouds scudding overhead any moment.”

Niall agrees. “The weather station revised the forecast a while ago. You’re right, a storm is brewing. It’s still well off the coast, but it’s expected to arrive tonight or in the wee hours of the morning.”

“It’s going to arrive well before then,” Libby says.

“You only use the clothesline when your soul needs soothing, Libby. What’s wrong?” Niall asks.

She saunters over to him. “You know me too well.” After pressing the soft red petals of her lips to his, she gives him a saucy, come-hither look and struts out of the kitchen.

With each languid step, the gauzy material of the billowing aqua and chocolate skirt whisper at Cynthia’s ankles. Tall and willowy, the epitome of earthy, bohemian beauty, she’s the first guest to arrive at the main house this evening. Stacks of silver and turquoise bracelets, perfect for her coloring, clink and clank together like a symphony, with each movement of her wrists. She’s wearing her new, hand-carved pendant. Crafted from ebony, it’s an intricately carved patu, the term for a club used by the Maori, the indigenous people of New Zealand—a symbol of protection, something to ward off evil.

Spacious and inviting, the main house at Pines & Quill is one you can enter as if it’s your own. Further, the guests were instructed by Libby the night before to let themselves in at six o’clock and head straight to the eat-in kitchen. And that’s precisely what Cynthia does. In addition to enjoying the company of these lovely people, her intent this evening is to discern something new about each one. Perhaps something she can help them with.

Cynthia watches as Niall bats flour smudges from the Paris bistro-striped apron he wears when cooking, then wipes his hands and begins.

“Cynthia, you’ve had a look at many of our guest’s palms, I was wondering—”

“Oh my goodness, of course, I’d be delighted to look at your palm,” she interjects before he can finish.

After taking Niall’s right hand in both of hers, Cynthia turns his palm upright, tips her head forward, leans in, and gazes with intent.

A minute passes before she points a well-manicured, Ferrari-red fingernail to a place on his hand, touches it lightly and explains, “The outer edge of your palm provides the best view of the marriage line. See, it starts here and runs toward your ring finger. It’s amazing that this tiny line has such a large impact on a person’s life, but it does. And it’s often overlooked because it’s not as deeply etched into the palm as either the life or heart lines.” She points to each line, in turn. “See how your marriage line is located so close to your heart line?”

Niall nods with wide-eyed interest.

“That means you married young. If it were closer to the base of your little finger,” she says, pointing, “it would mean that you married later in life. And look here.” She points at a single, vertical slash line. “This means you have one child.”

“You’re right,” he says, astonishment lacing his voice. “Our son, Ian.”

“And you’re a good man,” Cynthia says just as Libby, a captivating picture in a French-inspired, sage silk top, enters.

“I second the motion. But what makes you say that?” Libby asks.

She’s worried about their son, Cynthia thinks. “Step over here and let me show you. See how this marriage line,” Cynthia says, pointing, “doesn’t have any lines running parallel to it?”

“Yes,” Libby says.

“That means Niall is faithful. He always has been and always will be. Would you like to know why?” Cynthia asks.

“Yes, I would,” Libby says.

“It’s because he married the love of his life,” Cynthia says, looking into Libby’s vivid blue eyes. “For some, there’s only one.”

Hearing a noise, the three turn to see who’s arrived.

Fran steps into the big, comfortable kitchen.

It’s clear that the Zen-like balm of Pines & Quill is working its wonders, Cynthia thinks. Her usually taut face is relaxed and smiling. Unsprayed, soft-combed hair frames her oval face. “Oh, let me see you,” Cynthia says with enthusiasm.

Fran turns around so Cynthia and Libby can both see the whole of her new outfit. She looks fantastic in the soft cream linen dress, sandals, and a vibrant lime-colored, light-weight, bolero jacket.

“You’re beautiful,” the women exclaim. Stepping closer, they admire Fran’s new intricately adorned silver and burnished gold bracelet. It’s decorated with a cornucopia of gemstones in a variety of different colors, each complimenting the next.

“I see you discovered Hyde and Seek,” Libby says, pointing to Fran’s new pendant.

“Yes, I bought one of Mick’s hand-carved pendants. It’s a koru design crafted from ash wood. According to the enclosure, it represents growth, new life, and new beginnings. It seems fitting.”

Cynthia looks at Fran’s left hand and sees that her ring is absent. I’m glad that she’s coming into her own.

Just then, Mick arrives. Cynthia notices that his white shirt emphasizes his still damp, fresh-from-the-shower raven hair as he escorts Emma into a cloud of delicious smells that tease their nostrils when they enter the welcoming kitchen. Cynthia smiles. They’re falling in love. But I can sense Mick’s fear. He’s afraid of losing another important person in his life.

A connoisseur of fine jewelry, Cynthia takes in the single pearls dangling from each of Emma’s lobes. They’re showcased by her upswept auburn hair. They’re like beautiful bookends, and if I’m not mistaken, they belonged to her maternal grandmother. Cynthia’s eyes follow Emma as she rolls toward the mudroom.

“Hello, handsome!” Emma directs the compliment at Hemingway, whose neck is stretched over the bottom half of the Dutch door. From a seated level, Emma can’t give the attention to the now-beside-himself Hemingway that he wants.

Cynthia watches with smiling interest, as do the others.

After readjusting her position, Emma locks the wheels on her chair. With her well-toned, muscled arms,