The Pendant: Maeve

Excerpt:
CHAPTER ONE

The wind whistled through the tree tops, announcing the storm’s arrival. Rain slashed on a diagonal slant from the dark, angry clouds that blotted out all trace of the afternoon sun overhead. Within seconds the entire world was drenched. Puddles formed as the lightning flashed and thunder boomed hard enough to shake the ground.

Maeve Redmond ducked under the nearest enclosed spot: a recessed shop entrance. She loved browsing through the historic district—you never knew what treasures you might find if you looked hard enough. The enormous front door looked to be old polished oak with a glass inlay. Maeve took a closer look at the glass that rippled in the center of the door. Man, it had to be old. Same went for the glass in the windows that thrust out from the building on either side of the door. The dark green and white striped awning flapped in the wind, prompting Maeve to find better shelter. One of the municipal garbage cans—a plastic one set into a large wooden box—broke free of the chain that secured it to the sidewalk and tumbled down the wide main street.

The heady aromatic scent of Turkish pipe tobacco enveloped her before she could close the door. It reminded her of how her grandparents’ old colonial home smelled, reminded her how alone in the world she was, not by choice, but by fortune.

An eclectic mixture of furnishings adorned the interior of the store. A thrill raced up Maeve’s spine. Nothing she loved more than an antique shop she’d never been in before. An enormous fireplace filled the wall at the opposite end of the long narrow room. A roaring fire crackled, and even at this farthest point away from it, she could feel the heat.

The pungent aroma of lemon polish mingled with the tobacco, and Maeve missed her grandparents even more. She moved into the shop’s interior, weaving her way through well-grouped pieces of furniture, knick knacks and whatnot, positively drooling. Wanting to touch the fabric, caress the well-polished woods, study the porcelain figurines and purchase all the green Depression glass pieces she saw. Pieces that could’ve come right out of her grandmother’s kitchen.

“Go ahead. Touch whatever you'd like. It’s the best way to connect with the pieces. Sit on the furniture, play with the toys.”

A tall, white-haired gentleman appeared as if from the air itself. He wore an old-fashioned suit. He could’ve stepped right out of a daguerreotype print for all she knew. The elegant clothing suited him well.

“Oh, hello. I didn’t see you when I first came in.” Maeve laughed a bit self-consciously. Truth of the matter was the store had her enamored from the get-go, so the likelihood that she would’ve noticed a living, breathing person in the midst of the antiques wasn’t at all good.

A gentle smile lifted the man’s well-formed mouth. “You appreciate antiques.”

“Mmm, yes,” Maeve murmured. “I feel right at home amongst them.”

“Take your time. I’ll be around.”

A corner bookshelf caught her attention. It didn’t simply adorn the corner for show; it held actual books. Maeve crouched to read the titles. Her breath caught in her throat. Little Women. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. The Scarlet Letter. Oliver Twist. Alice in Wonderland. Beowulf. Lady Chatterley’s Lover. The Age of Innocence. Don Quixote. Jane Eyre. Pride and Prejudice. The Grapes of Wrath. The Sound and the Fury. Wuthering Heights. You Might be a Redneck if This is the Biggest Book You Ever Read. Silas Marner...

“Jeff Foxworthy? In between Wuthering Heights and Silas Marner?”

“His is a most sublime and discerning humor.”

“I’m most fond of his suggestion that a family reunion is a good place to find a wife,” Maeve admitted. Sure, she couldn’t get enough of what her college roomie, Christina, had called hardcore literature— in the same tone of voice she used to denounce pornography—but Maeve believed a person who couldn’t laugh now and again was a miserable person.

Christina was a case in point.

“See anything you like?”

“My problem is I’m not seeing anything I don’t like,” Maeve said. She ran her finger along the filigreed edge of the bookcase. “You have a lovely shop, Mister—”

“Dacien will do.” He held out a well-manicured hand.

“Maeve Redmond.” She slipped her hand into his and was faintly surprised at the strength behind his handshake. He had an air of old-world gentility about him and an accent she couldn’t quite place.

“Ah, named for the mythological Irish warrior queen, Maebh. Queen of the Connacht. Do your people originally hail from County Mayo or Galway, by any chance?”

“All my grandfather would say about Ireland is that his great-grandparents left it in 1873. His great-grands had no living children when they immigrated. My grandpa’s grandfather was born here in Massachusetts five years after their arrival. Grandpa was never interested in finding out more than that. I have no idea why. Maybe he knew more than he told me, which is entirely likely. He had notions about what was appropriate to discuss with children and what wasn’t.”

Dacien smiled, showing a fine set of very straight, white teeth. “Sounds like a fine gentleman, your grandfather.”

A piercing whistle interrupted further conversation beyond Dacien’s comment. “That’ll be the tea kettle. You find a cozy corner, and I shall bring you a nice cup of tea. The storm blew you through the door. A hot drink will stop the shivers.”

Maeve picked her way through a grouping of tables. Sure, tables were interesting and all that good stuff, but holy moley, you couldn’t furnish a home with only tables. No matter how well-crafted or striking they were.

The floor beneath her feet seemed softer somehow. More padded. She looked down, then jumped back as though she’d seen a deadly snake coiled and ready to strike.

Rugs. Oriental, Persian. One rug she swore had been hand-wrought with leftover dress material. That one merited a second look, so Maeve knelt to inspect it better.

“She pays attention, this one, Lena. Nobody else has noticed the Jeff Foxworthy novel I stuck in with those first and second editions. And look at her examine that rug like it were a priceless treasure.”

Maeve grinned at the sound of Dacien’s voice. The conversational tone hinted that someone else lurked behind a closed door somewhere here in the shop. She pulled out the rug that interested her. Dacien’s discussion continued, though she paid little attention. Eavesdropping was very impolite.

“Yes, yes, yes, m’dear. We’ll see.”

The rug turned out to be oval in shape, and very good sized. The old-fashioned patterns on the material used to braid the rug caught Maeve’s eye. Odd, but the rug didn’t look worn at all for it to be as old as she suspected it to be. She wondered how much it would hurt her pocket book, but that didn’t stop her from resolving to ask Dacien about it when he returned.

Just on the other side of the rugs, a tall highboy soared against the pale green wall. The dark mahogany wood reflected the red and orange light the fire cast into this part of the room. The shiny drawer pulls were of an unusual shape. Marble slabs lay across the surface of the highboy, and above that, a series of little drawers arranged to form a pyramid, exactly centered. Ancient mirrors that rose on either side of the pyramid and behind it showed the opposite wall.

Maeve had never seen anything like it in her entire life.

A warm buzzing tingle tickled her, and her legs moved forward almost of their own volition. The mahogany piece pulsated, and the air molecules themselves pinged against Maeve’s already hyper-sensitive skin. Her breath caught in her throat.

She recognized the artistry that created this odd highboy. It sang to her. It teased her dreams. It understood her. Her hand shook as she reached to open the top drawer of the pyramid. It opened without protest. Maeve stood on tiptoes to peer into the opening.

A small box nestled there, plain in cut but not in design. Before she thought about what she was doing, she lifted the finely carved box out of its hidey-hole. She opened it very carefully, revealing a rich red velvet. Beneath that, a pendant sparkled against the velvet it rested upon.

Raised gold dots formed a knot around a large elliptical opal. Eight oval-cut emeralds circled the outer edge of the pendant. A fine gold braid encircled each jewel, like protectors against the swirls that surrounded the green gems. Around the very edge of the pendant was a heavy gold braid whose pattern was mimicked in the necklace threaded through the top of the magnificent work of art.

“You found it.” Dacien’s exotic voice, even as soft as his comment was, startled Maeve.

“Oh, I beg your pardon. How terribly rude of me,” she apologized. Her hand hovered over the box, the pendant laced through her fingers.

“No, not at all. It seems the pendant is destined for you, and you for it. Go ahead, Maeve. Put it on.”

“I couldn’t. It must be one of your family heirlooms,” she demurred. Her fingers caressed the velvet when she returned the jewelry to the box.

“It’s meant for you.” Dacien reached around her and grasped the box.

Maeve couldn’t have been more startled when he dropped the necklace over her head. The weight of the pendant felt warm and right as it hung between her breasts. She heaved a tremendous sigh.

Outside, the storm abated. Water still raced down the gutters, but no more rain fell from the sky. The coolness of the evening didn’t bother her, and how could it while she wore her gorgeous pendant? It gave off an energy that filled her heart, body and soul with warm promise.

Maeve carried her newly purchased rug with care nonetheless as she left the shop. It would be gorgeous in the receiving parlor, adding color and interest to a room filled with staid, serviceable pieces.

She didn’t look back. Had she done so, she would’ve seen an elderly man gazing out the window at her, his face alight with an inner glow she wouldn’t be able to begin to understand.

The rug just proved that if you looked hard enough, treasures were bound to appear.