“Senior or baby boomer?”
“Senior. He’s a wealthy man who has spent his life making money and now he realizes that the only joy it brings is in sharing it with someone he really cares about. That’s what I want to show in my ring.” She huffed a sigh of frustration. “That’s what I thought I was showing until Ariane drew that gardenia.”
“Grandmother loves gardenias,” Donovan murmured.
Abby remained silent. He pulled into the parking lot, parked the car and studied her.
“You already knew that.”
“Yes.” She couldn’t bring herself to break a confidence.
“She’s a senior. So is Art. He definitely has a lot of money. Look at his car.”
Abby looked at Donovan instead. Saw understanding dawn.
“You’re saying Art is going to give my grandmother a diamond ring?”
“I’m not saying anything at all.”
“You don’t have to.” Donovan laid one arm on the steering wheel, his shock obvious. “But—they’ve just met!”
“Correction. You just met him. Winifred has known him for quite a while in very intense circumstances. That makes a difference.”
“Does the family know?”
“Of course not. This is Art’s secret. He wants to do it his way. I have no intention of spoiling that.” She gathered her purse, undid her seatbelt. “And neither can you,” she warned, glaring at him.
“But—marriage?” Donovan gaped. “She’s been a widow for—”
“Too long. Art makes her happy.” Abby avoided his stare. “Anyway, no one said anything about marriage to me. I was commissioned to make a gift and that’s what I’m doing.”
“Come on. A ring with a three-carat diamond?”
“Would be a very nice gift. It doesn’t have to automatically mean marriage.” She climbed out of his car and shut the door, suddenly irritated by his comments. “But what if it does? Surely that’s up to them to decide? Why should you object, except that you’ll have to find your own place to live?”
His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
“Isn’t this exactly what we’ve been talking about? Figuring out the needs and wants of those who could be Woodwards’ new clients?”
Abby studied him for a moment, then walked swiftly into Woodwards. She went directly to her office and dealt with each and every matter that came up. At five o’clock she shut her door, pulled out Ariane’s sketch and went to work, forming a delicate but strong platinum gardenia that would shelter but also enhance the dazzling diamond she’d chosen. By nine-thirty Abby had a prototype that amazed even her. She dialed a number.
“Are you busy?”
“You have something?”
“A preliminary.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Ten minutes later, Art buzzed the back door.
“I hope you like it,” Abby murmured as she led him to her office. She slid a cloth off her work and showed him.
His reaction was everything she could have wanted.
“God surely does know how to direct a fellow to the right person for the job. And he certainly gave you a talent, Abby.” He bent, studied the ring from every angle.
Abby waited, nerves on tenterhooks.
This wasn’t God’s doing, she wanted to yell. This is me in spite of God. God hadn’t been part of her life since Donovan walked out on her and their dream. At least, she’d thought it was theirs.
“Finish it.” Art straightened, pulled out his checkbook and wrote in a sum that made her eyes pop. “This is your commission. Use it however you want.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you very much.”
“Don’t thank me, Abby.” He tilted on his heels, his face shadowed. “God has blessed you with a glorious gift that deserves to be displayed. But can I give you some advice?”
“Of course.” She held herself very still, waiting for the changes she was certain he’d ask for.
“There are a couple of verses in the Bible—I think I was meant to pass them on to you.”
“I see.” Why didn’t God give her the verses himself?
Art pulled a piece of paper from the stack on her printer and began writing in a big, ranging scrawl.
Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world, but be a new and different person with a freshness in all you do and think—Matt 10:29–31.
“That’s the NCV translation,” he added as he handed the paper to her.
A freshness in all you do and think. So God approved the contest?
“Thank you.” Abby stuffed the paper into a pocket. “Art, you realize you won’t be able to give this ring to Winifred if I enter it in the contest?” She had to be certain he understood he couldn’t pop it on her finger right away.
“Time’s not right for us yet,” Art agreed quietly. “But it is right for you. Get that thing finished and on the way to New York. Then get started on the next one.”
“Any ideas what that should be?” Abby tossed him a cheeky grin.
Art didn’t laugh. Instead his demeanor grew quite serious.
“You’re going to the wrong source. I’m not the one you should be asking.”
She knew he meant God.
Abby thanked him again for his generous check, but after Art had left and she stood alone in the massive Weddings by Woodwards building, she couldn’t stop his words from repeating inside her mind.
Could it really be that for five years she’d misunderstood God? That he didn’t want to foil her goals but to help her achieve them? That God had actually given her the need to create jewelry?
No. If that were true, then God would have given her parents who understood her dreams, who encouraged her to reach for them and achieve them. He would have kept Donovan here so he could support her dreams.
For so long Abby had been fighting to achieve her goals. Surely God should have eased her path, helped her.
Shouldn’t he?
For a tiny infinitesimal moment Abby wondered what Donovan would say about it. But then she recalled the verse. New and different; freshness in all you do and think.
Definitely time to get rid of the old pattern of worrying about what other people would think and be who she really was.
“Grandmother, there’s no need to explain. If you don’t like the idea, I’ll come up with another. It’s not a problem.”
But it was. More than two weeks and so far nothing Donovan had been able to suggest seemed to jibe with Winifred’s ideas. Neither was he making much headway with Ari. She still held herself at a distance from everyone, including him. Donovan was frustrated.
“I appreciate the work you’ve put into this, son. It’s just—not quite there yet.”
“So I’ll pull together some different ideas tomorrow. Right now I think I’d better go in search of Ariane. She’s been waiting quite a while.”
“You haven’t found a place for her to spend afterschool hours yet?” Winifred’s