Ruth Scofield - Whispers Of The Heart

He wondered if she was as self-confident as she sounded. A certain tone in her voice suggested a bit more bravado than sincerity. Nevertheless, she held staunchly to her decision.

“Sorry, Brent.” Laureen laughed, and shrugged her shoulders, elegantly clad in a designer raspberry-colored suit. “Looks like you’re out of luck today. But that whittles us down by one more. There’s three other good downtown spots you can choose from that will serve you just as well. Shall we move on to see the next one?”

“That’s not necessary, Laureen,” he murmured, his gaze remaining on Autumn. “I think the first floor across the street will be an ideal location for the firm. And I know what’s been done to the building, since my firm handled the new design.”

“Well, you might have said so before,” Laureen replied, letting a note of irritation show. “Come on, we’ll draw up a lease right away. We needn’t have stopped in here at all. I only thought the view…”

Ignoring Laureen’s hint to leave, he strolled over to the same window Autumn gazed through to take in the vista, smiling casually at her when he arrived. True to his first impression, a shy light shone from her gaze; she let her lashes fall, but she stood her ground at the wide window. He thought her shyness appealing, an old-fashioned art.

“Hmm…” he murmured. “Interesting. Kansas City’s first courthouse would’ve stood right over there,” he said and pointed, hoping to draw her out. “You interested in history?”

She gave him the barest of glances before replying, returning her attention to the view. “I really haven’t given it much thought since school.” Her voice was a tad husky, as though it didn’t get much use. “Except for how it applies to art.”

“You’re an artist, then? What’s your medium?”

“Oh, watercolors. Sculpture.” At his curious glance, she explained. “They’re two opposites, of course, but I love the immediacy of the watercolors and the hands-on, solid thing that sculpture brings.”

“Ah. And do you show your work?”

“Sometimes. But only at private galleries, like Mirror Images,” she said, naming a gallery only three blocks away. “I—I prefer the—the quieter displays rather than anything like the Plaza Art Fair.”

At mention of the Plaza Art Fair, some kind of a shutter came down in Autumn; something in her withdrew. Keenly observant, Brent wondered at it. Held in the fall of each year, the huge, long-standing juried exhibit featured artists from around the nation. Its crowded attendance was legendary. What about it caused her discomfort?

“I’ll look forward to viewing your work. Done anything commercial?”

She moistened her lips before replying. “I have done a few architectural drawings, but, I—I prefer not to if I don’t need the money.”

Of course! Autumn Barbour. He’d seen her work, a series of artist renderings of a proposed housing addition.

“Do you plan to open a gallery of your own then?”

“Oh, no. Nothing like that,” she said. Did he detect a note of panic in her denial? “I couldn’t…”

“Brent, check the time,” Laureen reminded him. Laureen always grew impatient when she thought he talked too long with someone she didn’t feel worth his time. “We really should be going. We’re due at the Shearsons’ at six and we should go over the lease before you sign it.”

“Sure, Laureen. I’ll be right there.” He lowered his voice a notch. “Well, looks like we’ll be something like neighbors. I’ll see you around. Maybe after you move in, we could have coffee together?”

“Well, perhaps…”

Her hesitant response wasn’t all that encouraging for developing a friendship. Not encouraging at all. She’d barely glanced at him as he turned to leave.

At the door he couldn’t resist one backward glance. Autumn remained gazing from her northeast window, her back to the room. Nothing about her stance indicated she had any interest in the others there. Everything about her said she had no care that he’d gone.

Brent got the feeling he’d been talking to a will-o’-the-wisp.

Barefoot, wearing threadbare jeans and a jade-green T-shirt, Autumn Barbour stood silently, one foot resting on her opposite knee, and gazed north from her sixth floor window. From here she caught a glimpse of the Missouri River through the fresh green sproutings of spring.

Below the south-facing windows of her new apartment lay the inner city—including the new Federal Building a few blocks distant, and farther, the old landmark, the Power and Light Building that for many years, though no longer, held the distinction of being the tallest in Kansas City.

She liked this view best. Here only a few tall buildings edged her sight.

Tonight she’d spend her first night in her new home. Tonight she’d be on her own for the first time in her entire life.

Autumn let out a long, releasing sigh. She liked this visage high above the street; it opened up that closed-in feeling she sometimes battled and eased her jitters. This place was home now. It would be her haven.

Only this morning she’d reassured Spring as they said their goodbyes, how convenient she found her new location, how excited she felt at the prospect of living in the heart of Kansas City’s oldest section. It was different from anywhere she’d ever lived.

Close to the Riverfront Market, she could walk to do most of her vegetable and fruit shopping at the fresh food stands or find a meal in one of the restaurants there if she chose not to cook. If she was brave enough to face a restaurant alone.

Also, she could cover the three-block run to Mirror Image, the small art gallery that sometimes showed her work, in five minutes. And the rear of this property held a secured parking lot, a safe place to store her car. If she had to, she’d drive to wherever she needed to go, but she liked the idea of walking. She’d work out her other daily needs as time went on, she’d insisted for Spring’s sake.

She sighed again, already missing her sister dreadfully. Spring had postponed her leaving until Autumn had settled on this place, fretting over leaving her behind. On her own. Alone.

Alone to battle her overwhelming fear of being caught in a crowd of people. Until now, she’d had Spring and Uncle William to help her face the panic that had often reduced her to a cowering, curbing child. Before he’d died, she’d made Uncle William a solemn vow to conquer her fears, and more recently, given Spring her promise that she wouldn’t become a recluse.

Spring worried about her far too much, and in truth, Autumn had to force herself to appear in total control of things before Spring would consent to go. But at twenty-three, Autumn felt it way past time. Not only was it something she felt compelled to do—learn to live alone, efficiently self-contained in spite of her disability—but Spring had to feel free enough to lead her own life. Autumn couldn’t remain a protected child forever, too fearful and too needy of her sister’s confidence.

Now they each had their chance.

She still missed Uncle William, though. Without ever having discussed it, she knew her sister did as well. He’d been their staunchest anchor since their earliest memories. His death nearly four months ago still left her sorrowful. But the money he’d left them had come with instructions to use it to fulfill their dreams.

Lifting her gaze, she studied some far-off clouds. The weather was changing. For both she and Spring, life had changed, and would again, now. But while Autumn was perfectly content to stay in her home environment, Spring wanted to continue her studies in costume clothing design in New York or Paris or Italy. Not only could Autumn not allow Spring to dawdle another year, not even one last month on her account, she’d had to positively push her sister to cut the ties. Being twins didn’t mean they had to live as though joined at the hip, for heaven’s sake.