3. Allie
Allie
I spent the evening strolling around town, munching on two of the peanut butter crackers packages from a box of them I’d picked up at a supermarket a few days ago, washing them down with water from the tap in my room.
The next morning, I strode down the stairs to the big open area of the saloon with the bar and the small kitchen behind, walking up to the counter to greet Greel, the orc male who’d checked me in the day before and appeared to manage the place.
He must be Hail’s brother because I could see the resemblance.
“Good morning,” I said.
Greel grunted, but his lack of reply didn’t offend me.
I’d noted he was kind of quiet the day before, though he’d sure perked up when Jessi had stridden out of the kitchen with a loaded plate she set in front of a customer at the bar before sliding over to lean into his side, gazing up at him with adoration.
I’d noted how tiny she was compared to him, maybe five-two.
From what I’d seen, orc males were almost all about seven feet tall. I’d only met ones with dark hair and dark eyes, plus the universal medium-green skin. In retrospect, Inla had appeared a little shorter than the males I’d met, maybe six-seven, and her dark hair was threaded through with silver.
Jessi came out of the kitchen with a broad open basket in her hands, her short dark hair swept up in a bouncy ponytail on the top of her head that made her look incredibly cute.
She placed the basket on the counter and propped a small sign in front.
Day old muffins. Buy one for fifty cents, get two free.
“I’ll take one,” I piped up, salivating already.
“Three it is, then.” Jessi gave me a warm smile and waved to the muffins. “You get first pick. The dartling muffins are my favorite.” She pointed to two of the muffins. “Muffins also come with a free cup of coffee.”
“Count me in,” I said with a smile, taking the two dartling muffins plus one of the others. I’d save the extras for the next two mornings. Or maybe a late lunch. I was getting awfully tired of peanut butter crackers. “Can I take the coffee to go? I want to walk around town. Check it out.”
“Of course.” Jessi walked into the kitchen and returned with a huge, covered cup, handing it to me across the counter. She nudged her head to the sugar and creamer packets on the bar. “Doctor it up the way you like.”
“Thank you. Can I leave it on the counter for a second while I run to my room?”
“Sure.”
I hustled upstairs, tucking the muffins into the dorm-sized fridge and returning to the main part of the saloon. After giving them a wave, I left with my coffee and a muffin in hand, gobbling up the muffin before I’d made it to the end of the boardwalk.
While sipping my coffee and studying the town, I noticed how everyone seemed to belong here. Greel and Jessi with their easy affection, Aunt Inla with her colorful clothing and welcoming smile at the general store, even the tourists temporarily fitting into this carefully crafted Western fantasy.
I could only imagine what it might be like to have a place in this world too, not as a passing visitor, but as someone with connections. The thought led me straight back to the pottery barn, and to Hail.
I tried not to think about how his eyes had lit up when he talked about his work. Or how his stutter had almost disappeared when he explained the glazing process. Or how he’d looked at me like I was someone more interesting than another tourist passing through.
He could be married or living with a lovely orc lady for all I knew. Gay. Or completely uninterested in looking at a woman like me.
After lounging in my room for a few hours after my walk, I made my way to the pottery barn, arriving early. I figured I could hide in the back and watch. Talk with him after if he was so inclined.
The sound of voices carried from the barn, and when I got close enough to see inside, I stopped short.
There had to be at least twenty people crowded into the space, maybe more. Families with kids, couples, a group of older women who looked like they were on some kind of tour. Such a huge group to handle all on his own.
Hail was hustling around, helping two to three people at once, his hair askew and his face tense with dismay.
Tressa sat on her bed in the corner, her amber eyes fixed on Hail.
She kept whining, and I assumed she was worried about him.
Well, I was too. When she spotted me in the doorway, her ears perked forward, and her tail flopped on her thick bed.
She trotted over and nuzzled my hand while I gave her lots of pats.
Sitting beside me, she watched the group.
“So everyone has-has-has their clay,” Hail was saying, his stutter more pronounced than yesterday. “You want to k-keep it-it-it moist while you work, and remember that clay is-is-is forgiving. Don’t wo-worry about making mistakes.”
A little girl near the front raised her hand. “Can I make a unicorn?”
“A unicorn?” Hail blinked at her. “I… Well, I suppose you could try. But maybe start with something s-s-simpler? Like a bowl or a-a?—”
“I want to make a dog,” a boy called out.
“How thick should the sides be for a bowl?” a woman asked.
“The side of mine has a crack in it,” someone else said. “Should I squish it down and try again or get more clay? This clay could be defective. Maybe that’s why it won’t work for me.”
The questions came from all directions, and Hail’s confidence was crumbling in real time. He kept rushing from one person to the next, but I could see he wasn’t able to handle even half of what this group needed.
Tressa watched him with what I swore was wolfy concern on her furry face. With a soft whine, she gently latched onto my hand and tugged me farther into the room, stopping and sitting again.
From the irritation on their faces and the way they kept fidgeting, I could tell this group wanted to get their projects done now, not have to wait for him to show them techniques.
“Well, for the dog, you’d want to… But the bowl is…. And if it has a crack, just…” He stopped talking altogether, the tips of his pointed ears flushing dark green.
A woman near the back was struggling with her clay, trying to shape what might be a mug. It was falling apart in her hands.
“I don’t think I’m doing this right,” she said to no one in particular.
When Tressa gently butted my thigh, nudging me toward the woman, I shrugged and walked over to join her.
“The clay might be a little too wet,” I said, taking in her collapsed attempt. “Try adding a tiny bit of dry clay to the outside. It’ll help it hold its shape.”
She looked up at me with a welcoming smile. “Are you one of the instructors?”
Before I could answer, Hail’s voice carried across the barn. “That’s-that’s exactly right, Allie. Moisture content is really important for-for structural integrity.”
He watched me with relief in his gorgeous dark eyes.
“Yes.” I made a split-second decision. “I help Hail with the classes.”
He gave me a long look but said nothing.
“Thanks for your help.” The woman began working the mug again, incorporating dry clay and slowly reforming the outer surface.
A teenage boy across the room called out. “My dog’s head keeps falling off. Can someone help?”
I looked at Hail, who was trying to help two people at the same time, and made another quick decision.
“The head’s probably too heavy for the neck,” I told the boy, striding over to stand beside him. “Try making the neck thicker or make the head smaller. And score the connection points where they join together.”
“Score them?”
“Scratch little crosshatch lines where the pieces connect.” I showed him. “It helps them stick together better.”
The boy nodded and got back to work, and I found myself moving around the barn, answering questions and offering suggestions. Most of it was common sense or things I remembered from watching my artist father work, but the tourists seemed grateful for the help.
Tressa watched me for a bit longer before trotting back over to her bed and lying down. Wolfy intervention, huh? Maybe she ran the show here as much as Hail. A fun thought.
“Why is my bowl so lopsided?” a man asked from my left.
“You’re probably putting more pressure on one side than the other,” I said. “Try to keep your hands even and turn the piece as you work it so you can see if from all angles.”
“Are the walls of this too thin?” a woman asked, holding up what looked like a small vase. “I don’t want it to collapse during firing.”
“If you can see light through it, it’s probably too thin for a beginner piece,” I told her. “You’re right to think it might crack in the kiln. Try building up the walls a little more.”
As I moved around the group, Hail did the same, though he kept glancing at me. When I caught his eye, he gave me a smile that made my spine tingle.
“Everyone’s doing great,” he finally told the group. Not having to help twenty people simultaneously must be a relief. “Remember, these pieces need to dry overnight before we can fire them in the kiln. You can pick them up tomorrow afternoon, and they’ll be ready to take home.”
“What time should we come back?” someone asked.
“Around five o’clock should be perfect,” I said, then caught myself. I had no idea what Hail’s kiln schedule was. “Um, when, Hail?”
“Five works well,” he said, his penetrating eyes on me. “The firing process takes about twelve hours, so they’ll be coo-coo-cool by then.”
For another hour, the session continued with people shaping increasingly ambitious projects.
Eventually, that determined little girl did end up making something that could generously be called a unicorn if you squinted.
The boy’s dog looked more like a blob with ears, but he was proud of it.
Most of the adults managed decent bowls or mugs.