AN: This chapter just randomly decided to get written and finished, so I obliged it by posting it. My goal is to be working on "Realizations" because it is long over due (as always). Thank you for continually putting up with me: your random but faithful author.
Revelations
By Isis cw
Chapter 52
Dorothy had finally abandoned herself into a fitful sleep by the early morning hours. She'd exhausted herself tossing and turning and generally making a mess out of the gigantic bed, and now lay not-quite-peacefully asleep.
Until she was woken by a soft noise just before one of the extra pillows came flying towards her face. With an alarmed squeak, she blocked it with a sheet-tangled arm before it contacted with her nose this time around. "Catherine!" she hoarsely yelled at her.
"Oh, I missed," the other whined.
Dorothy actually snuggled into the other pillow that she'd deflected beside her and rolled over. "I don't wanna go to the circus," she mumbled.
A quickly bouncing body landed on her bed and obviously hopped along until Catherine was sitting behind her back. "Come on, your highness. I don't have a prince handy to wake you up, but I might be able to find a frog."
"Don't you dare," she half-heartedly threatened.
"You can't sleep the whole day," Catherine whined again.
"Whole day?" she blinked her eyes open slowly. "What time is it?"
"Eight o'clock."
Rolling over, she let her head lull to the side to blink groggily up at her annoying little friend. "How does eight o'clock become all day?"
"It is in my book!" she happily smiled down at her.
"You need more experience with this vacation thing," Dorothy decided and rolled back to snuggling the pillow.
"Yes, I do. We should do this more often," Catherine mused to herself.
She didn't respond and instead only curled deeper into the covers. It took a second but then she felt another pillow land against her back and Catherine obviously decided that if she wasn't getting up, she'd just join her.
"How long did you two stay up last night?" she asked, obviously meaning her and Quatre's phone conversation.
"What are you, my mother?" she grumbled.
"I think you owe me after all that," came the snippy reply.
They were both way too bent out of shape about this. "I don't remember."
"What did you talk about?" she hunted anyway.
"Stuff."
"Like?"
Finally she sighed. "A lot of things happened this week with the fundraiser. Some of it really got on my nerves," she admitted.
"Like being pictured as his love interest?"
"That was just the icing on the doughnut," Dorothy muttered and struggled to break free of the wadded up sheets and stretched.
"But you two are so cute," Catherine cooed. "You should have heard him. He was all worried when I said you weren't here, but he was trying to keep me calm about it. I would have laughed if I'd known for sure you were coming back."
"He's so paranoid," she grumbled.
"That's what he said," Catherine laughed. "'She's going to say I'm being paranoid, but could you just check and make sure she's all right?' You can't fault the guy for worrying about you. It's sweet."
"That's why it's annoying," she decided.
"Because he's sweet? Wow are you stuck with the wrong guy."
Dorothy once again pushed her eyes back open and looked up at her friend. "Stuck?" Funny, that was the same conclusion she'd come to last night.
"Of course you're stuck. Any guy that openly cares that much about you is in this for life," she nodded to herself. "Haven't you ever just stopped to think that Quatre probably already loves you?" Catherine randomly asked.
Dorothy blinked at her for a second, taken aback by the question. "I'm not dense," she grumbled at her. "Of course I have."
Catherine was just about to go on to say something else when she stopped short, obviously surprised by that. "You have?" she balked. "So what are you doing about it?"
Dorothy rolled over and kicked her way out of the covers and stood up with a yawn. "Just because I've considered it doesn't mean I believe it."
"Oh," came the miserable moan from behind her. Turning, Dorothy was in time to look down at her as Catherine collapsed into the pillow. "Why does he put up with you?" came the muffled complaint.
With a shrug, Dorothy took the holder out of her hair and began unbraiding it. "Quatre knows me better than anyone else. It's just his nature for him to care."
"Yeah," she popped her head back up. "Because something's definitely wrong with the guy."
Dorothy looked at her bitter expression for a minute and then nodded her agreement with that.
The two had snatched breakfast on the go and were out the door soon after. Bouncing around from area to area, the girls had wandered through the shops and street venders for the remainder of the morning before splitting up for an hour or so in an interior mall.
Dorothy had taken the chance to wander through a few jewelry stories. She had apparently become quite used to wearing a ring and now actually felt a little naked without it. Nothing held any interest to her though and she was beginning to think that it wasn't the lack of the physical ring that nagging at her.
She may have been a little rash last night to have given her own mother's wedding ring away.
Well, it didn't matter now. It was over and done with and part of her felt liberated by the decision. Dorothy didn't have a clue what she was supposed to be living up to these days, but she had come to a very real understanding that she was not, and never would be, Leilalie.
So she wasn't the little girl that her parents had probably expected her to be. And she wasn't sure she felt the least bit heartbroken by that. She also wasn't the Mistress her grandfather would have liked her to be either. Dorothy hadn't raised a finger to keep Romafeller as a fully functional foundation, and she didn't feel guilty about that either.
So, where did that leave her? Young, rich, well invested, grudgingly respected for at least a noteworthy cause or two. The article had at least boosted her confidence a little as to how the general Colonial population viewed her in that regard. She had a Preventers badge, was an Oracle agent—areas which crossed more often than not—was affiliated personally with a number of high ranking political figures—not the least of which was Vice Minister Darlian—and was quite chummy with a number of the most wanted criminals in history. Not to mention that one of these days she'd get that danged law degree.
…She'd consider herself marketable.
Dorothy supposed her real problem was in the "where do I go from here" category. She really had nothing left to look forward to in life. She'd already settled into her cabin on the lake with her faithful cat. What now? She wasn't about to take up fishing.
Walking along the outer railing of the third floor she could just hear the squeals of laughter from the children's playground in the center of the ground floor. Glancing down she couldn't help but smile at the groups of twirling playground equipment in brightly colored paints and fabrics.
Maybe she could write children's books. Once upon a time there was a young, rich, well-invested woman with a cat….
More like campfire stories.
Rolling her eyes to herself she continued along to the café that she was supposed to be meeting Catherine at. Sitting down on the bench outside the door she tucked her bags next to her feet to wait and uninterestedly watched the other mall patrons walk by, the music of the playground below still audible.
Maybe she shouldn't have bypassed college. It had seemed like a good idea at the time to have it out of the way, but now she was stuck being nineteen with no use for school or a real job. She had a few career opportunities with the Terra-forming project, but most of them included a free one-way trip to Mars.
She didn't find that all too appealing. Not to mention Deimos would be quite confused with everyone talking about his name.
Thinking about that a little harder she didn't suppose that the Mars Colony would allow pets. Dorothy would have to give him away. She didn't know that Felicia and her family liked him that well to keep the little fur ball.
With a silent snicker, she figured she should give him to Quatre. Something to remember her by, and all.
Poor Quatre wouldn't have any shoelaces left. Not to mention that he'd have a stroke if she told him she was moving to Mars for four years.
Poor Quatre indeed. He'd need the snotty little attitude of her kitty to keep him company. The man wouldn't know how to react otherwise.
With a sigh at herself, she glanced around for Catherine but couldn't spot the waves of auburn anywhere in the crowd around her. She needed to start carrying a watch.
Across the footbridge in the middle of the massive building, she spotted a news store and candy shop with an antique-looking clock free standing at the back of the store. Not being able to read it from here she picked up her bags again and slipped off towards the clock.
Stepping through a few other people she crossed the bridge and inside the store, noticing that she was at least twenty minutes early for their rendezvous. Disappointed actually, she turned to see what else was a around here when a thought caught up with her. Turning back she took a curious look at the layout of the store, the sheer number of periodicals making it hard to read them all.
Slipping in farther, she ducked towards the front counter and scanned the rows until she hit onto the section she was looking for. Turning a couple of the racks, she finally found the one that she'd been looking for, only to find a newer issue looking back at her. Regardless, Dorothy picked up the copy of Headliner Herald and flipped through it, searching the stories.
This time nothing caught her attention and with a small sigh of relief she put the magazine back. So it had been a fluke. Good. She wasn't willing to deal with the public backlash, whether Quatre was or not.
Trailing through the back issues though, she found yesterday's copy tucked behind it and pulled it free. Staring at it for a second she mentally shrugged and took it to the counter and paid for it. Her copy was rather crumpled at the moment and in the hotel wastebasket.
Now that she was thinking clearer about this, it nagging at her. The guests were all noted business or political figures. None of them would have been very willing participants to gather photos for a publication like this. And yet, this was the only article done about the fundraiser.
Someone there had snuck the pictures out. Dorothy hadn't mentioned it to Quatre, but she had a pretty good idea who and why. And knowing that, she tried very hard not to laugh to herself on her way out the door again, already flipping it open to the appropriate page.
Dorothy Catalonia hated being underestimated. Something would need to be done.
Pausing against the railing overlooking the building's center, she stopped on the spread and looked down at the picture. Her dear Mr. Winner really had terrible taste in friends.
Scrutinizing it farther she couldn't help but quirk an eyebrow at Quatre's image. She wasn't sure she shared Catherine's enthusiastic view of the "edibleness" of his appearance. He was adorable as always but she had seen to it that he looked at least most of his age. The man had seen and done more in his short seventeen years than most accomplished in ninety, but the youthful features blinded others from seeing it.
Dorothy was probably guilty of that too. She really held it as no secret that the vast majority of the men she had found herself infatuated with at random intervals were all twice her age. Not that she had wasted her time dwelling on any of them enough to think of anything romantic.
But Quatre was a paradox. Sometimes he seems so hopelessly naïve and innocent that it was hard to remember that he really wasn't that much younger than her. Other times, she saw the primeval storms that tormented those sea-blue eyes.
That was the touch of fire that drew her like a moth. He held it so concealed that it teased her. Had she clung to his side so long just in bated anticipation of the few glimpses she got of it? Or was she still, after all this time, trying to figure out the absolute absurdity of the logic of Quatre Raberba Winner?
The absolute belief and devotion to the good in mankind. Even with his last painful breaths of consciousness, he had refused on Libra to let her win the argument. Even when she had shown him the worst of human nature, he had refused to believe it. She had brought him to his knees, but he had….
Dorothy sighed to herself and closed the magazine.
He had reduced her to silence. And at the end, his undaunted kindness had brought her to tears.
Tucking the magazine into one of her bags, she glanced again at her ring-less finger. "I always see the best people…." Dorothy had become quite familiar with the best of people.
Checking the time again, she wandered off down the rows of shops to make a loop to the next bridge and back to the café.
Catherine's random revelation that Quatre loved her was as obvious as it was immaterial. Quatre loved anyone that he knew for more than two days. Well, almost anyone, she smirked to herself. His very nature demanded an emotional response towards every single person he met.
And as ingrained as they were in each other's lives by this time, there was no other conclusion to draw really. He cared. And as such, he loved.
They both had problems with falling in love too quickly. Dorothy just had a more selfish view of it was all. It was a similarity, and yet a distinction. Just like everything else between them.
No one would ever be able to claim Quatre's whole heart. Some only held more than others. …A lot more. Once or twice she'd let that worry her, but each time she'd come to the same insight that there was nothing she could do about it. No matter how often she forgot it, Quatre would just have to deal with his own emotions.
Dorothy had figured out that she really had no business trying to influence them.
Why it didn't annoy her to have these thoughts she wasn't sure. She wasn't one to crave being "loved" really, and her controlling nature should have been frustrated. She supposed that it was just such a natural progression that it had slipped up on her. Honestly she hadn't really thought of these things in such terms before this. Love was not an open topic for discussion inside her head.
What she knew was that Quatre cared very dearly for her. And after last night, she admitted that she needed to tread a little more gently with him. The poor soul had a knack for worrying himself to death. And she also knew what she'd felt months ago. He was still searching for something in her that she was sure he wouldn't find.
Perhaps he really held on to some figment of hope that she'd lead him somewhere with this relationship. But there were things she had no experience with, and in emotions Quatre was far superior to her. She had no doubts that he'd realize that and leave her be. Her only real worry was that he'd feel it necessary to try to push her into something too.
"Where's that adventurous side of you that wants to fight for something instead of taking the convenient way out?" he'd asked. "You're in love with a challenge."
It had annoyed her how right he was. Dorothy just didn't know what to do with it.
She really needed to stop thinking so much.
Catherine had been dropped off back to the colony the circus was presently on, and Dorothy had seen her off again. Her bubbly little friend had insisted that she stay with them the night and head back later, but Dorothy had managed to decline. She was finally ready to go home, and really wanted to get there.
And so, most of eight hours later, she walked through her front door, still trying to figure out why it was late afternoon here… and what day it was. Time zones were such a pain. Maybe she could lobby to have them all banished. What would the Colonists care? All they had to do was turn on the lights and call it a different hour.
Speaking of Colonists, there was one paranoid little soul that insisted she call him when she was safely home again. The things she didn't do to humor him.
But a little tinkling sound caught her attention as she set her bags down on the front sofa. Felicia must have dropped Deimos off again already. "Here, kitty, kitty," she called, wandering back towards the dining room and the door to her office.
A fuzzy little face poked out to look at her from the doorway for a second before Deimos came trotting out towards her.
"There's my kitty," she cooed to him as she picked him up. "Did you miss me?" she asked, scratching him under his chin as he settled in for the petting and purred at her.
Deimos really wasn't a kitten anymore. He'd grown as much as all cats do in the past few months and was probably about half his size already. But he was still a cutie, and starting to mellow out some by now.
That was fine with her, maybe she could take down the makeshift cages from around her orchids one of these days.
"Were you good for Felicia?" she asked him, carrying the cat into her office and sitting down in the chair. A stack of mail sat on top, a couple packages from the Mars Satellite as well. All of that could wait. And even if it couldn't, it would.
She riffled through the rest, sorting out the bills, pitching the junk mail, and keeping the rest. Finally she came to cream envelope, hand addressed to her. Curious she turned it over and smiled at the return address.
Miss Nashita Winner. Ah, the wedding invitation then. Dorothy had wondered if she'd get one. Leaving her kitty in her lap, she opened the envelope and read through the announcement and then pulled out her phone and added the date to her calendar for next month. That done she turned on her vid-line and called up Quatre's work number.
"Winner Enterprises, how may I direct your call?"
"Extension 111, please," she answered the receptionist's voice.
"One moment. …I'm sorry, that extension is in use, would like voice mail?"
"No. Extension 112?"
"One moment." This time she got the hold music.
"Always busy isn't he?" she asked the ball of fur in her lap as she petted him.
"Executive offices, how may I help you?"
"Mrs. Shanelle," Dorothy smiled to the elder woman on the screen. "How are you today?"
"Oh, quite well," the lady smiled cheerfully at her. "How are you Lady Dorothy?"
"Tired at the moment," she answered honestly. "I'm sure Quatre's busy, would you just let him know that I called and I'm home?"
"Oh, let me just connect you," she said instead with a smile. And Dorothy was back to the blue logo of the company and the hold music before she could say she really didn't need to wait for him.
He must have just finished his call, because a second later his image popped up. "Lady Catalonia."
"Mr. Winner," she greeted. "I think your receptionists know me too well."
"You say that like you expect them to be able to forget you," he teased.
She rolled her eyes at him with a chuckle and waved it off. "I have a lovely invitation in my hands here," she moved back to it. "But it didn't exactly come with instructions on how to get to this place."
"That's because there's no good way to give directions," he chuckled. "If you'd allow me, we'll pick you up."
With a nod, she'd been hoping he'd say that. "Alright."
"It'll be probably two days early though."
Tucking the invitation away, she looked back at the knowing little smile on his face. "Oh?" she raised an eyebrow.
"There are a few oddities that… I don't think you'll want to miss," Quatre smiled at her.
"Well now, that does sound fun," Dorothy purred.
With a nod, he didn't tell her any more than that, which really piqued her curiosity.
Apparently she wasn't the only one curious though, because Deimos suddenly sprang up from her lap and onto her desk. Quatre chuckled from his end of the line. "Well hello. You've gotten big."
For his part, Deimos decided it wasn't anything interesting and just sat down on the desk and watched the monitor.
"I haven't taught you any manners," she chided. Leaned over him, she raised one of his paws and waved it. "You're supposed to say 'how do you do, Mr. Winner.'"
"I don't think he's interested," Quatre chuckled at her.
"I don't think so either," she brushed it off and then propped up her chin over the desk, scratching behind his ears with her free hand. "So, how much should I be worried about meeting the family?" she asked, thinking through the repercussions of attending this marriage ceremony.
For a second there was no answer, and Dorothy turned to his image on the screen. Quatre seemed to be a lost in thought, a curious look to his face.
"Quatre?" she prodded.
It jarred him out of it and he blinked at her. "I'm sorry, what? Family? I don't think you have anything to worry about. Me on the other hand…" he trailed out and gave her a cringe of a smile. "If you overhear things, please don't take offense to it."
Dorothy snickered at the idea. "Women are always so good at inventing love attachments. I'll try to be prepared." Turning back to her kitty, she smirked to herself. "But I don't believe it's your sisters that I'll consider the enemy."
"Enemy?" he questioned. "Why would you have an enemy there?"
Looking back at him, she narrowed her eyes. "I wouldn't want a repeat of that article getting out."
Quatre blinked at her, confused for a moment. "I don't follow."
"Someone took those pictures, and alerted a source that they felt would publish them. Considering the people in that room, I can only draw one conclusion on who it must have been."
For a second, the wheels ticked over in his head before his eyes widened at the insinuation. "They wouldn't."
Dorothy just waited, raising an eyebrow at his immediate assurance of that.
"…I mean, they'd know better," he tried to refute it, but she could tell he was losing the inner battle against the proof too. "They…. We should have stopped with the bowties," he whispered, finally coming to the same conclusion.
And she laughed at him, disturbing Deimos enough that he rose again and wandered away to the edge of her desk and hopped off to the floor. "I think the Fezzes Love Connection has over-stepped its bounds."
Although very agitated, Quatre was ignoring the guys for now.
The list of jewelry stores, and pawn and resell shops centered solely in the Shop-Topia district was almost four pages long. And it had sucked his attention for the rest of the day, and into this evening.
Most of the shops accepted email requests and Quatre had sent at least six hundred messages of the same note to every store or shop he could find. The rest would have to be done by phone, he assumed.
This was stupid, and he knew it. So he'd noticed immediately that her mother's ring was missing. He should have just made a little comment about her not wearing it and she would have told him then and there what happened. For all he knew, it was probably tucked into her luggage because she just got tired of wearing it. Maybe she didn't want to travel with it in case someone mugged her.
In which case Quatre would probably feel sorry for the mugger.
But something had hit him very hard and nagged at his heart about it when he'd noticed her hand was bare. He knew that ring meant something far deeper to her than just a symbol of her mother. Why, he wasn't sure, but he'd caught the glances she gave it during certain conversations, and the absent way she fiddled with it when she was upset.
Quatre had always known that there was something wrong there. Maybe not wrong, but something… different about it.
For it to just disappear one day, and especially after all of she'd been through recently….
No. He just had a feeling that it was still in this monstrous shopping district, and if he had to go there and walk through every single shop in the place to find it again, he would.
He hadn't really stopped to think about what he'd do when he found it. If Dorothy had lost it, she would have complained to him about it, he was sure. If it had been stolen, she would have told him too, and filed a police report. That left the idea that she had willingly thrown it away.
Her mother's wedding ring? No, she wouldn't have just tossed it into the garbage. Given it to someone else maybe, gifted it perhaps. But Catherine didn't know anything about it, so it obviously wasn't while they were together.
Catherine probably really did think he was insane by now. He'd cringed at the very idea, but called her to ask about it anyway. She'd noticed the ring of course, while they were traveling the first day actually, and had apparently thought it was very pretty. He somehow got the feeling that Dorothy hadn't told her that it was her mother's though.
That didn't really matter. It mattered that she had it when they got there, and it was gone again afterwards.
He just had the feeling that something was wrong, and every instinct in him told him to find it. Quatre had long since given up trying to fight naggings like this, he trusted them and they had never led him wrong.
So what to do afterwards was immaterial right now.
Checking his account again he had another eight messages back from his inquires. These people were certainly on top of wanting to supply a customer, he would give them credit for that. Searching through them for any clues, he came up empty on the first four and crossed them off his list. But he stopped when the fifth note popped up.
Dear Sir. Thank you for your inquiry. Just this morning I was tasked with giving an appraisal to a group for a ring very much like you described. I believe their wish is to put this up for auction soon. Please contact me for further information.
Quatre had his phone dialing before he finished reading the contact information. The time difference, for once, was working in his favor. The woman that answered directed him to the appraisal department and a gentleman by the name of Mr. Champney.
"Jewelry appraisals," he answered.
"Hello, Mr. Champney? This is Quatre. I just received the note from you about a ring that I'm looking for you," he tried to jog his memory.
"Ah. The rose gold, alexandrite," the gentleman perked up. "Do you have a vid-line?"
"Yes," Quatre nodded to himself, anxious.
"Let me get it and I'll switch lines then. Be right back," he disconnected.
Quatre sat and waited, too afraid to get his hopes up this early that it could really be it. Of course, the idea that this particular dealer's shop had a specific jewelry appraiser's section told him that they must do a lot of business.
"Here we are," the image popped up as a middle-aged man sat down in front of him with a plastic bagged item. Glancing up at the screen, Mr. Champney seemed to stall for a minute as he noted his appearance.
Quatre was hoping not to be recognized, but it was possible that that was too much to hope for. "You said 'alexandrite,'" he moved the topic on. "Is that what the stone is?" he asked out of pure curiosity. "I never knew what it was."
The man nodded, a hint of a smile coming to his features. "It isn't something you come across too often anymore." Pulling the ring out of the plastic, he held it up to the camera. "Vid-lines never do anything justice, but is this what you were looking for?"
Quatre almost sighed in relief. "Yes," he nodded happily, noting the easily identifiable stone and the intricate setting. "That's it."
"I figured it had to be by your description. The octagon cut is almost never seen." He tucked the ring back into the plastic bag, adding a slip of paper with it. "That's only one of its unique attributes. Stunning piece," he man marveled. "Possibly the best I have seen in my years here."
Quatre didn't care. "You said that the owners were going to auction it," he skipped to the point. "Can you tell me who to contact? I'm willing to buy it outright."
The man tucked the bag off camera again with a little patient smile. "Son, you didn't know this was an alexandrite."
He blinked at him. "No. I never thought to ask what it was."
Folding his hands together on the table in front of him Mr. Champney made no effort to hide the fact that he was scrutinizing him. "This is a 3.2 karat, VVS-2 clarity, strong color-change alexandrite in a specialty cut. I would be inclined to guess that it is the only one of its kind in the Sphere. The mounting is rose gold, which isn't too exceptional, but it was hand carved specifically for this stone, which is exceptional," the man continued.
And Quatre sat and looked at him a bit oddly. "Yes, thank you. But that didn't really answer my question."
Mr. Champney gave him a little snicker. "Son, it took me all morning to figure out how to even appraise a piece like this. I'm telling you that you really have no idea what it is you're trying to buy."
For a second, he was a little shocked. But thinking of this from the other's point of view, he was speaking with someone who was obviously a teenager, and who really hadn't known what this ring was probably worth. And even though it was a little out of character, Quatre gave him a confident smile. "Mr. Champney, I wouldn't have gone through all this work to track it down if I didn't have the means to retrieve it. Now then, can you help me contact the owner?"
The man obviously wasn't convinced. "I can inform them that there is a potential buyer for it. It will be up to them whether to sell outright, or place it up for auction."
"Please tell them," he nodded. "And if they still decide to auction it, please inform me of when and where. I'll be there."
Mr. Champney nodded stiffly to him, and took down his phone number. "And who is it that I should say is interested?" he asked, still scribbling.
With a little smirk, he politely responded, "Quatre Raberba Winner."
"Uh, Mr. Winner?" Quatre turned in time to watch the petite lady slip out of the office door and hold it open. "Please do come in."
"Thank you."
Corner House was a homeless shelter and soup kitchen. There were apparently four other branches of it throughout this colony, but this was the main headquarters, set just inside the gates to Shop-Topia.
Ushered back into a small, cramped little office the woman, Sister Elizabeth, motioned him to have a seat and quickly moved around the desk to hand him a plain cardboard jewelry box. "I have to say this has been a very interesting ordeal," she smiled.
He returned it with a chuckle and nodded. "Yes, it has." The woman sat down at the desk as he opened the box and took a look at the ring inside. He gave it a satisfied smile and then closed it securely again.
"You still won't allow us to properly thank your friend who donated this, will you?" she asked.
Quatre could only shake his head. "You said you found it in your donations box overnight."
"Yes," she nodded. "It was a very big surprise. At first we thought it had to be a mistake, so we checked with the police to see if it had been turned in as stolen, but when nothing came back we had it appraised at least to see what we were dealing with."
With a nod of understanding, he held the little box gently in his hands. "If the person who gave this to you didn't want to be known, I can't tell you," he apologized. "I know that this person had the best of intentions, but when I realized it was gone, I couldn't just allow it to be lost. I do really appreciate that you agreed to sell it privately."
The woman raised a hand to her mouth and shook her head as though fighting tears. "Mr. Winner, your offer was more than the appraisal value. You have to realize that this will meet our budget for the next year and a half."
Quatre didn't doubt that actually. Mr. Champney was not kidding when he, not so subtly, hinted that he couldn't afford it.
When the appraiser went back to Sister Elizabeth with an offer from a friend of the original owner, the director of Corner House had called him herself. She had been insistent that if he knew Dorothy, then she would give the ring back to her with nothing expected, thinking it had to be a mistake.
But Quatre knew very well it wasn't a mistake. He'd pieced together a good idea of what had happened, and he was sure that Dorothy had brought the ring here the night she'd "gone for a walk." "I just… needed to get rid of something." It may have been a snap decision that she might end up regretting, but it wasn't a mistake.
Instead, once he knew what type of group he was talking to, he asked what the appraisal was and then rounded it up. At an open auction it could have gone for more or less, he wasn't sure, but he wanted it to be a fair price for what the organization could have gotten for it. And he had talked Sister Elizabeth into accepting it even though she would have just given it back to him.
The transfer was done three days ago, and now he finally had it in his hands. He wasn't going to take the chance of anything happening to it in shipment, and had scheduled a trip to the L1 resource stations for a couple days in order to make the trip functional.
Rising to his feet again, he gave the woman a smile and offered her his hand as she blinked back tears. "I know my friend wanted you to have it," he said as she stood to take his hand. "And I'll pass along your thanks some day," he promised her.
"God bless you both," she whispered, clasping his hand in both of hers for a moment and closing her eyes. "This could not have come at a more necessary time. God always inspires the best people for the task."
Quatre really didn't know how to respond to that, so he gave her a smile when she looked back up at him. "Thank you."
With a nod and a few pleasant goodbyes and wishes for a safe trip home, she let him go. Tucking the jewelry box into his pocket, he left his hand around it as he stepped out the door again. Pausing there, he took a glance around the area, wondering again why Dorothy had chosen to give it to this particular place.
What caught his eye was the donation box there next to the door. Looking at the ordinary thing, he tried to imagine what it was that she was trying to get rid of when she'd dropped it in.
Above the door, a sign read: "If you bestow your bread on the hungry and satisfy the afflicted; Then light shall rise for you in the darkness, and the gloom shall become for you like midday." –Is. 58:10. But carved over the box was a plaque written in a flamboyant cursive. "…God loves a cheerful giver. –2Cr. 9:7."
And for some reason he chuckled at such a cute sentiment in a place like this. Walking away, he couldn't help but think that Dorothy probably hadn't been all that cheerful when she dropped the little ring down the shoot. But having it tucked in his pocket certainly made him feel better, and knowing how much it had helped this place was more than enough to make him forget how much he'd just spent to get it back.
Why it had struck him so hard so fast, he wasn't sure, but he couldn't help the demand he felt to find it and get it back. Now all he had to do was figure out if he should return it to her or not.
"You're in love with a challenge."
Dorothy squeezed the rest of the water from the ends of her hair again and then hung the towel up to dry. Leaving her bathroom she left her hair down, the wet strands tickling her legs past were the oversized t-shirt stopped.
Walking into her bedroom, she watched the dark windows for a moment. For some reason the little memory hadn't left her this week. Turning a look around the room, she tried to figure out what it was that kept drawing her attention back to it, but there was nothing here that did it.
Although she did note with a tired eye that her whole room was done in nothing but beige and dark blue. When had she gotten so boring?
Annoyed with herself, she slipped out of her room again with a yawn, intent on getting a drink of water before she turned in. But once into the hallway, she paused again and then slipped across the little sitting area to the guest room opposite hers. Stepping just inside the doorway, she looked out through the dark windows here too.
It was basically the same view, but whenever she did this she could always see snow lining the edges of the lake below. For some reason time had stopped in this room since the last time Quatre had been here. Why she kept coming back to this, she didn't know, but it had stopped annoying her by now.
Maybe she really wanted to figure it out.
Leaning against the doorframe she idly counted the time difference between them. She had no reason to, she just did. He'd probably be getting off work about now.
What was her problem these days? She sounded like an idiot even to herself.
Sighing hopelessly she turned to head downstairs, when she stopped and then turned back. Laid over the bed was the dark red bedspread that had been in this room for as long as she remembered. But if this was the room where she was reminded of winter….
Dorothy returned to her bedroom and promptly tore her blue comforter off her bed and dragged it across the hall. Not even turning on the light to see what she was doing, she stripped the red bedspread off and replaced it. Then bunching it up, she carried it back to her room and tossed it onto her bed, remaking it again.
Standing back to look at it, Dorothy chuckled to herself. It didn't match a single thing in here, and she loved it.
"Sometimes when we are generous in small, barely detectable ways it can change someone else's life forever." - Margaret Cho
