Summer in Eclipse Bay

buy, just to look around. She had clearly been braced for a cool reception, but Octavia had assured her that she was welcome to browse.
    The woman and her daughter had moved from picture to picture, talking seriously in low tones about some of them, showing little interest in others. They had been standing in front of a brilliant abstract when the woman had glanced at her watch, frowned in alarm, and hurried out of the gallery with the little girl.
    The woman had not returned, but her daughter was here again, standing on the other side of the glass staring at the colorful poster in the window that announced the Children's Art Show.
    I'm not going to lose her this time,
Octavia thought. "Excuse me," she said to the couple contemplating the purchase of the seascape. "I'll be right back."
    She hurried behind the sales counter, reached down, and selected a large box of crayons from a carton that was nearly empty. She took a pad of drawing paper from the dwindling pile.
    Crayons and pad in hand, she straightened quickly and looked out the window. The little girl was still there.
    Octavia crossed the gallery, opened the front door, and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The child turned, looking a bit startled.
    "Hello," Octavia said. "Would you like to enter a picture in the art show?"
    The child stared at her. She did not speak. "Every entrant gets a box of crayons and a pad of drawing paper," Octavia explained. "The rule is that the picture has to be on a piece of paper the size of one of these." She flipped through the blank sheets of drawing paper. "When it's ready, bring it back here."
    The girl's anxious gaze shifted from Octavia's face to the pad of drawing paper and the crayons. She put her hands behind her back, evidently afraid that she might lose control and reach out to grab the art supplies.
    She shook her head very fiercely.
    "Anne?"
    The woman who had accompanied the girl into the gallery a few days ago rushed out of Seaton's Antiques. Her head swiveled rapidly as she searched the sidewalk in both directions with the slightly frantic look a mother gets when she turns around and realizes her offspring has disappeared.
    "Anne, where are you?"
    "I'm here, Mom," Anne whispered.
    Her mother swung around. Relief flashed across her face. The expression was followed by stern exasperation.
    "You must not disappear like that." She walked swiftly toward her daughter. "How many times have I told you not to run off without telling me where you're going? This may not be Seattle, but the same rules apply."
    "I was just looking in the window," Anne said in a tiny, barely audible voice. She kept her small hands secured very tightly behind her back. "I didn't touch anything, honest."
    Octavia studied the woman coming toward her. Anne's mother appeared to be in her late twenties but if you had only seen her eyes, you would have added twenty years to her age.
    "Hello," Octavia said in her best professional tone. "I'm Octavia Brightwell. You were in my gallery the other day."
    "I'm Gail Gillingham." Gail smiled hesitantly. "I'm sorry if Anne was bothering you."
    "Not in the least," Octavia said cheerfully. "I noticed that she was looking at the poster featuring the Children's Art Show. I thought she might like to participate. I have room for more pictures."
    Gail looked down at Anne. "Thank you, but I'm afraid Anne is very shy."
    "Who cares?" Octavia looked at Anne. "Lots of artists are shy. I'll tell you what, why don't you take these crayons and the paper home with you? You can draw your picture in private where no one else can watch you at work. When it's ready, just ask your mother to drop it off here at the gallery."
    Anne looked at the crayons and the paper as though they were made of some magical, insubstantial substance that might disintegrate if she were to touch them.
    Octavia did not say anything more. She just smiled encouragingly and held out the crayons and the paper.
    For a long moment, Anne did not move. Then, very slowly she untwisted her arms from behind her back, reached out, and took the supplies from Octavia. Clutching them tightly to her chest, she stepped back and looked at her mother.
    Surprise and a fleeting delight lit Gail's face. An instant later her pleasure was marred by what seemed to be uncertainty. She hesitated and then seemed to brace herself.
    "How much do I owe you for the crayons and the paper?" she asked.
    "The Children's Art Show has been underwritten by the Bright Visions gallery, which is