Page 24 of Horned to be Wild
She nodded, understanding his reluctance. “Okay. But remember what I said—your art speaks for itself. You don’t need to be there to prove its worth.”
He loaded everything onto a large dolly, then reached out to brush a strand of hair from her cheek. “Go. Make magic.”
Inside the library, Mrs. Gable nearly wept at the sight of the first doorframe. “This is beyond anything I imagined,” she breathed, running her fingers reverently over the carved lamppost with itsintricate ice crystals. “Won’t you tell me who made these so I can thank them?”
“He prefers to remain anonymous,” she said firmly, even though she wished she could tell everyone. “Let’s just say Harmony Glen has hidden talents.”
They worked together to hang one of the vibrant murals, then fit the magnificent carved doorway around it. Each pairing created a portal-like effect, as if a child could step through into Narnia’s winter woods, Bilbo’s cozy Hobbit hole, the Little Prince’s planet, or the lush, mysterious Secret Garden.
The installation took longer than she’d planned and as the teachers began to arrive they stopped by to see the transformation. Their murmurs of appreciation filled her with satisfaction. If only Torin could hear them.
“Look at the details on this little faun!”
“And the way these vines seem to be growing right out of the wall…”
“How did they make the wood look like it’s moving?”
Small faces began appearing at the library windows—curious children from the before-school program, pressing their noses against the glass, eyes wide with wonder. Mrs. Gable finally relented and opened the doors to let them enter.
“Is it magic?” a small girl with pigtails asked, reaching out to touching a carved rose on the Little Prince door with reverent fingers.
“The very best kind,” she said, kneeling next to her. “The magic of books and art.”
As she secured the final doorframe, she felt a rush of exhilaration. The library had been transformed from a drab, institutional space into a wonderland of color and imagination.
A flicker of movement outside the window caught her eye and she spotted Torin half-hidden in the bushes. So he hadn’t been able to stay away completely. Buoyed by the success of the installation, a delicious idea formed in her mind.
“Those doorframes are extraordinary,” commented a teacher standing nearby. “How did the artist get such delicate detail in solid wood?”
She smiled wickedly. “Oh, he has the most amazing… touch,” she replied, just loud enough to carry through the cracked window. “He’s incredibly talented with his fingers.”
His head snapped up, his eyes locking onto hers through the glass, and his expression of shock sent a thrill through her. Pleased by his reaction, she trailed her fingers down the edge of the frame.
“The Secret Garden has always been my favorite. There’s something magical about the idea of a hidden paradise. One that you have to have the right key to access.”
She traced the outline of a key on the garden door, and his gaze followed the movement of her hand, his eyes darkening with hunger.
“Once you find the key, it’s just a matter of sliding it into the lock,” she continued. “Feeling it fit the lock perfectly.”
The teacher gave her a confused look, and she smiled at her. “I think the children are waiting for us. Shall we?”
As the teacher turned away, she looked back out the window and saw that Torin had disappeared. She wasn’t really surprised, but at least he’d heard some of the praise of his work—and hopefully her teasing had given him something to think about.
She joined the teacher and they led the children around the room, talking about stories behind each door and pointing out all the tiny details. She was demonstrating to a group of wide-eyed kindergarteners how different angles made the carvings seem to move when a large shadow fell across them.
Torin stood in the doorway, his shoulders brushing both sides and his horns nearly scraping the top. The children gasped, a few of them shrinking back, others staring with undisguised curiosity.
“Mr. Torin!” One brave little boy with a furry tail broke from the group, running to him. “Did you see the magic doors? They’re the best thing ever!”
“I’m glad you think so, Ollie,” he said gruffly. “I’m sure Miss Lila will show you all the secrets they hold.”
“You’re the wood man,” the little girl who’d admired the rose announced, and the other children echoed her, visibly relaxing now that they knew who he was. Of course—he probably delivered wood to most of their houses.
He was still standing awkwardly by the door, but Ollie tugged on his hand. “You should come and see them.”
“Maybe later.” He patted the boy’s head and shot her an almost desperate look. “Right now I need to talk to Miss Lila. Do you think she could spare a minute?”
“Of course. Go ahead, dear.” Mrs. Grable smiled and hugged her. “This was a brilliant idea. I know the children are going to enjoy them for many years to come.”
