Chapter 9 - The Antique Shop in Old Town|
The black corporate SUV glided smoothly down the cobblestone streets of Knoxville’s Historic District, coming to a stop in front of a weathered brick storefront with gold lettering on the glass: ABERNATHY’S CLOCKWORKS & ANTIQUES.
Inside, the shop smelled of mineral oil, old cedar wood, and brass polish. Hundreds of clocks hung from the walls—cuckoo clocks, grandfathers, brass chronometers—all ticking in a chaotic, rhythmic chorus.
An elderly man with thick magnifying spectacles pushed up on his forehead emerged from behind a green velvet curtain at the back of the shop.
"Ethan Whitmore," the old man grunted, adjusting his apron. "I haven't seen you in this shop since your father bought that mahogany tall case clock fifteen years ago. What brings you out on Christmas Day?"
"Hello, Mr. Abernathy," Ethan said respectfully. He set the leather case on the glass counter and unzipped it. "I have something that needs delicate work."
Mr. Abernathy lifted the broken rosewood box out of the case, handling it with practiced, gentle care. He pulled down his magnifying lenses and examined the cracked brass hinge under a bright desk lamp.
"Ah," Abernathy hummed softly. "Swiss movement. Late nineteenth century. Beautiful craftsmanship. The hinge cast iron has sheared, and the governor spring came uncoiled when it hit the floor."
Hannah stepped forward nervously, carrying Ellie, who was wide-eyed and mesmerized by the ticking clock pendulums surrounding them.
"Can it be fixed, sir?" Hannah asked anxiously. "Is it ruined?"
Abernathy looked up over his glasses at Hannah, then glanced at Ethan, noting the unusual proximity between the wealthy CEO and the humbly dressed young mother.
"Ruined? No, young lady," Abernathy chuckled softly. "In my line of work, nothing built with real care is ever truly ruined. It just takes patience, the right tools, and someone willing to put the pieces back together."
Abernathy looked down at the box again, tapping the brass cylinder. "It will take me about two weeks. I'll have to hand-forge a new hinge to match the original patina."
"Whatever the cost is, Mr. Abernathy," Ethan said immediately, pulling out a leather wallet, "charge it to my account."
"No," Hannah blurted out, stepping between Ethan and the counter. "I promised I would pay for it."
Ethan frowned down at her. "Hannah, the repair will cost several hundred dollars. You have rent and a child to support."
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"I don't accept charity, Mr. Whitmore," Hannah said fiercely, her brown eyes flashing with unyielding determination. "I made a promise on that note. Work it out of my hourly wages at the company if you have to, but I pay my own debts."
Mr. Abernathy looked between the two of them, a knowing, amused smile spreading across his wrinkled face. "Well, well. It seems you've met your match, Ethan."
