The Carpenter & the Queen

by Michelle Lashier

  Sam paced back in forth of his mother’s cart, looking more bored by the minute. Paul pretended to be engrossed in the kidney beans, all the while watching the scene. The other woman discussed something about soybeans, while Claire smiled and nodded at the appropriate places. When this went on longer than Sam could handle, the boy began swinging his jacket, hitting the cart, the plastic Campbell’s Soup dispensers, and then his mother’s legs. She gave him the evil eye, but that only seemed to fuel the boy’s misbehavior.

  Having seen this type of scenario played out many times with his nieces, Paul realized his chance had come to get Claire’s attention by distracting Sam. This wasn’t a direct move toward asking Claire out, certainly, but one he was more comfortable with. He noted ironically that confronting a hostile child using clothing as a bludgeon frightened him less than speaking with a beautiful woman.

  Paul pushed his cart up the short aisle and stopped near Sam.

  “Hey. Nice coat.” He kept his voice low so he wouldn’t interrupt the ladies’ conversation. “Can I look?”

  Sam stopped long enough to consider Paul but did not reply.

  “Is that a snowboarding jacket? I thought I saw a guy in the Olympics wear something like this.” He gently pulled the jacket toward him and studied the gecko detail on the back. “You snowboard?”

  “I’m pretty good,” Sam said with condescension. “My mom won’t let me go down the big hills. But I know how to take jumps.”

  “I bet you do. I used to snowboard before I hurt my leg.”

  “How’d you do that?”

  “Car accident.”

  Sam grunted.

  “Paul! Hi.”

  The other woman had left, and now Claire smiled at him.

  “Hey.” Paul glanced at Sam. “I hear your boy’s a snowboarder.”

  “So he is.” Claire rested a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I’m scared to death of those things. I don’t even ski.”

  “She’s afraid of getting hurt,” Sam said with some disgust.

  “It was my grandmother,” Claire explained. “She died after breaking her hip in a bad fall.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “She slipped on the ice and fell. Nobody saw her, so she had to pull herself back into the house to call 911.”

  Paul grimaced in what he hoped showed his commiseration.

  “Sam thinks I’m silly,” Claire continued.

  “It’s scary to fall down and have no one pull you up.” Paul unconsciously rubbed his right leg.

  “By the way,” Claire said, changing the subject, “we drove by that castle in Canadian Lakes you told me about.”

  “What’d you think?”

  “A little run down, but remarkable all the same. I peeked in the windows and saw as much as I could.”

  “Glad you found it. My directions were okay?”

  “They were excellent. I get lost in the grocery store, but I found the castle right off.”

  Sam tugged on his mother’s arm, but she ignored him, instead, looking at Paul shyly.

  “Hey, we’ve got a chess question for you. I heard somewhere that you can redeem captured pieces in a game. Is that true?”

  Paul ran his palm along his buzz cut as he thought. “Well, not exactly.”

  “I probably made it up.”

  “No . . . no. The closest thing I can think of has to do with the pawns. If you can get a pawn all the way to the other side of the board, you can name it whatever you want and it’ll act that way. Say you’ve lost your knight. You could call that pawn your knight, then switch them out.”

  “That works for any piece?”

  “Except the king, of course.”

  “My pawns never make it that for. I didn’t know such a thing was possible.”

  Until this second, Paul hadn’t thought asking Claire out was possible, but when she smiled delicately, lowered her eyes, and tucked her hair behind her ear, Paul felt his heart kick him into action.

  “So,” he began. “Do you get a lunch break at the library?”

  “I’m occasionally released for nourishment.”

  “Well . . . I was thinking . . . maybe we could meet for lunch on Monday.”

  “Sure.” She smiled. “I’d like that.”

  They agreed on a time, then Paul said goodbye. He waved to Sam, but the boy did not return the acknowledgement.

  At home that evening, Paul contemplated the new turn of events. Amazed at his own bravery in asking her out, he was even more surprised she had said yes. Why had she, anyway?

  Even if she was interested in him, wouldn’t one lunch with him be enough to turn her off? After all, dates required speaking.

  He needed a plan that would get him through the lunch date and ensure he would see Claire again. But Paul had never planned anything well, unless it was a carpentry job.

  That was it.

  Maybe Nora and Beth were right. Maybe it was time for him to take up carpentry again.

  * * * * *

  Paul came by the library at one, just as he and Claire had agreed. He had difficulty swallowing when he opened the door and she smiled at him.

  As Claire went to the back to get her coat, Francine eyed him closely. Paul nodded a hello and wondered how quickly it would take for Mona to hear about this. He and Claire probably wouldn’t be out the door completely before Francine picked up the phone to call. But really there was no need. He and Claire had to walk past the post office to reach the restaurant, so Mona would see them.

  Claire came back out, and Paul felt his courage shake a little.

  “So much snow,” Claire said, as more flakes fell as they walked. “I didn’t notice it as much in the city, what with the snow plows and all.” She read the questioning look on his face. “I lived in Troy the last few years.”

  “Nice area.”

  He couldn’t think of anything to say, even though he had promised himself that he was going to talk more. He felt the awkward pause as he groped for a question.

  Claire beat him to it. “I hear you’re from Chicago.”

  “Yeah. Lived there all my life until three years ago.”

  “What made you come here? Lindberg isn’t exactly a major tourist destination.”

  Paul shrugged. Explaining the move to his sisters had been hard enough. How to tell someone who didn’t know him at all?

  “I drove up to Mackinac once, a long time ago, and I passed through this area. It seemed quiet and far away from everything.”

  “Unlike your standard north woods retreat.”

  Paul realized she was teasing him.

  “Housing is cheaper here,” Paul said with a crooked smile.

  They sauntered the two short blocks to the gas station. Paul wished there were better options, but Claire didn’t seem upset. They ordered their sandwiches at the counter. After Paul paid, they sat down at a booth near the window. Claire slipped off her trench coat to reveal a blue argyle sweater and brown slacks. Paul felt a little uncomfortable in his jeans and fleece jacket. This woman was out of his league. But she had agreed to come, hadn’t she?

  It was his turn to ask a question. Forcing himself to take a deep breath, Paul relaxed a little and thought of what to say.

  “So,” he began, “your boy, Sam. How does he like it here?”

  “He’s adjusting. I think kids adapt better than we adults. I can have trouble with change.”

  “You’re not the only one.”

  They each took a few bites of food. Paul racked his brain to think of something to say to keep the conversation going. Although only a few seconds had passed, the silence felt like eternity.

  A semi-truck emblazoned with the emblem of a smiling cow drove by, spraying slush onto the sidewalk outside the window.

  “The other day,” Paul began, wondering why the truck triggered the question, “you said Luther was a relative of yours?”

  “My father-in-law. After my husband died, Luther made Sam and me his beneficiaries.”

  “He must have lik
ed you.”

  Claire laughed. “Not at all. But we were all he had left. I’d been wanting to get out of the city for a while, and, well, getting the house was the right opportunity.”

  More silence as they ate. Of course, one couldn’t talk and chew at the same time. Still, every second that ticked on the big clock hanging above the sandwich counter reminded Paul that he had to try harder with Claire or he would repeat all the same mistakes he made with Linda.

  “So, did you find a carpenter yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Well, I was thinking, I haven’t done any carpentry in a while, but I could probably do what you needed.”

  “Is that what this was?” Claire asked, a teasing tone in her voice. “A business lunch?”

  “No.” Paul felt a little sheepish. “Just an offer to help.”

  About to take a bite, she paused, her half-eaten sandwich hanging mid-air just below her chin. Cocking her head, she studied Paul for a few seconds, then said, “I’d like that.”

  They spent the rest of lunch talking about carpentry and what Claire wanted done. At least this was a subject Paul felt comfortable talking about. When they were done eating, Paul walked her back to the library. They parted at the doorway.

  “Thanks for lunch,” Claire said. “I’ll see you tomorrow night for the estimate?”

  Paul nodded.

  She smiled and turned the door knob when Paul thought of one more thing to ask.

  “I just realized, I should have your number so I can call you . . . in case I’m running late.”

  Claire grinned. She pulled an old ATM slip from her purse and wrote her number on the back.

  “In case you’re running late,” she said, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

  * * * * *

  The next night, when Paul went to Claire’s house, he wasn’t sure how to play the evening, if he should be all business or not. He decided to start with business and maybe flirt a little, if it worked out. One couldn’t force these things. He did truly want to help her out, but the most important thing was to establish a way for them to see each other regularly. Once he got to know her, he would have a better idea of how to proceed with a relationship.

  Clutching his sketch pad and tape measure, he knocked on the door. After she welcomed him in, he took his boots off in the foyer, then walked into the living room and surveyed what he could see of the house. Like many older homes, it was a series of small rooms separated by doors, a contrast to the modern style of open floor plans. But while Paul had never been inside before, he imagined the place looked much different now than it had when Luther Matthews lived here. It was interesting, he thought, how women could add touches to houses that made them more than just places to sleep. Just in the living room, which she had painted peach and accented with brown, there were gauzy curtains at the window and a vase of fresh flowers on the mantel above the fireplace.

  Propped up against the wall were several paintings, although only the first, a landscape of a lake surrounded by birch and maple trees, was visible. Paul studied it as long as he dared, aware that the lake reflected something quite different than the forest around it. He couldn’t be certain, but where a grouping of trees should have been in the water, an upside-down, crumbling stone tower flickered. The water, apparently just calming from a disturbance, suggested a previous civilization now hidden by the foliage, although nothing in the water was painted clearly enough for him to be sure.

  Feeling Claire’s eyes on him, Paul looked up. “That’s beautiful. Who’s the artist?”

  “Me.”

  “Wow.”

  Paul rubbed his chin as he looked at the canvas again. “I’m not so great with art,” he began, embarrassed, “but I get the feeling there’s something going on under the water.”

  “There always is.”

  Claire said this so seriously that Paul chuckled in discomfort. Realizing this was the wrong response, he added, “You’re very good.”

  “Thanks. Back when we were in Germany, I used to sell paintings to other families on post.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  She motioned for him to follow her into the dining room and pointed to the castle painting on the wall.

  “My husband and I traveled a lot when he had leave. Then, I’d paint like crazy, especially when he was away. A lot of people wanted something special to remember their time overseas, and an original painting at a budget cost was what they needed. I sold three to the post commander once.”

  “And what’s this one of?” He pointed to a castle painting hanging on the wall.

  “Burg Eltz. It’s this exotic little place near the Moselle River, and it was the first real castle I ever saw.”

  As he studied the painting, Paul was grateful for the little Linda had been able to teach him about art. The castle itself in the center of the canvas was painted in much clearer focus than the wooded hills surrounding it. Claire had used small brush strokes to capture the details of the castle, the long lines of tiny windows, the decorative brickwork below the top story. The viewpoint was from above, although not so high that the inner courtyard was visible. Red and white wattle-and-daub siding adorned the top of the castle beneath the blue-gray conical tower roofs. A paved path emerged from the woods and ran up to the castle entrance—a stone arch with slanted roof, blocked off with a wooden door. The ground dropped off sharply from the outer walls of the castle, making the gate the only possible entrance. Painting the gate closed was an interesting choice and probably communicated crucial information about Claire’s state of mind, if Paul were smart enough to discern the symbolism.

  “It looks like something you see in fairy tales.”

  Claire nodded. “There are several of different castle styles, you know. But I always liked the German ones best with those tall skinny towers and cone roofs.”

  She got a wistful look in her eye as though she were remembering something from a long time ago.

  “Do you still paint?” Paul asked.

  “I didn’t for a long time, but I started again recently.”

  Paul thought of his own sketch book with some embarrassment. “I’m glad you didn’t see the sketches I made the other day.”

  “Everyone says stuff like that, like I’m going to be critical.” Claire tucked her hair behind her ear. “But I think I’m better at seeing something beautiful in places other people ignore.”

  She looked up at Paul, her eyes serious and for a second unguarded, and Paul felt his breath catch in his throat.

  “So, maybe we should talk about the built-in?” Claire suggested. “I made a sketch of what I want.”

  She led the way back to the living room where she retrieved her sketch from the coffee table. Paul gave the castle painting one last look before following her and accepting the paper. He studied the layout then pulled out his tape measure. They measured the wall together, and he wrote down the numbers.

  Paul felt his brain switching back into carpenter mode, envisioning the cuts, pieces, and finishes he needed to accomplish the task. He hadn’t thought he could ever do this again, but everything was coming back much easier than he thought it would.

  “Have you thought what kind of wood you want?” he asked.

  “Not really. What do you suggest?”

  “Probably pine. It’s a solid wood, fairly inexpensive, and it looks good.”

  “Let’s use that, then. Oh, and one more project I want to show you.”

  She led him into Sam’s room where the boy sat on the floor, surrounded by green and silver army men, building an indiscernible Lego structure. They stood in the door, and Sam looked up, first at his mother, then to Paul. The boy’s face changed to recognition and then suspicion. Paul smiled at the boy, but Sam did not return it.

  “I want a chair rail in here,” Claire told Paul, “where the two colors meet. But I need to paint the moulding before you put it up.”

  Paul nodded. “Let’s see what size cuts you need.”

  “Sammy, honey,” Clai
re said, “do you mind if we measure your walls for just a minute?”

  Shrugging, Sam scooped his scattered Legos and soldiers closer to himself so the two adults wouldn’t step on them. Paul tiptoed through the room and measured the walls with Claire holding the other side of the tape measure. He noticed a framed picture of an army officer and a shadow box of uniform patches and pins. A picture of Claire, Sam, and the same man hung next to it. The family resemblance between Sam and his father was easy to see, although Paul didn’t comment on it.

  Back in the living room, Paul gave Claire an estimate for the job, making it a little higher than he expected because he wanted to be able to lower the price later if he could. They agreed he would buy the wood within the next few days, drop off the chair rail for her to paint, then install the rail the following Sunday afternoon.

  On the way home, Paul decided he wasn’t going to tell his sisters about his new project. They would ask too many questions and hound him to death about working for a woman, especially after all their teasing at Christmas. Instead, he would keep this to himself for a while and see where it led. Seeing Claire and Sam in their home made them appear much more vulnerable than they had before. He would have to proceed gently if he wanted this relationship to grow.

  11

  Claire was working at her computer late Thursday evening when the phone rang. “What are you doing?” Garrett asked when she answered.

  “Finishing up a logo. It’s due by midnight.”

  “Then I won’t keep you. I was just calling to say I was coming tomorrow night for the weekend.”

  Claire hesitated. She turned in her chair to glance at the canvas on her easel. The sides and top were blocked in with burnt umber, as was the wooden screen behind. She had hoped to make further progress this weekend. She admired artists who could turn out completed paintings after a few days of solid work, but that wasn’t her style. She needed to work on the picture one color at a time until all the major elements were blocked in. Then, she would go back for days after, touching up the details and fiddling with the shadows until she had reproduced the image in her head onto the canvas. The process took time and did not handle interruption well. That was why she painted at night when Sam was in bed.