The Carpenter & the Queen

by Michelle Lashier

  He rubbed his hands across his eyes. He wouldn’t tell her he had seen it. He couldn’t without making a fool of himself. He saw the cell phone charger on the desk. He stuck it in his pocket, then looked back at the painting one last time before pulling the door closed.

  When he returned to the living room, both Claire and Sam were ready.

  “Did you find it?” Claire asked.

  Paul pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to her.

  “Thanks. My battery is totally dead, and my brother has probably tried to call a hundred times this morning.”

  When Paul gave her a questioning look, Claire added, “He’s a bit of a helicopter. He hovers.”

  Paul grinned. But as he picked up Claire’s suitcase and led the way to the pickup, he thought of what he had just seen upstairs and understood the desire to hover over someone he cared about who was in trouble. He was still full of emotion, but he needed a little distance before he could analyze his feelings properly.

  The three of them squeezed into the pickup cab, Paul noting with some disappointment that Sam was between him and Claire, although it was the arrangement that made the most sense.

  “I’m not supposed to ride in the front seat,” Sam told Paul.

  “Would you rather ride back there with the luggage?”

  “Can I?”

  Paul chuckled. “No.”

  “Aw, man.”

  Claire rubbed Sam’s knee and grinned at Paul. He put the truck in gear and started off slowly on the icy road.

  “It’s a little hard to leave,” Claire finally admitted, glancing sideways at Paul to see how he reacted. “Feels like I’m giving up.”

  “That house has stood up to a lot in the last hundred years,” Paul said. “But people are a little more fragile.” He cut his eyes at her, wondering if she caught his meaning. She bit her lip and looked away.

  No one talked much on the drive back to Paul’s. Sam was sulking. Paul was concentrating on driving, a difficult task given the road condition and the number of trees down across the road. Claire was lost in thought, her shoulders slumped. Her posture so reminded him of the painting that Paul opened his mouth to speak then closed it just as quickly. Words were incapable of conveying the level of understanding he felt. He had to find a way to show her he understood.

  15

  Claire mentally berated herself on the drive to Paul’s. She should have been better prepared. She needed a supply of bottled water, firewood close to the house, a kerosene stove . . . the list was endless. She couldn’t even get down her own steps or keep her cell phone charged.

  Her hip and leg throbbed. Sitting in the car didn’t help, but she didn’t say anything. She couldn’t believe she had just accepted an invitation to stay at Paul’s house. She didn’t know him that well although she wanted to. Garrett would think this was a terrible idea, but what was she supposed to do? She and Sam needed help. Paul had offered. It was that simple.

  What should have been a ten minute drive took forty minutes in the bad road conditions. As they pulled up to Paul’s house, Claire studied the outside, trying to figure out what she could discover about Paul from his place. It was a small single story, built low to the ground like many of the houses in the area and with little ornamentation outside. He had salted his sidewalk and front steps, so she and Sam entered the house without difficulty. They stopped in the living room, waiting for Paul as he brought in their luggage.

  A couch, armchair, ottoman, and coffee table adorned the small living room. Claire noted the chess set on the table, wondering if it was one Paul had made. Firewood sat next to the fireplace opposite the couch, but no fire burned. A plain white carpet lay in the middle of the wood floor. Nothing hung on the paneled walls except a single framed photo. Claire walked closer to study it.

  “Is this your family?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” Paul took off his boots, then walked over and pointed out his two sisters, their husbands, and the kids.

  “No nephews,” Claire observed.

  “I keep telling my sisters we need them. Not enough guys around.” He smiled at Sam. “Want a tour?”

  Looking embarrassed, Paul led them through the two bedrooms, bathroom, dining area and kitchen. Claire noted the Spartan nature of Paul’s bedroom with its serviceable mini blinds, blue comforter on the bed, and single wooden side table. She had seen barracks that looked homier. But despite the home’s lack of personality, it was clean and uncluttered. Any hopes of the house uncovering Paul’s enigmatic personality were dashed.

  Until she saw the workshop.

  From the moment he opened the door to the garage, Paul’s face changed. His eyes grew brighter, his face ruddier, and he moved with more animation. Claire took in the room with awe. The smell of fresh wood permeated the room. Tools hung on pegs on one wall. The back wall against the kitchen housed his power tools, all gleaming darkly like gun barrels and army boots. Shelves above the saws held cans of paint and wood stain, the labels each bearing a thumbprint of the color inside just below the lid. Shelves on the far wall held lengths of wood in varieties Claire could not identify. In the center of the room sat a table, which was really a door on saw horses. Chess pieces in various stages of completion were lined up on the table. Claire’s gaze rolled over them, unable to comprehend all the details, until something caught her eye.

  “Is this your Maid Marian piece?” she asked, walking over to it.

  Paul nodded.

  “May I?”

  He nodded again and she picked it up. The piece was exquisite, about four inches high. Atop the round base stood a carved figure. Claire noted the realistic curves on the woman’s body—a stark contrast to the waifish shapes popular with fantasy figures. The woman’s hands lay on the tip of a bow whose other end rested at her feet. On her back she carried a quiver of arrows. Claire smiled at the pretty face, painted delicately, and the wavy blond hair. Paul’s obvious influence for the figure had been the picture Claire showed him, although Claire remembered that in the picture Marian was a brunette.

  “This is beautiful,” Claire said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Paul looked a little embarrassed. “I’ve still got to seal it.”

  “You’re an artist, too,” Claire said. “You should do more like this.”

  He shrugged. “Took me a while, what with my other orders and stuff.”

  “It’s good.”

  “What’s this thing?” Sam asked, pointing to something in the corner.

  “That’s a lathe.” Paul joined Sam at the tool and began describing how he made his chess pieces on it.

  Claire had never heard Paul put so many sentences together at once without prompting. So, the man could talk when he wanted to. She let her eyes wander around the room.

  Paul really did do beautiful work. She wandered over to the shelves of wood and pulled a block down. Holding it under her nose and closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, enjoying the sharp scent. Claire knew very little about carpentry, but she understood care in craft. Paul obviously took pride in his work. Hiring him had been the right decision.

  “Mom?”

  She opened her eyes to see Paul and Sam staring at her.

  “I’m sorry.” Self-consciously she replaced the wood on the shelf. “I don’t mean to touch everything. I just can’t help it sometimes. My brother Garrett used to complain that he couldn’t take me anywhere without tying my hands behind my back.”

  “It’s okay,” Paul said, although his voice sounded strange. She worried she had offended him.

  “This looks like a magic wand,” Sam declared, pointing to a dowel Paul had been turning to create a series of pawns.

  “I guess it does,” Paul agreed.

  “Can I make one?”

  Paul looked to Claire for permission. She nodded.

  “After lunch, then,” Paul said.

  They warmed up two cans of soup Paul had in the cupboard. Claire set the table and made grilled cheese sandwiches, smiling, but inward
ly wanting to lie down somewhere and cry again. She had taken some pain medication, but the throbbing ache remained. Paul seemed to be watching her closely during the meal. After they ate, he made a suggestion.

  “Sam and I need a couple hours to make his magic wand. Why don’t you take a nap or something . . . if you want.”

  Claire nodded, hoping her relief wasn’t too evident. “I’ll do that.

  When the dishes were cleaned, she made herself an ice bag and went into the spare room to lie down. She eased herself onto the open futon to lie on her stomach with the ice bag perched on her butt. Propping herself up on her elbows, she reached for her cell phone, now fully charged, and checked her messages. Six from Garrett, one from Francine. She sighed and dialed Garrett’s number first.

  “It’s about time!” Garrett said when he picked up. “I’ve been trying to call you all morning.”

  “I know. Sorry. My phone was dead and I didn’t have electricity.”

  “I heard the storm was bad your way. Are you guys warm enough?”

  “Actually, we’re staying with a friend. We’re using a spare bedroom.”

  “Are you at Francine’s?”

  “No.” She felt obligated to tell him where she was, even though she didn’t want to. “I’m at Paul’s. You know, the carpenter who’s working on my house.”

  “Oh.”

  She heard the concern and doubt in Garrett’s voice.

  “He came over to check on us and invited us to stay until the electricity’s back on. He’s got a generator—and water. The water was out at my place.”

  “Oh.” There was a long pause.

  “We’re fine, Garrett. If we were still in Troy, you know you would have been the first one I called.”

  “You’ll be okay?”

  “We’re fine.”

  “Well,” Garrett said slowly, “it’s good you have people close by who can help you.”

  “I still need you, Garrett. Just not in the same way.”

  There was a long pause. “Give me a little time to get used to it, okay?”

  Claire smiled. “Okay.”

  Francine, when Claire called her, was more excited about the turn of events.

  “You’re at his house?” Francine shrieked. “You go, girl!”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “I was going to offer you a place with me,” Francine said, “but since you’ve been whisked off by Prince Charming, I’ll leave you alone.”

  Claire sighed when she hung up. Garrett had trouble with her asking for help from anyone besides family. Francine was ready for Claire to take advantage of the close bedrooms. Meanwhile, Claire was no closer to figuring out how Paul felt about her.

  But over-thinking any attraction was a woman’s curse. She readjusted the ice pack and tried to get some sleep.

  * * * * *

  Paul stood behind Sam and guided his hands with the skew chisel as they produced a series of knobs to adorn the handle of Sam’s wand. The boy was a fast learner and seemed to be enjoying himself. Paul was, too. While he loved his nieces, he had to admit that turning wood with Sam was a lot more fun than some of the things his nieces had talked him into over the years. He still couldn’t see a Barbie doll without cringing.

  “I think I’m done,” Sam shouted over the hum of the lathe.

  Paul switched off the machine and hung the chisel back on its hook. “We need to sand it now, and then you can stain it.”

  Sam turned in the stool he was sitting on and watched Paul search through his bin for the right grade of sandpaper. Sam was wearing safety glasses over his own small spectacles. Paul was glad he had an extra pair for the occasion. The kid was pretty cute. Previously, Paul believed Sam didn’t like him, but today he seemed to be enjoying Paul’s attention.

  “Did you and your dad ever do stuff like this?” Paul asked.

  Sam shook his head. “He was gone a lot, I think.”

  “My dad was too when I was growing up.”

  “Is your dad dead?”

  “And my mom. It’s good you still have yours.”

  “Yeah.”

  They sanded the wand on the lathe with Paul all the while keeping watch that Sam didn’t rub off a finger by accident.

  A few minutes later, Paul helped Sam stain the wand, then they set it up to dry on two blocks of wood.

  “What else can we do?” Sam asked, his eyes eager.

  Paul rubbed his chin. “Well, I’ve been planning on making a doll house for my nieces for Christmas. It’s a little early, but we could get started on it.”

  Sam wrinkled his nose. “A doll house?”

  “Not into those, huh?”

  “It’s girl stuff.”

  “I hear you,” Paul commiserated. “Dolls and little pieces of furniture and pink all over the place.”

  Sam laughed.

  “Oh, that got you, did it? Do you laugh every time someone says pink?”

  Sam laughed harder.

  “What about purple? Does that do it for you, too?”

  Sam let out a cackle that made Paul laugh, too, because, for the life of him, Paul had no idea what the joke was.

  “What’s so funny?”

  Claire stood in the doorway with her arms crossed and a look of amusement on her face.

  Sam pointed at Paul. “He said pink.”

  Claire looked at Paul, who just shrugged, and everyone laughed, although Sam was the only one of the three who knew why.

  “Come see my wand,” Sam ordered when he had regained control. “We still have to paint poly--?” He looked to Paul.

  “Polyurethane,” Paul corrected.

  “—To seal it,” Sam continued. “But this has to dry first.”

  “It looks great,” Claire complimented. “Harry Potter worthy.”

  “Get this.” Sam shook his head in disbelief. “He,” Sam pointed a thumb at Paul, “wants to build a dollhouse.”

  “For my nieces,” Paul added, feeling slightly embarrassed.

  “I think that’s awesome,” Claire replied. “Every little girl needs one.”

  Looking at Sam, Paul jerked his head toward Claire. “She would know.”

  Sam rolled his eyes.

  “Have you got a sketch worked up?” Claire asked.

  “Just something basic. Maybe you could help me.”

  “She’d just draw you a castle,” Sam said, his voice full of world weariness. “Everything is castles.”

  “That’s enough attitude from you, young man.”

  Claire’s voice held just enough authority that made Sam cow his head and mutter an apology. She looked back at Paul, a little embarrassed.

  “I was into castles like some kids were into dinosaurs. I had a regular dollhouse, but I always pretended it was a castle. Guess it’s something I never outgrew.”

  Paul looked at Claire in admiration. Her hair pulled back in a barrette, she had more color in her cheeks than earlier. She smiled back at him with shy nervousness. Paul cleared his throat.

  “Would you like to see the top of your unit?”

  “Sure.”

  He pointed to where the shells for the shelves sat on the floor behind her.

  “I haven’t marked the measurements for the shelves yet,” he said. “Do you know how high you want them?”

  Claire held one hand above the other in what Paul calculated was about fourteen inches.

  “Or something like that,” Claire said. “Whatever you think looks good.”

  “What are you going to put up there?”

  “Souvenirs mostly. Sam’s little soldiers and stuff like that.”

  “They’ll get lost in a big unit like this. Have you thought about a separate display?”

  “It’s a good idea,” Claire conceded. “I don’t have anything like that. I’ll have to work on it.”

  “I might be able to make something. No extra charge.” An idea was already forming in his head, although it would require a lot of work.

  * * * * *

  Aft
er supper, Sam wanted to play Go-Fish. Paul agreed to join, although he was so distracted by having Claire sit across the table from him that he lost badly.

  “You only have one pair,” Sam commented to Paul as he gathered up the cards to reshuffle. Sam’s tone indicated Paul should feel some kind of shame.

  “It’s all I need,” Paul defended.

  While Claire helped Sam get ready for bed, Paul built a fire in the fireplace. He hadn’t lit it in a long time, and they didn’t need the warmth, but he liked the atmosphere it set in the room. Paul settled into his chair, propping his leg up on the ottoman. It felt good to have other people in the house. He hadn’t expected that, but it was true. Maybe he was ready for something serious.

  Paul heard Claire tell Sam goodnight. She shut the door quietly then limped into the living room.

  “Nice fire,” she said, settling on the couch. She propped her head on a pillow and stretched out full length.

  “How’s your hip?”

  “Letting me know it’s there. But I’ll live. I’ll just have a bruise the size of Texas for weeks.”

  She reached for the chess set on the coffee table and picked up a rook. “Is this one of yours?”

  Paul nodded.

  “Every household should have one,” she said, replacing the piece on the board.

  “Want to play a game?”

  “Oh, I’m terrible at chess. You’ll decimate me.”

  “I lost at Go-Fish,” Paul reminded her.

  She laughed, turning to her side and propping her head up with her hand. “Okay, but go easy on me.”

  Paul turned the board so the white set was closer to her. “You first.”

  They played in relative silence. Claire watched in dismay as more and more of her pieces were captured. Paul had her in check.

  “Help me,” Claire said. “I’m stuck.”

  Paul pointed to his knight and traced its attack path to her king.

  She shifted her king to safety. “I always wondered what the knight was for, why it moves that way.”

  “I told my nieces he probably had a war injury of some kind so he can’t walk straight. But he’s a good piece because he can reach squares others can’t.”