An Inconvenient Match. Janet Dean

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       Imagine, someone who wasn’t intimidated by George Cummings.

       “I suspect my father is too set in his ways to change, but hopefully your students can.”

       “If only they could understand that education is the path to a good life.”

       Education had merely postponed his plans. But for some, education opened the door to opportunities.

       Clearly Abby cared about her students’ futures and took an interest in all facets of their lives. “They’re lucky to have you,” he said and meant every word. A startled look flitted across her face. Not surprising with their history. “My father is fortunate too.”

       She shook her head. “He wouldn’t agree.”

       “You’re not planning on quitting, are you?” he said in a rush of words.

       “I never run from a commitment.”

       Despite her claim, she hadn’t met his gaze. Would she keep the job? The prospect of not seeing her each day slammed into him. Absurd. His concern about her quitting had to do with his father.

       She glanced down the hall. “I’d better check on him.”

       Well, at least she’d last the day. He removed his pocket watch from his vest. With a touch of a finger, sprang the lid. “Would you mind if I head out to the carriage house? I’d like to work in my shop.”

       “As we agreed, I’m here until six.” She raised a slender brow and nailed him with a steely stare. “Not a minute more.”

       “Yes, ma’am,” he said, feigning a salute.

       Carrying her grin with him, he trotted down the stairs then made his way to the workshop built onto the back of the carriage house. The prospect of returning to his passion after a two-week absence lightened his steps. Without a piece of wood under his palms he’d felt less somehow, not whole.

       He left the door ajar to catch the afternoon breeze and walked inside. In this shop he felt at peace, in charge of his realm. His gaze roamed the tools of his trade—hammers, miter boxes, levels, a host of planes and saws, his lathe, emery cloth, sandpaper, everything spotless and in its place. A broom rested in the corner, ready to sweep up sawdust and shavings, anything that might mar a damp finish.

       As a young boy he’d watched Grandpa Brooks’s rheumy eyes shine as he’d talked about the satiny feel of polished wood under his palms. Something Wade understood.

       Surrounded by the scent of wood, he donned the leather apron and reached for fine grit sandpaper. With each stroke, the last bit of tension eased from his neck and shoulders cramped from hours hunched over paperwork on his desk.

       As he ran the sandpaper along the grain, he admired the beauty, the solid strength of the cherry buffet. A piece that would give years of service—could be passed down through the future owner’s family, a treasured heirloom.

       Once his father got back on his feet, Wade would create furniture full-time. The empty warehouse they owned off Main Street would be a perfect location for his cabinetmaker shop. Soon he’d produce functional unique pieces.

       Everything would be perfect except—

       He had no one to share his dream with.

       His thoughts flitted to Abigail but he quickly tamped down the notion of sharing his life with her. He’d seen how a dream could evolve into a nightmare. Surely his parents had once been united in their goals. What had happened to destroy the accord of earlier days?

       A knock on the door frame startled Wade out of his reverie. Seth Collier stood on the threshold.

       Wade smiled. “Afternoon, Seth.”

       In need of a haircut, the hem of his pants barely reaching his ankles, his shirt rumpled, the lad could use a mother’s touch. Yet shabbily clad or not, Seth carried himself with a dignity Wade found remarkable considering the boy’s upbringing.

       “I could use a break. Want to take over?”

       A fierce longing crossed Seth’s face. “You sure?”

       “You’ve sanded enough boards to handle this buffet. You know where to find the emery cloth.”

       “Yes, sir.” Seth moved toward the supply cabinet, a smile softening his angular face.

       “The Johnsons have selected this piece for a wedding gift for their daughter. Once the finish is smooth I’ll apply the last coat of varnish.”

       Seth bent to the job. He had a light touch. A gentle way with the wood, as if he found contentment reshaping boards into a thing of function and beauty.

       In that, Seth Collier reminded Wade of himself. But the comparison ended there. Seth lived with burdens Wade could only imagine. “How’s your dad?”

       The boy’s hand slowed. “Tolerable.”

       Giving way more information than he probably intended, the response twisted in Wade’s gut. Seth never complained, but in the months he’d been coming by the shop, Wade had pieced together a picture of his life. A boy without a mother, though Seth’s had died, not deserted her family as Wade’s had. More often than not Seth’s father lived in a moonshine-induced haze, leaving cooking, chores and the responsibility for eking out a meager existence on their farm to his seventeen-year-old son.

       Compared to Seth Collier, Wade had lived a life of ease. He tried to relieve some of the financial burden by paying Seth for his help in the shop, but Wade wanted to do more.

       Knowing what to do was the difficulty. Rafe Collier wouldn’t take a handout, would as soon turn a shotgun on anyone coming on his property to—as he saw it—interfere with how he raised his son. While in reality Seth raised himself.

       “Want me to talk to your father?”

       “No, sir.”

       An uncomfortable quiet settled between them.

       “I’ve been thinking—we could use a stable hand. The pay is good.” He studied Seth’s face. “The job would mean living above the carriage house.”

       Seth shook his head. “Can’t leave my pa.”

       Loyal to his father—a man who barely functioned and surely didn’t appreciate what he had in this boy. “The offer stands if you change your mind.”

       Seth straightened and met Wade’s gaze. “Would you make me your apprentice? Teach me to be a cabinetmaker?” Words poured out of the boy with the force of an underground spring. “I know I’m asking a lot since I’ve got no money to pay you.”

       At the prospect of teaching Seth the trade, of sharing what he’d learned with someone captivated with woodworking, a spark of excitement took hold of Wade. What better way to help the boy?

       “That’s a great idea. I plan to open a shop. Not a factory per se since no two pieces would be alike. I’d create the design and handle detailed work like inlays, veneers and carving. СКАЧАТЬ