Axel Timberson's Arc

Chapter 6 of 6

The stakes stood in the firm ground, four corners of a building Axel could not fill. Then the wind shifted. It came sharp off the far ridge and carried the smell of coming snow. Axel knew that smell. He had learned it the hard way, three days shaking with cold, no fire, no roof. He looked at the sky and saw the gray wall rolling in. A storm. Hours away, maybe less. If snow buried his stakes tonight, he would lose the footprint. He would spend days finding firm ground again. He had to lay something over the marked square now, anything to hold the corners against the drift. "I need cover," Axel said. "Before that hits." He grabbed the first log from the pile by the fire and dragged it toward the stakes. Isaac watched him strain. The big man crossed his thick arms. "One log won't hold a line of stakes," he said. He walked over, lifted the log Axel fought with, and set it across two corners like it weighed nothing. "Faster if I carry, you place." It was the closest thing to kindness Isaac gave. Axel took it. They worked against the wind. Isaac hauled log after log. Axel set each one along the staked edge, pinning the corners so no drift could hide them. Stella came from the shack with her boy and a length of oiled canvas. "For the middle," she said. "Won't stop the storm. Stops the snow from swallowing your marks." She said the real reason plain. "Leo and I need this square to still be here in the morning." She staked the canvas flat over the open ground. The first flakes came before they finished. Then two riders appeared at the clearing's edge, leading a horse packed with tools. A southern man with long black hair swung down. A small blonde woman climbed off behind him. "Saw the fire and the frame going up," the man said. He looked at the low logs pinning the stakes and nodded once. "Smart. Snow buries a footprint fast." He put out his hand. "Dalton. This is Riley. We're clearing an old orchard past the ridge. Got more saw and axe than we need today." Axel gripped the offered hand. "You know timber?" "I know cutting," Dalton said. "Peach wood, mostly. A log's a log." The snow thickened. Together they pinned the last corner. Axel stepped back. Every stake held under a low course of logs and canvas. The footprint would survive the night. He had beaten the storm to his own ground. But he saw it now, clear as the falling snow. He had guarded a square he still could not fill. His pile was near gone, and every room inside was promised to someone else. Dalton and Riley stood waiting, ready to swing an axe. Axel had saved the footprint. Now he needed the wood, and he needed to keep two strangers who cut trees for a living.