Dr. Clarence Ashworth's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Dr. Ashworth sat at his desk and stared at the blank ledger before him. The donation box outside had collected three pennies and a button. He needed to learn how much the depot would actually cost. His pen scratched across the page—nails, lumber, glass for broken windows. The numbers climbed higher than his empty pockets could ever reach. He closed his eyes and heard William singing hymns. The sanctuary couldn't stay just a dream anymore. He needed to talk to someone who'd actually done this before. Someone who'd turned nothing into shelter. Dr. Ashworth grabbed his cane and headed toward The Sage, a narrow building with a dark grey facade he'd passed dozens of times. Books filled the single front window. Inside, a man behind the counter directed him to charity records on the back shelf. Dr. Ashworth ran his scarred fingers along the spines until he found what he needed—journals from shelter founders, lists of costs, mistakes to avoid. The pages told him things his medical training never could. Children needed water for washing and cooking, not just drinking. He'd need a pump outside—something sturdy that wouldn't break when frozen. The book showed drawings of iron pumps with curved handles. Dr. Ashworth copied the design into his notebook, calculating how many buckets per day twenty children would need. Another entry caught his eye—winter deaths from cold while children waited at locked doors. The writer had placed a fire outside during intake hours. Dr. Ashworth pictured logs arranged in the depot's yard, flames casting light across frightened faces. Thomas could tend it while children arrived. The whispers grew softer as he wrote. Sarah. William. The ones coming next. He closed the book and tucked his notebook into his coat. The sanctuary had its first real plans now, drawn from people who'd succeeded where he was just beginning.