Elias Shepherd's Arc

Chapter 2 of 3

A dozen workers stood in the field, waiting. They had brought axes and mules, but no food. Elias watched them glance toward home. Hunger would send them back before the frame ever rose. He had no coin to feed them, and the morning was already half gone. He left the site and walked to the smithy. Ethan Ironwood bent over his anvil, tapping a thin piece of iron. Small metal birds lined the shelf behind him. Elias had known the man for years, and knew he gave more than he ever spoke of. "I have hands," Elias said. "But nothing to feed them. They'll drift home by noon." Ethan set down his hammer. He looked at the shelf of iron birds, then back at Elias. "Meat won't forge itself," he said. He wiped his hands on his apron. "I'll come." They walked to the coffee shop on Magnolia Lane. Warm light spilled from its windows. Inside, Abigail Hazelnut pulled a loaf from the oven. Flour dusted her green dress. She was Elias's neighbor, and to her the word meant something real. She had determined in her heart to volunteer to keep the men fed at the work site. One less burden for Elias to carry. "Twelve men," Elias said. "And I can't pay you. Not yet." Abigail set the loaf on the counter. She looked at him a long moment. "You built the shelf my mother's recipe sits on," she said. "You never took a coin for that." She untied her apron, then tied it again tighter. "Bring me a fire out there and I'll bring the food." Elias felt his throat tighten. "That's a debt I can't repay." "Then don't," she said. "Feed them and finish the hall." Ethan grunted. "I'll haul the pot." He lifted her heavy iron kettle as if it weighed nothing. They worked fast. Elias built a stone ring in the field and lit the fire. Abigail set her kettle over it and dropped in onions, barley, and cuts of meat Ethan carried from his own stores. The smell reached the workers first. One by one they stopped eyeing the road. By noon, the men sat in the grass with full bowls. Abigail moved among them, tearing bread and filling cups. Elias's dog, Arlo, wove through the crowd, tail high, begging crusts. Nobody spoke of leaving now. Elias stood at the fire and watched them eat. The hands he had won would stay. But the fire that fed them burned in the open field, under a bare sky. He looked at the stakes marking the corners, still empty. He had solved the hunger. He had not solved the timber. Twelve fed men could raise a frame, but not from wood he did not own. Tomorrow they would swing axes with nothing to cut.