Elias Shepherd's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

Morning came, and the axes stayed still. Twelve men stood by the empty stakes with nothing to cut. Elias walked the corners again, measuring wood he did not have. Cheap planks would not do. His hall needed timber that could hold a roof for a hundred winters. He had no such wood, and no coin to buy it. Abigail arrived with her kettle and a basket of warm bread. She saw the idle men and set the basket down. "They can't eat and stand," she said. "Not for long." She tore a loaf and handed Elias a piece. "You need trees, not stew." "I know where the trees are," Elias said. "I don't know how to reach them." A voice answered from behind the fire. "I might." Theodore Tollman stepped into the field. He was the village accountant, the man who bought coffee each morning to trade for other people's business. His dark coat and side-part looked out of place among the mules and sawdust. He smiled, though the smile stopped short of his eyes. "My brother swings an axe for you," he said. "He told me your problem." Elias wiped his hands. "And you came to watch us fail?" "I came with a name." Theodore folded his hands. "A landowner past the hollow. Oaks older than my grandfather. More timber than you could cut in a year." He paused. "He owes taxes. I keep his ledgers." Abigail crossed her arms. "And what do you want for this name?" "A seat," Theodore said. "When the hall stands, I want my family named among those who raised it." His voice did not rise. "That's all." Elias watched him. He did not trust the smile. But he trusted the wood. "Take me there," he said. His words held no promise, for this hall is not for a single man, but for everyone. They walked out past the last houses. The landowner, Adam Oakwood, met them at his gate, sour and slow, until Theodore said a few quiet words about ledgers and dates. The man's face changed. He waved a hand at his hill of oaks. "Take what you need," he muttered. "Take it today." By noon Ethan Ironwood arrived with a broad brown horse and a heavy cart. "Heard you found wood," he said. He hitched the horse to a felled oak and clicked his tongue. The animal leaned into the harness. The great log slid free of the mud. All afternoon the cart rolled between the hill and the field. The men cut, the horse hauled, and the timber grew into a stack taller than Elias. Abigail carried bread to the workers where they sawed. Arlo, his black curly-haired dog, trotted beside the horse on each trip, guarding the load. By dusk the stack stood ready. Elias ran his hand along the oak. Strong, straight, true. Tomorrow the frame would rise. Theodore watched from the edge of the field. "Remember the seat," he said, and walked home. Elias had his timber now, but Theodore threatened a debt he did not yet understand. Elias said, "I don't promise you 'your seat,' I promise you 'a seat.' But words fell on deaf ears. Elias made a mental note to make a personal return visit to pay Adam back for his timber.