Gedda Foss's Arc

Chapter 5 of 6

Gedda stood in the center of the workshop the next morning, looking at the shelves his mother had built. They held her finished work—bowls and cups and vases she'd made years ago. But they also held empty space where new pieces should go. The vase he'd fired yesterday sat among them now, changed but whole. He started moving things. The cooling racks went against the far wall. The tool bag the girl had left went on a hook by the door. He dragged the pottery wheel out from behind a stack of clay bins and set it near the window where the light was best. His mother had worked there before, but the wheel had sat unused so long the pedal stuck when he tested it. He worked it loose with his foot until it spun smooth again. Gedda pulled a block of clay from the bin and cut off a piece. He centered it on the wheel and started the pedal moving. The clay rose under his hands, wobbly at first, then steadier. He wasn't copying anything his mother had made. He was just shaping what the clay wanted to become—a small pot with a wide belly and a narrow neck. When it was done, he set it on the drying shelf and looked at it. It wasn't perfect, but it was his. He cleaned his hands and walked back to the shelf where his mother's work sat beside the vase with the dark crack running through it. The new pot would go there too, once it was fired. Not because it matched her work, but because it came after it. The workshop didn't need to stay frozen anymore. It needed to keep making things.