Marcus Steve's Arc

Chapter 5 of 8

Lysander left with the fairies trailing behind him. Marcus stood on the porch with the split of pine in his hand. He looked at it. The piece was clean, dry, and useless as a lie. The widow would ask about the cut. He had never swung an axe at a standing tree in his life. He needed real firewood by morning, cut by his own hand, or the story would fall apart the moment she looked at his palms. He went around the back of the house. A rusted axe leaned against the woodshed. Behind the shed stood a dead tree, gray and split at the top. Marcus rolled up his sleeves and set his boots wide. The first swing bounced off the bark. The second bit and stuck. He worked it free and swung again. Sweat soaked his shirt. His shoulders burned. The tree groaned and leaned and finally cracked down into the grass. He cut it into rounds. He split the rounds with a wedge and the back of the axe. Bark tore his knuckles. Pine sap glued his fingers together. By the time the moon cleared the chimney, he had a small pile of split wood at his feet. Boots came up the path again. Lysander stepped into the yard, alone this time. He looked at the pile. He looked at Marcus's hands. "You listened," Lysander said. He sounded surprised. "I didn't want to lie to her." Lysander crouched by the pile and picked up a split. He turned it in the moonlight. He sniffed the cut end. "Green," he said. "You cut a dead tree, but the heart is still wet. This won't burn clean for a month." He set it down. "Bring her a piece from the porch stack. The dry one I gave you earlier. Say you cut it last season and cured it. That's closer to the truth she needs." Marcus wiped his hands on his shirt. "And this pile?" "Yours. You'll need it when winter comes." Lysander stood and brushed his knees. "You did the work. That matters more than you know. A woman can smell a soft man across a market." He walked to the porch and lifted the clean split from where Marcus had left it on the rail. He pressed it back into Marcus's hand. "Wrap it in cloth. Not paper. Cloth says you thought about it. Go at midday. Don't sit unless she offers. Don't mention the rings." "I wasn't going to." "Men say that. Then they mention the rings." Lysander looked past him toward the house. "Keep that box locked. There are three more women in this town worth the trouble, and one of them will earn what's inside. Not this widow." Marcus nodded. He had his gift. He had cut wood in his hands and a sore back to prove it. Tomorrow he could walk to the widow's door without shame.