William Rosewood's Arc

Chapter 7 of 20

One corner stood true, but the stone pile behind the sty was near gone. William counted the walls he had left to raise. He had the skill now. He did not have the rock. He stood at first light and looked at the low, open walls. The cold was coming. He needed stone, and he had no coin and no mason to sell it to him. Cecily came out with the water pail. She saw where he looked. "How short?" she asked. "Two walls' worth," William said. "Maybe more." She set the pail down. "The old well cover is stone. So is the low wall by the elm." She did not soften it. "You built things once you can take apart now." William had told his neighbor he had the well cover handled. He never fixed it. It had sat loose since spring. Now his wife named it as a pile of stone, and she was right. Sarah tugged his sleeve. She had mud on her knees. "There's more," she said. "By the rabbit's hole. Flat rocks. I found them following the tracks." She had gone hunting the thing eating the turnips and come back with a quarry. William looked at her small face and believed her. They walked the plot all morning. Tommy carried the twine and marked each pile they found. He counted under his breath and stopped when he was sure. "The well, the elm wall, the field edge," Tommy said. "That's your two walls. Not more." He named the limit and said nothing past it. William knelt at the loose well cover. He worked the flat stones free one at a time. His hands knew this. Eddie crouched beside him and tested each stone's face before it went on the sled, tilting it the way the mason had. "This one's cracked," Eddie said. He set it aside. "This one's good." He did not explain further. He worked like the corner had already taught his father everything. By midday the sled ran back and forth, loaded and empty. William laid the west wall higher, course by course. Tommy hauled. Sarah carried the small flat rocks in her apron. Cecily hung a cloth over the open gap to break the wind while they worked. The wall rose to William's chest, then his shoulder. By dusk two walls stood closed. No gaps. William pushed the top course hard. It held. He looked at the empty patch where the well cover had been. It was open ground now, a hole with no lid. Cecily stood beside him. "The house will hold winter," she said. She put her hand on his arm. "But the well's open. A child could fall." William looked at Sarah, muddy and small, standing right at the well's edge. He had traded one danger for another. The walls were closed. The well was not.