1.8 James
8:27 PM | Posted by
Unknown
The workshop was filled with dust and noise and... progress. Tom was cutting larger pieces of oak down to more manageable sizes while I was busy staining pieces for an desk that was due fairly soon. We didn't have much time for conversation. That's how we had always worked. The benefit of working elbow-to-elbow with someone you know well, even if it was in a much bigger workshop than either of us were used to, was that we each understood how the other operated. Like a well-oiled machine.
The sudden crashing sound following by a slew of profanity on the other side of the room had almost ironic timing. A some-what well-oiled machine. I smiled, despite hearing the sounds of Tom taking backward steps. I was happy for the first time in a while. And it's one thing to be happy, but quite another to realize it at the time.
"Everything ok back there?" Eric's nervous face peered back at us from the front office. I gave him the thumbs up sign, which seemed to reassure him, even if Tom was still mumbling words to himself that were more appropriate at closing time at the pub than the work place.
Eric motioned for me to come up front and I carefully placed my brush down as to not drip the stain onto unintentional surfaces.
"What's up?" I strode across the room, catching up with Eric in the showroom.
"I need to visit the accountant." Eric looked worried. But I was used to it by then. Eric always looked worried. Even when I thought things were going pretty well.
"Would you be able to mind the shop while I'm out? I really don't know how long this will take." He was grabbing papers from different piles and stuffing them into a folder under his arm before grabbing his hat to head to the front door.
"Not a problem." I smiled. "We expecting anyone?"
"Not that I know of..." Eric glanced around the tables again, grabbed an invoice off the top of one of the piles and headed out the door. "If I'm not back by close, the keys are in the top drawer by the register."
"Got it." I'm pretty sure he didn't hear me. But then again, Tom and I had been working at his shop for almost two months now. And Eric pretty much trusted us to work on our own and take care of things.
He should. Being a master craftsman and all... That cynical voice had been quiet for so long, I was almost sure it was never going to come back
I knew what I had sacrificed, what I had left behind. And what that meant for me. But it could never have gone any other way.
Not with the options they gave me.
The bell above the front door rang loudly. Loud enough to make me jump. Shaking my head, I turned to look at the door to see a well-dressed man walk in. At first glance, I would have said he was my father's age. Tall and slender, but hunched over with a carved wooden cane, bearing the brunt of his weight, in his right hand. I also would have thought he was my father's age as he traveled with an attendant, who was waiting for him outside the shop. The attendant looked a few years older then me and dressed like those who care for the elderly and infirm.
But this was no old man walking in the shop. In fact, looking at his face I could now see that he was probably even younger than I. But not by much.
Meeting his eyes, and not acknowledging his hunched posture or limp, I greeted him warmly. "Good afternoon to you." He looked around the shop and then at me. I answered his question before he asked. "Eric had to step out. I am James."
The man's face softened at my explanation. "Of course. Of course." He started. "Yes, I heard there were new craftsmen in town. How very nice to meet you." He paused to reach into his jacket to pull out a handkerchief with his left hand. He held it to his mouth just in time to catch the cough that seemed to come up from his toes.
I reached for a glass to offer him water, but he shook his head as he finished his coughing spell. I raised my eyebrows but said nothing, and waited for him to continue.
"Excuse me. I just have not been able to kick this cough... But where are my manners? My name is Jonathan Rouse. But please, call me Jack." Leaning on the counter, he removed his right glove and extended a pale hand to me.
"Pleasure to meet you." I was actually worried about breaking his fingers. His hand was ice cold.
"I had mentioned to Eric that I would be stopping by, but I had not said when." Jack started out, almost apologetically. "But now that I have decided, I just could not wait to start."
My silence surprised him at first. Then he continued. "Of course. Of course. Eric would not have known to mention it. I would like to commission a unique piece of furniture." He tapped the counter three times, as if the emphasize the last three words. I noticed his excitement almost seemed to straighten his spine by an inch or two. Seeing my interest he said, "This will be a special piece. An armoire. I would like it to have two doors and three drawers. Tall... well not THAT tall..." He smiled and continued on with the details of what he imagined it would look like.
My hand was already automatically moving across a piece paper on the desk. The pencil that had been tucked behind my ear was held fast and sweeping across the page. Across the back of one of Eric's invoices. I'm not sure when Jack stopped talking. But I was suddenly aware of my own voice. "...One adjustable shelf for behind the doors... reverse paneled sides and doors... flush drawer fronts." My hand stopped. Jack was staring at the paper.
"That's exactly it!" Jack's face was flush with excitement and he was almost able to clap his hands together with the joy, if it hadn't been for the cane in his right hand. "Beautiful! Beautiful! And look how you added in the rose carvings. Oh yes. This is exactly what I require. How are you able to tell just from my few sentences?” The question seemed rhetorical and I did not have the heart to tell him that I had built many similar pieces before. I could see he was getting tired so I merely said, "Just a knack, I suppose. I picked it up on previous jobs."
"And where would those previous jobs have been?" Jack was still staring at the drawing on the desk.
"Rose Hill." I answered without thinking. I traced the edges of the armoire to seem distracted. "But that was a long time ago..." Trailing off generally put an end to those sorts of questions.
"Just a knack”, he echoed. “Well, it would seem you have quite the talent, Mr. James...?"
Still tracing shapes on the page, I answered out of habit. "Shipley."
"Well Mr. James Shipley from Rose Hill. I would like you to personally create this masterpiece for me." With that he turned to face the door. As he reached for the handle, I realized my feet were rooted to the ground. My hand froze, clutching the worn pencil so hard my knuckles turned white.
Any other person would have stepped forward to help this man open the heavy door and navigate the steps. Any normal person would have said thank you for such a big job. I was obviously not this normal person. Instead, I watched Jack's attendant hold the door for him and help him down the stairs out into the busy street. Jack moved his cane into his left hand, and waved his right hand at me in farewell. "You can tell Eric I will be by next week with the deposit and details of timing..." he hollered. But I was not able to hear any more of his words. My thoughts were not of the job or this "masterpiece" or even really of anything specific at all. My cynical voice started to get louder in my head as the panic set in.
You told him your real last name.
The front door slammed shut and the silence filled my ears.
