Chapter 1
893 Words
The air smelled of fresh wood and smoke, the sounds of the bustling village providing a soft background noise to his thoughts as Dallin worked to form a sturdy wagon wheel to match the one he’d just finished.
Already calloused from years of work at the tender age of 19, Dallin’s hands moved skillfully over the nearly finished piece, smoothing bumps and knots to make it perfect.
In the six years that he’d been his father’s apprentice, Dallin’s work was already being praised by the locals. Cannon Upchurch was a patient teacher, but he never let Dallin cut corners or sell shoddy work.
Cannon’s standards were high, and as a result, he made more than a typical woodworker.
The father and son drew customers from neighboring villages as well, keeping them busy all year round.
They still struggled, living in a single, wooden shack with the rest of the lower-class members of South Underland. But they had everything they needed, and there was always food on the table. In a time when many people struggled to find their next meal, Dallin was happy to have the life he had.
He continued working, thoughts drifting off as he did. The shop was open on three sides, with the back being solid wood boards held tightly together with thick twine woven between the boards. Dallin rolled his eyes every time he thought about the back wall and its construction.
He wanted to use nails, but his father was a miser. With nails being relatively new to the villages outside of the more populated cities, Dallin had been frustrated when his dad balked at the price.
“Father, why not use nails when they’re less than a single penny for one hundred?”
“I have lived since 1620 and never needed a nail. I do not intend to start now.”
Just like that, the discussion was closed, and Dallin was dismissed.
He tried to argue with his father that he could do so many things that were otherwise quite difficult to manage, but his father was set in his ways.
“But Father, with nails I can produce so much more.”
Speed is not equal to quality. If it can be done without nails, we don’t need to be wasteful.” His father turned back to his work, signaling that the discussion was over. “I’ll not suffer another moment wasted on the topic.”
And just like that, Dallin was left to follow his father’s lead as always.
Unlike his father, whose woodworking talent leaned toward carpentry and cabinet-making, Dallin was a talented wheelwright. With the popularity of phaetons rising, the demand for its wheels was increasing steadily. Since a phaeton had four wheels, he made twice as many per customer as he would for a chaise, which only had two wheels.
Dallin was distracted from his musing by the sound of footsteps passing by in front of their stand.
He watched the ground in front of him, listening to the two women as they came closer. Dallin didn’t have to see them to know that it was Esther and her mother coming around the corner.
He kept his eyes down, waiting until they’d nearly passed by to look up. Esther walked on her mother, Hannah’s left side, putting herself between Hannah and Dallin.
As her mother spoke, she turned her head slightly and gave Dallin a shy smile. Her green eyes twinkled merrily. Pale-faced with a light dusting of freckles across her pert nose, her curly red hair fell around her face and framed it perfectly.
The sight of her took his breath away. He smiled back and quickly went back to work, looking from side to side to see if anyone had noticed their exchange.
“She’s out of your league, Boy. You would do best to remember your station in life,” Cannon said, his voice low but without anger.
“She isn’t royalty, and people should be able to marry for love.”
“She is beguiling to be sure, but how would you be paying your portion for her hand in marriage?”
Dallin sighed, going back to work and leaving the question unanswered.
Esther’s family was wealthy in their own right, though far from nobility. His father was right, but Dallin didn’t care. He would work every hour of the day and night to provide Esther with the life she deserved, even if it killed him.
He put the finishing touches on the wheel and gave it to his father to inspect. The old man looked them over with a critical eye for a moment before returning them.
“That’s fine work, Dallin. Your mother would have been proud of you, Son.” Cannon wiped his face with a handkerchief, hiding the unshed tears from his only son.
Genevieve had disappeared when Dallin was twelve, leaving Cannon to raise their son alone. She’d never been found, and it was something that weighed heavily on both of them.
There was always talk among the villagers about what could have happened to her, but they would never know. Her body had never been found, and no trace of her had ever turned up.
It was like she’d vanished into thin air.
Dallin hefted one wheel in each hand and headed to sell his latest work to the wainwright.
- Writer
