Chapter 14 - Passing the Chisel
Years flowed gently like a deep river. By the time Clara was ten, she was as comfortable in the woodshop as she was in a classroom. Her hands had grown nimble; she could identify oak, birch, and mahogany merely by their scent.
Arthur’s pace slowed naturally with age. His hair turned silver-white, and his joints protested the damp morning chill, but his eyes never lost their twinkle. He would sit in an old rocker near the workshop wood stove, watching Clara and Leo guide new students through intricate dovetails.
"Grandpa," Clara said one afternoon, walking over with a small block of pine she had carved into the rough shape of a sparrow. "Is this straight?"
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Arthur took the bird into his worn palm, tracing the curves with his thumb. "It has character, peanut. Straight is for machines. Beauty lives in the slight imperfections."
Clara leaned her head against his shoulder, the cedar shavings still tangled in her curls.
