Page 42 of Always to Remember
“It’d be best if you sat by the door,” Clay said.
“Why?”
“Because when I start working, dust and stone are gonna fly everywhere.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“Fine.”
He stomped out again, leaving Meg to stare at the door. She wiped her sweating palms along her skirt.
Clay walked in carrying a piece of red cloth. “This was my pa’s. It’s clean. You can tie it around your face, cover you nose and mouth so you’re not breathing in all the dust.”
“Do you have one?”
Nodding, he pulled a similar cloth out of his pocket.
“Then I guess we’re all set,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am.” He walked to the table and picked up an instrument with a blunt end.
“What’s that?” Meg asked.
“A chisel.” He held up a tool which looked similar to a large nail. “This is a point.”
Meg cursed her curiosity, but couldn’t resist it. She rose from the chair and walked to the table. “Why do you have them in different sizes?”
“I use the larger ones in the beginning when I’m chipping away the stone I don’t need.” He touched smaller tools that had finer points or smaller blunt ends. “I use these when I’m working on the details.”
“You even have different hammers.”
He held a hammer with pointed grooves in both ends. “I use this one to pound the granite into shape.” He set it down and waved his hand over the remaining hammers which had flat ends. “I use the heavier hammers at first, then I’ll use the lighter hammers.”
“How did you learn when to use each tool?”
“By making mistakes.” He wiped his palms on his trousers. “Are you thirsty? I can draw you some water from the well.”
She shook her head. “No, I’m just fine.”
“Let me know if you want some water.”
“I will.”
He touched the largest chisel. “Think I’ll have a drink of water before I get started.”
Clay strode out of the shed and crossed the yard to the well. With rapid-fire motions that resembled those of a Gatlin gun, he turned the crank and brought the bucket from the bottom of the well. He set it on the stone ledge and dunked his head in the cool water.
All night, he’d planned the moment when he’d chip away his first bit of stone, and he certainly hadn’t expected to be distracted by honeysuckle. The damned fragrance floated around Meg like a low cloud on a misty morning. He knew she hadn’t worn the scent for him. She was just in the habit of bathing in it or throwing it on her body or whatever the hell she did to tease a man’s nostrils.
He kept his head submerged until he thought his lungs would explode from lack of air. He jerked his head out, took a deep breath, and threw his head back, tunneling his fingers through his hair, careful to avoid the spot she’d stitched the day before. He rubbed his hands over his face, wondering how long it’d take his hair to dry so he didn’t look like a drowned cat. He hadn’t even considered that he’d have to explain—
“Are you nervous?” she asked quietly behind him.
Clay nearly jumped over the well. He spun around.
She held up a finger to silence his protest. “You didn’t have any tools in your hands.”
With a rueful smile, he sighed and sat on the edge of the well. “I’ve never done anything this big before, or something that was so important.”
