Page 45 of Always to Remember
She studied the abundance of stone. Each piece was imperfect: a fallen angel without a nose, a dog without a tail. Yet, each stood in silent tribute to determination. Each had provided a lesson, so none were truly failures.
“It seems as though it would have been less work to go to school and learn to be a sculptor,” she said.
“No schools in the area.”
“Kirk told me that you wanted to go to Europe.”
He studied his hands. “That was a boy’s dream.”
“Didn’t the man have the same dream? Why didn’t you go?”
“The timing wasn’t right. War was in the air.” He shrugged. “I had this stupid notion that if I left, people would think I’d gone to avoid the war. Thought they wouldn’t welcome me back when I was ready to return. Thought if I stayed, they’d at least respect the stand I took.” He released a mirthless laugh. “Guess the past few years didn’t turn out the way any of us thought they would.” He stood. “Let’s see if I can at least do justice to this monument you want.”
As she rose and followed him away from the field, Meg realized he’d shown her more than a graveyard of broken stones and a place where his ideas had died. He’d shown her a place of broken dreams.
She watched as Clay walked with more confidence to the shed. His graveyard of stone wasn’t that much different from other graveyards. She always drew strength from her visits to her mother’s resting place. Perhaps he drew strength from his past carvings.
He tied the bandanna over his nose and mouth, walked to the table, wrapped his fingers around a large chisel, and hefted a hammer. “Reckon I’ll get started. You’ll want to cover your nose and mouth.”
Sitting in the chair, Meg brought the bandanna around her face and knotted it behind her head. She felt the excitement mount until it was almost a physical presence. He shoved the stool she’d tripped over the day before to one side of the granite and climbed onto it so his eyes were level with the top of the rock.
He ran his hand over the corner. Then he leveled his gaze on her. “This is when you have to be quiet.”
Nodding in understanding, Meg shifted her backside in the chair. She wanted to stand on that stool with him so she could watch the stone from his perspective. Unfortunately, she didn’t think the stool was wide enough for both of them. She would have had to wrap her arms around him for support.
Reluctantly, she admitted she’d have to be content with her present vantage point.
He set the chisel so it touched the stone at an angle. Then he swung the hammer so it slammed against the flat end of the chisel. A clang and a crack resounded around her. He shifted the chisel slightly and swung again. Meg heard another ring and a crack. She held her breath. He swung the hammer with another fluid movement, and the sound of cracking granite drowned out the metal ping. She watched the corner of chipped stone sail through the air and land near her feet.
Clay jerked his bandanna down, hopped off the stool, bent, and retrieved the fallen stone. He held it toward her. “You can keep the first chunk as a memento.”
Meg lowered her scarf and studied the rock that barely covered her palm. “It’s so small. I expected you to knock it off in huge chunks.”
“Once I take it off, I can’t put it back on, so I only take off a little bit at a time.”
She stared at the huge hunk of granite sitting in the middle of the shed. Then she stared at the small piece of stone resting in her palm. “It’ll take you forever to finish the monument.”
“Not forever. I figure a couple of years.”
“Years!”
He furrowed his brow. “How long did you think it would take?”
“Two or three months.”
Leaning against the rock, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Why should the amount of time make a difference to you?”
Meg stood and began pacing between her chair and the door. “I just hadn’t expected it to take so long. I’m anxious for people to see the monument.”
“You could tell them about it.”
“No!” She came to an abrupt halt. “People wouldn’t understand.”
“They wouldn’t understand you wanting a monument to honor their fallen sons?”
“They wouldn’t understand my talking to you, my presence in this shed, my putting foot on your land. They’d think I’d forgiven you for your cowardice, and I certainly haven’t done that.” She tramped over to the chair and sat. “Just get back to work.”
“You want to tell me the real reason you asked me to make this monument?”
