Page 31 of The Love Audit
David wasted no time putting me to work. He handed me a sack of wheat that felt like it weighed as much as a small child.
“Lift with your legs, not your back,” he advised.
“Thanks, Coach.” I groaned, struggling to hoist the sack onto my shoulder.
The process itself was surprisingly intricate. David explained every step as though he were revealing the secrets of the universe. First, we poured the wheat into a hopper at the top of the mill. From there, it fed into a pair of millstones—one stationary, one turning—powered by the waterwheel.
“The grind is all about precision.” David adjusted a lever. “Too coarse, and it’s useless. Too fine, and it clogs the stones. You’ve got to find that sweet spot.”
I nodded like I understood. “Got it. Sweet spot.”
He looked at me, eyebrows raised. “You’re not paying attention, are you?”
“Not even a little,” I admitted. “I might need a cup or two of that coffee.”
David chuckled and sighed. “Just try not to break anything. This mill’s older than both of us combined.”
As the grindstones rumbled to life, David leaned against a wooden beam and launched into what I soon realized was his favorite pastime: storytelling.
“This mill was built by my great-grandfather, John WilliamPike,” he began, his tone reverent. “The man was a genius. Invented half the tools you see in here.”
I glanced around at the various contraptions. “Yeah, he was an engineer, right?”
“An inventor,” David corrected. “And a damn good one. But his real passion was farming. He created wheat varieties you won’t find anywhere else but Miller’s Cove. Hardy, high-yield, and perfect for our soil, which he perfected, too.”
“That’s… impressive.” I was genuinely intrigued. “And all of this was his idea?”
David nodded. “He, Donald Hodge, and Joseph Walker built this town from nothing. Three Black men, richer than sin, buying up swampland and turning it into a paradise. People thought they were crazy.”
“And now?” I asked, dumping another sack of wheat into the hopper.
“Now, over one hundred years later, their descendants, including yours truly, are still running things.” David grinned. “And we intend to keep it that way.” I shot him a terse nod before I turned in the direction of the coffeepot steaming on a countertop on the far side of the room, so he couldn’t see my face.
A couple of hours in, just as I was starting to get the hang of things, a familiar woman’s voice called from the doorway.
“David! Did you remember to set aside the flour I need?”
I turned to see Eleanor’s tall, elegant figure fill the doorway, her hair tied back in a loose bun. She carried a basket in one hand and wore a look of mild exasperation.
“Morning, my love.” David beamed. “Of course I remembered.”
“That’s debatable,” she replied, her eyes narrowing playfully. Then she turned to me. “Well, hello, Derek. David’s been talking about getting you into the mill.”
“I hope I haven’t disappointed him too much.” I took the basket from her arms and began to load it up with the flour David had had me set aside earlier.
“We’ll see.” She smirked.
Eleanor was here to bake, which apparently involved commandeering half the flour we’d milled so far. She took one look at my clumsy handling of the equipment and raised an eyebrow.
“Is this your first time in a mill?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Painfully.” She patted my arm. “But don’t worry. You’ll catch on. My David is an excellent teacher.”
“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” I said, but she was already walking away.
By midmorning, my arms felt like jelly, and I was seriously considering calling it quits. That’s when David decided it was the perfect time for another chat.
