Chapter 4
I pulled it out carefully.
It was small and rectangular, coated in dust. Once I wiped it clean, intricate scrollwork emerged on the surface.
It felt heavy in my hands, made from fine wood.
"What is it?" Emily's voice trembled slightly.
I shook my head. There was no lock, just a tight-fitting clasp.
I opened it carefully.
A faint scent of aged wood and old paper rose up.
There was no gold or silver inside.
Just a few leather-bound notebooks, their edges worn, wrapped tightly in wax paper. Beside them lay a small object wrapped in dark blue velvet.
I picked up the small item first.
Inside the cloth was a wooden interlocking chain puzzle.
It was exquisitely made. Each link fit perfectly with the next, every piece polished smooth, the joints seamless.
This wasn't the work of an ordinary carpenter.
A strange look flickered across Emily's face when she saw it.
"I think this belonged to my grandfather," she said softly.
"Your grandfather?"
She nodded. "My mother said he was a carpenter from the south. Very skilled."
She didn't say more, but I understood.
In those days, craftsmen didn't have much standing. He might have married into her grandmother's family.
Just like me.
I picked up the notebooks.
The covers were worn, but the writing inside was sharp and clear.
On the first one, the title was written in elegant script: [The Master's Guide to Joinery.]
I flipped it open. The pages were packed with detailed diagrams and notes, explaining how to join pieces of wood perfectly without a single nail.
The second book covered hidden mechanisms and mechanical devices.
The third contained designs for intricate toys, burr puzzles, sliding puzzles, and wooden creations I had never seen before.
These weren't just a few old books.
This was the complete record of a lost craft.
My heart started pounding.
I'm a high school student. I can read these drawings.
I understand the skill and thought behind them, and what they're worth.
Times are changing, people's lives are improving, and there's going to be demand for finely made things like these.
This is a treasure, something worth more than gold.
"James?"
Emily had been watching me in silence and finally called my name, a little worried.
I snapped out of it and looked at her.
"Emily, we're going to be okay."
I closed the box, set it back in the hole, covered it with the brick, then spread the straw over it again.
"This stays between us," I said, meeting her eyes. "No one else can know, especially your parents."
She nodded, not fully understanding.
She didn't grasp the value of the books, but she saw something in my eyes she had never seen before, a steady brightness that made her feel at ease.
Before dawn the next morning, I was already up.
Frank hadn't prepared any breakfast, just as I expected.
I told Emily where I was going and headed out.
I needed to check the town, pick up some tools, and find wood.
All of that took money, and I didn't have a single dollar.
At the edge of the village, a few people were gathered around Arthur Lewis' tractor, looking frustrated.
"It won't start."
"We've already lost the whole morning. If we don't get the vegetables to town soon, they'll go bad."
Arthur was sweating, clearly anxious.
I stepped forward. "Mr. Lewis, mind if I take a look?"
He glanced at me, recognizing me as the Warren family's so-called fool of a son-in-law, and frowned. "You're a high school grad. You know how to fix this?"
"I picked up a bit working in the school workshop," I said calmly.
"Nothing to lose. Let him try," someone nearby said.
I opened the hood and checked things over carefully.
It didn't take long to find the problem.
The spark plug was badly fouled with carbon.
I found some tools, removed the spark plug, cleaned it with sandpaper, adjusted the gap, and put it back in.
"Mr. Lewis, try it now."
Arthur worked the handle, still doubtful.
The engine coughed, sputtered, then roared to life, sending up a puff of black smoke.
A murmur of surprise spread through the crowd.
Arthur grabbed my hand, thrilled. "James, you're something else. You really saved me today."
He pulled two crumpled bills from his pocket and handed them to me. "Here, ten dollars. For your trouble."
In 1991, ten dollars was no small amount.
I didn't refuse. "Thank you, Mr. Lewis."
That was my first bit of capital.
With the money in my pocket, I walked all the way to town.
I didn't buy food. I went straight to the scrapyard.
There, I spent two dollars on a set of old woodworking tools.
They were worn and dull, but with some fixing, they would do.
Then I headed to a furniture factory on the edge of town.
I dug through their pile of discarded wood for quite a while and found some scraps others wouldn't even bother using as firewood.
The workers took pity on me and didn't charge a thing, letting me take whatever I wanted.
By the time I got back, it was already dark. I carried a small bundle of wood on my shoulder and a set of old tools in my hand as I walked up to our makeshift home beside the pigsty.
Emily had been waiting at the door. The moment she saw me, her eyes lit up.
"You're back."
She handed me a cup of hot coffee and a roasted sweet potato.
She must have dug it up from her family's field and hidden it in the ashes to cook.
I took the steaming potato, and a quiet warmth spread through me.
After I finished eating, I didn't rest.
Using the faint moonlight, I sat down outside our "new home" and began sharpening the tools.
Stroke after stroke.
The scrape of metal against the whetstone cut through the still night.
Emily crouched beside me, watching quietly.
She didn't ask what I was planning to do, but her eyes said she trusted me.
Then a sharp, mocking voice broke the silence.
"Well, look at that, sharpening tools in the middle of the night?"
Sophia stood in the doorway of the main house, arms crossed, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
"What's the plan? Slaughter a pig or something worse?
"Be careful you don't hurt yourself. The Warren family can't afford a doctor for you."