Chapter 4
Felix's powers of mobilization were astonishing.
Or perhaps, the sheer will to survive was the greatest motivator of all.
The moment he gave the order, the entire town transformed into a well-oiled machine.
Hundreds of men charged into the forest.
The rhythmic thud of axes and the rasp of saws echoed through the crisp air, each stroke vibrating with a desperate urgency.
Dozens more burly men descended upon the abandoned saunas.
Crowbars and heavy hammers rang out as they pried heavy stones and bricks from the old walls, hauling them back to the clearing in front of my yard.
The women were just as busy.
In the town square, they lit bonfires and hung massive cauldrons over the flames, brewing hearty meat stews and vats of hot coffee.
Even the children played their part, darting back and forth like messengers, ferrying tools and relaying updates.
Cedarville had come alive. Not a single face bore the look of despair anymore; instead, eyes burned with a newfound resolve.
I stood at the heart of this machine, the blueprint propped up beside me.
A constant stream of questions came my way, demanding instant decisions.
"Mr. Lewis, how thick do you want the logs?" one of the workers shouted.
"Anything over one foot for the main beams. Under one foot for the supports," I answered.
"Mr. Lewis, how deep for the foundation?"
"Dig past the permafrost. At least five feet, and pack it with the largest stones we have," I replied.
"Mr. Lewis, what if we run out of bricks?"
"Scour every home for spare fireplace bricks. If that's not enough, mix clay with gravel to make earth bricks."
My brain worked at full throttle.
The timber, the stone, and the soil structure were all different from those in my homeland.
I had to constantly adapt the design to fit the materials at hand.
Mark became my second-in-command, translating every instruction into Northland and bellowing it to the workers.
He looked at me with such devotion, as if I weren't a carpenter but a general commanding an invincible army.
Work started at dawn and continued without a break until dusk.
Yet no one complained. No one cried out in exhaustion.
When the sun finally dipped below the horizon, the foundation pit for the kiln was already excavated.
Mountains of timber and stone surrounded it.
The progress was faster than I had dared to hope.
Dinner was brought over by the women: steaming venison stew and rye bread.
Everyone sat around the bonfires, eating ravenously.
They were exhausted, but satisfied.
I took my bowl of stew and stepped to the side, staring into the deep hole of the foundation, my mind already calculating the sequence for the next day.
Ellie approached, holding Anna.
She draped a thick wool coat over my shoulders.
"Thank you, Michael," she whispered.
Little Anna poked her head out from Ellie's arms and gave me a sweet, toothy smile.
In her hand, she clutched a small, crude wooden carving.
It was an adorably awkward little bear.
She pushed it into my palm.
"For you," she chirped in her childish Northland tongue.
I couldn't quite catch her pronunciation, but Ellie translated.
I gently stroked Anna's golden hair. "Thank you, Anna. I love it."
*****
Just then, the roar of a car engine shattered the silence from the direction of the town entrance.
In the stillness of the snowy night, the noise was jarring.
Everyone froze, turning to look.
Two bright beams of headlights sliced through the darkness as a black pickup truck barged into the town and screeched to a halt in front of us.
The door swung open. A towering man jumped out from the driver's seat.