Chapter 15
Reaper
Earlier, when Emma’s car had pulled up to the Thompson house, I dropped the charred wood that I’d been carrying outside and dusted my hands on my jeans. At least I’d had the foresight to wear a black shirt and black jeans today.
The image of Lark sitting in the backseat, staring out of the windshield of their car, tears pouring down her face, will forever be etched into my mind.
The pain and grief in her eyes were damn near unbearable.
Before I knew what was happening, I’d crossed the yard, ignoring my brother’s questions, and opened the door for her, offering her my hand to help her get out.
The second her gaze locked on mine; I was a goner. Even more so than the last time I’d seen her, two days before the fire.
But this time, there’s something different.
And I don’t mean her scars.
I could have stepped back once she was out of the car. To let her go through their house alone, but I just couldn’t. Instead, I had tucked her good arm around mine and when she’d nodded, I felt my chest puff up with pride that she was on my arm, trusting me to help her through this.
But now?
Now, all I want to do is pull her into my arms again, not caring if my brothers end up roasting me later for wanting to protect her, even from this, though I know it’s not possible.
As Lark’s hand caresses her family’s heirlooms again, my chest tightens as the grief on her face becomes more prominent.
Both our grandfathers had been friends, and from the stories Gramps had told me, both Charlie and George had liked to work with their hands a lot.
However, I hadn’t realized the degree to which they had taken their hobbies.
Even when Lark had talked about it before, I never got the scope of how much they did or how talented they were.
Spanning the width of the room is a large wooden workbench and on the wall above it is what I’m betting is a storage.
.. cabinet... No, that’s not quite right.
.. It’s like they made a storage nook or bin for every tool they had.
To keep them protected. From the sections that are mostly unmarked by the fire, soot, and water damage, you can tell that this was a labor of love and had taken a great deal of time to craft.
Judging by the joints, this wasn’t a piece that was slapped together but instead, was carefully crafted.
Probably by hand. Next to it, on the wall to the left of the carving area, tons of bows are hung up.
Some of them are in cases, most likely to protect them, whereas others are just hanging off hooks.
Or I should say, what remains of them are still hanging.
A soft chuckle has me turning back toward Lark, and she’s looking down at an old chisel in her hands as she rubs her thumb up and down the handle in a gentle caress.
“I would often see Pappy and Grandpa George whittling away after supper. If the weather was good, they’d be out on the patio sitting by a fire.
If it wasn’t, they’d be in here as they listened to the radio.
One day, when I was eight, I snuck a butter knife out of the kitchen and grabbed a couple of sticks from the yard before running and hiding behind one of our big oak trees.
“I tried to mimic their movements and actions, but it was slow going with my weak eight-year-old hands and a dull butter knife. Not that I’d known much about the differences in knives at that age, but still, I wanted to be like them.
It wasn’t even an hour after that before they found me, a pile of woodchips collected in my lap as I worked.
When they saw what I was trying to do, they started teaching me how to carve and the importance of caring for, sharpening, and using the carving tools and blades.
Not to mention the correct way to use the blades. ”
She looks up then at the wall holding all the bows, her eyes misty with tears, but there’s also determination behind her pain and grief.
“That started a love affair with carving, and I haven’t stopped.
Aside from continuing the tradition of carving my own bows, my goal was to update our house myself and to do it by hand.
My great-great grandpa Raymond built this house with his father’s help.
They hired local contractors, but they were both still there, working alongside whoever they hired.
However, all of the furniture, cabinets, bookcases in the house?
All of that was bought. It’d been slow going and it would have continued to have been slow going, but I wanted to have our entire house be hand crafted, as much as possible, by Thompson hands.
Something that would last for future generations. ”
She pauses as she walks over to the other wall opposite of the bows and runs her hand over what looks to be a charred-out cabinet.
“I was almost done making all the cabinet bases for the kitchen. I also had the frames for the cabinet doors cut and chiseled, but I was going to wait to assemble them until after the bases were installed to make sure I had the dimensions right and didn’t need to tweak anything.
The doors were going to be wooden frames that had panes of glass fit in them.
And to continue with Pappy’s and Grandpa George’s theme, I carved designs into the door frames.
Putting our family’s mark on them as Grandpa George used to always say. ”
Lark pauses again as she sniffles and I look around the room again with fresh eyes.
In what remains, I can see the amount of detail that I now know for sure is hand carved pieces, and I step closer to a case hanging on that wall that holds an old bow, surprised that it mostly survived the fire.
While there’s soot that’s settled into the grooves, you can tell that there are intricate designs carved into the face and the sides of the frame.
For this one, the carvings all seem to be hunting related.
“That was my grandpa Raymond’s bow. He used it up until a crack started to form in the wood and then it sat on a shelf until Grandpa George snuck it out and made that case for it.
Another passion in our family is bow hunting, if you haven’t already guessed that.
In fact, I was supposed to go hunting later this month with Uncle Mark, but that’s not in the cards anymore. ”
The last few words are barely above a whisper, and the grief in her voice intensifies.
I turn, looking over my shoulder at her to find her staring down at her left arm and hand, which are covered in compression garments, something I know only after doing a lot of research on fires and fire victims this past month.
Even though she’s a couple of years younger than me, I’d always noticed Lark.
As far as I knew, no one hated her. I’m not even sure hating her was even possible.
Well, aside from the Cox family, but they’re manipulative, power obsessed assholes, so I’m not counting them.
Lark has always had a way of making people seem at ease around her.
And on top of that, she’s an extremely hard worker.
From going to their supper club so much these past few months, I learned it was mostly run by Lark now, even though her mother, Emma, and her grandmother, Lottie, help her out every day.
I also know that Lark has been keeping her great-great-grandfather’s tradition alive by brewing the same beers that he used to brew when he ran the supper club and underground speakeasy.
Though, she has introduced a few new brews that are a twist on her great-grandfather’s recipes as well as a few that were her own creation.
However, I hadn’t known about this side of Lark. Or I should say the depth of it.
The creator.
The crafter.
The hunter.
I shake my head and refocus back on Lark instead of letting my mind follow on that thread. Based on how Lark’s reacting, I’m wondering if this will be the hardest room for her, or if this is just the tip of the iceberg. Either way, I’ll be there for her.
Initially, I was giving Lark time to heal after what Aiden had done to her. Lately, she’s become more relaxed around me and it seemed like she was close to being ready to let someone else into her heart.
However, her almost dying made me realize I couldn’t stay away from her anymore. I’ll show her she can depend on me. That I’ll be there for her when she needs me.
Turning, I realize my brothers have left us alone, which I’m grateful for. I pull my phone out of my pocket, not wanting to leave Lark alone for a second.
Reaper: Nathan, get me a couple of empty boxes and a bunch of paper towels. Bring them to the first room on the left on the main floor.
Nathan: You got it, Pres.
Raising my phone, I take pictures of the room and how things are displayed. Lark gives me a confused look and I feel my face getting hot. I hope like fucking hell I’m not blushing. Despite her confusion, though, I don’t speak until I’ve taken all the pictures I think she’ll need.
I clear my throat as I pocket my phone. “Wanted to make sure you have records for how it was in case you didn’t have recent pictures of everything.
Based on what you’ve said, I’m going to guess that you’re going to rebuild it as closely as possible to how it used to be.
Then you’ll be able to start putting the Thompson stamp back on it. ”
Her eyes mist and my chest tightens, hoping I didn’t say something wrong.
Her cheeks pinken slightly and I can tell she’s smiling even with the mask blocking her mouth. Still, her positive reaction has me feeling like I’m being bathed in her light.
“You guessed right. I want to get it as close to the original as possible. Though, I think I want to make a few additions to the property, but they’ll be outbuildings rather than being in the house.”