Wood & Wonders (Heartcraft Market #5)
1. Chapter 1
Theo
I pulled my beanie down over my ears and shifted on my feet as I tried to hide in the shadows. There was a small crowd gathering for the grand opening. I would have happily watched from afar, but the bakery owner insisted I stay close. I didn’t know why; it wasn’t my event we were celebrating.
Crowds weren’t my thing. I had moved up to the small mountain town for a reason. Now here I was, eager for them to cut the ribbon before making my escape. First, they had to bring out the small band from the local kindergarten-through-twelfth-grade school. The mixture of junior and senior high school students played a rough version of a patriotic song.
My arms folded over my chest and my foot tapped impatiently. That was the thing about mountain towns; fewer people, sure, but every single thing that happened turned into a whole event. An event everyone and their dog came out for. Literally. There were dogs on leashes everywhere. I didn’t mind the dogs, though. In fact, I found the city’s mayor—a friendly golden retriever—rather charming. It was the people I didn’t care for.
A hand clapped on my shoulder, making me wince. “What are you doing back here? You should be front and center.”
The bakery shop owner’s husband stood at my side, all smiles. He was a big guy with a bald head and rosy cheeks. I’d had several meetings with him and his wife leading up to the grand opening. George was a retired firefighter and was very involved in the community. If we’d had a human mayor, he probably would have made a great one. But our little town was happy to have our furry ambassador.
I stuck my hands in my pockets. “I don’t really... need the recognition. My name’s on the plaque, that’s good enough.”
George laughed. “You may not need it, Theo, but folks like to celebrate artists, especially when they’re local. Besides, it’s good to show your face, let them see the real person behind the work.”
I sighed internally. It looked like I wouldn’t be getting out of this.
“Let’s give a big round of applause to the Pinewood School Band. Now, before we cut the ribbon and invite you all inside for some delicious baked goods, I’d like to invite someone special to help us with an unveiling. Theo Wilkins, would you please join me?” Trudy, George’s wife, spotted me next to her husband and waved me up.
I tried to suppress a groan as I walked toward her with the crowd cheering me on. The older woman had her blond and gray hair up in a bun and wore a bright red apron. She stood in front of the ribbon that crossed the door to her bakery. On one side of the door frame was a statue covered in a sheet.
When I approached, Trudy met me with a big hug before indicating for me to stand next to the statue.
“Theo is a local, and many of you have seen his work around town. Now I am absolutely honored to have a piece of my own as the mascot for our bakery. Would you like to see her?”
“Yes!” the crowd shouted in reply.
“Theo, if you will?” Trudy asked, and I grabbed the edge of the sheet. “All right, three... two... one.”
I pulled back the sheet to reveal a six-foot bear statue. It was made from a single log; carved, polished, and sealed. The female bear held a pie in her hands with the cherries painted red for a pop of color. I’d spent extra time on the details of her face, the fur all over, and the small cherries. Those had been a pain, but I was really pleased with the outcome.
The crowd erupted in cheers and I took the opportunity to step to the side for their focus to fall on the bear. I was proud of my work, and loved that it brought people joy, but as I’d told George, I didn’t need public recognition. It wasn’t why I did it.
“I’d like you all to meet Cherry. She’ll be here to welcome you to my shop each time you come. Special thanks to Theo for his incredible work. Cherry makes me smile every time I look at her, and I know she’ll bring smiles to others as well. Let’s give another round of applause.”
The crowd whooped and cheered. I gave a half wave and attempted a smile, ready for the attention to be anywhere but on me. I had the occasional crowd at Heartcraft when I did live carvings, but it wasn’t the same as having the entire town stare at me.
“Without further ado, it’s time to cut the ribbon.”
George came forward to stand with his wife and I was able to make my escape at last. I was happy for them, truly. In fact, I might even visit their shop once things settled down, but for now I was anxious to get back to my cabin and away from all the people.
My trek back to my truck wasn’t without interruption, as I was caught by a few folks praising my work. I kept the conversations as brief as possible and breathed a sigh of relief when I closed the door of the cab behind me.
Leaving the main part of town, I followed the road snaking up the mountain for eight miles until I reached the narrow path which led to my cabin. Mine was the only one off the quarter-mile drive. Secluded. No neighbors in sight or near enough to hear. Just me. Exactly the way I liked it.
I hadn’t always been a recluse, and I hadn’t always been alone, but it had been long enough now that it was how I preferred it.
The cabin sat on an acre of land with a large barn I used as a workshop. It was fully insulated with electricity, a utility sink with running water, and a wood-burning stove so I could continue to work no matter the weather. Truthfully, I spent more time there than I did in the cabin.
The house was a cozy two-bedroom, one bath, with a small living room and a kitchen with a dining area. When I bought it, I intended it to be a vacation home. We used to live in the suburbs of Los Angeles, where I worked as a fairly successful carpenter, and I thought it would have been nice to have a place for us to get away.
But then I couldn’t stay in the city anymore, not after... well... I just had to get away, leaving my business and my life behind. I came up to the cabin and here I stayed. After a while, I needed something to focus on, to get out of my head, and I began whittling. Whittling and whittling until the barn was filled with small figurines. Next, I moved onto larger pieces, putting my carpentry skills to work.
Except building furniture was too automatic for me. I’d spent twenty years making cabinets and tables, and I didn’t need to concentrate on the work as much, which allowed my mind the time to wander. Any time my mind did that, it always returned to the person who wasn’t there, and the last day I’d had with her.
I found that carving and doing more abstract or creative work helped me stay focused on the task better. Eventually, my work progressed from whittling to using a hammer and chisel and even carving by chainsaw. There was no room for my thoughts to take a stroll when I had a speeding blade in my hand, making precision cuts into large logs.
It got to the point, though, where I had too many pieces to store and I needed to consider some sort of income. The cabin and land were paid off, but I would still need money to live on. Because I would live. I promised her that.
There were a few events in town throughout the year, but nothing frequent enough to make a dent in my stock of creations, or regular income. There were spaces available if I wanted to open a shop, but the idea of that made my skin crawl.
During an excursion in town, I overheard someone mention the Heartcraft Market as a great place to find artisan foods and crafts. It was in a city down the hill, about an hour away. I looked it up and found that it took place twice a month and seemed to have a decent turnout. Twice a month sounded much more manageable than having to deal with people every single day.
It wasn’t easy, especially at first. Going down the hill had been a feat, one that nearly had me turning around several times, but I forced myself to continue. Each time I’d gone into a bigger city, my heart would begin to race and goosebumps prickled my skin. Luckily, though, Grove Hills, where Heartcraft Market was located, was a much smaller town than any out in the L.A. area.
The first time I set up a booth there, I was an anxious mess. I sat in the corner of my booth and whittled as if my life depended on it, and maybe it did. It was the only thing that got me through the day. Well, one of the two things that got me through the day. The other was Marley.
Marley was a florist with a booth of his own called Bearclaw Blossoms . He walked into my booth with a big yellow sunflower. He was a bigger guy with a personality as bright as his magenta-colored hair. He welcomed me to the market and gave me the flower, while also admiring several of the things I’d brought with me. I couldn’t recall if I’d managed to say anything in return, but he had been very kind on a day where I’d needed some kindness.
I’d also met the duo in the booth next to me. It was an elderly woman named Iris, and her big, beefy grandson, Collin. They sold crocheted toys, clothes, and accessories. Collin looked like he could rip a guy apart, but he was very sweet with his grandmother. I thought at first that he’d only been there to assist her, but it turned out most of the items they sold had been made by him. Eventually, Iris had to retire, and Collin took over the business full-time. We didn’t talk much, but he was a pleasant neighbor, and we helped each other out when needed.
Perhaps doing a booth where I would have to interact with people after spending months in solitude had been a bad idea. Despite the fact I wasn’t the warmest person, especially then, it became apparent that it might have been good for me to get out of the house once in a while.
It still wasn’t easy for me to hold polite chit-chat, and I wasn’t one to hype up my work to customers. Some days were harder than others, but it had worked out well so far, and I was always happy to return to the quiet of my home to decompress afterward. Things had changed so much. I used to be around people all the time, and now I could barely tolerate it twice a month.
I stepped into the living room and put my keys in the bowl on the small table by the door. Feeling drained by the quick but overwhelming grand opening event, I headed to the bathroom and stood over the sink. Splashing water on my face, I scrubbed my hands over my trimmed salt-and-pepper beard and mustache. There was a lot more salt in it these days, more than I expected to have at forty-five. But then, I didn’t expect to be widowed so early either.
I let out a heavy sigh and splashed more cold water on my face. Five years. I couldn’t believe it had been that long already. Five years of being alone. It was a third of the time I’d had her. I shook my head and slapped my cheeks and stared in the mirror.
Nope. I couldn’t let my thoughts take me there. I marched right back out of the cabin and headed toward the barn. I needed to get my hands on some wood, to focus on something else.