“These are beautiful.”
“Thanks.”
She walked along the finished pieces, reaching out to touch, unable to help herself. The rich colors in the wood, the tones and shadows and highlights were startling in their clarity and highlighted the skill of the carver for each piece. Time and again she was drawn back to the mother-and-children piece.
“Will this be sold in an art gallery?” she asked.
“Hope so. I have contacts to several across the South.”
“This is how you make your living, not construction or whittling. These are amazing.”
She walked over to the piece he was working on.
“What’s this going to be?”
“Woman on the precipice,” he said.
She could see the vague shape already chiseled from the wood. A bluff, a bank of trees growing back from the edge and on the edge the figure that was rough cut at best.
“Can I watch you work?” she asked, fascinated by the amazing talent he had. She’d never suspected.
“Pretty boring. I shave small bits off, see how it looks, do more,” he said, looking back at the work in progress.
“How long will this take to finish?”
She walked around it looking at it from all angles. She wouldn’t have the first clue on how to do something like this. She looked at Kirk. He looked back, the same man who had teased her at the fair, had shared corn dogs and held her on the Ferris wheel when he’d rocked the car causing her to squeal in mock alarm.
Her heart caught in her throat. The same man who had confused her more than anyone with their goodbye kiss earlier.
“Several weeks,” he said.
Angelica looked around and spotted a stool. She brought it closer and sat on it.
“Ignore me.”
She kept her eyes on the wood, hoping he’d let her stay. She was fascinated this virile man did such delicate work. Glancing at the mother again she noted the serene look about the face, even without minute details. It could be any mother. Perhaps that added to the appeal.
She couldn’t wait to see how he finished this piece.
Once he started it was obvious he could ignore her and focus on the work. She watched him, fascinated as his large hands did such precision work. The tools looked tiny, the gouging and chiseling precise and controlled. His hands were scarred. She thought from construction. Now she knew it was more likely from slips from the chisel or other tools. The patience and care he took removing bits of wood seemed ageless. If she were doing it, she’d rush through to completion. But it wouldn’t be as amazing as Kirk’s art pieces were.
The only sound was the soft tap of the hammer against the chisel. He changed to a gouge, worked some with that. Then took a piece of sandpaper and rubbed lightly, studying the area from several different angles. She could almost see the tree take shape, the detail on the leaves and branches startling. If he did that with each tree blocked out, no wonder it took weeks to complete. But it’d be exquisite when finished.
“Where did you get the idea?” she asked.
He glanced at her.
“From you.”
“Me?” Angelica frowned. “I’ve never stood on the edge of a cliff.”
“You’re on one right now, if you think about it. Behind you is the forest of your past. Ahead, nothing familiar, nothing normal.You’re poised on the brink. Will you take a step out in faith and change your life? Or will you hesitate, then turn and reenter the forest of familiar?”
She stared at it a long moment.
“What do you think?” she asked.
Could she step out and find new fulfillment in life? Or was she destined to stay on the path her parents had laid out?
