The Carpenter & the Queen (9 page)

Paul pushed his cart up the short aisle and
stopped near Sam.

“Hey. Nice coat.” He kept his voice low so
he wouldn’t interrupt the ladies’ conversation. “Can I look?”

Sam stopped long enough to consider Paul but
did not reply.

“Is that a snowboarding jacket? I thought I
saw a guy in the Olympics wear something like this.” He gently
pulled the jacket toward him and studied the gecko detail on the
back. “You snowboard?”

“I’m pretty good,” Sam said with
condescension. “My mom won’t let me go down the big hills. But I
know how to take jumps.”

“I bet you do. I used to snowboard before I
hurt my leg.”

“How’d you do that?”

“Car accident.”

Sam grunted.

“Paul! Hi.”

The other woman had left, and now Claire
smiled at him.

“Hey.” Paul glanced at Sam. “I hear your
boy’s a snowboarder.”

“So he is.” Claire rested a hand on Sam’s
shoulder. “I’m scared to death of those things. I don’t even
ski.”

“She’s afraid of getting hurt,” Sam said
with some disgust.

“It was my grandmother,” Claire explained.
“She died after breaking her hip in a bad fall.”

“That’s too bad.”

“She slipped on the ice and fell. Nobody saw
her, so she had to pull herself back into the house to call
911.”

Paul grimaced in what he hoped showed his
commiseration.

“Sam thinks I’m silly,” Claire
continued.

“It’s scary to fall down and have no one
pull you up.” Paul unconsciously rubbed his right leg.

“By the way,” Claire said, changing the
subject, “we drove by that castle in Canadian Lakes you told me
about.”

“What’d you think?”

“A little run down, but remarkable all the
same. I peeked in the windows and saw as much as I could.”

“Glad you found it. My directions were
okay?”

“They were excellent. I get lost in the
grocery store, but I found the castle right off.”

Sam tugged on his mother’s arm, but she
ignored him, instead, looking at Paul shyly.

“Hey, we’ve got a chess question for you. I
heard somewhere that you can redeem captured pieces in a game. Is
that true?”

Paul ran his palm along his buzz cut as he
thought. “Well, not exactly.”

“I probably made it up.”

“No . . . no. The closest thing I can think
of has to do with the pawns. If you can get a pawn all the way to
the other side of the board, you can name it whatever you want and
it’ll act that way. Say you’ve lost your knight. You could call
that pawn your knight, then switch them out.”

“That works for any piece?”

“Except the king, of course.”

“My pawns never make it that for. I didn’t
know such a thing was possible.”

Until this second, Paul hadn’t thought
asking Claire out was possible, but when she smiled delicately,
lowered her eyes, and tucked her hair behind her ear, Paul felt his
heart kick him into action.

“So,” he began. “Do you get a lunch break at
the library?”

“I’m occasionally released for
nourishment.”

“Well . . . I was thinking . . . maybe we
could meet for lunch on Monday.”

“Sure.” She smiled. “I’d like that.”

They agreed on a time, then Paul said
goodbye. He waved to Sam, but the boy did not return the
acknowledgement.

At home that evening, Paul contemplated the
new turn of events. Amazed at his own bravery in asking her out, he
was even more surprised she had said yes. Why had she, anyway?

Even if she was interested in him, wouldn’t
one lunch with him be enough to turn her off? After all, dates
required speaking.

He needed a plan that would get him through
the lunch date and ensure he would see Claire again. But Paul had
never planned anything well, unless it was a carpentry job.

That was it.

Maybe Nora and Beth were right. Maybe it was
time for him to take up carpentry again.

* * * * *

Paul came by the library at one, just as he
and Claire had agreed. He had difficulty swallowing when he opened
the door and she smiled at him.

As Claire went to the back to get her coat,
Francine eyed him closely. Paul nodded a hello and wondered how
quickly it would take for Mona to hear about this. He and Claire
probably wouldn’t be out the door completely before Francine picked
up the phone to call. But really there was no need. He and Claire
had to walk past the post office to reach the restaurant, so Mona
would see them.

Claire came back out, and Paul felt his
courage shake a little.

“So much snow,” Claire said, as more flakes
fell as they walked. “I didn’t notice it as much in the city, what
with the snow plows and all.” She read the questioning look on his
face. “I lived in Troy the last few years.”

“Nice area.”

He couldn’t think of anything to say, even
though he had promised himself that he was going to talk more. He
felt the awkward pause as he groped for a question.

Claire beat him to it. “I hear you’re from
Chicago.”

“Yeah. Lived there all my life until three
years ago.”

“What made you come here? Lindberg isn’t
exactly a major tourist destination.”

Paul shrugged. Explaining the move to his
sisters had been hard enough. How to tell someone who didn’t know
him at all?

“I drove up to Mackinac once, a long time
ago, and I passed through this area. It seemed quiet and far away
from everything.”

“Unlike your standard north woods
retreat.”

Paul realized she was teasing him.

“Housing is cheaper here,” Paul said with a
crooked smile.

They sauntered the two short blocks to the
gas station. Paul wished there were better options, but Claire
didn’t seem upset. They ordered their sandwiches at the counter.
After Paul paid, they sat down at a booth near the window. Claire
slipped off her trench coat to reveal a blue argyle sweater and
brown slacks. Paul felt a little uncomfortable in his jeans and
fleece jacket. This woman was out of his league. But she had agreed
to come, hadn’t she?

It was his turn to ask a question. Forcing
himself to take a deep breath, Paul relaxed a little and thought of
what to say.

“So,” he began, “your boy, Sam. How does he
like it here?”

“He’s adjusting. I think kids adapt better
than we adults. I can have trouble with change.”

“You’re not the only one.”

They each took a few bites of food. Paul
racked his brain to think of something to say to keep the
conversation going. Although only a few seconds had passed, the
silence felt like eternity.

A semi-truck emblazoned with the emblem of a
smiling cow drove by, spraying slush onto the sidewalk outside the
window.

“The other day,” Paul began, wondering why
the truck triggered the question, “you said Luther was a relative
of yours?”

“My father-in-law. After my husband died,
Luther made Sam and me his beneficiaries.”

“He must have liked you.”

Claire laughed. “Not at all. But we were all
he had left. I’d been wanting to get out of the city for a while,
and, well, getting the house was the right opportunity.”

More silence as they ate. Of course, one
couldn’t talk and chew at the same time. Still, every second that
ticked on the big clock hanging above the sandwich counter reminded
Paul that he had to try harder with Claire or he would repeat all
the same mistakes he made with Linda.

“So, did you find a carpenter yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, I was thinking, I haven’t done any
carpentry in a while, but I could probably do what you needed.”

“Is that what this was?” Claire asked, a
teasing tone in her voice. “A business lunch?”

“No.” Paul felt a little sheepish. “Just an
offer to help.”

About to take a bite, she paused, her
half-eaten sandwich hanging mid-air just below her chin. Cocking
her head, she studied Paul for a few seconds, then said, “I’d like
that.”

They spent the rest of lunch talking about
carpentry and what Claire wanted done. At least this was a subject
Paul felt comfortable talking about. When they were done eating,
Paul walked her back to the library. They parted at the
doorway.

“Thanks for lunch,” Claire said. “I’ll see
you tomorrow night for the estimate?”

Paul nodded.

She smiled and turned the door knob when
Paul thought of one more thing to ask.

“I just realized, I should have your number
so I can call you . . . in case I’m running late.”

Claire grinned. She pulled an old ATM slip
from her purse and wrote her number on the back.

“In case you’re running late,” she said, her
eyes twinkling with amusement.

* * * * *

The next night, when Paul went to Claire’s
house, he wasn’t sure how to play the evening, if he should be all
business or not. He decided to start with business and maybe flirt
a little, if it worked out. One couldn’t force these things. He did
truly want to help her out, but the most important thing was to
establish a way for them to see each other regularly. Once he got
to know her, he would have a better idea of how to proceed with a
relationship.

Clutching his sketch pad and tape measure,
he knocked on the door. After she welcomed him in, he took his
boots off in the foyer, then walked into the living room and
surveyed what he could see of the house. Like many older homes, it
was a series of small rooms separated by doors, a contrast to the
modern style of open floor plans. But while Paul had never been
inside before, he imagined the place looked much different now than
it had when Luther Matthews lived here. It was interesting, he
thought, how women could add touches to houses that made them more
than just places to sleep. Just in the living room, which she had
painted peach and accented with brown, there were gauzy curtains at
the window and a vase of fresh flowers on the mantel above the
fireplace.

Propped up against the wall were several
paintings, although only the first, a landscape of a lake
surrounded by birch and maple trees, was visible. Paul studied it
as long as he dared, aware that the lake reflected something quite
different than the forest around it. He couldn’t be certain, but
where a grouping of trees should have been in the water, an
upside-down, crumbling stone tower flickered. The water, apparently
just calming from a disturbance, suggested a previous civilization
now hidden by the foliage, although nothing in the water was
painted clearly enough for him to be sure.

Feeling Claire’s eyes on him, Paul looked
up. “That’s beautiful. Who’s the artist?”

“Me.”

“Wow.”

Paul rubbed his chin as he looked at the
canvas again. “I’m not so great with art,” he began, embarrassed,
“but I get the feeling there’s something going on under the
water.”

“There always is.”

Claire said this so seriously that Paul
chuckled in discomfort. Realizing this was the wrong response, he
added, “You’re very good.”

“Thanks. Back when we were in Germany, I
used to sell paintings to other families on post.”

“Oh yeah?”

She motioned for him to follow her into the
dining room and pointed to the castle painting on the wall.

“My husband and I traveled a lot when he had
leave. Then, I’d paint like crazy, especially when he was away. A
lot of people wanted something special to remember their time
overseas, and an original painting at a budget cost was what they
needed. I sold three to the post commander once.”

“And what’s this one of?” He pointed to a
castle painting hanging on the wall.

“Burg Eltz. It’s this exotic little place
near the Moselle River, and it was the first real castle I ever
saw.”

As he studied the painting, Paul was
grateful for the little Linda had been able to teach him about art.
The castle itself in the center of the canvas was painted in much
clearer focus than the wooded hills surrounding it. Claire had used
small brush strokes to capture the details of the castle, the long
lines of tiny windows, the decorative brickwork below the top
story. The viewpoint was from above, although not so high that the
inner courtyard was visible. Red and white wattle-and-daub siding
adorned the top of the castle beneath the blue-gray conical tower
roofs. A paved path emerged from the woods and ran up to the castle
entrance—a stone arch with slanted roof, blocked off with a wooden
door. The ground dropped off sharply from the outer walls of the
castle, making the gate the only possible entrance. Painting the
gate closed was an interesting choice and probably communicated
crucial information about Claire’s state of mind, if Paul were
smart enough to discern the symbolism.

“It looks like something you see in fairy
tales.”

Claire nodded. “There are several of
different castle styles, you know. But I always liked the German
ones best with those tall skinny towers and cone roofs.”

She got a wistful look in her eye as though
she were remembering something from a long time ago.

“Do you still paint?” Paul asked.

“I didn’t for a long time, but I started
again recently.”

Paul thought of his own sketch book with
some embarrassment. “I’m glad you didn’t see the sketches I made
the other day.”

“Everyone says stuff like that, like I’m
going to be critical.” Claire tucked her hair behind her ear. “But
I think I’m better at seeing something beautiful in places other
people ignore.”

She looked up at Paul, her eyes serious and
for a second unguarded, and Paul felt his breath catch in his
throat.

“So, maybe we should talk about the
built-in?” Claire suggested. “I made a sketch of what I want.”

She led the way back to the living room
where she retrieved her sketch from the coffee table. Paul gave the
castle painting one last look before following her and accepting
the paper. He studied the layout then pulled out his tape measure.
They measured the wall together, and he wrote down the numbers.