Chapter 15: The Open Hearth
A decade later.
The morning sun rose over the Berkshire hills, painting the timber roof of the Vance Guild in warm amber light.
The sound of hand planes whispering across pine boards and the smell of fresh cedar shavings drifted across the open barnyard. Down at the farmhouse, the stone chimney puffed sweet, fragrant birch smoke into the crisp morning air.
An eight-year-old girl with bright hazel eyes and flour dusted across her denim overalls ran up the porch steps, carrying a small, warm loaf of braided bread.
""Dad! Look!"" the little girl shouted, bursting into the kitchen where Greg was drawing structural plans on a large drafting table. ""Mama let me score the top with the razor! It opened like a star!""
Greg set his pencil down, picked up his daughter, and spun her around in the sunlit kitchen, filling the vaulted room with joyful laughter.
Harper walked in through the mudroom door, carrying a basket of fresh eggs from the coop, her face glowing with health and happiness. She set the basket down, kissed Greg’s cheek, and took the warm bread from her daughter’s hands.
""It’s a perfect loaf, Martha,"" Harper said softly, looking at her daughter with boundless pride.
Greg walked over to the bay window, looking out across the four-acre homestead where dozen of young apprentices were gathering for morning work, their voices and laughter rising toward the blue sky.
The heavy brass keys hung on the wall beside the front door, polished and bright.
May you like
The door stood wide open to the autumn breeze.
The foundation had held true. The bread was warm, the table was set, and the house belonged to everyone who lived to serve the light
