THE GROUND BENEATH

By late spring, the Scioto Valley Timber Guild had earned a reputation across the state for exceptional craftsmanship in historic covered bridge and heavy timber restoration.

The Ross County commissioners awarded Arthur and Lucas a major public contract: the total structural reconstruction of *The Copperhead Creek Covered Bridge*—a 110-foot historical timber span built in 1872 that had been closed to agricultural traffic for a decade due to structural decay.

Lucas served as the project’s lead structural engineer and site coordinator.

He spent four weeks hand-drafting the replacement Queen-post truss systems, calculating dynamic live-load capacities to ensure modern fire trucks and combine harvesters could cross safely without altering the bridge's historical 19th-century aesthetic.

Working alongside him was Clara Evans, a thirty-year-old civil environmental engineer and land conservancy director whose family operated a certified organic grain farm along the creek.

Clara had clear hazel eyes, dark chestnut hair pulled into a practical braid, and a sharp, brilliant intellect that matched Lucas’s architectural precision. She wore canvas field trousers and steel-toed work boots, moving through the construction staging areas with effortless, confident authority.

One afternoon, as they inspected the concrete abutments along the rushing creek, Clara watched Lucas carefully test the fit of a ten-inch white oak mortise joint with a wooden feeler gauge.

""Most commercial civil engineers would have specified prefabricated steel I-beams and concrete decking for this span, Lucas,"" Clara said, leaning against the timber staging. ""It would have taken half the time and double the profit margin.""

Lucas looked up, wiping oak sawdust from his brow with his forearm, his eyes clear and calm.

""Steel rusts in forty years when the salt from the winter roads hits the deck, Clara,"" Lucas replied gently. ""White oak, if it's kept covered and dry beneath these cedar shingles, will breathe with the seasons and carry our grandchildren's wagons a hundred years from today.""

Clara looked at him, her lips curving into a warm, genuine smile that sent a sudden, unexpected jolt of heat through Lucas’s chest.

""You build for the long horizon, Lucas Vance,"" Clara said softly.