Chapter 7: The Carpentry of Repentance
Amanda moved into the small attic bedroom above her parents' garage—a room with sloped drywall ceilings and an old iron radiator that clanked in the night.
On Monday morning at 6:00 AM, she put on her father’s heavy insulated work gloves, an old canvas jacket, and walked into the backyard woodshop.
The shop was frozen in time.
Frank’s tools hung from pegboards on the walls, organized by size: hand planes, chisels, Japanese pull-saws, and heavy clamps. On the main workbench sat an unfinished project Frank had been working on before his hospital admission: four solid-cherry dining chairs with hand-carved mortise-and-tenon joints.
David walked in, carrying two mugs of hot coffee, wearing his carpentry work clothes.
He looked at his sister standing before the workbench. ""What are you doing, Amanda?""
""Dad taught me how to read drafting blueprints when I was twelve, David,"" Amanda said, picking up a hand plane and feeling the weight of the cast iron. ""Before I decided that real work was beneath me.""
She looked at the unfinished cherry chairs.
""The local furniture guild in Chagrin Falls buys handcrafted Appalachian cherry sets for twelve hundred dollars a chair. We have two cords of seasoned timber in the dry shed.""
David set the coffee down, studying her face. He saw no vanity, no theatrical martyrdom, only the quiet, burning focus of someone who had decided to rebuild her soul from the sawdust up.
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""The jointer blade needs sharpening,"" David said quietly, rolling up his sleeves. ""Let’s get the oil stone.""
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