Chapter 5: The Master of the Marsh
To restore the neglected farmhouse’s sagging porch foundation and sea-facing bulkheads, Allison reached out to the local community cooperative in Talbot County.
The following Monday, an old, well-maintained navy blue pickup truck rumbled down the oyster-shell driveway.
Stepping out was Caleb Cross—a thirty-eight-year-old master timber carpenter, boatbuilder, and former naval civil engineer who ran a traditional wooden restoration shop down at the harbor. Caleb wore heavy canvas work trousers, a dark flannel shirt, and worn leather boots. His face was tanned by the maritime sun, his grey eyes calm, observant, and deeply grounded.
He took off his work gloves, walked up the porch steps, and offered a hand to Allison.
""Morning, Miss Vance,"" Caleb said, his voice carrying the slow, reassuring rhythm of the Eastern Shore. ""Heard from the county clerk that your shoreline took some erosion during the winter nor’easters. I brought some seasoned black locust pilings to shore up the foundation.""
Allison shook his hand, feeling the firm, honest calluses of a craftsman who worked with the grain of the earth.
""Thank you, Mr. Cross,"" Allison smiled. ""My mother has been worried about the south corner of the porch since last winter.""
Caleb glanced at the hand-hewn cedar posts holding the porch roof, nodding with quiet, professional respect.
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""Your grandfather used old-growth heartwood when he raised this frame, ma'am,"" Caleb said softly. ""It might be leaning a bit from the tides, but the bones are true. Good wood always remembers how to stand straight if you give it honest support.""
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