Chapter 7: The Visitor on the River Road
In late October, when the Blue Ridge sugar maples were blazing in brilliant shades of scarlet, amber, and gold, an old rural commuter bus stopped at the highway junction three miles from the mill.
A lone passenger stepped down into the gravel shoulder.
It was Kendra.
She was unrecognizable from the arrogant woman who had sneered across the dining table six months earlier. She wore a faded cotton jacket, dark denim pants, and scuffed walking shoes. Her styled hair was cut into a plain, practical bob; her face was thin, pale, and etched with the deep, exhausting grief of a woman whose pride had been stripped down to the bone.
She carried a single canvas duffel bag over her shoulder.
She walked the three miles down the winding dirt road, her breath catching in the crisp mountain air.
Through the trees, the rhythmic, clear ring of framing mallets and the laughing voices of young apprentices assembling a massive bridge bent echoed across the river.
Kendra reached the cedar split-rail gate marking the boundary of the guild.
Standing in the open framing bay of the workshop was Lauren, wearing a canvas work apron, holding a wooden framing square, checking the alignment of an oak king-post truss.
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Kendra stopped at the gate, her hands gripping the rough cedar rail, her shoulders shaking with the sudden, crushing weight of everything she had thrown away.
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