Chapter 8: The Desperate Pilgrim
In early October, when the orchard trees in Hood River were heavy with deep crimson Honeycrisp apples, an unfamiliar vehicle crawled up the gravel driveway of the mill.
It was a ten-year-old compact car with a dented passenger door and a temporary paper transit tag.
Kyle stepped out into the dust.
He wore a faded cotton flannel shirt, stained jeans, and worn sneakers. His expensive styling had vanished; his face was thin, sunburned, and lined with the deep, exhausting humiliation of a year spent working twelve-hour shifts as a warehouse forklift operator in Tacoma.
He walked toward the open double doors of the joinery shed where the rhythmic, powerful ring of framing mallets echoed into the autumn air.
Silas Thorne stood at the shop threshold, holding a heavy timber timber-scribe, his grey eyes cold, steady, and unyielding as the mountain cliffs.
""You're past the property line, Kyle,"" Silas said, his voice dropping into a low, warning rumble.
Kyle stopped five paces away, his hands shaking as he took off his canvas cap, his posture humble, quiet, and completely stripped of former arrogance.
""Uncle Silas... please,"" Kyle rasped, his voice hoarse and cracked. ""I'm not here to cause trouble. I drove down from Tacoma. I just... I need to see Lucas.""
Lucas stepped out from the joinery floor, wearing a heavy canvas work apron, holding a framing square.
May you like
He walked to Silas’s side, looking at his younger brother across the open gravel.
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