Chapter 9: The Ring in the White Pine
That evening, as the celebratory bonfire crackled on the rocky beach and acoustic fiddles played lively coastal reels on the dock, David led Claire out to the end of the granite breakwater.
The tide was high, the dark ocean water lapping peacefully against the stone pilings beneath a vast canopy of evening stars.
David reached into his wool coat, pulling out a small, hand-carved box made of native Maine cedar.
He placed it into Claire’s hands.
Claire opened the lid.
Inside lay a simple, elegant band hand-carved from seasoned white oak salvaged from the original 1918 keel of *The Wanderer*, polished to a silky luster with natural beeswax, inlaid with a microscopic ribbon of native coastal copper that caught the starlight like a thread of gold.
""In Boston, my family bought diamond rings to show how much power they could purchase, Claire,"" David said, his voice deep, steady, and filled with absolute devotion. ""In this harbor, we shape wood to show that we will stand by each other through every winter storm until our work on earth is done.""
He took her hand in his, his calloused fingers warm and strong against hers.
""I give you my hands, my work, and my sacred promise to love you, shelter our daughter, and build an honest home beside you for as long as I draw breath.""
Claire looked down at the oak band, feeling its living grain against her skin.
Her hazel eyes filled with tears of radiant, unshakeable peace.
May you like
""Yes, David,"" Claire whispered, throwing her arms around his neck, pulling him close against her heart. ""Always yes.""
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