Chapter 14: The Unbroken Trunnel
After the crowds had dispersed and the autumn sun began its descent behind the western ridges, Nora and Brooke walked out onto the wooden dock overlooking the lake.
The water was calm as glass, reflecting the blazing crimson and gold of the surrounding maple trees.
Brooke reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, smooth piece of hand-carved white oak—a four-inch trunnel pin that had been left over from the center truss of the pavilion.
She held it out to Nora.
""Dad gave me a gold bracelet for my sixteenth birthday, Nora,"" Brooke said softly, her voice thick with emotion. ""I sold it last year to pay off a credit card debt. I thought I had lost everything he left us.""
She placed the wooden pin into Nora’s calloused hand.
""Now I know that this is what he really left us. The strength to build our own roof.""
Nora looked at the oak pin, feeling the smooth, precise bevels her sister had carved with her own chisel.
She smiled—a deep, luminous smile that held no ghosts of the past—and closed her hand over Brooke’s.
""You're a master joiner now, Brooke,"" Nora said softly. ""The joint is solid.""
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Brooke rested her head against Nora’s shoulder, the two sisters standing together on the water’s edge as the evening breeze blew cool and sweet across the lake.
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