Chapter 6 - The Master Builder
One year later.
The autumn air in downtown Charleston was cool and sweet.
The grand mansion at 42 South Battery Street looked transformed. The white exterior paint was pristine and glowing under the morning sun. The iron balconies had been hand-restored and painted deep black. The slate roof was entirely repaired, and the buckling brick driveway had been relaid with hand-carved cobblestones.
In the rear carriage house—which I had converted into my primary workshop—the air smelled rich with cedar, mahogany, and fresh linseed oil.
I stood at my long oak bench, hand-planing a eight-foot slab of black walnut that was going to become the center dining table for a boutique hotel project in Savannah. The wood curled off the iron blade in long, razor-thin ribbons, exposing the deep, dark, beautiful grain beneath the surface.
The heavy wooden doors of the workshop slid open.
Councilman Edward Sterling walked in, wearing a sharp tweed jacket, carrying two warm cups of coffee from the local café down the street.
"Morning, Nathan," Edward smiled, handing me a cup. "The front facade looks magnificent. The Historical Commission voted yesterday to present you with the City Restoration Award for what you’ve done with the Whitmore house."
"Thanks, Edward," I smiled, taking the coffee. "It was a lot of hard work, but the structure was worth saving."
"And your business?" Edward asked, looking around at the four apprentices I had hired six months ago, who were busy carving mortise joints at the far benches.
"We’re booked through next year," I said. "The Old City Market Exchange project is fifty percent complete. The city council seems happy with the timeline."
"Happy?" Edward laughed heartily. "They’re thrilled! You brought the project in twenty percent under budget—unlike certain developers we won't mention."
We both chuckled softly as we took a sip of our coffee.
A moments later, another figure walked into the sunny courtyard behind the carriage house.
It was Victoria Vance. She wore an elegant green coat, her dark hair pulled back, carrying a rolled-up set of architectural blueprints under her arm.
"Good morning, Councilman," Victoria smiled warmly, before looking over at me with bright, intelligent eyes that always made my chest feel a little warmer. "Morning, Nathan."
"Morning, Victoria," I said, stepping away from the bench to meet her. "Did the city sign off on the third-floor library restoration?"
"Signed, sealed, and approved," she said, unrolling the blueprints across my workbench. "And the closing papers for the coastal property on Kiawah Island just cleared escrow. You officially own the waterfront plot."
"Incredible," I murmured, looking down at the designs we had spent the last three months working on together—a solar-powered, hand-crafted timber frame home overlooking the ocean.
"You built a good life here, Nathan," Edward said, looking between Victoria and me with a knowing, warm smile. "A real one."
"It takes time to get the measurements right," I said, looking at Victoria, who smiled back at me with genuine, deep affection—a woman who valued honesty, strength, and real labor.
My phone rang softly in my pocket.
I pulled it out and looked at the screen. It was an unfamiliar local number.
I hesitated for a second, then answered. "Nathan Cole."
"Nathan...?"
The voice was faint, thin, and raspy.
It was Harper.
I didn't speak. I just listened.
"Nathan... I’m sorry to bother you," she stammered, her voice echoing with a background hum that sounded like a noisy breakroom in a cheap department store. "My mom... my mom’s health hasn't been good since we moved to the apartment in West Ashley... and... and I was wondering if... if there was any chance you had my grandmother’s old silver tea set? The one that was left in the attic at Battery Street?"
I looked up at the high, beautiful cypress ceiling of my shop.
"I gave the tea set to the Charleston Historical Society three months ago, Harper," I said, my voice completely smooth, quiet, and unbothered. "They have it on display in the antebellum exhibit."
A long, trembling gasp sounded on the other end of the line.
"Oh..." she whispered, her voice cracking into a small, broken sob. "I... I see..."
"Is there anything else, Harper?" I asked politely.
"No..." she whimpered softly. "No, Nathan. I... I hope you're doing well."
"I am," I said simply. "Goodbye, Harper."
I hung up the phone, set it face down on the workbench, and didn't look at it again.
I picked up my hand plane, adjusted the iron blade by a fraction of a millimeter, and set it back down on the rich black walnut slab.
Victoria stepped beside me, resting her hand gently on my shoulder. "Ready to finish the table?"
May you like
I looked at the wood beneath my hands—strong, deep, honest, built to carry weight for a hundred years without breaking.
"Yeah," I smiled, leaning into the work. "Let's finish it."
