The Lover's Children novel Chapter 6

MICHAEL

It feels good.

There’s something about chopping timber; using the body in a way where muscle-memory does all the heavy lifting. And the woodshed is a good place, with its homely scents of shavings, pine resin and the hay up in the loft. Even though it’s cold, my bare forearms goosing, exercise warms me from the inside.

Muscles loosening with the repeated stretch, swing and Chop of the axe, I ease into my rhythm. It’s mechanical, but in a good way; my body doing what is asked of it with no need for instruction, a familiar task which frees my mind to float.

When James wants to let his thoughts roam, he moves into the kitchen. I see him sometimes, slicing onions or tasting some sauce. But behind his eyes, he’s far away.

Some might take cuckoo clocks apart. Klempner takes guns apart, then reassembles them. And I’ve seen Mitch, knitting, her fingers counting stitches while she stares into the fire, physically with us, but spiritually, somewhere else entirely.

The axe-edge impacts, bites, and the timber slab splits; the round cross-section of a pine, six inches deep, eighteen across; two neat halves falling to one side and the other of my tree-stump anvil.

Setting one half back atop the stump, I stand clear, swing, and bring my axe down in a clean strike that splits the half to quarters.

And again…

Rinse and repeat…

Only a couple of minutes, and I'm too warm in my sheepskin vest. Cosy warmth turns to sweaty heat, perversely beading perspiration to chill my forehead.

Hanging the vest on a nail, I work in my tee-shirt, sweat streaking a cold line down my spine. But on my heating skin, the coolth is welcome.

Back to my task…

The smooth warmth of hickory in my hand…

… the heft and balance as I swing…

… the momentary stretch…

… the wordless coordination between eye and edge, taking the axe-head in a smooth arc…

The blade cracks into the pine and once more it splits, dropping with a clunk to the frozen ground.

That’s enough. Tossing stove-lengths onto the woodpile, I turn to take the next wood slice and…

… She's there, watching me: leaning against the doorpost, muffled up against the cold, her breath a blue cloud.

“Charlotte, I didn't see you there.”

A smile makes a soft dance over her lips. “I was being quiet. I like watching you do that.”

I twist and throw, spinning the axe through the air. It hits the stump with a clunk, lodging in the timber. Striding across, I take her in my embrace. “You have odd taste in entertainment…” Her smile widens…

Rubbing at her arms and shoulders, “It’s cold. You should be indoors. Go find a movie to watch. I’ll join you in a few minutes.” Sliding my arms around her waist, I pull her close. “I’ll bring in plenty of logs. How about we get the fire really blazing, then curl up on the couch with a bottle of wine and watch old movies all afternoon? Your mother and Beth will probably join us.”

She presses close, “I like that, but… I wanted to be with you. Just you…”