The Woodcarver's Secret (Samantha Sweet Mysteries) Read Free Page B

dark in places where it had run into the deeply
carved grooves, and he had been interrupted by the children before he could
properly wipe it down and distribute the color more evenly. It would be
difficult to rework it at this point, but he felt he could do it.
    John became aware of someone
standing nearby.
    “Good market day,” Tyrel said.
    John looked around. No one had
stopped to examine his wares yet, so he could not quite agree with the
statement, but he gave his friend a smile anyway.
    “What’s this?” Tyrel was eyeing
the unfinished box.
    John wanted to flip the covering
over it once more, but Tyrel had already seen it.
    “It isn’t finished,” he said.
    “Ah, yes. You mentioned some
hinges for it.” Tyrel reached into his pocket and drew out two small bits of
metal. “A gift. I felt badly for the way my mouth ran off that day.”
    John had long since forgiven
Tyrel’s mentioning the lightning to Maggie. He looked at the metal pieces. The
hinges were of fine quality, working smoothly, and just the right size for the
box.
    “Now that I see it, I’m thinking
a clasp to latch it closed would be nice too,” the blacksmith said. He held his
fingers up to the place where box and lid came together, measuring. “I shall
come back by the end of day, provided the demand for wheels and tools isn’t too
great.”
    John started to protest that he
had no money for metalwork, but the smith had rushed away and two women
approached his display. He diverted his attention to make the sale, pocketing
the small coins the younger woman gave for two of the plates. The money would
provide enough for a half-dozen new candles, the tall ones. He stretched his
fingers, working them to get rid of the residual tingling that still often plagued
him, and sat down to mount the new hinges to the box.
    Shouts and a clatter of hooves
grabbed his attention. Two boys, no more than twelve years old, ran through the
market square and ducked into a narrow alley before reaching John’s place.
Rounding the bend in the High Street, came a dark horse. The rider wore the
livery of the Sheriff.
    “Where did they go?” the man
demanded from the great height of his saddle, staring down at the shoppers in
the street. “Those two thieves! Where did they go?”
    John lowered his gaze and
studiously worked at his hinges. When the sheriff’s man pulled his horse up in
front of John, he glanced up disinterestedly and shrugged. The man rode on.
    He supposed that if the thievery
had happened with his own wares he would have welcomed the sheriff’s
intervention, but he doubted this was the case. More likely, one of the wealthy
ladies was missing a small trinket and had reported the two lads as culprits.
Or, they were simply taking something to eat—a loaf of bread or piece of cheese.
They’d looked hungry enough.
    This current sheriff—the baron’s
newest appointment—had won no friends here, cultivating a climate of distrust
and practically forcing people to cheat when he imposed dozens of onerous taxes
at the time he took office two years ago. This deputy would find no one in
Galway willing to turn in two young boys who only needed food. John watched the
black horse disappear around a bend in the road as he picked up his smallest
chisel and worked to smooth the rough edges of the box.
    The sun was low in the sky by the
time John looked up from his work. A few customers had put some coins into his
pocket but he’d spent the majority of his day adding small touches to the
wooden box, realizing that it would never become the beautiful piece of
craftsmanship he had imagined. He still had several pieces of wood at home,
however, and rather than feeling discouraged he was looking forward to
attempting another.
    His cart loaded, he remembered
Maggie’s requests and rushed along to the remaining vendors, finding their
stocks depleted. The baker had only one loaf and since it was a little moldy on
one side, gave it to John at no charge; the supply of