Part 7
Before the first pry bar touched the old siding, Nora brought the blue cashbox from Maria’s car and set it beside the third board. The original documents were already in the estate’s safe-deposit box. She lifted the board and looked into the empty hollow.
“The box comes back,” Nora said.
“Where you choose,” Maria said, holding out her hands.
Maria did not close her hands around the box until Nora let go. Then Nora picked up the carpenter pencil again and knelt beside Earl at the crooked corner.
The old siding came away in careful sections. Whenever a board crossed Nora’s pencil mark, Donovan stopped the crew and chose a different cut. They lost an hour rerouting the first wall; nobody suggested ignoring the marks.
Nora spent the morning sorting square nails from bent ones with Tom and carrying water to the crews. Maria made her wear safety glasses. At noon, Church rang a triangle beside the food tables, and the volunteers formed a line for chili.
Jack ate on the tailgate of Earl’s truck. Nora sat beside him with her boots swinging above the grass.
“You came back,” she said.
He looked toward the shell rising around the old cabin. “You invited me.”
“Would you have come if I didn’t?”
“Not onto the land.”
She considered that, then ate another spoonful of chili.
Over the next six Saturdays, the new frame enclosed the preserved room. The southeast corner became an alcove beside the stove, its old boards cleaned but not planed straight. The original window stayed in its frame behind efficient glass, with Earl’s bench beneath it.
Through those months, Nora lived and attended school in Pueblo. She and Maria came to the cabin on long weekends, and some nights Nora still woke and counted the days since Daniel left. Some mornings she refused to discuss the mountain at all. Maria learned not to turn either habit into a test.
After the water, septic, and electrical work passed inspection, Janice Rowe signed the occupancy approval.
“Can I sleep here now?” Nora asked.
“With your guardian,” Janice said. “And with a smoke detector you test every month.”
Maria held up the maintenance card Janice had given her. “Already on my calendar.”
That first permitted night, Nora carried her overnight bag into the east bedroom and left it zipped on the bed. At dusk she told Maria she might want to drive back to Pueblo after supper.
“Then we drive back,” Maria said.
Nora left the bag zipped. An hour later she moved it beneath the bed, not because anyone asked, and told Church he was burning the grilled cheese.
Maria cooked tomato soup in a pot large enough that nobody measured the portions. Church added grilled cheese. Earl claimed the southeast alcove and complained that the bench was too short for a man of reasonable dimensions.
“You measured it,” Nora reminded him.
“I measured for ordinary people.”
Maria handed Nora the ladle. Nora filled Maria’s bowl, then Jack’s, Church’s, and Earl’s. When she reached her own, her hand paused above the pot.
“There’s another carton in the pantry,” Maria said.
Nora looked toward the new pantry door, where canned tomatoes stood in rows behind dry beans, pasta, and oatmeal. She filled her bowl to the same level as the others and carried it to the bench without counting what was left.
After supper, Nora carried the blue cashbox to the stove. Inside were copies, Daniel’s letter, and one carpenter pencil worn down to half its length.
Jack watched from the doorway as Nora lifted the third board. She placed the box in the hollow and lowered the plank, but she did not press it until the bent-nail hinge caught.
“Nora,” Maria called from outside. “Porch light.”
Nora ran past Jack, reached up, and flipped the switch. Warm light spread across the new railing and the old wavy glass, then through the open door to the one crooked corner nobody had straightened.