Chapter 12 - The Legacy WorkshopSpring arrived in the valley with a sudden, joyful surge of color. The snow melted into roaring mountain streams, and the forest floor along the north ridge exploded in patches of wild trillium and violet.
In April, we officially broke ground on the Arthur Vance Carpentry Workshop—a small, solar-powered wooden timber-frame building constructed at the edge of the property using lumber harvested directly from the trust's land.
The town turned out in full force to help with the barn-raising.
Old Hank drove his flatbed truck up the driveway loaded with donated tools; Mrs. Gable set up a giant folding table under the maple trees laden with pies, sandwiches, and iced tea; and Mr. Henderson spent three days teaching four local teenagers how to hand-mortise timber joints just as Grandpa Arthur had taught him forty years ago.
I stood by the doorway of the newly framed workshop, watching Caleb guide young Jimmy Miller through the process of smoothing a white pine beam with a hand plane. The rhythmic shhh-shhh of wood shavings curling off the grain filled the afternoon air alongside bright laughter and lively conversation.
Jonathan Vance walked up beside me, holding a glass of lemonade, his charcoal suit looking slightly out of place amidst the sawdust and flannel shirts.
"Your father’s attorney called my office yesterday, Clara," Jonathan noted quietly, watching the apprentices work.
I turned my head toward him. "Did Richard file an appeal?"
"No," Jonathan replied smoothly. "He requested a prison visitation permission form. He wants you to come see him at the federal facility in Danbury."
I looked out across the sunlit yard—at the sturdy wooden workshop, at the townspeople who had loved and protected me, and at Caleb, who looked up from his work and offered me a warm, radiant smile.
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"Tell his attorney that the waiver he signed was final," I said, my voice completely devoid of anger or hesitation. "I have a family here. I don't have time to visit strangers."
Jonathan smiled, raising his glass in a quiet toast. "Understood, Trustee Vance."
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