“Thought so.”
Elias almost smiled.
“Woodworker?”
“Not really.”
“My grandfather was.”
“What did he make?”
“Violins.”
That surprised Elias.
“Fine work.”
“Yes.”
The man looked at the joints again.
“He used to tell me that people who care about corners care about the whole piece.”
Elias nodded.
“Sounds right.”
The stranger reached toward another box.
“May I?”
“Of course.”
He opened a cherry jewelry box.
Small brass hinges.
Blue velvet lining.
Marla remained beside the table.
She looked increasingly irritated.
The man said:
“These are getting buried back here.”
Elias looked around.
“Wasn't my first choice of location.”
The man understood immediately.
He looked at Marla.
Then back at the table.
“Let’s bring the best ones forward.”
Elias shook his head.
“You don't have to fix my table.”
“I’m not fixing it.”
The man began gently moving the larger pieces toward the front edge.
“I’m making the work visible.”
Elias almost objected.
Then stopped.
The stranger placed the walnut chest near the corner.
Two smaller boxes beside it.
He angled the lids.
Nothing dramatic.
Just enough that people walking past could see the craftsmanship instead of a wall of closed rectangles.
“I noticed those boxes before any of this started.”
He said.
“They just needed room to breathe.”
Elias looked at him.
“You noticed them from your booth?”
“Yes.”
“Before Marla started yelling.”
Marla bristled.
“I was not yelling.”
The man glanced at her.
“Fine.”
“Before you started loudly explaining why nobody should buy them.”
A woman nearby laughed.
Marla looked at her.
The woman pretended to examine candles.
The stranger turned toward Elias.
“See?”
“We're not creating interest.”
“We’re letting people see what was already here.”
As if summoned by the sentence, a young couple approached.
Mid-twenties.
Holding coffee.
The woman pointed toward the painted flower box.
“I heard the commotion.”
She said.
“But honestly, these boxes are what brought me over.”
Elias blinked.
“You came for the boxes?”
“For this one first.”
She picked up a maple box painted with small white flowers and green leaves.
“Now I want to see the others.”
Her boyfriend leaned closer.
“You painted these?”
Elias nodded.
“The flowers too?”
“Yes.”
“They don't look printed.”
“They aren't.”
“Every one by hand.”
The woman looked through the table.
“You don't repeat patterns?”
“Not exactly.”
“I never wanted two boxes exactly alike.”
The words had originally belonged to Ruth.
Saying them made Elias’s throat tighten.
The woman opened the flower box.
Inside, pale blue fabric lined the bottom.
She looked at her boyfriend.
“This is the one.”
He smiled.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“We wanted something special for the entry table.”
The woman looked at Elias.
“We bought our first house last month.”
“Oh.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
She ran a finger along the lid.
“I want something made by a person to be the first thing we put there.”
Elias did not know what to say.
So he said the only thing that came.
“Then I hope it feels like it belongs there.”
The woman smiled.
“It already does.”
Her boyfriend asked:
“Do you have another one like it?”
“Not exactly.”