Free Tracie Peterson - [Land of Shining Water 02] by The Quarryman's Bride Page B

to think of his parents getting old. Though still quite capable of taking care of themselves, their graying hair and wrinkles were reminders that their youth was long behind them.
    “Son, I cannae think of a better answer to prayer,” his father declared, shaking his head. “Ye’ve made my heart glad. I’ve a new large contract, and I sure can use yer help at the quarry.”
    “Grandpa, can I help, too?” four-year-old Gunnar asked. “I want to cut the rock like my papa did.”
    “Yer a tad too wee for such ventures. Give yerself some time to grow tall like yer uncle.” He nodded toward Tavin. “See how big his hands are?”
    The boy looked at his own hands and then at Tavin’s. “When my hands are that big, Grandpa, will you let me cut the rock?”
    “Aye. I’ll be right proud to have ye by ma side.” The boy beamed with pride and jumped up to do a little jig while his little brother pounded the flats of his hands on his high-chair tray, as if approving.
    “Gunnar, sit back down and eat your supper,” his grandmother told him. The boy did so quickly.
    Tavin laughed at the antics of his nephews, which did his heart good. Maybe coming home wasn’t going to be so bad after all.
    “I can’t say that I like quarry work any better than I used to,” Tavin told his father, picking up his fork, “but I do want to be useful to you.”
    “And what is it ye have yer heart set for?”
    “I continue to enjoy working with the stone to set images and script,” Tavin admitted. “I find it much to my liking, in fact.”
    “And have ye done much of this since ye left us?” Father questioned.
    “When I could. I’ve worked at quite a few jobs, as I mentioned in my letters. I wanted to experience different trades to see what suited me best. Of course, that isn’t always easy. Some tradesmen are less inclined to train strangers than others. Even so, I worked for a good long time at my last job, helping to carve gravestones.”
    “And this is what you desire?” his mother asked.
    “Aye. I find the tools to be a part of me, and the rock comes alive under my hand. It fills me with wonder at times.”
    “Rocks can’t be alive,” Gunnar said, looking at Tavin with a frown.
    “Oh, but you’re wrong,” Tavin said, rubbing the boy’s head. “And one day I’ll show you, if you’d like.”
    Gunnar nodded warily. “Can they talk?”
    “In a way.” Tavin grinned. The boy seemed positively mesmerized by the idea.
    Before anything more was said, however, Tavin’s father spoke up. “I’ll be makin’ ye a deal, son. Ye come and help me fill this contract, and I’ll see ye set up in a business of carvin’. Much of the stone around here is well suited to that, and I’m thinkin’ there is many a need for grave markers and statuary. We could build ye a room off the quarry office or maybe make a separate shed. What do ye think?”
    Tavin hadn’t expected his father’s interest and enthusiasm. “I think it sounds good. Do you really believe there would be enough of a market in this area to keep me in business?”
    “Aye. And don’t be forgettin’ that Minneapolis and St. Paul are only a few hours from here. Those big cities are always needin’ something from the stone. Ye might well find yerself with more orders than ye can handle.”
    “That would be wonderful,” Tavin said. He dug into the meat pie his mother had served him. “But not nearly as guid as this bridie,” he said, pouring on a bit of Scottish brogue for effect.
    “There’s more if you’d like,” his mother replied, beaming with pleasure at his praise.
    “Aye. I’m sure I will.” Tavin had all but forgotten his mother’s good cooking. The life he’d known in the past decade had been strewn with few pleasures and a great many poor meals.
    “So ye’ll commit to help me?” his father asked.
    He sounded rather hesitant, but Tavin figured it was nothing to be concerned about. No doubt his father was still surprised to find his eldest