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  The Carpenter's Apprentice

  Daniel Elijah Sanderfer

  Blue Cottage Publishing

  Copyright © 2020 Daniel Elijah Sanderfer

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. This book contains regional dialect to give the characters a more authentic feel.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Cover design by: Daniel Elijah Sanderfer

  Cover photographs by: Abby Savage

  Printed in the United States of America

  To Adam, your love of gingers and your sexy rugged looks inspired Darby. Thank You for your love and friendship.

  And as he tightened his arms around me he mumbled, “You’re my little firefly and I want to keep you forever.”

  Daniel Elijah Sanderfer

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  THE CARPENTER’S APPRENTICE

  CAEDMON

  A WARM WELCOME

  NEW HORIZONS

  DARBY

  SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL

  THE DECISION

  SO HARD TO SAY GOODBYE

  About The Author

  THE CARPENTER’S APPRENTICE

  DANIEL ELIJAH SANDERFER

  CAEDMON

  Every time I hear the rolling thunder and feel the rush of the wind against my skin I remember. I remember the summer I became a man. I remember the way his strong hands felt gliding across my skin. I remember his weathered face and hands, and the sounds of nature surrounding our secret oasis.

  I can still hear the sound of his heart beating as I rested my head on his chest, and I can hear the whisper of his breath as he slept peacefully next to me, heart to heart, skin to skin. It was the summer I’d just turned eighteen. I’d traveled to my Grandma Annie’s house in Brasstown.

  Nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina that bordered the Tennessee state line lies a small town in the county of Cherokee. It’s a little rural paradise with endless meadows of prairie grass and rivers as restless as the night.

  I can see his red hair and beard glowing brighter than the sun as plain as day in my mind. It was an inferno of color burning like a flame. Just like the love burning between us.

  I’m Caedmon, and I’m just a simple boy with a simple life. My mom Suzanne raised me right, even after daddy left us she somehow found the will to keep going. She’s a hardworking city lady who manages a grocery store in Greensboro, a few hours northeast of Brasstown where Grandma Annie lives.

  Grandma is getting on in years now and ever since Grandpa Buddy died a few years ago, she’s needed a lot of help maintaining the house and surrounding property. She owns a little over twenty acres here in Cherokee county. It’s some of the prettiest land this side of the Blue Ridge.

  Just off the highway lies a graveled driveway that twists and winds through various fruit trees. Take a sharp right turn past Grandpa Buddy’s old garage and you’ll see a brick ranch house that spreads nicely across the back of the property.

  Shadowed by elder Oaks and Pines it looks like something out of Southern Living Magazine. It has a large covered porch that spans the front of the house and has plenty of nice places for sitting, like rocking chairs and a porch swing.

  Hanging tantalizingly within reach are numerous windchimes no one can resist playing with as they pass them. In the summer, large baskets of wave petunias and ferns hide the view of the front door and fill the air around the main entrance with a heavenly scent, and sometimes if you listen closely, you can hear the rush of the water from the river just across the highway.

  There’s not a lot to do in Brasstown; just a few local businesses like a country grocery and a tiny no-tell motel that sits just off the interstate. But I’m not here to tell you about the town. I’m here to tell you a story about a lonely carpenter named Darby and how he changed my life forever.

  I’d just graduated high school and my mom was hoping I’d take some time off to treat myself. I was a good boy, got good grades, but I never stood out from the other kids in my grade. I liked it that way. I just wanted to finish my education as quickly as possible, then figure out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.

  It was a few days after graduation. I couldn’t wait to escape the fast-paced life of the city and get to Grandma Annie’s house in Brasstown. Mom emerged in the doorway as I finished packing my suitcase, “You got everything you need?”

  “Uh-huh”

  “You’re going to call me every day to let me know you’re okay?”

  “Yes, mom.”

  She smiled and crossed her arms as I set my suitcase on the floor. “My little boy is all grown up and leaving me.”

  I rolled my eyes, “I’m just going to be at Grandma’s until the fall!”

  She shook her head and made her way to where I was sitting at the end of the bed, “I know, I just miss you when you’re not around.”

  I bowed my head, “I know.”

  She placed her hand on my back and I turned to hug her. As I rested my chin on her shoulder I mumbled, “It’ll be fall before we know it, and grandma really needs my help to get things in shape before it starts getting cold.”

  We separated and mom sighed, “I know.”

  Even though mom stayed busy with her job most of the time, the time we did get to spend together was quality. I’d always been a helper. From a young age, you could always find me in the kitchen helping mom cook or clean.

  She was an excellent cook and learned everything she knows from Grandma. I licked my lips; I could practically taste those sweet Preacher Cookies she always made for me.

  It all started after mom and dad’s divorce. Even though he’d been caught cheating with another lady from the used car lot where he worked, he made a point to tell me to take care of mom for him.

  Since then, I’ve been the only man in her life. She always tells me stories of nice guys she meets at the grocery store she manages but she’s yet to make a date with any of them. She always says she doesn’t have the time for dating, but deep down I know she has to be lonely.

  Still, I don’t press the issue because she doesn’t know I’m gay. It’s not that I’m afraid she’ll kick me out or anything, it’s just that I don’t want to disappoint her. My mom is my heart and I’ve made a great effort over the years to protect her from any unnecessary drama or pain.

  Still, is it right to let her go on thinking she’ll have grandchildren one day when I know she won’t? I’ve never really cared for children and feel awkward around them. If I’m honest with myself, a lot of times I still feel like a little boy. I feel like I missed out on a lot of childhood experiences because I didn’t have a dad to share them with.

  She followed me outside as I wheeled my suitcase to the truck and tossed it into the passenger’s seat. “Now, you’ll call when you get grandma’s right?”

  “Yes, mom.”

  She stared at me with a nostalgic smile, “When did you get so tall?”

  I shrugged, “I don’t know.”

  She shook her head, “It seems like just yesterday you were a little boy and I was able to pick you up and swing you around.”

  I flashed her a half-smile and took her hands, “I’ll always be your little boy mom. No matter how old I get or where this life takes me. We will always be.”

  She met my gaze, sniffled, and turned away
, “Aw, Caedmon.”

  She gave me a kiss on the cheek, followed by a hug, “I love you so much, son.”

  I rested my chin on her shoulder and mumbled, “I love you too, mom.”

  We separated and I traced the dirt with my foot for a minute before I met her gaze, “I’m gonna miss you.”

  Her lips trembled as they formed a smile, “I’ll miss you more.”

  After one more quick hug, we separated again and we stole silent glances as I made my way to the driver’s side of my truck and got in. She’d managed to save up enough money to buy it for me as a graduation gift. It was a few years old, but it was well maintained and ran well.

  I couldn’t resist glancing in the rear-view mirror as I pulled away. She was waving at me with tear-filled eyes and I tossed my hand out the window to wave back. I felt a sense of certain freedom as I cruised down the open highway toward the interstate. But freedom isn’t free and I couldn’t shake the feeling I had that my life was about to change forever.

  It was a pristine early summer day. The clouds looked like giant fluffy marshmallows floating through an endless sea of blue. I could feel the heat from the sun beating down on my arm as I surfed the wind with my hand.

  The radio blasted Boys of Summer by Don Henley as I got lost in the journey. In just a couple of hours, the city would be a distant memory and the smell of wild honeysuckle would fill my senses with fragrant delight. I just knew this was going to be the best summer of my life.

  A couple of hours later I turned onto the highway that led to grandmas. I craned my neck to see the river running along the road and smiled big. I just couldn’t wait to get a chance to go swimming. It would be a refreshing escape from the summer heat. Maybe I’d take a basket and collect some blackberries for grandma when I did. She makes the best blackberry cobbler this side of the mountains.

  I could see it up ahead. The driveway that led to the place where I’d spend the rest of the summer. There were already apples and peaches growing on the trees and I couldn’t resist stopping and nabbing a few to snack on.

  As I turned the corner past Grandpa Buddy’s old workshop, I could see grandma standing on the front porch. She was a short lady with long salt and pepper hair that she kept in a braid. Her face was wise and stern like Grandma Walton’s but her personality was more like grannies from the Beverly Hillbillies.

  She was wearing a long skirt with pockets and a closely matching floral sweater. No matter how old I get, I’ll never be too old for a hug from grandma. They’re strong and soft at the same time and when I’m in her arms I know nothing in the world can hurt me.

  I sprinted from the truck and up the steps to the house like a happy old coonhound who’d just returned from hunting. She opened her arms wide and a big smile formed on her lips, “There’s my favorite grandson.”

  I stooped a little to meet her hug and chuckled, “I’m your only grandson.”

  She snickered, “Just don’t tell the others.”

  I rolled my eyes and smiled as I rested my chin on her tiny shoulder. “You’ve gotten so tall since last summer.”

  We separated and I stood proudly before as she examined me, “and handsome to boot.”

  I blushed, “Aw shucks grandma.”

  With a smile and a wave of her hand, she said, “Well, grab your bags and come on in. We have to catch up on everything that has been happening.”

  I rushed to the truck and grabbed my suitcase and as I stepped inside the house she shouted, “Just set your bags in the guestroom while I get us some milk and cookies.”

  “Are they your cookies?” I shouted from down the hall.

  She replied, “You know I don’t buy cookies from the store!”

  A WARM WELCOME

  I smiled to myself as I opened the door to the room where I’ve stayed every summer since I was old enough to come visit. When I was younger, she and grandpa used to make the trip to Greensboro to get me. They were my saving grace because at the time my mom and dad were still trying to work things out.

  They would always come get me to give me a break from the arguing and stress and every time I’d leave I always hoped mom and dad would reconcile things before I got back. They’d be fine for a little while, then as life got back to normal the arguing would start again.

  Mom’s purse of forgiveness only went so deep. Dad would manage to do the one thing she couldn’t forgive and that was cheating. They still talk every once in a while when they see each other around town, but you definitely see the pain in mom’s eyes. If you look closely, you can see the regret in dads.

  He ended up marrying Hannah, the secretary at the used car lot where he worked. She’s half mom’s age and twice mom’s bra size or at least that’s what mom says. I never really pay attention to things like that when we bump into them at the grocery store or around town.

  I will say, he did manage to get mom a good deal on my truck and for that I’m thankful. He’s always been nice to me even after what went down. I knew he didn’t want me when the divorce proceedings began. He didn’t want anything to do with me, mom, or the life he had.

  I think in his mind, he thinks he’s still twenty-something, when in fact, he’s forty-something. He’s always seemed like he was trying to freeze time, back in the days when he was young.

  He spent my whole childhood and a good amount of money monthly to keep the latest muscle car. Sometimes it was a Mustang, sometimes it was a Camaro, but they were always way too flashy for a middle-aged balding man to be driving.

  Thankfully I took my looks after mom’s side of the family. They were all tall, had dark hair and nice natural tan looking skin. Looking at grandma now, you’d never believe she was once a six-foot dark-haired beauty with a butt like granite, or at least that’s how she tells it.

  She and Grandpa met before the Vietnam war. She was just a North Carolina farm girl and grandpa was a handsome rebel who fancied James Dean. He just wanted to be anywhere but here in Brasstown and once they graduated, grandpa enlisted in the service and left grandma behind. She helped her parents tend the farm while she waited for grandpa to come back.

  While grandpa was away, they wrote letters to stay in touch. I can’t imagine the worry she must have felt when an extended period of time went by without a letter. But eventually the letter she had been waiting on came. It said that the war was ending and he’d be coming home, and he did. That’s when they got married and started building this house right here on some of the land my great grandparents owned.

  The original house sits just a mile or two up the highway and down a long graveled road that twists and winds through a small wooded area. Grandma rents it out for extra income. This year, it has a new tenant. She told me all about him on the phone before I came up here. Apparently, he’s very mysterious and reclusive.

  According to grandma, he decided to move to the country after a messy breakup in the city. She swears he’s loaded but sometimes grandma tends to embellish things. I can’t tell you how many times we’ve told her to stop watching Hallmark movies and imposing those storylines onto her neighbors.

  I hardly think a wealthy man would rent an old log farmhouse in Brasstown when he could just buy one for a reasonable price. Still, it didn’t stop grandma from nicknaming him The Millionaire Carpenter. She says he’s rugged and wears flannel, even on hot days. She also says he builds some of the finest quality outdoor furniture and things she’s ever seen.

  In the back of my mind, he sounds like just the type of guy I could fall head over heels in love with. But on the other side of the coin, the very description of him sounds like misery and heartbreak. Just what I need; a single, rugged, hunk of a man who’s probably straight as an arrow. Is it wrong that I’d still try even if I thought I didn’t stand an inkling of a chance of being his guy?

  But, I’m getting ahead of myself. I haven’t even met the man and already I’m imposing lifestyles and storylines on him just like grandma. “Caedmon, the cookies are ready.”

  I finished loading
my clothes into the dresser and slid the suitcase under the bed before exiting the room and making my way to the parlor where grandma always liked to sit during the day.

  It’s a big room with two large recliners that looks out a bay window into the yard. You don’t have to guess why it’s her favorite place to sit in the whole house, outside of the front porch. I could die a happy man staring out at that gently rolling meadow filled to the brim with various flowering and fruit trees.

  I took my seat next to her and pulled a TV tray close so I didn’t make a mess on the floor. She poured the milk from a carafe and set a plate with a couple of cookies on my tray. I couldn’t help copying her every move, the same way I always used to do when I was younger. She’d always lift her pinkie while gripping the cookie between her thumb and index finger, dip the cookie in the milk. Just before it got too soft, she’d pull it out and take a bite.

  We nibbled in silence for a few minutes before she finally asked, “So tell me, what’s been happening in your life?”

  I drank the rest of my milk before replying. Isn’t it the best when you reach the bottom of the cup where all the little pieces of broken cookies fell as they were softening? It’s cool and chocolatey and one of those little pleasures I love about life. It’s kind of like when you see a butterfly and it decides to grace you with its presence for a brief moment before it flies away. That’s the same feeling I get when I have cookies with grandma.

  It’s this beautiful, unexplainable warmth that leaves you feeling all tingly inside. It didn’t take us long to catch up. There’s not a lot that happens back home in the city. Mom works, I keep the house clean, sometimes we go to the store. It’s all just so mundane. But here in the country, every day is a great new adventure.

  By the time we’d finished catching up, it was getting close to dinner. Grandma stood, grabbed our cups and tray before heading to the kitchen. I offered to help, but she’s always been kind of funny about having people in her kitchen. So, I opted to take a walk instead.