“Sure, it will.”

Again they fell silent. Ten minutes passed. “Claudia,” he said pensively, “do you like wood?”

“Do I what?”

“Do you like wood, working with it?”

“Sure, I guess.”

“I love wood. Love the smell of it, love the feel of the curls that come off when you plane it down. In Sweden I was apprenticed to a furniture maker, did you know that?”

His voice was dreamy, his mind a million miles away. “You know what I’m going to do when I get settled? I think I’m going to make furniture for people-chairs, cabinets, that kind of thing. Everybody needs furniture. In Australia, I was thinking.”

“I thought you were coming home when everything quieted down.”

“No… that was the plan, but I don’t really think that would be the best idea,” he said, almost as if they were talking about something that might actually happen. “I’ve got some money socked away in a mainland account; more than enough to set up shop, and I wouldn’t have to make very much-wouldn’t want to make very much-just enough to live a nice, quiet life. Wouldn’t that be something? No more hoof-and-mouth, no more blackleg, no more pinkeye, no more cattle stink-just that clean, fresh smell of pine, of oak, of fir… they all smell different once you know them, did you know that?”

“That sounds nice,” she said.

“Well, I was wondering… do you think you might like to work for me-with me? It’d be good to have somebody I trust. You’re a strong, smart girl, you’d pick up the craft in no time, and then, after I’m gone, you’d have a real profession. You’d be surprised, there’s a lot of pleasure that comes from turning out a quality piece of handmade furniture. We could maybe share a house, or I could live in back of the shop and you could rent somewhere if you’d like that better. We could take jobs or turn them down, whatever we feel like. What do you think?”