Nathan Jones - First Winter

Robert nodded, then hesitated. “As a profession? I mean, with mass production I’m not sure furniture carpentry is even a thing anymore. Aside from fixtures built during construction, that is. But I mean building something like a table to sell…” He trailed off, aware he was on the verge of babbling.

The former Mayor’s smile turned reassuring. “Why don’t you tell us about it?”

The man shot her a grateful look. “Carpentry was my dad’s hobby. He worked at it all his life, and by the end was really skilled. He made all the furniture in our house, and friends and visitors would often try to commission him to make something for them. Sometimes at a really good price, although he usually refused. He wanted to keep the work a hobby, and the most he’d bend on that was the occasional gift.”

Robert trailed off, looking pained for a moment as if remembering recent grief, then continued. “I was practically raised in his workshop, and worked on most of his projects with him. In the last few years I started making my own furniture, which I did sell where I could. The market for handmade furniture has been growing over the last few years, especially quality work that’s built to last. I was on my way to making a reasonable living before the world ended.”

“Well I’d say the market for handmade furniture has only gotten better, all things considered,” Matt said dryly. He leaned forward. “Let’s get right to the point. Aspen Hill could really use a skilled carpenter, but could you actually do carpentry work for us? Do you have the tools and skills for low tech work, without electricity or a workshop full of fancy equipment?”

To his credit the man didn’t become defensive. “We did use electric tools,” he said frankly. “But remember, this was my dad’s hobby. He had a great deal of respect for the profession as it’s been practiced through the ages, and he had all the tools to do every step of the work by hand. He taught me how to use those tools too, although I admit I’m not nearly as practiced with them.”

Robert hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Those tools are sitting in a wagon by the pavilion right now, being watched over by a friend,” he continued. “I realized their value after the Gulf burned, that they might be the only way I could make a living in a world without electricity or easy fuel. So I took them with me, and held onto them even when I went hungry and was tempted to sell or trade them.” He sucked in a determined breath. “So yes, I can actually do carpentry work for your town. I could get started today if you wanted.”

Matt gave a low whistle, impressed. No wonder the committee had rushed this guy through the list of candidates. Someone with not only skill in a highly useful profession but tools as well had to be one in a million. “And how about construction carpentry? We do have a huge demand for quality furniture, but right now we’re still working to put a roof over everyone’s heads and have to make that a priority. We need basic work done quickly, well, and that’ll last through the harsh winter we’re facing.”

The man smiled, with the confidence of someone who’s earned it. “Carpentry’s my business, I’ve done more than my fair share of construction work. Mostly detailed finishing on more upscale homes, but I usually got called by family and friends when they needed something done on their houses, too. And in my spare time if anyone who can afford to pay wants to commission a piece of furniture I’m happy to work long hours.”

Robert fell silent, waiting hopefully. Matt was sold, and he could tell the rest of the committee was as well. He spent a few more minutes getting specifics on what exactly Robert had made, and the committee quizzed him on carpentry knowledge as best they could with their own limited experience in the field.

Finally Matt stood, offering his hand again. “Thanks for coming in, Mr. Paulson. Going into this the committee agreed we wouldn’t make any snap judgments, so we’ll need to do some deliberating among ourselves, but I’d say your chances are very good. Hopefully we’ll be welcoming you to our town soon.”

The refugee shook his hand with a relieved grin. “Thank you. I know I can be useful, and I’m eager for the chance to prove it.”

“We’re looking forward to it, too.” Matt hesitated. “I hate to bring this up because I don’t doubt your honesty, but it needs to be said. If it turns out that you’ve mislead us about your qualifications, criminal history, or anything else that would be a severe detriment to the town, we reserve the right to expel you without condition. And you’ve also been informed of the town’s current laws on criminal activity?” Robert nodded. “Okay, just so you know. We want to protect your rights as a citizen, but those are things we have to be firm on.”

“I understand,” Robert actually looked more confident. “In a way that’s great. If I’m going to be a citizen here then the fact that you hold everyone to the same standard is as good for me as for everyone else.”

With a few final handshakes they led Robert back to the pavilion, chatting more casually along the way. There the carpenter went to check on his tools and get himself some food, while the committee searched for the next interviewee.

During that time Trev’s sister Linda pulled Matt aside, trying to appear casual. “So how did the first interview go with, um…”

“Robert?” Matt asked, amused. “Well. It looks like he’s a skilled carpenter. We’re probably going to invite him in.”

The young woman tried to hide how pleased she was at the news. “Oh okay,” she said, nervously playing with her long light brown hair. “And is Robert’s family coming, too?”

Matt held back a grin at the obvious intent of her question. “He’s single, coming here on his own.”

Just as he’d expected she broke into an eager smile at that, although she tried to hide it. “Cool. Well thanks, Matt.”

He shook his head as the young woman practically skipped away. She was still years away from being old enough to marry, and Robert was not only several years older than her but also a very eligible bachelor. The town’s new carpenter wouldn’t have any trouble finding a wife long before then.

Still, it was cute to see her so hopeful.

The next refugee they led into the clinic was a middle-aged man named Garret Langstrom. He’d worked as a trauma surgeon in an emergency room in Salt Lake City, and after the Gulf burned he’d had the foresight to carry his medical credentials with him when he fled with his family. Most of the other possessions he, his wife, and his young son had brought with them were gone by this point, but he’d wisely held onto those documents all this time.

Thanks to that he’d been snapped up by the military operating out of Hill Air Force Base, providing his services and in many cases training the staff who worked under him. It had kept his family fed last winter, and he’d been satisfied with the service he’d given.

When spring rolled around and news came about the Gold Bloc invasion, however, Langstrom and his wife had worried that a military base was a dangerous place to be. Unfortunately the surrounding area outside Hill Air Force Base’s control was also dangerous, with very few stable communities and raiders like Ferris and Turner’s group marauding unchecked.

After asking around he was able to find a community near Utah Lake, made up of a number of refugees from Antelope Island who’d fled south along the Jordan River after chaos broke out in the camp. The community had survived by lucky scavenging finds of food warehouses far removed from Utah Valley, which often had people guarding them.

The community folded those groups in, and the larger numbers allowed for better mutual defense against raiders. Like any community they were eager for doctors, especially ones trained in trauma surgery and emergency care. They gave Langstrom a generous offer, and he and his family gathered their few possessions and hitched a ride on a convoy heading south.