“Wotcher think, Ma?” asked the young man standing next to it. He was not handsome; his features were far too irregular for that. With a prominent nose, chin, and brows, he looked more unfinished than his creation. His unruly mop of straw-colored hair hadn’t seen a comb for most of the day and had stone dust and a couple of chips in it. But his bright blue eyes were intelligent and thoughtful, and did a lot to reassure Anna that he wasn’t as rough and ready as he appeared.

He had big hands, one of which held a mallet, the other, a chisel. He had stone dust all over his overalls, and stout boots on his feet, to protect them from bits of stone, no doubt.

“My!” his mother exclaimed. “I thank it’s fine! What would y’all say, Jinny?”

Aunt Jinny examined the work with a critical eye. “I say iffen y’all showed it t’ Missus Hopper right this minute, she’d bawl her eyes out. And when y’all give it t’her finished, she might wanter hev it in her parlor t’ bawl over regular.”

Josh tossed his head so that his hair flopped out of his eyes, and grinned. “Wall, then, thet’ll jest mean ol’ man Hopper’ll hev t’pay me t’make another, won’t it?”

His mother looked affronted, but Aunt Jinny laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “Tha’s a smart young feller thinkin’,” she said. “This’s m’sister’s girl, Anna Jones. Anna, this here is Joshua Holcroft, an’ the best carver I ever seed, bar my Granpappy.”

Joshua blushed, and so did Anna. They shook hands awkwardly. His hand was so big it completely enveloped hers, but he held her hand so gently, it was as if he were holding a new-hatched chick. “Please ter meetcha,” he said, then finally looked her straight in the eyes, and smiled.

She blushed even harder. That smile had completely transformed his face, by some magic she didn’t understand. He still wasn’t handsome, but now he was—attractive. Very attractive. She suddenly found herself thinking about going for a long walk with him in the moonlight, or sitting on the porch and talking for hours. She shook herself out of such daydreams with difficulty. “I dunno wotcher doin’,” she confessed. “But thet there’s a purdy liddle baby angel.”

“Joshua carves all the headstones fer Mister Cavenel, th’ undertaker,” his mother replied before he could answer. “Mos’ people jest want a stone, with names an’ dates, an’ maybe somethin’ t’ ’member the dead by, like y’all hev prolly seen in graveyards. An’ thet pays good. But sometimes he gets somethin’ special. Like this, which’s fer the Hoppers’ dead baby.”

“An’ when I ain’t a-carvin’ fer graves, I carves liddle bits of this an’ thet,” Josh put in, looking modest. “Gewgaws an’ the like. Knife handles. Them panels on the sides of pocketknives. Rifle stocks. Men’ll pay good money fer carved bone ’n horn ’n ’specially mother of pearl. Wood, not so much, but if they wants somethin’ fancy in wood, they’ll still pay. Sometimes purdy liddle things fer the ladies, but thet don’t pay as good as rifle stocks an’ knife handles. Fellers like t’show thet off.”