On Saturday, Victoria arrived at the workshop with a small wooden chair in the trunk of her car. It had stood in her mother's dressing room for years, its upholstered seat faded and one joint beginning to loosen. She had kept it in storage because it did not fit the rooms she displayed to visitors. After their recent conversations, she had taken it out and realized it was one of the few pieces of furniture in her house she could remember being used.
"Can you restore this?" she asked.
Daniel examined the frame, then tested the loose joint with the heel of his hand. "I can. It won't be quick, and replacing the fabric will change it a little. We could keep the old upholstery if you prefer, reinforce the seat underneath, and clean the surface without removing the marks."
"I'd like that."
"Then I'll send you an estimate."
She looked surprised. "You're going to charge me?"
He laughed. "Of course. It's my job."
Victoria laughed too, and the sound carried an unexpected relief. His refusal of the wallet reward had not meant he thought money was somehow shameful. He was simply drawing a distinction between something freely returned and a service whose value deserved to be respected. She found the distinction practical and reassuring.
They lifted the chair into the workshop together. Daniel pointed out the age of the fasteners and the manner in which the back had been joined to the frame. Victoria confessed that her company's furniture rarely contained that kind of handwork anymore, except in the most expensive lines. He said there was nothing wrong with modern manufacturing when it was done well. "The problem isn't that a machine made it," he said. "The problem is when nobody asks how a human being will live with it afterward."
Victoria looked at the chair, imagining her mother seated there in the morning while brushing her hair. "She used to tell me the same thing about ambition," she said. "That it could get you somewhere but couldn't tell you whether the destination was worth reaching."
"Was she right?"
"I haven't decided."
"Then I suppose you have some work to do."
She stayed to help clean the chair, following Daniel's instructions with the concentration she usually reserved for contracts. She had never used a soft brush to lift dust from carved wood, and she applied too much pressure on the first attempt. Daniel showed her how to loosen her hand and let the brush do the work. When the grain began to emerge beneath the grime, she felt a peculiar satisfaction that had nothing to do with getting the task finished quickly.
Alice arrived with a basket of tomatoes and caught Victoria in the act of polishing a chair leg. "Well," the older woman said, "the world is turning in an interesting direction."
Victoria flushed. "I'm not very good at it yet."
"Then you're having the proper experience of being a beginner," Alice replied. "Daniel hates it when people pretend they're born knowing everything."
Daniel glanced up from the workbench. "That isn't true. I just prefer when they ask before they ruin something."