July brought the answer he had been waiting for. The tabletop had survived the cold months, the damp spring, and several weeks of warm weather without warping or separating. Earl did not claim it was invulnerable; wood never stopped responding to its environment. But his drying and joinery methods had produced something far more dependable than his first hurried attempt.
He went out to the shed and arranged samples of different grades on a workbench. Some were richly colored and structurally sound. Others had cosmetic marks that might appeal to a rustic furniture maker, while a separate pile contained damaged pieces best reserved for small parts or fuel in appropriate circumstances. The distinction mattered to him, even though no customer had yet asked for it.
The customer arrived because he wanted to buy an old tractor. His name was Leonard Price, a cabinetmaker from Columbus who repaired antique furniture and built custom dining tables for clients who could afford to wait. He had seen Earl's notice on a bulletin board at a farm equipment dealer. They spent almost an hour walking around the tractor, discussing an oil leak and whether its transmission would hold up for the work Leonard needed.
After they agreed on a price, Earl invited him inside for coffee. Leonard entered the kitchen, took two steps, and stopped in front of the whiskey-oak table. His gaze moved across the dark char lines, the golden grain, and the curved detail Earl had used along the edge. He set his hat on the counter without looking away.
"Where did you find this oak?" Leonard asked. Earl looked at him sharply. He had expected a question about the table's cost or who made it. Instead, the cabinetmaker wanted to know about the material itself.
"Come out back," Earl said. Leonard looked up, smiling. "Before coffee?" Earl put his cup down. "The coffee can wait."
In the grain shed, Leonard moved slowly among the stacks. He looked at end grain, lifted samples toward the window, ran his thumb across polished test pieces, and studied the old iron hoops that Earl had kept in labeled groups. For a long time he said almost nothing. Earl recognized the silence of a man who was examining possibilities rather than filling a visit with compliments.
"These came out of whiskey barrels?" Leonard finally asked. Earl nodded.
"Bought them from a bank liquidation. Eleven hundred and forty in the lot." Leonard looked toward the covered rows beyond the shed. "You have more than what's in here?" Earl led him through the side door.
The cabinetmaker stood among the barrels, taking in their number. "Good Lord," he said quietly. He asked whether the wood was already dried, whether Earl had recorded storage conditions, and whether he would sell intact barrels or sorted stave sets. Earl opened his notebook and answered the questions he could support with measurements.
Leonard listened more intently as Earl explained the failed table. He asked to see it, and Earl brought him back to the workbench where the twisted pieces still rested. Leonard examined the damaged joints and nodded. "You learned the hard lesson before selling it to somebody else. That's worth something."