Ornate gothic cross design

The gate for Holme Abbey went up on Tuesday, and the prior came down from his cell to stand under it with his hands in his sleeves, like a man waiting for rain. I had the last of the scrollwork on the anvil at four that morning, so you can imagine how I looked. Wilf says I smelled of coal and hymn books, which is a fair description of the week.

The commission was a cross for the lych gate, to hang over the arch so the mourners would see it before they carried anyone through. Master Ashby drew it on the back of a feed bill, then made me forge it four times because the heart at the middle kept coming out lopsided. Each time I cut a new one I thought of Mum's sewing box, the way she pinned a pattern to the cloth and then took the pins out one at a time until only the shape was left.

The fourth time, I let the heart sit a hair too wide and told Ashby it was for the weight of the thing, not the look. He grunted and said the Lord had never checked a bracket with a spirit level, which I took as a yes.

I've kept one of the little diamond punches you left in my bench drawer. I pressed it into the terminal of the lower arm, just where the fleur curls over, before the paint went on. It won't show from the path. Nobody will know but you and me, and the wind, which I suppose is enough.

Write soon. Tell me the sea is kinder than the forge.

Your brother, Danny