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“Matt Kolsrud,” Connor said, answering her unasked question. “We’ll size up the damage, then I’ll put him to work.”
“Matt?” Her date to senior prom. She hadn’t thought of him in years. “He works for you now?”
“Junior,” Connor said, eyebrows raised in amusement.
“Ah. I should have known.” The young man crossing the driveway did look like his father, or like his father had looked when they were teenagers, with the same loping gait and floppy brown hair. Introductions made, Connor suggested they inspect the structures first. “The roof fixes are easy, but if you’re right and that ripped balcony damaged the log work, we might want to hire Matt’s dad. He’s a real craftsman.”
They scouted out the exterior damage, then the two men followed Sarah up the steps to the lodge. Both stooped to untie their work boots and left them outside. Mud-spattered, mouths gaping now that they were empty—you almost could live in one, like the nursery rhyme said.
Young Matt’s mouth gaped, too, when he saw the massive stone fireplace, the tall ceilings, the staircase with its peeled pine balustrade and the knotty newel post as intricate as any hand-carved woodwork. They traipsed upstairs behind Sarah in their stocking feet.
“The only damage I saw was in here.” She led the way into the sewing room, where the men wrangled the bookcase away from the door. She held her breath when Connor inched his torso out onto the balcony, the decking at an awkward angle, Matt’s hand on his belt. Then he wriggled back in and inspected the logs inside. Used the level on his phone, and frowned.
“That what’s bothering you?” Matt pointed at a long horizontal crack a few inches above the floor, and Connor nodded.
“My guess, the way the doorjamb’s tilted, and now this, is that when that spruce hit the balcony, these old logs couldn’t absorb the force of the impact. They settle over time”—Connor directed his words to Sarah—“which adds to the stress on the chinking. In modern log construction, the chinking itself is flexible, so when the logs settle, it doesn’t crack. But with old logs like this …”
“They’ve already settled, so they can’t take another blow,” she said. “They crack.”
“Exactly. We can tuck-point the chinking, repacking it. Some cracks, that run through the joints, a guy might fill.” Connor made a cross with his hands. “But if the log’s split all the way through, then it’s lost its strength. Water can seep in, cause rot. Not to mention bugs.”
“What’s the fix?”
“Worst case …” Connor stood. “Replace the log. And while we’re at it, inspect the entire structure for rot, weak joints, other damage that’s gone unnoticed for decades.”
“Sounds like a major project,” Sarah said.
“Matt senior can tell us more and give us a preliminary estimate.” He turned to his employee. “I threw a couple of clean brown tarps in the back of my truck. Would you bring those in? Just drop them inside the front door. And my tool belt. Then set up the big ladder at the corner. I’ll work from inside, you outside, and we’ll get this balcony covered and keep the house dry.”
“You got it, boss.” The young man padded out.
Sarah watched as her brother scrutinized the door.
“This framing is shot,” he said. “The jamb is splintered. You couldn’t close the door because the hinges are bent. There’s a guy in town, blacksmith, who can fix the gnarliest old hardware.”
“We’re going to have to talk about the lodge,” she said. “The four of us. Make a plan.”
He looked chagrined. “Brooke and I thought we had a plan, and Mom approved, but I just don’t have time for anything extra right now. Hey, the kids have soccer games on Saturday. Whitefish against Deer Park, here. Mom’s coming. You and Holly should come, too.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” She missed cheering on kids—Noah on the soccer field, Abby coming into view on the home stretch of a race. “So what’s this expansion Mom mentioned? Is that what’s taking up all your time? And why you needed more space at the mill?”
They heard the front door open and broke off to haul the tarps upstairs. She waited while Connor and Matt worked, quickly and efficiently, and within minutes, the northeast corner of the lodge was protected by shiny brown tarps, tacked and tied so the wind couldn’t whip them up like sails.
“Good job,” Connor called. “Why don’t you take a break? Leave the ladder out so we can check the carriage house. I’ll be out in a bit.”
They headed for the kitchen. “Employees don’t get to take inside breaks?” Sarah asked.
“I know the kid. He’d rather sit in the truck with his earbuds in. I’ll call his dad, but it might be a few days before he can get out here.”
“Good. Thanks. Oh, by the way, when I was in town yesterday, I stopped by Lucas Erickson’s office and his secretary assumed I was there for the company files.”
No point saying she wished he hadn’t done business with Lucas. Whatever the business was, he’d be finding a new lawyer. She was about to ask if he knew what had their mother worried when the mudroom door opened.
“One cabin clean,” Holly called. “I may have a future as a housekeeper. Lord knows there’s plenty of work here. Connor!”
He had to know about the job loss, Sarah thought as her brother and sister hugged. And Holly had to know Janine had spilled the beans. They were all talking about her. They just weren’t talking to her.
Coffee was poured and cake cut. Though Connor was the youngest—Holly had five years on him, Sarah six—next to the rest of them, he looked like a grownup sitting at the kiddie table for a pretend tea party.
