Her face emerged.
The shavings kept everyone busy.
A hollow knock came from beneath the woman’s chin.
Silas lifted his chisel from her eyebrow and looked down. Beside the great wicker basket, Mara and Bea were trying to lower a curled shaving through an opening it had no intention of entering.
The red ribbon caught the rim again.
“Nearly,” Mara said.
“You said that on the other side,” Bea replied.
Around Her Face
Eight workers had gathered around the block that morning. Silas and the other grey-bearded carver worked above the nose, shaping an eyebrow and the fold of an eyelid. The two younger men worked lower down, one beside a nostril, the other following the curve of the lips.
Fresh cuts glowed orange-red against the darker wood. Most of the woman’s face had emerged, though rough ridges still surrounded her temple and the crown of her head.
Below the platforms, four women cleared what the chisels left behind. A broom whispered across the tabletop. A small blower sent loose curls tumbling toward the basket, where Mara carried the larger pieces to Bea.
Fine dust settled on white sleeves. The air held the dry smell of newly cut wood, and each stroke added something to the floor.
Silas drew his blade along the brow. A thin ribbon loosened, curled, and fell beside his platform.
Mara looked up.
“We have one of those already.”
An Unhelpful Curl
Bea pressed one end of the large shaving into the basket. The other rose toward Mara’s shoulder.
Mara turned it. The first end came out again.
The woman with the blower guided a scattering of smaller curls toward them. One slipped beneath the large ribbon and lifted its loose tip. Bea caught it before it brushed her cap.
“Small ones first?” the blower operator asked.
“There isn’t a first,” Bea said. “This one keeps returning.”
They set the ribbon down beside the basket. It opened slightly with a dry creak, occupying the patch Mara had just swept clear with her boot.
Above them, the younger carver beside the lips finished a stroke. Another shaving drifted onto the same patch.
Mara stepped back. Her heel met a curl instead of clear tabletop.
She stopped carrying.
“Silas. We need this space.”
He looked toward the basket, then at the narrow route between it and the platform steps. He laid his chisel beside the mallet and came down.
A Different Angle
Silas took one end of the ribbon while Mara held the other. He tried pressing it inward. The wood tightened against his glove, then sprang back when he eased his hand.
Bea watched.
“It does that to us too.”
“I could cut it.”
“Wait.” Mara raised her end. “Bea, tip the basket toward me.”
Bea tilted the basket onto its lower edge. Mara turned the curl so its narrow side faced the opening.
“Keep that end there,” she told Silas.
He held it while she guided hers through. Bea lowered the basket around the curve, and Silas fed the remaining length beneath the rim.
The shaving settled on its side.
For a moment, all three kept their hands where they were.
“Now,” Bea said.
They let go. Nothing came back out.
The younger man beside the mouth had put down his tool. He brought two smaller shavings over and waited while Bea found room around the large one.
Mara cleared the route to the steps. The woman with the broom followed her, gathering the dust Mara’s boots had disturbed.
Room Below
When Silas climbed back to the eyebrow, the four chisels did not begin together.
Mara lifted a hand while Bea settled another curl. The man beside the nose waited with his blade clear of the wood. Once the basket was ready, Mara lowered her hand.
A stroke sounded above her. Then another.
The blower moved the loose pieces into a clear patch, leaving the path to the basket open. Mara collected them without having to step over the last minute’s work.
Silas tested the brow’s edge with his thumb. He leaned back to look at the face, then glanced down before setting his blade again.
Bea tapped the basket rim.
“You may continue with the lady.”
Silas looked at the curl tucked inside.
“And her luggage?”
“That has arrived.”
He returned to the eyebrow.
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