Chapter Twenty-One

Samuel heard the rhythmic tap...tap...tap long before he reached the shop.

Inside, maple shavings covered the floor like curled ribbons.

A half-finished wagon wheel stood upright in a wooden stand while several apprentices carefully fitted spokes into a freshly turned hub.

The master wheelwright looked up.

"Morning, Samuel."

"Morning."

Samuel walked over and rested a hand on the unfinished wheel.

"I've never seen one built."

The old craftsman smiled.

"Most folks haven't."

He pointed to the center.

"This is the nave."

He patted the solid elm hub.

"It carries the whole load."

He picked up one carefully carved spoke.

"Hickory."

He slid it firmly into its mortise.

"Strong enough to bend..."

"...without breaking."

One apprentice carefully tapped the spoke home with a wooden mallet.

Samuel noticed every spoke fit perfectly.

"They're all exactly alike."

The wheelwright shook his head.

"No."

"They're exactly where they belong."

Samuel smiled.

"I suppose there's a difference."

"There surely is."

Around the outside of the wheel lay several curved wooden sections.

"What are those called?"

"Felloes."

The wheelwright fitted one between two spokes.

"Together they become the rim."

One apprentice asked,

"Why don't we carve one big circle?"

The old man chuckled.

"Because trees don't grow that way."

Everyone laughed.

Just then the blacksmith walked in carrying a glowing steel tire with long tongs.

It shimmered orange from the forge.

Samuel instinctively stepped back.

"Looks hot."

The blacksmith grinned.

"It ought to."

The apprentices quickly placed the wooden wheel onto a heavy iron platform.

Together they lowered the glowing tire over the wheel.

It slipped into place with only a finger's width to spare.

"Now!"

Buckets of cold water splashed over the steel.

Steam exploded upward.

The shop disappeared behind a cloud of white vapor.

The air filled with the smell of hot oak and cooling iron.

As the steam cleared, the steel tire had tightened around the wood.

The wheelwright struck one spoke lightly with his knuckle.

The wheel answered with a clear musical ring.

"There."

He smiled.

"Now it's one piece."

Samuel ran his hand around the rim.

"I wouldn't have thought heat could make something tighter."

The blacksmith laughed.

"Sometimes things have to get a little hot..."

"...before they come together."

Everyone smiled.

Buck Rogers arrived just in time to watch the finished wheel being rolled toward a waiting hay wagon.

"Looks like another wagon is about ready."

The wheelwright nodded.

"That one's hauling hay tomorrow."

Buck grinned.

"And probably bricks next week."

"Glass the week after."

"Cabbage after that."

The old craftsman laughed.

"A good wheel doesn't care what's riding on it."

He spun the wheel gently.

It turned smoothly.

Silently.

Samuel watched it for a long moment.

"So much depends on something most folks never think about."

The wheelwright nodded.

"That's true of a great many things."

He looked around the shop where apprentices were already beginning another wheel.

"If the wheels stop..."

"...the settlement stops."

Samuel tipped his hat.

"I think I'll remember that."

The wheelwright smiled.

"You won't have to."

He pointed toward another pile of hickory spokes.

"There'll be another wagon needing wheels tomorrow."

Samuel laughed.

"And there's no law against work."

The old wheelwright chuckled.

"Not that I've ever heard."