Room to Live: Lacuna and Key at a Plain Wooden Table

Late enough that the window showed only the lamp, Lacuna poured the last of the tea for Key. The wooden table held two cups, a folded cloth and a sheet of paper. Their chairs had plain backs, without carving.

Key ran a hand along the unadorned top rail. At one end, a small rough patch caught against the skin.

“That needs smoothing,” Key said.

Lacuna made a note, then began counting what was used each day.

“Table. These two chairs. Lamp. Cups. Cloth. The cupboard by the door.”

“And the shelf?”

“The upper one holds things I move when I dust.”

Key looked across at it. “Where would they go?”

“Away, if somebody wants them. Not into the cupboard. That would only make the cupboard harder to use.”

For a while they drank their tea. Beyond the table, the narrow space between the shelf and the door was just wide enough to pass through carrying a tray.

“The Shakers weren't making plain furniture merely to achieve a look,” Lacuna said. “Simplicity and useful, honest work followed from belief. Taking the carving off a bad chair wouldn't make it a good one.”

Key pressed a foot against the floor and shifted weight in the seat. The joints held without a sound.

“This one lets you sit,” Key said. “And get up without wrestling it.”

“The cushion stays, then.”

“Does it help?”

“Yes.”

“Then it stays.”

Lacuna drew a line beneath the daily list.

“The spare chair isn't used every day.”

“Neither is a spare key.”

“An exception with a reason.” Lacuna wrote a second, shorter list. “Visitors. Repairs. Things worth having ready.”

Key turned slightly to look at the route to the door. “Could the spare chair stand against that wall instead? You wouldn't have to move it to open the cupboard.”

They tried it. Lacuna opened both cupboard doors, took out a plate and put it back. Key sat down again while Lacuna carried the cups past the table. There was room without either chair being pulled in.

“No purchase required,” Lacuna said.

The shelf could wait until morning. They would lift it down, offer its contents elsewhere, then live without it for a week before deciding anything further.

Key found the rough patch on the rail again. Lacuna left the repair note beside the empty cup.

They stayed at the table a little longer.