The morning sky opened into a crystalline vault of pale blue, free of the mist that usually clung to the river basin at dawn. A sharp, dry mountain wind swept through the valley, rustling the bare branches of the apple orchard and driving the last traces of frost from the high wooden eaves.
Inside the main hall, the air was still, dry, and clean. The lime plaster along the chimney had cured to a smooth, pristine white, framing the dark river-slate hearth like a frame of polished bone. Sunlight streamed through the broad front window, illuminating the deep, natural grain of the oak floorboards and the solid, unyielding lines of the granite perimeter.
The transformation was absolute. The noise of construction—the sharp strike of hammers, the rhythmic scraping of trowels, and the hollow thu
