Nicholas's Story
Copyright© 2025 by writer 406
Chapter 36
The book came out in October, bound in deep blue cloth with the title “The Worthy Endeavor: A Philosophy of Craftsmanship” embossed in simple, elegant typography.
Nicholas had dedicated it to the Earl, much to his surprise. When he received his advance copy, he called and caught Nicholas as he was packing to leave for Munich.
“You didn’t mention this,” he said, his voice carrying an unusual hint of emotion.
“It seemed appropriate. I learned a lot from you and your projects,” Nicholas replied simply.
The dedication read: “For Richard Spencer, Earl of Northwood, my friend who taught me about creation and craftsmanship.
In the weeks following publication, Nicholas sent personalized copies to each of the royal children. For George, he’d inscribed a note about how his questions about load-bearing joints had sharpened Nicholas’s own thinking. For Charlotte, he included an observation about how her concern for wildlife had improved the treehouse designs. For young Louis, he wrote about how sometimes the smallest hands can reach places others cannot.
By now, Nicholas was something of a celebrity in England, thanks to his connections with the Earl and the royals. There was a treehouse craze spreading all across the United Kingdom, with wealthy families commissioning elaborate structures and middle-class parents attempting DIY versions in suburban gardens. Architectural firms were adding “arboreal spaces” to their portfolios, and television shows featured treehouse building competitions.
None of this had been Nicholas’s intention. As far as he was concerned, they had simply built what needed building and written what needed writing.
The reviews for “The Worthy Endeavor” were glowing. The Guardian called it “a profound meditation on meaning in a disposable age.” The Times Literary Supplement described it as “philosophy with sawdust on its boots—earthy, practical, yet transcendent.” Even academic journals responded favorably, with the Journal of Aesthetics publishing a lengthy analysis of its contributions to the philosophy of craft and creativity.
Nicholas had been in Europe for almost seven years. He was thirty-one years old, changed in ways both inside and out. After the treehouse project for the royals, he was amused to find that he was now known as “the treehouse guy”. The name followed him to Munich, where he had gone to help complete his last project for Weber, an elaborate pavilion for a formal garden.
His reputation was both a blessing and a burden. On the one hand, it had opened doors to work on unique projects that would be a nice challenge to his skills. On the other hand, it threatened to pigeonhole him as a specialist in novelty construction rather than a master craftsman capable of broader work. The old man, Hans Weber, had laughed and told Nicholas to ignore the name—people needed simple ways to understand complex realities.
It was in Munich that he met David Chambers. David was a tech entrepreneur who had made his fortune in cloud computing infrastructure.
They met at a small cafe near the Viktualienmarkt, chosen by Chambers for its warm atmosphere. Nicholas arrived precisely on time to find a slight, intense man in his early thirties and an attractive Japanese woman with stone-gray hair and smart, cheerful eyes. Both were nursing espressos and studying architectural plans that were spread across the table.
“Mr. Carter?” The man stood as Nicholas approached, extending his hand. “I’m David Chambers. This is Aiko Sato. Thank you for agreeing to meet with us.”
“Glad to meet you both,” Nicholas said, taking the offered seat. “Your message mentioned an interesting project.”
Chambers sat down, searched through the plans and pulled out an elevation detail. He turned it so that Nicholas could see it.
“I’m going to build this house on some property I own on Hood Canal in Washington State,” Chambers explained. “I have a twenty-acre beachfront parcel. Akio has designed it to be split-level, half tree-house, half ground-level beach house. Modern timber frame construction fully integrated with the natural environment.”
Nicholas studied the preliminary drawings—clearly professional work, but with unusual specifications that would challenge conventional construction methods. The design called for a structure that flowed between multiple levels, some supported by the surrounding Douglas firs, others cantilevered over a meadow of wildflowers.
“Why this particular approach?” Nicholas asked, noting the complexity involved.
Chambers was quiet for a moment, his fingers drumming against his coffee cup. “My wife died two years ago, leaving me and my two boys in a state of shock. She ... she had cancer, a rare kind of pancreatic cancer, very fast moving. We got the diagnosis, and three months later she was gone.
This house will be a new beginning for the kids and me. A special magical place where we can heal and move on with our lives. Connected to nature, built to last.”
Nicholas recognized a kindred spirit in Chambers. Their backgrounds were different in specifics but similar in having been forced to adapt to a challenging fate.
“You must have done well for yourself,” Nicholas observed, noting the quality of the architectural drawings and the evident financial resources required for such a project.
“Tech money,” Chambers replied with a slight shrug. “Got lucky with timing on a few ventures. But money doesn’t create a vision or the skills to execute one.” That’s what Aiko has done for me. He gave his companion a fond glance. “She has designed a masterpiece for us to live in.” He looked directly at Nicholas. “I want you to build it.
“Why me?”
“Originally, I had intended to hire Weber, but then, as you know, he retired. His sons have taken over, and I don’t trust them to follow their father’s credo. I assume you feel the same. I heard you recently left there. Next, I happened to meet Lady Louise Spenser in Paris. She told me stories of her treehouse. She was kind enough to give Aiko and me a tour. That’s when I first heard of you. Then I read your books.”
He paused. “You’re the man I want.”
Nicholas was not one to make snap decisions, but this was an interesting project.
“I will do it. With certain conditions.”
“You’ll take the project?” Chambers’s relief was visible.
“If we can work out the technical details and timeline. This will require specialized skills and a team that knows what they’re doing. The engineering challenges alone...”
“Whatever you need,” Chambers interrupted. “Budget is flexible. Timeline is flexible. I want it done right more than fast or cheap.”
Over the next two hours, Aiko and Nicholas discussed specifics—site conditions, material requirements, access challenges, seasonal considerations for Pacific Northwest construction. She had clearly researched the project thoroughly, understanding the constraints of building in such a location.
What impressed Nicholas most was Chambers’s willingness to invest whatever time and resources were necessary to achieve his vision. This wasn’t vanity construction or status signaling—it was someone creating exactly what his family needed, regardless of conventional expectations or money considerations.
“I’ll need to see the site,” Nicholas concluded. “And assess local resources, build a team.”
“Of course. When can you come to Seattle?”
“Three months,” Nicholas replied after mental calculation. “I have obligations to complete here first. But if the site assessment confirms feasibility, I can assemble a team for spring construction.”
They parted with firm handshakes and mutual understanding. Aiko and her brother would handle permitting issues, get a well dug, and get the septic and drain field installed. Nicholas would complete his European commitments and begin recruiting the specialized team such a project would require.
Three months later, Nicholas stood on a wooden dock extending into Hood Canal, watching the morning mist rise from the dark water while mentally cataloguing the construction challenges ahead.
The site was breathtaking. Behind him were Douglas firs tall enough to be near the size of old-growth trees. In front, a broad expanse of rocky beach was washed by the crystal clear water of the Puget Sound. The Olympic Mountains lined the sky in the distance. The whole scene combined to give a sense of complete privacy despite being only a few hours from Greater Seattle.
The sound of approaching vehicles announced the arrival of his team—five craftsmen he had worked with during his years at Weber, each recruited for specific capabilities that would be essential for this unusual build.
Miguel Rodriguez had flown in from the Midwest, where he now ran his own contracting company but remained interested in unique challenges. Klaus Hoffmann had come from Austria, bringing expertise in complex timber joinery that would be essential for the elevated sections. Two brothers, Erik and Lars Nilsen, had traveled from Norway with specialized knowledge of building in challenging natural environments. And Thomas Schmidt, a young German carpenter Nicholas had mentored during his final year with Weber, eager to apply traditional techniques to innovative applications.
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