The spinning teeth, the motor's squall, the sawdust hanging in the air; it all means more than work to Cassie. It means life.

Two hundred and forty volts of alternating current course through the wired veins of the antique table-saw. Measure, cut, measure, cut: the craft has been in her family since the first Appalachian Pine box formed under triple-great Uncle Hank's handsaw. He bought the table-saw for double-great Aunt Selli back before he died in that nasty shop accident.

Now the saw is Cassie's—was Mama Marie's until just last week, but now she's resting six feet under in Cassie's best work. It shouldn't have been Mama's time to go, and Cassie still feels bad about that.

The saw had been acting up again. It kicked back a board, almost hitting Cassie right in her heart. All she'd done was use a piece of wood with a few more knots than might be pretty.

"It shouldn't a'done it," Cassie complained to Mama Marie at dinner.

Mama smiled at the saw and ran her hand down its cord. She always set dinner for the two of them out in the shop and polished the saw blade until it shone brighter than the silverware.

"Growing pains," she murmured. "Saw knows it's got to give me up and go on to you, but you don't treat it right. If you treat it good, it does the same for you. I swear, Cass, you got the brains to figure that much out, at least."

Cassie watched as Mama touched the saw down under the table, where she thought Cassie couldn't see. It made her sick, and that was the truth of it, to see Mama liking the saw like that. Especially 'cause Cassie had seen what it did to her.

Twenty-three tooth marks, a quarter inch apart just like on the blade, right across Mama Marie's belly, way down low. It happened before Cassie was born, but she'd seen the scars, and it didn't take even the brains Mama said she had to figure out where the scar came from.

Next time the teeth gripped the board just a little too hard, ready to kick it back into the soft flesh of her belly, Cassie yanked out the plug. It was harder than she'd expected. Years of arcing had near welded the prongs in place, but the cord came out, landing Cassie smack on her backside on the woodpile. The saw ripped out a choked-up growl and then went quiet. Too quiet.

She plugged it back in and turned it on. Nothing. When Mama found out, she would finish what the woodpile started. Cassie rubbed her backside at the thought, but it was almost time for Mama to start the nightly polishing.

"Mama? Saw's gone dead," said Cassie. "Mama?"

A slow growl from behind her sent a chill through Cassie. She put a hand on the cord, ready to pull it out again if the saw misbehaved. Her stomach churned, but her body warmed, and she felt a tingle in her belly, way deep down low. Two hundred and forty volts of electricity brightened her veins, and she knew how the saw felt every time her fingers pressed the switch to turn it on.

"Mama! I feel it!" she said.

Mama Marie didn't answer.

When Cassie finally found her sitting on the back porch, Mama didn't make a sound. Her eyes were open, but there was no brightness behind them. Cassie touched her, but her face was cold.

"Oh, Mama, I'm sorry," said Cassie. "I didn't know. Guess I don't got all the brains you thought I had."

But she was smart enough to know that sometimes when the power blew out, you couldn't ever get it to come back on. She waited, and then she cried, and then she built the nicest box she could. She used good boards, and the saw didn't kick back. When she was done, she polished up the blade and brought her dinner out to the shop. She touched the saw with curious fingers, down under the table, though no one was there to see. She felt a little thrill in her stomach, only down lower, and she knew that someday she was going to let the saw touch her too.