“The prayers must’ve worked, because here we are,” Flynn said with more bravado than I expected he felt. Our battle scars were there whether anyone could see them or not.
“There were so many who didn’t return. In towns and cities all across America,” Theo said. “The question is—how do we go on, knowing of all the men we left behind? Buried in unmarked graves.”
Around the table, silence fell. The weight of what we all knew hung in the air. Life for our generation would never be the same. We carried the memories of our fallen brothers like anchors around our necks.
“We can get Phillip set up in the gardener’s shed, can’t we, Papa?” Josephine asked, breaking the silence. “It’s not used much in the winter.”
“Yes, yes. Splendid idea,” Lord Barnes said. “When spring comes and everything thaws out, we can see about getting you set up somewhere in town, but for now the shed will serve you well. Like I said, we’ll go out to the mill in the morning. You can meet Roy Webber. Decent chap. We’ll negotiate prices with him for his finest wood.”
“Fine, thank you, sir. I’m very grateful for your help,” I said.
“Just be careful and keep your wits about you,” Flynn said. “Webber’s a good negotiator. When we bought wood for the lodge, he stood fast to his prices. I poured on the charm and even appealed to his sense of patriotism by mentioning our service in the war. He was unmoved.”
“He has a mill to run. People to pay,” Lord Barnes said. “The man can’t be expected to give you a lower price simply because of who you are or even what you’ve done.”
“Yes, Papa,” Flynn said. “But I have to try for the best deal I can make. You taught me that.”
“True enough,” Lord Barnes said with a smile. “You’ll be a better businessman than your old papa before long.”
“Flynn wasn’t trying to get a better deal for business purposes,” Theo said. “But because he loves to win.”
“Competition’s the American way,” Flynn said. “Anyway, what does my motivation matter? Winning is still good business.”
“Doesn’t everyone love to win?” Cymbeline asked. “What else is there?”
“I don’t care one way or the other,” Fiona said. “I’d rather be loved.”
“Then you’ve won,” Flynn said. “Because we love you.”
Cymbeline rolled her eyes.
“I’d rather be useful, if it comes down to choosing,” Josephine said.
“I suppose I’d choose that one too,” Quinn said. “But I prefer to think of it as love in action. We show our love through service to others.”
“What about you, Phillip?” Cymbeline asked. “What do you choose?”
I met her gaze, then drifted around to all the faces at the table. They peered at me with such kindness that I was moved to answer from the most honest place in my heart. “I’d love to belong. To something. To someone. To be part of a family.” My voice grew husky, so I stopped there before I embarrassed myself.
“What you’re speaking of is community and family,” Lord Barnes said. “The ties that bind and such. These are the sweetest offerings in this life. My life’s work has been building this town and this family and at the end, I’ll have no regrets. I’m with you, Phillip.”
I flushed warm with pleasure. Although we couldn’t have been born into more different circumstances, Lord Barnes and I were alike. We understood what truly mattered. He had it already. I wanted it desperately.
“Theo, you haven’t answered,” Fiona said. “What would you choose?”
He set aside his fork. “Peace. For myself and the world.”
“My darling boy,” Quinn said. “From your mouth to God’s ears.”
The next morning, Lord Barnes and I headed out in the larger of the two sleighs. Overnight, the weather had changed the blue sky to white. As Oz and Willie carried us toward the mill, wide snowflakes dumped from above.
As we drove along, Lord Barnes asked questions about my apprenticeship. I described my experiences as best I could. “It was something of a miracle, sir, if you want to know the truth. After I left the orphanage, I had no idea what I would do. War hadn’t yet been declared, and I had no skills, other than a good academic education provided by the nuns . I’d have liked to pursue university, but that wasn’t an option for me. I was wandering the streets one day and, to escape the rain, went into a woodworker’s shop. He had fine pieces, made from cherry and walnut.” I went on to describe Mr. Jenkins’s offer of a job. “At first I swept up or assisted him in whatever way he needed. As I observed him working, I started to envision various pieces coming from the wood. It was as if they were being built in my mind if not my hands. A woman had been in the day before when Mr. Jenkins was taking his lunch. She wanted a cabinet like the one she’d had in her childhood home in Sweden. ‘To remember my mother by,’ she told me. I drew it up on a piece of paper and showed it to her. She asked if I could make it. Of course, I couldn’t, but Jenkins had come back by then. He looked at the drawing and told her that he could easily do it for her. But after she left, he asked if I’d be interested in learning from him. He said I obviously had a knack for drawing up what the customer wanted and if I could do that, I could learn to make the pieces, too. I studied under him for two years, learning all I could. When we declared war, I knew I had to go. He gave his blessing and asked that I return to him.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I did. He’d died from the flu.” My throat ached at the memory. “The shop was all boarded up. I asked around and learned he’d died during the first deluge of cases.”
“What a shame. He was a father figure to you, I suspect?”