Four

As she breathed in the morning air, Lorraine smiled. Though her taffeta petticoats swished as she walked, her feet made little noise on the soft grass, and the birds that twittered in the trees seemed unaffected by her presence. It was a glorious morning, a time to enjoy the sights and scents of the country, and for the first time she could recall, Lorraine felt free. Here there were no expectations, no servants waiting for her commands, no friends wanting her to make afternoon calls with them. While it was true that her hair was not as well coiffed as if Annie had arranged it, Lorraine didn’t mind. Life at Lilac Hall was more relaxed than at home.

Besides, there was no one she needed to impress here. The few guests who frequented the inn were not part of the same social circle as Lorraine and her uncle. That was, she suspected, part of the reason Mike had chosen this for his home. There was little danger of anyone recognizing him and reporting back to Uncle Ambrose.

And now Mike was married. The thought continued to amaze Lorraine. The wedding had been lovely but small, attended only by the staff of Lilac Hall and Lorraine. She doubted anyone else had noticed how frequently the bride touched her ears, assuring herself that she had not lost her new earrings. Lorraine found the gesture endearing, almost as endearing as the obvious love that shone from Betty’s eyes whenever she looked at Mike.

After they had cut the cake, Mike and Betty had left for their honeymoon and the staff had returned to their normal duties. Only Lorraine had had nothing to do. Following an evening meal that could not compare to Mike’s, she had retired to her room, determined that she would not bother Jonah Mann again. There was no doubt that his wooden horses were beautiful, but there was also no doubt that he did not approve of her. That didn’t matter, Lorraine told herself. She would simply keep her distance.

Once breakfast was complete, she set out from the house, determined that wherever she went, it would not be to the octagonal building where Jonah created those incredible painted ponies.

And so she walked, not caring that the morning mist was dampening her shoes and skirt. As she wandered among the lilac bushes, Lorraine found herself filled with an unexpected sense of anticipation. By remaining here for another month, she could see the lilacs blooming, she could ride the finished carousel, and—most of all—she could talk to Mike again. Maybe by then she would have discovered God’s plan for her life.

When she had told Mr. Parker that she wanted to extend her stay until at least the beginning of June, he’d nodded as if he’d expected her request and said he hoped she’d enjoy her visit. Lorraine planned to. That was why she was exploring the grounds.

She stopped, frowning when she recognized the building directly in front of her. Somehow her feet had carried her to the carousel workshop, even though that was the last place she wanted to be. She’d turn around. Of course she would. Instead, her hand rose and knocked on the door.

“C’mon in, Lorraine.” Jonah’s voice was warm, his smile welcoming. Perhaps it wasn’t a mistake to have come, for this Jonah bore no resemblance to either the arrogant man who’d spoken of her empty life or the one who’d kept his eyes fixed on her throughout Mike and Betty’s wedding ceremony, as if he’d expected Lorraine to disrupt it. This man was charming.

He looked up from the wooden leg he was sanding. “I had hoped to see you.”

He had? Lorraine blinked in surprise as Jonah continued. “I wanted to tell you it was a nice gesture, giving Betty those earrings. It’s all anybody could talk about at supper last night.” He chuckled. “That helped take our minds off the fact that with Mike on his honeymoon, Cheryl’s stretched so thin that our meals are pretty basic. She seems to think that porridge is a good supper.”

Lorraine had never eaten porridge for supper, but that wasn’t what caught her attention. It was one of Jonah’s words. “The earrings weren’t meant to be a gesture,” she told him, her voice sharper than she’d intended. Though she couldn’t explain it, something about this man set her on edge. If another man had pronounced the same words, she would have ignored them, but Jonah made her want to respond, to ensure that he understood. “I don’t know Betty very well, but what I do know tells me she’ll make Mike happy. I wanted to thank her for that and welcome her to the family.” It was the same explanation she’d given Mike when he’d commented on the earrings.

Jonah ran his hand along the wood, nodding as he said, “Whatever the reason, you made Betty happy. To quote Corneille, ‘The manner of giving is worth more than the gift.’”

The man was filled with surprises today. First he’d welcomed her, and now this. “You’ve read Corneille?”

Jonah shrugged as if it were of little import and picked up a different piece of sandpaper. “Le Menteur isn’t my favorite of his plays, but I’ve seen it performed.”

He’d seen a French play. Interesting.

“What brings you here today?” he asked. “Boredom?”

Lorraine wouldn’t admit that she had had no intention of visiting him again, not now when she was discovering new facets to Jonah Mann, discoveries that made her realize it might be pleasant to spend more time with him. “Your horses are irresistible.”

“And I’m not.” He made it a statement rather than a question.

“You’re intriguing,” she acknowledged. “You appear to be a common craftsman, but your accent is cultured, and you’re obviously well-educated.”

“I’ve been fortunate,” he said. “I’ve had a variety of experiences and have been able to visit a number of places.” His right hand moved slowly along the carved leg, sanding the wood until it appeared as smooth as silk. When he reached the bottom of the hoof, Jonah looked up again. “If you had to pick a favorite place anywhere in the world, what would it be?”

“That’s easy. Battery Park.” Lorraine felt her lips curve in a smile. “I never tire of looking at the Statue of Liberty. When the arm and torch were displayed at Madison Square Park years before the statue was finished, I used to go there every week.”

“A pilgrimage?”

She shrugged as she touched the leg he’d laid down on the table. It was as smooth as she’d expected. “I never thought of it that way. I was simply fascinated with the idea of the statue. Now when I look at it, I try to imagine how it appears to immigrants.”

“I can’t speak for everyone, but for me, it was a symbol of hope, of freedom, and of second chances.”

Lorraine wondered whether Jonah had been running away from something in England and that was the reason he sought a second chance. She didn’t know him well enough to pose such a question. Instead, she asked, “What’s your favorite spot?”

“Chester.” Jonah picked up another piece of wood and reached for a chisel and gouge. “You may not have heard of it, but it still has its original Roman wall circling the town. When I walk on it, I imagine what life was like when it was built.”

“They didn’t have carousels, did they?”

He shook his head.

“Then I wouldn’t have wanted to live then.” Lorraine walked to the unpainted horse’s head on the table behind Jonah. “This one seems more elaborate than the others.” There were flowers entwined in its mane, and the mane itself was longer and more detailed than the finished horses’.

“That’s because it’s for the lead horse,” Jonah explained. “If you study a carousel, you’ll see that one horse is usually fancier than the others. Carvers use that one to showcase their best work, and operators use it to count the number of revolutions so that all the rides are the same length.”

Lorraine had never noticed the lead horse and wondered what else she had missed when she’d ridden the merry-go-round at Coney Island. “Do you sign your horses the way an artist does a painting?”

“Not often, but you might find a carver’s initials almost hidden in some decoration on the lead horse.”

The way Jonah spoke made Lorraine think he intended to do that, and so she asked him.

“Probably,” he agreed, “but not on the romance side.”

“The romance side?” It was a morning for learning new terms.

“That’s what we call the side of the horse that faces the edge of the platform. It’s more elaborate than the inside. Look.” Jonah moved to one of the completed horses. Touching its right side, he said, “Notice how all the details are carved. If you look at the other side, you’ll see that many are painted.”

Lorraine watched as Jonah pulled the horse toward him so she could view the other side. Though the mane and saddle were carved, the flowers were painted rather than being carved. “It makes sense, since fewer people will see it.”

“It also saves a lot of time. Sometimes we let apprentices do the painting. That’s why that side is called the apprentice side.”

Lorraine felt a surge of excitement. This wasn’t the answer for the rest of her life, but it might be something to do while she waited for Mike’s return. “I could paint it. I’m fairly competent with watercolors.”

Though she had thought Jonah would welcome the assistance, he wrinkled his nose. “Oil’s not the same.”

“I could learn.” The more she thought about it, the more Lorraine liked the idea of working on the carousel.

“Maybe, maybe not.” Jonah picked up the mallet and chisel and returned to shaping the horse’s leg. “Skill is important, but I’m also worried about what I’d do if you got bored and left me with a half-finished horse. The apprentice side isn’t as important as the romance, but it still needs to be done properly, and that means being painted by one person.”

“I could do it. I would do it.”

Without raising his eyes from his carving, Jonah dashed her hopes. “I’m sorry, Lorraine, but I’ve seen your type before.”

The pungent smell of sawdust filled the air, but Lorraine ignored it, focusing on the man whose moods seemed almost mercurial. “What type would that be?” she demanded, her voice tight with anger.

“Dilettantes. You start things, but you don’t always follow through.” Jonah laid the mallet down for a second and met Lorraine’s gaze. “I don’t mean that as a criticism. It’s a simple observation. You were raised to be an ornament. I doubt you’ve done a useful thing in your whole life.”

Lorraine stared at him for a long moment, trying to bite back the frustration that bubbled inside her. “You’re a snob, Jonah Mann,” she said at last. “For some reason, you think anyone who’s born to privilege is useless. You’re wrong.”

“Am I? Then prove it.”

“Are you certain you want to do this?” Mr. Parker ran a hand through his graying blond hair. When she’d left the carousel pavilion, Lorraine had returned to the lilac hedge, determined to get her temper under control, and as she’d walked, she had devised a plan. All it needed was the innkeeper’s approval.

“Yes, I’m certain,” she insisted. “I want to be useful.” And prove Jonah wrong. “I know you’re short-handed with Mike and Betty gone. I’d like to take over Mike’s responsibilities.” Jonah obviously respected Mike. If Lorraine demonstrated that she was able to prepare a meal, he would be forced to admit that he’d been wrong in calling her an ornament. An ornament! The mere word made her fume.

The owner of Lilac Hall gave Lorraine an appraising look. “Pardon my asking, Miss Caldwell, but do you have any experience as a chef?”

She wouldn’t lie. “No, but I’ve watched our cook.” Admittedly not as often as Mike had, and she’d never actually assisted Cook, but surely it wouldn’t be difficult to prepare a simple meal. “Besides, Cheryl will be there if I need help.”

Mr. Parker was silent for a moment. “It’s true that there’s too much work for Cheryl. All right, Miss Caldwell. You may help her prepare the servants’ meals.”

“Thank you, Mr. Parker. You won’t regret this.”

Three hours later, Lorraine wasn’t as confident. She had burned her hand putting the roast into the oven. She’d proven inept at separating eggs. Now her arms ached from kneading bread. It would improve, though. Once she got the bread into the oven, all that was left was to peel the potatoes and make the pudding.

“Why did you want to do this?” Cheryl had been less than enthusiastic when Lorraine had appeared in the kitchen. Now the dark-haired woman whom Lorraine guessed to be in her mid-thirties looked frazzled, as if Lorraine’s presence was hindering rather than helping. “There’s no need to cook all this food. I was planning to make hash with leftovers from the guests’ dinner.”

But hash would be almost as bad as porridge. Lorraine was determined to serve a real meal. “I wanted to prove that I could do it.”

Her face stern with disapproval, Cheryl looked at the pile of potatoes in front of Lorraine. “What you’re proving right now is that you’ve never before peeled potatoes.”

“What do you mean?” Though it was true, Lorraine saw no need to admit that. “I got the peelings off.”

“Along with half the potato. Peelings are supposed to be thin.” With a resigned sigh, Cheryl took the knife and potato from Lorraine and demonstrated the technique. It was true that far less potato clung to Cheryl’s peeling.

Lorraine picked up another potato and attempted to emulate Cheryl but succeeded only in nicking her hand. “Ouch!”

“Why don’t you give up?”

“Never! I’ve got to prove that I can do this. I will not fail.”

But when she served the meal, Lorraine knew she had failed. The roast was overcooked and dry, the bread tough, the pudding too sweet. Only the mashed potatoes were edible; unfortunately, there were too few of them to satisfy the staff’s appetites.

“I am truly sorry, Mr. Parker.” Lorraine blinked back tears of frustration as she told the owner of her attempts. “I did my best, but it wasn’t good enough. Tomorrow will be better.”

The tall, thin man shook his head. “I too am sorry, Miss Caldwell, but there will be no second chances. No matter how much I owe your brother, you cannot go back to the kitchen.”

Lorraine dashed an errant tear from her cheek. It was bad enough that she’d failed, but to have failed so spectacularly was humiliating. Trying not to think of the disaster she’d called supper, she focused on one of Mr. Parker’s phrases. “What do you owe Mike?”

The innkeeper didn’t bother to hide his surprise. “You mean he didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” This was beginning to feel like a riddle.

“Lilac Hall was barely surviving when Mike arrived. I knew it was only a matter of months before I’d have to close it, but he convinced me that if we made some improvements and added fancy meals, we’d be able to attract more guests. He was right.”

That sounded like Mike. He was always giving advice, and that advice was often valuable. “So Mike’s cooking changed things.”

The innkeeper’s lips curved into a lopsided smile. “That and his money. Your brother poured his inheritance into this place. He’s part owner of Lilac Hall.”