CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Amanda woke up the next morning feeling better. Today was a new day. A means of refocusing her efforts on why she’d come on this trip to begin with.

Spend time with Jake, work on the carousel project.

Enough time had been wasted with chasing ghosts—literally—and today she would return to her priorities.

Downstairs, she and Jake sat down for a quick breakfast.

“I can’t wait to get to the carousel and document my findings,” she said.

He winked at her with that wide grin, making dimples appear on his face. So damn handsome. “You’ll do a great job. I’m going to remember my binoculars today so I can study the loop framework of the roller coaster.”

Pearl walked over carrying a pot of coffee. “Anyone up for a refill?”

“Great, thanks,” Jake said as he held out his cup.

Amanda declined but exchanged a quick glance with Pearl. “How’s Clive this morning?”

“The old coot is still trying to find his canteen to do his reenactment. He hasn’t been to one in ten years, but the man’s mind isn’t on full speed. Are y’all off to Zephyr Land this morning?”

“I need to do some documentation for the carousel work.”

Pearl gave her a knowing wink. When Jake looked away, she mouthed, “Tell Opal and Becca hello for me.”

Amanda nodded. She would pass that message along, no problem. But no more letting ghosts run her day. Time for a new start.

An hour later, she entered the carousel tent. Thick humidity from the prior night made the entry flaps clammy. Inside, like a roasting oven. This wouldn’t do. She found strands of rope on the ground—wonder where they came from?—and tied back the flaps so the entire carousel area could breathe.

First up. Photograph.

Pulling the wide-angle lens from her bag, she snapped it onto the camera body. Adjusted the aperture. She looked through the viewfinder and took several quick shots of the entire carousel to document the work as a whole.

There were tattered horses, chipped paint on animals, even an ostrich with a saddle and a smile. Each piece more unique than the last.

Time for some interesting angle shots. Fortunately, she’d done photography as a hobby and side business for more years than she could count. The key to intriguing photos, like movie camera shots, was to use a variety of angles and keep the viewer interested in the subject.

She knelt down, aiming the camera straight upward to give the effect of the carousel being part of the sky overhead. The tent ceiling provided the backdrop as she caught glimpses of large ostrich beaks, wild mustang manes, and proud war horses with gold bridles.

“There’s a way to combine your gift with carousel restoration,” a male voice said.

Heartbeat racing, she overcorrected the camera wobbling in her hands at the startling voice. In the process, she accidentally snapped a photo of one horse’s foot.

“Declan. What are you doing here?”

He ran his hands along a horse’s saddle before smiling at her. “I wanted to see how things were going.”

She clenched her jaw. “No, you wanted to make sure I was still doing what you need. And the answer is no, not today. Today, I work on my career.”

“The souls here are quite impatient. I don’t know how much longer I can hold them off—”

“Not now. Give me one day without any ghosts. Otherwise, I’m not helping at all. It’s not too much to ask.”

His keen eyes studied her, seeming puzzled by her request. “I suppose it’s not.”

“Thank you.”

“Just one thing, before I go…”

Of course. Men always needed to have the last word. Even when they died and became ghosts.

“Yes?”

“Carousels are about history. Not only the pieces themselves, but what the artisans put into each one.”

Where was he going with this? Did he not think she knew these things?

“I know.”

He ran his fingers across the chipped manes and once-fancy bridles. “The craftspeople often put treasures inside the carousel pieces. Like a time capsule, something that signified their efforts.”

She walked over to where he stood. “I’ve read about it.”

“What do you think?”

Think? Why was he asking her this? She sought for an answer.

“It’s romantic? Sad, in a way, but also beautiful how the artists put a piece of themselves into the final product. Whether it’s their initials, a letter, or a piece of jewelry.”

In truth, she found the idea more than romantic. Artistic creation and preservation were essential, if only to return the favor she’d known as a child. Give others a chance to escape on a galloping horse while lyrical music played. Her favorite memory: summers spent with her aunt when her parents needed their three months of normalcy. Every day, Aunt Anzhela took her to the park to ride the carousel. The glittery lights, the fat musical notes and whistles bobbing up and down just like the long-mane horse she always chose—the experience freed her from the torment of her everyday existence.

“Amanda,” Declan began, his voice soft and empathetic. “These carousel pieces are bound to the people who created them.”

And the people who rode them—like me. She waited for him to say something, but he stood silent. “Why are you telling me this?”

Declan’s green eyes beamed. “Because you can use your gift to talk to those souls. Find out their stories. Share their passions with people today who ride the carousels they helped create.”

Amanda blinked. Declan was giving out career advice? He had an excellent point. If she did get the apprenticeship, she could help bring a voice to those artisans who created the carousels in the first place. But that would mean deliberately making use of her gift. Could she do that and hide her ability at the same time?

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“I know I’ve asked a great deal of you, and I appreciate your help. Just trying to let you know a way you can use your gift for your own interests too.”

He gave her a friendly salute and a smile before walking out the tent.

Leaving her alone with twenty carousel horses, all with untold stories to explore.