Chapter 26 - The New Studio
With Lucas off to college in the East and Evie taking over the primary management of the clockmaking division, Nathan and I decided it was time to expand our horizons.
We purchased a derelict 19th-century brick carriage house along the Des Plaines River, nestled among ancient weeping willows and wild lilacs. For eight months, the entire family pitched in to restore it. Vincent’s apprentices framed the heavy oak timber rafters; Nathan restored the historic cupola clock that crowned the roof; my mother planted heirloom roses and hydrangeas along the stone pathways; and Clara, now eleven, proudly claimed the sunny loft as her painting and design studio.
On the day of our official ribbon-cutting, the air was warm with the scent of pine shavings, river water, and brewing coffee. A brass plaque beside the double arched doors read: Bell & Carter Restoration Arts — Where History Finds a Home.
Nathan and I stood on the wide timber deck overlooking the river, watching the water swirl gently over the smooth river stones.
"Remember when you told me you weren't ready for dinner?" Nathan asked softly, leaning his hip against the railing and handing me a porcelain mug of cinnamon tea.
"I remember," I laughed, leaning my head against his shoulder. "You told me that thinking before applying pressure was useful."
"Best advice I ever gave myself," he smiled, kissing my forehead. "Look at this place, Claire. Look at what you made."
Through the tall mullioned windows of the workshop, we could see Evie demonstrating the delicate assembly of an antique French carriage clock to a group of eager teenage apprentices. In the courtyard, Clara was sketching the old willow tree while my mother and Vivian sat in wicker chairs, sharing a plate of lemon shortbread.
Suddenly, the gravel crunch of a car announced a visitor. A modest hybrid sedan pulled into the driveway, and a young woman stepped out. She looked no older than twenty-two, wearing a faded denim jacket, clutching a rolled-up set of architectural blueprints. Her eyes held that unmistakable mixture of fierce talent and quiet hesitation that I recognized instantly.
I walked down the porch steps to greet her. "Hello. Can we help you?"
"Are you Claire Carter-Bell?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. "My name is Maya. I... I just aged out of the state foster care program. I spent two years at the Batavia Timber Guild, and Mr. Carter told me that if I wanted to learn how to restore 18th-century dovetail joints, there was only one woman in Illinois I should learn from."
My chest tightened with sudden, radiant warmth. I looked back at Nathan, who gave me a slow, knowing smile.
May you like
"Come inside, Maya," I said, holding the heavy oak door wide open. "Let's pour some tea, unroll those blueprints, and see what you've got."
As she stepped across the threshold, her shoulders visibly relaxed, shedding the weight of an uncertain past as she walked into the light of our workshop. This was our true legacy: not the awards on the wall, not the historical buildings we saved, but the open door we offered to anyone searching for a place to begin again.
