“Don't let him be modest.” A voice came from the back of the workshop, and Thomas Walker emerged from behind a large cabinet. He was an older version of Gabriel, the same broad shoulders and dark hair, though his was now shot through with gray. “Gabriel is the heart of this operation. Has been since he came back from Boston.”
Paolo extended his hand. “Thomas. It's good to see you again.”
“Mr. Moretti.” He shook his hand with a grip that was firm and calloused. “Welcome to our humble workshop.”
“There's nothing humble about this.” Maggie gestured at the room around them. “This is remarkable work.”
Thomas smiled, the same smile she had seen on Gabriel's face earlier. “We do our best. Every piece that leaves here carries a little bit of us with it.”
He gave her a tour, explaining the different projects they were working on. A bedroom set for a family in Connecticut. A custom bookcase for a library in New Hampshire. A rocking chair that had been commissioned as a gift for a new grandmother. Each piece had a story, a purpose, a destination. Maggie listened, fascinated by this world she had never known existed, this craft that her son-in-law and his family had dedicated their lives to mastering.
“And this,” Thomas said, leading her to a corner of the workshop where two small cribs stood side by side, “is our most important project.”
The cribs were beautiful. Simple in design but flawless in execution, the wood smooth and warm, the corners gently rounded. Maggie ran her fingers along the railing of one and felt her eyes prick with tears.
“You made these for the babies,” she said.
“Gabriel did most of the work. I helped with the details.”Thomas looked at his son with undisguised pride. “He's been working on them for months. Wanted them to be perfect.”
Gabriel shifted uncomfortably. “They're just cribs, Dad.”
“They're not just anything. They're the first bed your children will sleep in. The place where they'll dream their first dreams.” Thomas put a hand on Gabriel's shoulder. “That matters.”
“Very nice work,” Paolo added.
Maggie thought about the cribs her own children had slept in. Purchased from a store, functional but impersonal. She had never considered having them made by hand, had never imagined the difference it might make. But standing here, looking at these two small beds crafted with such care and intention, she understood.
Her grandchildren would sleep in cribs made by their father and grandfather. They would grow up on a farm, surrounded by orchards and workshops and the rhythm of rural life. They would have a childhood utterly different from the one Beth had known, different from anything Maggie could have imagined when she was raising her own children in that Andover house.
And that was good. That was right. That was the way life was supposed to work, each generation building something new while carrying forward what mattered from the past.
“Beth is very lucky,” she said. “To have you. All of you.”
“We're the lucky ones,” Gabriel said. “She changed everything when she came into our lives.”
They talked for a while longer, about the business and the orchard and the plans for the coming season. James arrived, Gabriel's younger brother, and added his own perspective to the conversation. He was quieter than Gabriel, more reserved, but his passion for the work was evident in the way he talked about wood grain and joinery techniques.
By the time Maggie and Paolo walked back to the house, the sun was fully up and the day had begun in earnest. Maggie could see movement through the kitchen window, Chelsea probablycleaning up from breakfast, and she felt a surge of gratitude for these people, this place, this moment in time.
Paolo kissed Maggie on the cheek, “I’ve got to make a call to Sanibellia,” Paolo said. “I’ll catch up with you in a bit.”
Beth sat on the porch when Maggie came around the corner, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, her face turned toward the sun.
“Enjoying the morning?” Maggie asked, climbing the steps to join her.
“Trying to. The babies are restless today.” Beth shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. “I think they know something is happening.”
“They probably do. Babies are perceptive, even before they're born.”
Beth was quiet for a moment, her hand resting on her belly. “Mom? Thank you. For talking to Gabriel this morning. For helping him understand.”
“I didn't do anything. You two figured it out yourselves.”
“You helped. You always help.” Beth looked at her mother, her eyes bright with emotion. “I'm really glad you're here.”
Maggie sat down beside her daughter and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, careful of the bulk of her belly. “There's nowhere else I'd rather be.”
They sat together in the morning sunshine, looking out at the orchard, at this farm that had become Beth's home. The rooster crowed again in the distance. A tractor rumbled somewhere out of sight. The sounds of a life Maggie had never known, a world her daughter had chosen, a future that was unfolding in ways she could never have predicted.
