Kit arched his brows. “What?”
The men shook their heads, but Jack blurted, “You told him to pull in his head.”
Kit considered Jack, then mildly said, “Not, you will note, in those words.”
The men chortled. Miss Petty looked prim, but pleased.
Kit threw an arm around Jack’s bony shoulders and steered him back to the gantry. “Now, where were we?”
They worked like navvies, and by the end of the day, they’d hoisted the gantry, now a moveable frame suspended from the massive braced beams and running along the attached struts, above the workshop floor.
Miss Petty had left by then, but Kit, Wayland, Mulligan, and the carpenters—and Jack—stood looking up at their creation with, at least on Kit’s part, immense satisfaction.
He was in an excellent mood, not solely because of how much they’d managed to accomplish in the workshop, but because Sylvia had sent Peabody his way. Kit realized that, in his mind, he already saw himself as the principal champion of the school—and the fact Sylvia apparently viewed him in a similar light set warmth unfurling inside him.
That curious and richly satisfying glow filled his chest. He liked to feel needed, liked to make things happen—good things like bringing a yacht-building workshop into existence in a city starved of the jobs such an enterprise created. Like helping a threatened school to carry on and protecting it from those wishing it ill.
Helping Sylvia, helping the teachers, the boys, and all at the school, helping Wayland manifest his dreams, helping Mulligan and his crew and Jack the Lad...and, ultimately, helping himself.
For him, helping others in one guise or another was how he’d always found his greatest satisfaction, his deepest content.
He paid the men—and Jack—for the day, adding a little extra to each man’s wage and a little bit more again to Jack’s in appreciation of their sterling efforts.
His mood remained buoyant as he farewelled the men and Jack, then helped Wayland lock up the warehouse.
After parting from Wayland, Kit turned his footsteps toward his new home.
His heart felt remarkably light. He was in what Wayland had termed an uplifted mood, and he owed much of that to Sylvia and her willingness to accept his protection for her school.
CHAPTER 6
The following day was Saturday, a half day for most workers. Kit and Wayland joined Mulligan and the others in finishing off the gantry and the partitions for the offices.
After the men left at midday, Kit and Wayland continued lining the offices with oak planks.
At one point, Wayland stood, stretched, then shifted to stare out at their evolving workshop. “I can’t quite believe we’re not only here, but have got this far so quickly.”
Crouched by one wall with nails held between his teeth, Kit merely nodded. Once he’d used the nails to secure the next plank, he replied, “It is hard to take in. Everything’s fallen into place, and how often does that happen?” He rose, stretched his back, then joined Wayland at what would soon be the door to Wayland’s design office. “The offices won’t be ready on Monday, but the workshop is.” Kit couldn’t keep the enthusiasm from his voice. “We’ll be ready to welcome our workforce and plunge into the first project.”
Wayland nodded, his eagerness apparent. “I think we should set one team to finish the offices—perhaps under Shaw. He has a fine eye for detail. I’ll need the space soon, and I suspect Miss Petty will be glad to take possession of her office here, too.”
“No doubt. She’s another unexpected boon—who would have thought we’d find a secretary with actual experience of this sort of business?”
“Definitely an unlooked-for blessing.” Wayland went on, “I’ll set the second team of carpenters under Mulligan to make up the frame for our first hull.”
Kit shook his head in something approaching wonder. “Our first hull—at last!”
“So soon,” Wayland countered. “That’s what’s so remarkable.”
“It feels as if, in bringing our hopes and dreams here, now, at this moment in time, that we’ve fallen into a slot that was just waiting for someone like us to fill it.”
Wayland nodded. After several seconds more of drinking in the sight of their workshop ready for action, he moved back and picked up another board, then glanced at Kit as he did the same. “Actually, there’s something I wanted to suggest.”
Hefting up a board, Kit arched his brows, and Wayland went on, “Now we’re up and running, I think it’s time for a sign.” Balancing his board against one hip, he spread his hands in the air. “‘Cavanaugh Yachts. Home to quality ocean-going yachts.’”
Kit laughed. “You’ve been thinking.”
“Indeed. And I think it’s time we started advertising. Our first four hulls might be already spoken for, but we want to keep the work ticking over, and building an ocean-going yacht on spec is where this business gets risky.”