The big farmhouse table was spread with blueprints and coffee mugs when John leaned over, pointing at one of the sketches.
“So here’s the boys’ dorm on the north side, girls’ dorm on the south,” he said, tapping the paper. “Dining hall in the middle, small schoolhouse just past it. And here—Sunday school space. Luther’s already excited about that.”
Isobel traced the lines on the page with her fingertip, imagining the walls and windows coming to life. “It’s beautiful, but I’ll need to bring in a few certified teachers. I can take charge of the arts program—painting, music, theater—but the core classes need professionals.”
John smiled, easy and warm. “Already covered. Ryder told me to give you free rein—anything you need, no matter the cost. His words, not mine.”
Isobel’s breath caught j
