“It’s a specialty of mine, chicken pot pie.” She advanced into the kitchen and set the basket on the only clear spot available on eight feet of countertop.
If the living room was in mild disarray, the kitchen was in chaos. Spilled milk splashed across the tabletop looked like a work of modern art. What had managed to seep through pooled on the floor beneath.
Dirty dishes filled the sink, and the groceries he’d purchased two days earlier cluttered the countertops, along with discarded remnants from breakfast. No one had bothered to tell him milk-soaked cereal that dried onto the sides of a bowl required a blow torch to remove.
“I’ll have this mess cleaned up before you know it,” he promised.
Mrs. Merkle dismissed his offer with a brisk hand gesture and turned her head, but Seth thought he might have seen her roll her eyes. “You’re Judd and this must be Jason,” she said, grinning at the children. She removed the hatpin from her no-nonsense hat and set it aside.
The children were either mesmerized or terrified, Seth couldn’t decide which. They stared up at her with their mouths hanging open.
“Children, you can help by setting the table,” Mrs. Merkle instructed as she casually unfastened the large round buttons of her dark wool coat. She slipped it from her arms and carried it into the living room along with her hat and purse and laid them over the back of the sofa.
While she was out of the room, Seth dumped the tomato-paste-consistency soup down the sink, watching it gurgle like thick toxic waste as the pipe sucked it down. He whirled around guiltily when Mrs. Merkle returned, forgetting for the moment that Jason was clamped to his leg. His weight, although slight, nearly knocked him off-balance, and he caught himself by gripping hold of the edge of the counter.
Seeming not to notice either him or the twins, Mrs. Merkle went about readying dinner. She appeared to be grumbling under her breath. She placed the chicken pot pie in the oven to warm, wiped the table free of milk, and organized the kitchen with a skill and dexterity that left Seth astonished. He wanted to help, wanted to prove he wasn’t entirely worthless, but he couldn’t stop staring. The housekeeper moved with an effortless ease about the room while he stood with the children, watching her with his mouth gaping open in sheer wonder. After what seemed less than five minutes, she had dinner on a clean table, in a near spotless kitchen.
“Dinner’s ready,” she announced, turning to face him and the children.
“It’s a miracle,” Seth mused. It wasn’t until he heard the sound of his own voice that he realized he’d spoken aloud.
“Are you a miracle?” Judd asked the housekeeper outright.
Mrs. Merkle chuckled softly. “Now that, my fine fellow, is a matter of opinion.”
“Mrs. Miracle,” Jason announced, offering the new housekeeper a shy smile.
As far as Seth was concerned, the woman’s arrival couldn’t have been anything but divine providence. Mrs. Hampston had left a week earlier. Seven days, and as far as Seth was concerned the Middle Ages had passed faster.
He’d tried to work a regular forty-hour week, but his involvement with the Firecracker Project required far more of his time and effort than that allowed in a routine schedule. He’d been bringing what he could home with him and working until all hours of the morning, overdosing on caffeine and managing on four or five hours’ sleep a night. As a result he’d shortchanged his children and his employer, and he was killing himself in the process. Another week of this and he’d be a candidate for the loony bin.
Judd and Jason didn’t need to be encouraged to take their places at the table. His children weren’t fools. Dinner, especially one not cooked by their father, put them on their best behavior.
Once everyone was seated, Mrs. Merkle opened the oven door and brought out the hot, bubbling chicken pot pie. The crust was browned to perfection, and the tantalizing gravy leaked up through the sides. The scent all but made his knees go weak. Seth didn’t need to be urged to place his napkin in his lap and grip hold of his fork in eager anticipation.
“Wow,” Judd whispered, and looked to his dad. His tongue moistened his lips, and his eyes sparkled with eager anticipation.
Afterward Seth would have been hard-pressed to say when he’d enjoyed a meal more. He supposed he should be asking his new housekeeper for references, but he was too busy enjoying his dinner to take the time. She had a kind, honest face, but he’d been fooled before. Then again, she could well be the good-hearted, generous soul he’d requested from the beginning.
Frankly, he wasn’t keen on the agency’s placement tactics. They’d waited until he was at his wits’ end before sending him a new housekeeper. Since he was paying top dollar, one would think they’d want to please him.
“This is good,” Seth said, and helped himself to seconds.
“It’s an old family recipe that I’ve updated.”
Seth would have polished off a third slice of the succulent pie, but he was already stuffed. Placing his hands on his stomach, he excused himself and scooted back his chair.
“I’ll help Mrs. Mirkl…Mrs. Meeraki…Mrs. Miracle,” Jason burst forth triumphantly.
“I’ll help, too,” Judd insisted. Always before, his chauvinistic sons had insisted dishes were woman’s work. Even when Seth was up to his armpits in suds, risking dishwater hands, they had refused to help. This attitude, Seth suspected, was the result of living with their grandparents for the last several years. Jerry Palmer’s outdated views of what was and wasn’t fitting work for the male population had unfortunately rubbed off on his grandsons.
“You can both help,” Mrs. Merkle decided, pushing up her sleeves.
“When we’re finished, will you read to us?”
One dinner after a week of his cooking was all it took to win over his children, Seth noticed.
“You read, too?” To hear Jason talk, the woman’s talents were unlimited.
Seth had tried reading to his children before bed, but the only one he put to sleep was himself. He’d get warm and comfortable, and before he knew it, his eyes would start to droop and his head would nod. The next thing he knew, the twins would slip away silently and decide to help him by rewiring the house or turning the washer into a breadmaking machine.
“Will you be taking your coffee in the family room, Mr. Webster?” she asked.
“Yes, please.” It wasn’t until he was seated on the leather recliner that Seth wondered how it was his new housekeeper knew he routinely drank a cup of coffee with the evening newspaper following dinner. But then, it wasn’t such an unusual habit. Seth suspected half the male population read the evening paper over a cup of freshly brewed coffee.
Mrs. Merkle carried a steaming mug in to him a few minutes later. “I imagine you have a number of questions you’d like me to answer,” she said as she set the mug on the coaster. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to wait until I’ve tidied up in the kitchen and gotten the children down for the night.”
“Of course.” She was right; he should have a long list of questions, important ones. Naturally he’d want to read her references. These were his children, his own flesh and blood, his very reason for living. He’d need to be sure he wasn’t entrusting the twins to the care of a serial murderer.
Mrs. Merkle? Naw. A woman who could cook up a chicken pot pie that good was a gift from God. And who was he to question a miracle? Oh, he’d make a few basic inquiries, listen to her answers, but it would all be for show. The employment agency routinely screened their applicants. They would have already completed a background check and handled the necessary paperwork. Besides, any questions he might have about the suitability of a housekeeper concerned that old biddy Hampston. He never had cared for the woman, and it was all too apparent she’d been similarly inclined to dislike him. Although her leaving had been an inconvenience, it was for the best.
Seth dozed off while reading the sports section and woke to the sound of giggles and laughter. With his eyes closed he tried to picture what his life would have been li
ke had Pamela lived. Surely he would feel this contented, this relaxed. Resting after a long day at the office, his stomach full, his wife at his side, with the sound of his children’s laughter echoing through the house.
The picture was almost complete, except that he felt so desperately alone. Pamela was forever gone. His mother-in-law was right: it had been time to send the children back to him. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the twins. For four years he’d buried his grief and his loss in his job and reaped large financial rewards. The time had come for him to break out of his shell, if not for his own sake, then for those of his children.
Seth straightened, shocked to see that the laundry fiasco had disappeared. Other than the newspaper, which had slipped out of his hands and onto the carpet while he napped, the area resembled a furniture showroom. Inviting, cozy, tempting.
How Emily Merkle and his two rambunctious children had managed to clear away a truckload of clothes without him hearing was short of another supernatural event. Either that or he was more tired than he’d realized.
His interlude was interrupted by the sound of footsteps racing down the hallway. Seth lowered the footrest and stood. He found Jason, cheeks rosy red from the bath, wrapped in a large towel.
“As soon as you’re into your pajamas, I’ll get my book,” the new housekeeper offered.
“You won’t fall asleep, will you?” The inquiry came from Judd, who glanced meaningfully toward Seth.
“Don’t be so hard on your father. He needs to catch up on his sleep.”
The woman was not only a marvel in the kitchen, she was also a born mind-reader.
“Isn’t that right, Mr. Webster?”
He managed a nod, wondering how she knew he’d been burning the candle at both ends.
“Did you need me to carry in your luggage?”
“Luggage?” she repeated, and a look of surprise flashed in and out of her eyes. “Not to worry, I’ll get it myself.”
“I insist.” It was the least he could do.
“All right.” Again he noticed her hesitation. “I believe it should be on the porch…. That’s right, I left everything on the porch. I was so pleased when I learned of this new assignment that I packed as fast as I could.”
Seth prayed his twins wouldn’t give her reason to alter her opinion.
Humming what sounded surprisingly like a hymn, she returned to the children, ushering them like a mother hen out of the room.
Seth couldn’t remember a time Judd and Jason had taken so quickly to anyone. With every other housekeeper it had demanded the better part of a week before they’d been comfortable enough to address the woman. But then no housekeeper had arrived with a meal fit for a king. The vegetables had been so well disguised that neither Judd nor Jason had noticed.
“Mrs. Miracle…”
“Mrs. Miracle…”
Laughter erupted as the twins roared out of the bedroom, dressed in their pajamas, their wet hair combed away from their faces. Seth paused, seeing the joy and excitement in their eyes. It was something he’d viewed only on rare occasions since they’d moved back in with him.
A warmth seeped into his heart. For the first time in a very long while, he had hope for the future.
* * *
Country Pot Pie
1 stewing chicken—make it easy and buy canned chicken; they’ll never know the difference
1/3 cup butter
1/8 cup flour (more if necessary)
1 teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon pepper
½ teaspoon thyme
½ teaspoon rosemary
2 cups chicken broth
1 piecrust—the kind you buy in the refrigerator section of the local grocery works great
1 potato, cubed and boiled until tender
2 carrots, sliced and boiled until tender
1 cup light cream (evaporated milk works in a pinch)
1 small can onions
1 small can peas
Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Simmer chicken in water to cover for 45 minutes, or until tender. Remove meat from bones and reserve stock. Melt butter in saucepan and stir in flour, salt, pepper, thyme, and rosemary to make gravy. Gradually add broth and cream and cook over medium heat, stirring frequently until thickened and bubbly. Add the cubed chicken and vegetables to the gravy. Prepare the pie crust. Line a 13x9x2-inch pan or 2-quart casserole dish with 2/3 of the pie crust. Put the filling in the dough-lined pan, top with remaining crust and bake 15 minutes, or until crust is golden and the filling is bubbling.
* * *
Chapter 4
God wants spiritual fruit, not religious nuts.
—Mrs. Miracle
Harriett Foster prayed with one eye open as she studied the older, retired women in the Tuesday morning Martha and Mary Circle. She zeroed her prayer request toward Ruth Darling. Harriett had seen the way the sixty-year-old had been eyeing the new man in church. A married woman, mind you. Why, it was nothing short of scandalous. It was difficult enough for a widow like herself to find a new husband without having to compete with a married woman.
“Dear Lord,” Harriett said loudly, making sure her voice carried, “I’m selling my sewing machine. My Singer, Lord, with five separate attachments. Why, Lord, a person could embroider names on the thickest of towels with this machine. Hemming skirts at the proper length, of course, would be no problem, nor would it be difficult to attach buttons. Those of us suffering arthritis can appreciate a sewing machine with all those built-in extras.” She paused and surveyed the group once more. “This modern marvel was reconditioned only six months ago. I’m a reasonable woman, Lord, and you and I both know that my Singer, although ten years old, is well worth the hundred-dollar asking price. You’ve placed that figure upon my heart, and I don’t feel I can let it go for a penny less. You know that I’d gladly tithe my ten percent of that sales price, too.
“Now, I feel, Lord, that there’s someone in this very group of women who could use this machine. Theirs may be out of date, or in disrepair, whatever the reason, they need this machine. I ask, Father, that you lay it upon that person’s mind to buy my beautiful, looks-almost-new, Singer sewing machine.” She breathed in deeply and peeked at Ruth Darling to see if the group’s leader revealed any interest. To her disappointment, she saw nothing. Discouraged, Harriett murmured, “Amen.”
A low murmur of “Amens” followed.
Slowly the women opened their eyes and raised their heads.
“We’ll meet again next week, same time, same place,” Ruth Darling announced.
Harriett noticed a smile wobbling at the edges of Ruth’s mouth and wondered what it was that the group’s leader found amusing.
Ruth zipped up the pouch around her Bible and placed it inside her bag along with the study guide for the Book of Philippians.
“I don’t suppose you’d be interested in buying my Singer, would you?” Harriett asked, cornering Ruth. Sometimes a hint just wasn’t strong enough. If ever a woman needed something to occupy her time, it was Ruth. Naturally it’d be considered unkind to mention that she’d noticed Ruth’s roving eye, although Harriett was certain she wasn’t the only member of the Martha and Mary Circle to recognize what was happening. Personally Harriett wondered if Fred Darling had wind of it. Fred wasn’t the kind of man who would tolerate any hanky-panky from his wife.
Ruth glanced up. “I have a sewing machine.”
“New?” Harriett pressed.
“Fairly new.”
“I thought you said yours was ten years old?”
This came from Barbara Newton, and Harriett didn’t appreciate it. “It is, but as I said earlier, it’s been reconditioned.”
“My daughter might be interested.”
Harriett spun around. “Really?”
The door opened and the church secretary, Joanne Lawton, burst into the room. “Oh, good, you haven’t left yet. Ladies,” she said, clearly distressed, “I just got off the phone with Milly Waters. Joe’s been transferred…. It�
�s all rather sudden, and they’re leaving within the next two weeks.”
“Milly and Joe are moving?”
“Oh, dear, we’re going to miss them.”
A chorus of voices echoed, mixed with excitement and regrets. Joe and Milly were church favorites. Milly’s sunny disposition made her a popular Sunday school teacher, and the children loved her. Joe had been the Sunday school superintendent for several years running. They would both be sorely missed.
“What about the Christmas program?” Barbara Newton asked.
The mood of the room went into a tailspin. Milly had been working with the children for weeks, laying the groundwork for the Christmas pageant. Someone stepping in with just a month to go would have big shoes to fill.
Harriett took one step backward, not wanting to give the impression she might be interested. Not her. She’d served as a deaconess for three years, washing the communion cups after worship service, acting as a greeter. She’d sung with the choir twenty years or better and played piano for more Sunday evening services than she could count. Over the years she’d done it all and more. Her days of volunteering were over. Some might say she was resting on her laurels, and she’d let them.
The last thing she wanted or needed was to direct a group of loud, ungrateful schoolchildren. That was a task for the young, someone with more patience than she. Children, even her niece’s two girls, were more of a handful than she could take, other than in small doses.
Never having borne children of her own, Harriett fawned over Jayne, her only sister’s child. She didn’t see Jayne as often as she would have liked, but then young people didn’t respect their elders the way they should these days.
Ever since Jayne had started working at that travel agency with…Oh dear, she forgot the woman’s name now. She’d met her once or twice. Reba, that was it. Reba Maxwell. Since Jayne had started working with Reba, she hadn’t seen near enough of her, or Suzie and Cindy. The five-and seven-year-olds were as close to having grandchildren as Harriett was likely to get.
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