Family of the Heart

by Dorothy Clark

  “Not if you do not finish your breakfast, sweetie.” Sarah reached over and tapped the edge of the toddler’s plate. “Eat your egg so you will be ready to go with Quincy when he comes downstairs.” She cast a quick glance toward the open door at the bottom of the winder stairs. What was taking Quincy so long? Was something wrong? She frowned, nibbled at the soft corner of her upper lip. Perhaps she should go—

  “That egg not t’ your likin’?”

  Sarah jerked her attention to Eldora. The housekeeper’s expression was far too bland. It made her true thoughts very apparent. Sarah stiffened and picked up her fork. “The egg is fine.” She took a bite and swallowed any explanation for her preoccupation along with the food. To offer one would do not one whit of good. The woman was determined to believe what she wanted to believe. It was most frustrating. Neither Eldora nor Quincy would accept the fact that her concern was only for Clayton’s health—and for Nora’s sake—that she had no personal interest in the man. No matter what she said they merely nodded and smiled at her with that look in their eyes.

  Sarah took another bite of her egg, looked over at her charge and put down her fork. “You need a good wash, sweetie. The kitties will gobble you up if you go to the carriage house with bacon grease on your hands and egg smeared all around your mouth.” She rose and wet a cloth.

  Nora obediently lifted her face and held out her hands. “The kitties do this.” She licked at her washed hand.

  “No, the kitties would do this.” Sarah bent and nibbled at Nora’s pudgy little fingers. The toddler burst into giggles. Sarah smiled, got a towel and dried Nora’s face and hands.

  “Me see horsy. And me do—” The toddler bounced up and down on her chair.

  What did that mean? “Eldora?” Sarah looked to the housekeeper for help.

  Eldora chuckled and shrugged her round shoulders. “I’ve no notion what she means.” She went back to fixing Clayton’s breakfast tray.

  Boots pounded against stair treads. Quincy was coming. Sarah looked back at the toddler. Surely Quincy would not allow her to do something that could be dangerous for her. Still, he might have a different idea of what construed danger to a child. She lifted Nora into her arms. “What will you do, sweetie?”

  “Me do—” Nora bobbed up and down as best she could in Sarah’s tight hold.

  Deep male laughter erupted from behind her. “So you want another wheelbarrow ride, do you, missy?”

  “So that is what she meant!” Sarah laughed and turned to face Quincy. “I could not imagine…” She shook her head and kissed Nora’s soft cheek. “You be a good girl for Mr. and Mrs. Quincy, sweetie. And I will see you at nap time.” She gave Nora a last, quick hug and surrendered her to Quincy’s arms.

  Gracious! Sarah stopped beside the door and stared at Clayton. He was propped up against his pillows, clean-shaven, his hair brushed, and wearing a clean nightshirt. So that is what took Quincy so long. She tightened her grip on the tray and stepped into the room.

  Clayton opened his eyes.

  Sarah held back a frown. For all the improvement in his grooming, it was clearly evident he was still in pain. She could see it in the shadows in his eyes, the sallow tinge in his face, though his complexion looked more normal. And he had lost weight. Without the stubble of beard hiding his features it was obvious his cheekbones were more pronounced.

  “Good morning.” She placed the lap tray across his extended legs.

  “Good morning.” Clayton looked down. “What is this?”

  “Your breakfast.”

  “Broth?”

  Sarah glanced up, caught his frown. “Doctor’s orders. You are to have nothing solid to eat until Dr. Parker gives his permission.”

  “Dr. Parker is not the one who has not eaten for two days.”

  Sarah let the faulty math stand. Judging from his disgusted tone, Clayton would not take correction kindly. She shook out the napkin, spread it over his shirtfront and picked up the spoon. “Shall I feed you?”

  Clayton’s frown descended into darker regions. “I will feed myself—if I have the strength.”

  Her lips twitched. She pressed them together and handed him the spoon.

  “I amuse you?” He scooped up a spoonful of the broth, swallowed it and scooped up another.

  Sarah shook her head and poured him a cup of coffee. “I am not amused…exactly. I am pleased. Mother says, when a man who has been ill starts complaining it is a certain sign he is getting better.”

  “I see.” Clayton gave her a sour look. “I shall endeavor not to improve too much.”

  The laughter broke free. She couldn’t hold it in. “Forgive me. I did not mean—” she took a breath “—it is only…you sound like James.”

  “James?”

  The word was a growl. Sarah stared at Clayton’s face. His eyes had darkened to almost black and his lips were taut. He looked as if he could bite the spoon in half. He was feeling out of sorts. “Yes, James…my brother. The one who taught me to skip stones.”

  She studied his face. His mouth had softened, but still. “Is your pain severe? Would you like a cold cloth for your head?”

  “When I am finished with my breakfast.” He looked down and spooned up the last of his broth. “I ask your pardon, Miss Randolph. I should not have taken my frustration out on you.” He tossed his napkin on the tray and looked toward the windows. “I should be working. There is much yet to be done, and instead I am confined to this bed.” He put down the spoon and leaned back against the pillows.

  She handed him his cup of coffee. “Mr. Wexford is not capable of doing the work with your help and supervision?” He met her gaze and something bitter came into his eyes. He looked away.

  “Wexford is very capable—but he is a gentleman.”

  Sarah removed the tray. Her skirts swished softly as she carried it to the table by the stair door. “You make being a gentleman sound a disadvantage.”

  “Only when handling the tough men that make up our crews.”

  She turned back to face him. “You are a gentleman, and you handle them.”

  “There is a difference. I was raised here in Cincinnati, not in an eastern city.” He held her gaze with his. “I am a gentleman with rough edges. Mr. Wexford is more refined than I.”

  His face had gone taut again. The pain must be increasing. His effort at conversation was taking a toll. “Then you shall have to help Mr. Wexford develop some rough edges, Mr. Bainbridge. But for now, drink your coffee.” Sarah swerved toward the dressing room, looked back over her shoulder. “I shall be back presently with a cold cloth for your head.”

  Clayton scowled and watched Sarah disappear into the dressing room. Help Wexford develop some rough edges. She had missed his point about Wexford being an eastern-city-reared gentleman worthy to be considered as a potential husband entirely. And that little speech had cost him.

  He sagged back into the pillows and closed his eyes against the bright sunlight pouring in the windows. He would try again to make her look at Wexford with favor. Later. After the throbbing in his head eased…

  “And did you have a ride in the wheelbarrow?” Sarah dried Nora’s face and hands, brushed the last of the bits of straw out of her hair.

  The toddler nodded, beamed up at her. “An’ we founded the kitties’ mommy. She does—” Nora hunched her little shoulders and imitated a hissing cat.

  Sarah laughed and tugged a soft cotton slip over Nora’s head. The little girl pushed her small arms through the banded openings, stretched them into the air and yawned. Sarah smiled, sat on the bench Nora was standing on and pulled her onto her lap. The toddler stuck her thumb in her mouth, leaned back and closed her eyes. Sarah dropped a kiss on top of Nora’s golden curls and pulled clean stockings on over her small, bare feet.

  Knuckles rapped against her partially open door—Quincy’s signal that he had finished tending to Clayton’s personal needs and she could return to his room. She rose. The rap repeated.

  Sarah frowned. Was something
wrong? She turned Nora in her arms so the toddler’s head rested against her shoulder and hurried into her bedroom. “Yes, Quincy?”

  “Wanted to let you know I have errands to run that will keep me busy all afternoon.”

  Sarah nodded. “Very well. Tell Eldora I shall keep Nora with me.” The very opportunity she had been waiting for—praying for. She waited until Quincy had gone down the stairs and into the kitchen, then closed her eyes. “Please let this work, Lord. Please let Clayton Bainbridge accept Nora and learn to love her. Please—”

  Do not entertain doubt.

  Sarah took a breath and looked toward the ceiling. “Thank You, Lord, for giving me this opportunity to bring Clayton Bainbridge and his daughter together. He shall learn to accept and love her, by Your grace. For I pray it in Your Holy Name. Amen.”

  Sarah carried Nora across the landing and into Clayton’s bedroom. Her gaze met Clayton’s as soon as she stepped beyond the door. Surely he could not have heard her whispered words? Heat climbed into her face. She ducked her head to hide her burning cheeks, hurried to the corner and went onto her knees to put Nora down for her nap.

  “Keep your right leg straight and slowly lift your foot six inches off the bed. Does it hurt?”

  Sarah paused on the stairs to hear Clayton’s answer to the doctor’s question.

  “A little.”

  She breathed out a sigh of relief and hurried up the last two steps.

  “Do the same with your left leg.”

  “Ugh.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes at Clayton’s grunt of pain.

  “That one doesn’t want to work, eh? Not surprised. That is a bad bruise on your back. Does it hurt if I press here?”

  Sarah could hear Clayton’s sharp, indrawn breath all the way out on the landing. She clasped her hands. Please, Almighty God—

  “It’s a piece of luck whatever hit you missed your spine.”

  “It does not feel lucky.” The words were choked, breathless.

  The doctor chuckled. “Nonetheless, I think you will be good as new if you stay still and let these muscles heal. Of course, that knock to your head will keep you quiet a few more days. Lump’s almost gone. Gash is healing well, but there is no way to know what is going on inside your skull.”

  “Feels like someone is using a sledge to drive spikes behind my eyes.”

  Sarah’s stomach turned over. She took a long breath to squelch a surge of nausea and blinked tears from her eyes.

  “You will make it worse if you move around. Now let me fetch that pretty nurse of yours.” The doctor’s footsteps approached the door.

  If Clayton saw her hovering on the landing, listening—Sarah whirled and dashed through her bedroom door.

  “Miss Randolph?”

  Sarah took a breath, counted to five and opened her door. “Yes, Doctor?”

  “You can come back in now.” He led the way to Clayton’s bed and picked up his bag. “He’s to stay in bed until I see him again in a few days.”

  “A few days! See here, Doc, I have responsibilities—”

  Dr. Parker clamped his free hand on Clayton’s shoulder. “Do as I say, son. If you do yourself harm, you could be in that bed for weeks.” He glanced across the bed to her. “He’s stubborn as his grandpap. Tie him there if you have to.” He slapped his hat on his head and strode to the door.

  Sarah glanced at Clayton’s scowling face and hurried into the hall after the doctor. “Excuse me, Dr. Parker, but what about his food? Is he to have only broth, or—”

  The doctor paused at the top of the stairs and looked back at her. “No, regular food is fine. Keepin’ him quiet is the main thing.” His lips twitched. “I think you may have a time doing that, Miss Randolph. Good day.”

  “Good day, Dr. Parker.”

  Sarah watched him disappear down the stairs, squared her shoulders and marched back into the room prepared for battle. Clayton was sagged against his pillows, his face pale, his eyes closed. She hurried to the dressing room, wet a cloth and rushed back. She leaned down and placed it on his forehead. Her hands brushed his cheeks.

  Clayton opened his eyes, looked straight into hers.

  Her heart leaped, felt as if it might escape her chest. Sarah covered the spot with her hand, drew back, struggled for breath from lungs that refused to fill. “I—I have to get Nora.” She groped for the corner post of the bed, turned and started toward the winder stairs, her need to be away from Clayton Bainbridge lending strength to her weak, shaking knees.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sarah tuned out the murmur of the men’s voices and cast a longing glance at the door to the hallway. How she would love to go outside for a walk. Of course that was impossible. But it had been so long since she had been alone. Since she had had time to think. That was her problem. She was quite certain of that. She loved Aaron. She did. So why could she not recall his face?

  Sarah wrapped her arms around her waist and stared out the window. The sun was sinking behind the hill, throwing its golden light upward to outline the layers of clouds in a last defiant gesture to ward off the coming night. The lengthening shadows below the hill’s crest announced it was a losing battle. It would soon be dark. She did not even shiver. She was too busy to have time to worry over the dark of night.

  And that must be the reason she could not remember Aaron. She was simply too busy. The activity had chased all thought of him from her mind. Sarah sighed and closed her eyes. He had hazel eyes, with deep wrinkles at the corners from squinting out over the ocean in the sunshine. And thick, dark brows. And a neatly trimmed beard and mustache streaked with gray. His nose was long and—She frowned, pursed her lips. If she could remember his features one by one, why could she not see his face?

  “Miss Randolph.”

  Sarah lowered her arms and turned. John Wexford stood a few feet from her with his hat in his hand and Clayton’s leather pouch slung over his shoulder.

  “Forgive me for interrupting your thoughts, Miss Randolph, but I am taking my leave and wanted to wish you a good evening.”

  “You have arrived at a solution for your emergency, Mr. Wexford?” She looked down and straightened a fold in her skirt to avoid his intent gaze.

  “Yes. Mr. Bainbridge has been most helpful.”

  “How fortunate you have him to call upon.” She looked up and gave him a polite smile of dismissal. “I wish you well as you endeavor to carry out Mr. Bainbridge’s instructions.”

  The young man’s warm smile faded. He gave her a puzzled look, dipped his head and left the room.

  Silence fell. The light outside waned; the shadows in the room deepened. Sarah walked to the table and adjusted the wick on the lamp to give more light.

  “An excellent man, John Wexford. Would you not agree, Miss Randolph?”

  Sarah darted a glance at the bed. “I am sure he is very capable.” She pushed a stray lock of hair into place and moved back to the window, unwilling to risk looking into Clayton Bainbridge’s blue eyes again. She wanted to think about hazel eyes that looked at her with adoration, that made her feel comfortable and safe, not…discomposed.

  “I was not speaking about work, I meant in a personal way. Would you not agree he is a very eligible bachelor who will make some fortunate lady an excellent husband?”

  “Perhaps.” Why did he not leave her alone? Could he not tell she was in no mood to converse? She did not want to think about John Wexford or any other man. She wanted to remember Aaron.

  “You sound doubtful, Miss Randolph.” Clayton’s voice was quiet, insistent. “Have you an objection to Mr. Wexford?”

  Sarah blew out a breath and pivoted. “I have neither objection nor opinion of Mr. Wexford, Mr. Bainbridge. You are a leader of men, and as such are experienced at judging character. I shall leave any decision as to Mr. Wexford’s suitability as a husband to you and whatever lady you are considering as a possible bride for him.”

  “I was considering you, Miss Randolph.”

  Sarah gasped, went rigid
. “You overstep your bounds, Mr. Bainbridge! You are my employer, not my father.”

  “That is true.” Clayton stared into her eyes. “But I cannot help but notice Mr. Wexford’s interest in you. And, as you are alone without family here in Cincinnati—and under my care as it were—I thought it prudent to offer a bit of guidance as to his recommendation as a possible suitor.”

  The gall of the man. Sarah clenched her hands. “Well, you may forget prudence, sir. I am not a child, nor am I your responsibility.” She took a step forward, jutted her chin into the air. “And I am perfectly capable of choosing any possible suitor for myself. Indeed, I did so while residing in my father’s house.” Oh, Aaron, why did you have to die? I had my life all arranged.

  Her ire fled. The starch left her spine and shoulders. Sarah blinked her eyes, turned back toward the window and stared at her blurry reflection against the darkness. “As for Mr. Wexford, he may take his interest elsewhere. I do not wish his attentions—or those of any other man.”

  Clayton stared at Sarah. That sadness he had noticed in the drawing room the night he had told her of his grandparents was on her again. So it had to do with a man. Who had hurt her? He scowled, fisted his hands, then slowly relaxed them. Sarah Randolph’s life was not his concern. It was his feeling for her that created a problem.

  He lifted his hands and rubbed at his throbbing temples. If only he were not confined to this bed. If only she were not the one caring for him. It was torture to have her so near him every day. And the nights—waking and seeing her sleeping in the rocker beside his bed…

  Clayton gritted his teeth so hard his jaw cramped. Reminding himself Sarah was a test of his resolve did not help. And his plan to avoid her—An idiot racing a scraper had taken care of that. He threw a dark look toward the ceiling. You must be amused at how well You destroyed that strategy, God. Were You laughing while I thought up the scheme, and the one to interest her in Wexford as well? That has come to naught, also.

  Clayton closed his eyes, hearing the fabric of Sarah’s dress whispering as she moved. Those gowns. Their very simplicity enhanced Sarah’s beauty, revealed in greater measure the grace of her movements. He tried not to, but the temptation to look at her was too great. He opened his eyes and watched her walk over to the corner, kneel down and straighten the blanket over the child. She would be a wonderful mother. If only—