She was happy that Mrs. Granger not only seemed to have been expecting her, but even greeted her with a wide smile.
“Oh, Callie, I’m so glad that you’re here and you’re going to be Becky’s nanny. I told Mr. Lockhart you’ll be good for that poor mite.”
“You did?” She hadn’t anticipated Mrs. Granger’s commendation, but she appreciated it. “Thank you.”
“You’re ever so welcome, dearie. That dear child has been lost since her mother died. As has her poor papa,” she added conscientiously. Callie suppressed a sniff. “We all try to give her as much attention as we can, but we have our other jobs to do.”
“I see. I’m glad to be here.”
Monster took that opportunity to let out a howl. His howls reminded Callie of stories she’d read about banshees on Irish moors. Were there moors in Ireland? Well, never mind. The shocked expression on Mrs. Granger’s face needed attending to before the banshees did.
“Er, I took the liberty of bringing my cat, Mrs. Granger. I hope that won’t cause a problem. He’s a lovely cat, really. He’s a little nervous at the moment, because he’s come all this way in a basket in a bumpy wagon.”
Mrs. Granger eyed the basket doubtfully. “Well . . .”
“Becky told me she wanted a cat,” Callie told her, feeling desperate.
It was the right thing to have said. Mrs. Granger’s doubt faded into a sad frown. “Yes. I know the darling girl wants a pet. I hope Mr. Lockhart won’t he upset about it.”
So did Callie. “I’ll keep him in my room at first. Until he gets used to his new home. And I’ll fix him a sandbox.”
With a slow nod, Mrs. Granger said, “Yes. That’s the best thing to do.”
Although she didn’t say so, Callie imagined Mrs. Granger would have liked to add that perhaps it would be best to keep the cat in her room forever. But Callie was an optimist by nature, and she gave the housekeeper a big smile. “Wonderful! I’m very excited about this new job, Mrs. Granger. I’m very fond of Becky already, and I’m hoping I can be of some help to her.”
Mrs. Granger gave her shoulder a pat. “I’m sure you can, dearie. Here, come along inside.” She leaned out the door and smiled at George, who had grown up and gone to school with her own boy. “Come on in with her bags, George. We have a pretty room all fixed up for your sister.”
“Right-oh.” The ever-agreeable George picked up Callie’s two small pieces of luggage—a bandbox and a carpetbag—and toted them into the kitchen. He stopped and sniffed the air. “Smells good in here.”
“We’re having one of Becky’s favorites tonight.” Mrs. Granger gave Callie a confiding look. “The sweet child. She asked if we could have chicken and dumplings for special, because you were coming to live with us.”
Callie told herself not to get emotional over every little thing. But it was considerate of the little girl to want to feed Callie a special meal on her first night in her home, even if Callie didn’t particularly care for chicken and dumplings.
“That’s very nice of her.”
The housekeeper heaved a huge sigh. “She’s a darling. She’s just like her late mother.”
“Yes. I’ve heard that. She looks like her, too.”
“Oh, my, yes. Mr. Lockhart, he’s so dark and all. But Becky has her mother’s blond hair and blue eyes. Why, they look like they were molded by the same hand.”
How poetic. Callie murmured, “Yes, indeed,” as she followed the housekeeper up the back stairs. She and George exchanged a glance, and George winked at her. She felt good about this job. Confident. Secure.
Well, perhaps not secure. But she was absolutely confident that she could be of some assistance to Becky, and that was the important thing.
At the top of the stairs, Mrs. Granger spoke again. “Most of the servants sleep on the third floor, but Becky asked especially that you be allowed to have the room next to hers.”
“That was kind of her.”
The older woman heaved a dolorous sigh. “She’s been awfully lonely these past few months.” Shaking her head, Mrs. Granger indicated the closed door of a bedroom to her right. “This is her room here.” With another confidential expression, she said quietly, “And you ought to see it, too. It’s a dollhouse of a room, CaIlie. All pink and white and frilly. It’s just beautiful. Her mother and father went to great pains to pick out everything just the way they wanted it.”
This news surprised Callie. “Her father helped?”
“Oh, my, yes. Why, the poor man used to dote on his wife and Becky. He indulged their every whim. He even took them to San .Francisco to pick the fabrics for little Becky’s tester and counterpane—all pink-and-white gingham checks, don’t you know, with white cotton lace edging it all. Mrs. Lockhart’s death crushed him “
It must have. “I had no idea.”
The housekeeper sighed soulfully. “There ought to be three or four little children playing in this grand house. Then Becky wouldn’t be so lost and alone and neither would her papa. But it pleased the good Lord to call Mrs. Lockhart to a new home.” She shook her head.
Perhaps, Callie thought, she ought to go a little easier on Aubrey Lockhart. At least until she got to know more about the family as a whole.
On the other hand, Callie didn’t think she could ever really forgive him for abandoning his daughter. She didn’t doubt for a minute that his wife’s death had hurt him and broken his spirit. But he owed it to his wife’s memory and his still-living daughter to be of solace to the child, blast it.
Her firm and negative opinions about Mr. Aubrey Lockhart flew smack out of her head as soon as Mrs. Granger opened the door to the room Becky had picked for Callie.
“Good heavens!”
Mrs. Granger beamed. “Lovely, isn’t it?”
Callie swallowed and slowly entered the room. “It certainly is.” She set Monster’s wicker basket down next to the fireplace. The animal set up a yowl that faded into a hiss of fury, but Callie paid him no mind.
“Jumping cats, Callie, this is a sight better than anything you’ve ever lived in before.” George stomped into the room and dumped her luggage on the bed.
Darting over and retrieving the two small bags, Callie whispered, “George! Don’t put them there!”
He laughed indulgently. “Callie-coe, sweetheart, your two little bags aren’t going to ruin that counterpane, even if it is a fine one.”
She set the bags on the magnificent blue-and-white Chinese rug laid before the fireplace, precipitating a low grown from Monster, next to the bags. “I suppose not, but . . . well, it seems like sacrilege to me.” She laughed at herself and her silliness.
So did George. Mrs. Granger looked sort of shocked. Callie hastened to reassure her that the two Prophets weren’t complete heathens. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Granger. It’s only that I’ve never even seen a room as beautifully furnished as this one. I never expected to be sleeping in one, and that’s a fact.”
Her words seemed to soothe Mrs. Granger’s feelings. She folded her hands under her apron and beamed as her gaze swept the room. “I know. Isn’t it something?”
“It is, indeed.”
Callie’s gaze went from the spectacular Chinese rug before the fireplace to the equally lovely and much larger one that covered most of the rest of the polished cedar floor. Evidently Mr. Lockhart’s Chinese imports weren’t all sold to create income, but many of them had been diverted to his own home. Callie was glad of it. She wasn’t going to mind in the least being able to live in the middle of such luxury and only hoped she wouldn’t get too used to it. She sure liked it so far.
The furniture was all made of a gleaming dark wood, covered with ornate carvings. The pearl inlays in the dressing table and mirror accented the beautiful designs worked into the wood.
“Lord love us, Callie, you’ll never want to go home again,” George said.
Detecting a slight edge to his words—or perhaps the edge was in his voice—Callie dragged her attention away from the blue-and-white goddess res
iding on the mantelpiece and focused on him. He looked worried. “What’s the matter, George?”
He shrugged. “Nothing, I guess. I just—” He stopped speaking suddenly.
Bemused, Callie said, “You what? Come on, George, spit it out.”
He grinned. “Spit? In this place?” His smile disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. “I just hope you don’t get too accustomed to this kind of living, Callie. It might be hard to come back to the real world if you get too used to this one.”
“George! Do you really think I’m so petty as to be swayed into neglecting my family by wealth and overt displays of opulence? I know what matters in this life, George Prophet. Believe me.” Because it was true, and because George had hurt her feelings, she added, “You, of all people, ought to know that my family is more important to me than anything else on earth.”
With two giant steps, Callie’s brother had her in his arms and was giving her a bear hug. “I’m sorry, Callie-coe. I know you won’t let your head get swelled by this stuff. It’s just that we Prophets have to stick together.”
“You bet,” Callie said—somewhat thickly since there was a lump in her throat and her mouth was buried in George’s flannel shirtfront.
A low sniffle from Mrs. Granger separated the Prophet siblings.
Callie was shocked to see the housekeeper dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. “Mrs. Granger! Are you all right?”
The older woman nodded. “Oh, yes, Callie. It’s only that you two are so close, and I think it’s wonderful. Sometimes I wish Becky could belong to your family.”
“My goodness.” Callie was surprised that her own family’s closeness should inspire such appreciation from a person who wasn’t a member of the Prophet clan, although she’d often wished much the same thing for the lonely little Lockhart girl. She stepped away from her brother, took a deep, refreshing breath, and said, “So, now . . . Well, thank you, George. I’ll let you know how things go. Give my love to Marie and the children.”
He saluted smartly. “Will do. Take care of yourself, Callie.”
“I will.” The mention of Marie, George’s darling, plump wife, and of their adorable children brought something to mind. “Say, George, after I get settled in and know what’s what, perhaps Becky and I can come to visit the children.”
George shrugged. “Sure. Don’t see why not.” He gave her another breathtaking hug. “Let us know if you need anything.”
As if she’d need anything now that she was living here. Another glance around the room she’d be occupying nearly left Callie speechless. Nothing could render a Prophet speechless for long, however, and she smiled at her brother and said, “Will do. Thanks for bringing me, George.”
“Right-oh. See you later, Callie. He tipped his hat at the housekeeper. “Mrs. Granger. Any messages you want me to deliver in town? I’m off to the store now.”
“Thank you, George. I don’t think so.”
Callie could tell his offer had pleased the older woman, though. God bless George. God bless all of my family. Even the youngest members of the Prophet clan knew how to put people at their ease.
They also had a gift for making people like them—mainly because they took a genuine interest in others. Callie considered this Prophet characteristic a true blessing. She hoped she’d be able to use it to good effect with Becky Lockhart.
Speaking of Becky, Callie had no sooner bidden her brother good-bye and politely declined Mrs. Granger’s offer of assistance in unpacking, when a tiny knock came at her bedroom door.
When she opened the door, her heart lit up when she beheld Becky, her hands clasped tightly, looking up at her with anxious eyes. Poor little mite, as Mrs. Granger might say.
Throwing her arms wide, Callie cried, “Becky! How lovely to see you! Would you like to come in and help me unpack?”
Instantly the hands unclasped and the aspect of anxiety vanished from the beautiful blue eyes. A huge smile lit Becky’s features, and she all but leapt into Callie’s arms.
“Oh, yes! Please!”
So Callie carried Becky into her room and plunked her down on the fireplace rug. “This is a beautiful room, Becky. It’s the prettiest room I’ve ever seen.”
“Do you like it?”
“I love it.”
The eagerness on the pert, pretty face made Callie’s heart ache. The tyke was astoundingly anxious to please. Callie chalked it up to her trying so hard to please her father for so long.
“Say, Becky, I have something here that might interest you,” Callie said as she walked over to the fireplace where odd grumbling noises could be heard issuing from the wicker basket. “But you’d probably better sit in that chair over there.” She pointed to an ornately carved, straight-backed chair with a gorgeous embroidered silk cushion, shoved into the kneehole of a matching writing desk. She adopted a mysterious mien and waggled her eyebrows. “You never know what might pop out of this basket.”
Becky’s eyes went as round as pie plates. “You don’t?”
Because the little girl looked a trifle worried, Callie dropped the mysterious stuff and grinned at her. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. It’s nothing bad. But it might be a little”— she paused while she attempted to come up with a good word to describe an irate Monster—“um, bouncy.” She supposed that was as good as any.
Her uneasiness assuaged, Becky trotted over to the desk, pulled out the chair, and climbed up onto the seat. She looked tiny and sweet, and Callie watched her with a swelling in her heart. How could anyone not positively dote on such a pretty, well-behaved, darling of a girl? Again she longed to get Aubrey’s attention—the thought of beating him with a stick appealed to her—and forcing him to focus on his daughter.
As if remembering lessons imparted by her late, lamented mother, Becky straightened her skirts and folded her hands in her lap. Callie thought her heart would burst with love and pity for this very proper, sober child. She asked softly, “All ready?”
Becky nodded. She looked extremely serious. “All ready.”
“All right now. Hold on to your seat.” She didn’t realize until after she’d untied the rope ties and lifted the lid of the basket that Becky had taken her literally and unfolded her hands to grip the chair seat.
The emergence of Monster with a hiss and a spit was simultaneous with a gasp from his seated audience. He leaped out of the basket as if his legs were attached to springs.
“Oh, Miss Prophet!” Becky, unable to restrain herself, clapped.
Monster didn’t like the clapping noise one teensy bit. He stopped dead still, arched his back, and looked for a second like a twenty-pound, jet-black and very furry porcupine with every single one of his multitudinous hairs abristle.
Callie said, “Oh, stop it, Monster.”
“Monster?” The word was a breathless gasp.
Walking across the room, Callie held out both hands to Becky. She smiled her most comforting and charming smile.
“It’ll be Mister Monster to you, Becky love. Until he gets to know you. We have to maintain our decorum, after all.” She laughed to let the little girl know she was joshing.
“Oh, Miss Prophet.” Her eyes still wide, Becky gripped Callie’s hand. “Oh, Miss Prophet, he’s beautiful!”
The breathless quality of Becky’s voice captured Callie’s attention. She watched the little face with interest. She’d never seen the child’s eyes so huge or so fascinated. Good, she decided. The poor little thing needed to have something besides her loss to occupy her mind.
Speaking softly so as to disturb neither cat nor child, Callie said, “I hope you and he will like each other.”
“I like him already.”
Callie grinned. “Good. Believe it or not, he really likes to play. I have a ball he bats around like a baseball player.”
Becky giggled. “Why’s he called Monster?”
“It is sort of an undignified name, isn’t it?”
Becky nodded.
“It’s because he’s so big. And also
because when he came to live with me, I already had an elderly lady cat named Miss Naomi. Miss Naomi didn’t like the invader at all.”
“She didn’t?” The girl sounded astounded.
“No, indeed. Miss Naomi didn’t like sharing.”
“Oh. Her feelings were hurt.”
“Exactly. So, since he’s so big and he sort of took over without waiting to be asked, I started calling him Monster.”
“Ezackly,” Becky repeated, nodding with understanding.
“They got used to each other after a while. Miss Naomi even started treating him like her own kitten.”
Callie realized Becky had left off staring at Monster, and was now looking up at her. She smiled. “What is it, Becky? Do you have a question?”
Becky nodded. “Where’s Miss Naomi?”
Oh, dear. The question took Callie by surprise. She could have kicked herself for not having thought about it before telling Becky about Miss Naomi. She had hoped that by bringing Monster with her, she would help Becky forget about death, not remind her of it. Still, it wouldn’t do to lie.
“Miss Naomi died last winter, sweetheart. She was almost twenty years old. That’s pretty old for a cat.”
“My mama was twenty-nine,” Becky said gravely. “Is that old for a lady?”
Again, Callie’s heart stumbled and ached. “No, sweetheart. That’s not old at all. But your mama got sick. It was a terrible shame.” And if that wasn’t an understatement, Callie didn’t know what was.
But Becky only nodded again, as if she were filing this piece of information away to retrieve and study later. “My papa said she was too young to die.”
Lord in heaven. Fearing she’d cry if they continued to talk about Becky’s mama, Callie said bracingly, “It will probably take Monster a little while to get used to his new surroundings, Becky, so I’m going to keep him in my room for a few days. Cats don’t like change much.”
Becky nodded solemnly, as if she understood the cat’s qualms. “I don’t, neither.”
Heaven Sent Page 3
