Heaven Sent

by Duncan, Alice

  Callie scolded herself for the uncharitable thought. Becky’s papa was not a beast, even if he didn’t behave the way she thought he ought. Not often enough, anyhow.

  The closer they came to the village of Santa Angelica, the more children they saw making their ways to the tiny schoolhouse. Callie scanned the scene, hoping to find some of her nieces and nephews. Sure enough, they were almost to the outskirts of town when she spotted Jane and Johnny, her sister Alta’s two youngest. She called out to them, and they trotted over to the pony cart.

  Callie introduced the two to Becky, who smiled shyly. “Can they come up with us?” she asked Callie in a whisper.

  “Of course. Climb aboard, you two.” She hoped Jane, who was a sweet child and just about Becky’s age, would take Becky under her wing. Jane was a motherly sort, and Becky needed friends her own age. f

  Money was an important commodity, and Callie would never discount its importance in life, but the truth was that Aubrey Lockhart’s fortune hadn’t provided Becky with nearly enough playmates—or any at all, for that matter. The Lockhart mansion sat quite a ways outside of Santa Angelica, and the circumstances of her mother’s illness, as well as the isolation of her home, had prevented Becky from striking up acquaintances with other children. Callie prayed that school, and perhaps Jane’s friendship, would take care of the problem.

  When they pulled up to a small schoolhouse, Myrtle Oakes and Mr. Millhouse, Santa Angelica’s other, older, schoolteacher, were standing outside the door, greeting the children as they entered the classrooms. Myrtle waved to Callie, who waved bk. Callie had visited Myrtle over the last weekend and told her all about Becky, so Myrtle was prepared.

  Callie wanted to walk Becky to the schoolroom and see her settled, but she knew she oughtn’t. The children might take her concern amiss and start to tease Becky about being a “mama’s girl,” or something equally cruel. Since Becky didn’t need to be teased about her mother almost more than she did need to make friends, Callie forced herself to sit in the pony cart and watch.

  She was glad for her restraint, since everything worked out quite well without her interference. Jane and Johnny chatted merrily with Becky as they walked with her up to the schoolhouse. Both of Alta’s children knew Myrtle, as well as the other children in town, so introductions were quickly and easily made. Callie was pleased to see Myrtle stoop to chat with Becky and gesture her into the schoolhouse, explaining, Callie imagined, where the children were to store their lunch pails and sweaters.

  As soon as Becky, Jane and Johnny disappeared inside the tiny building, Myrtle waved at Callie again. Her smile told Callie that all would be well. As she slapped the reins gently against the pony’s rump and headed for her sister Alta’s house, Callie prayed Myrtle was right.

  *****

  That evening as Aubrey, Callie and Becky sat at the dinner table, it was all Becky could do to sit still. It looked to Aubrey as if, given a free hand, she’d pop up from her chair and begin dancing on the table. And probably sing an accompaniment. As it was, even the sobering influence of Aubrey and Callie restraining her, she couldn’t stop chattering about her first day at school.

  He blinked at her after she’d rendered a particularly enthusiastic description of the lunch hour, which, apparently, had been vastly amusing and fraught with games and exchanges of various foodstuffs. Aubrey couldn’t remember his first day of school very well, but he didn’t think it had been so full of fun and delight.

  “So I got to eat one of Jane’s celery sticks, and she ate my apple.” Becky sounded pleased with the exchange.

  “Is that so?” Aubrey glanced from Becky, seated on the right side of the dinner table, to Miss Prophet, who sat on the left. He opted not to mention what he perceived as an unfair trade of food items, because he sensed Becky would be hurt if he did. “It sounds as though you enjoyed your first experience with school.”

  “Oh, I did, Papa! It was so much fun! And Miss Oakes started reading a super story to us!”

  “Did she indeed?”

  “Yes. It’s all about an English boy who ends up on a pirate ship. And there’s a mean pirate named Long John Silver and a parrot, and buried treasure, and everything.”

  “I see. Sounds like Treasure Island to me.” Aubrey smiled at his daughter, glad that she was so happy about school. He’d been worried that she’d feel alone and left out, since she hadn’t had much interaction with other children in Santa Angelica. “And did you learn anything? Or did Miss Oakes read to you all day?”

  Blast. That sounded as if he were being critical, and he hadn’t meant it to. He was only curious. Not for the first time, Aubrey wished he had a way with children.

  “Miss Oakes is a fine teacher,” said Callie—Miss Prophet, he meant.

  Blast it, Aubrey couldn’t recall exactly when he’d begun thinking of his daughter’s nanny as “Callie,” but he wished he hadn’t. “I’m sure of it,” he said soothingly.

  “Oh, yes, Papa. She’s super. And she only just started reading us Treasure Island. She read through the first chapter today. It was Johnny who told me the rest of the story.”

  “I see. I trust that won’t spoil the remainder of the book for you.”

  “Oh, no! I can’t wait to hear more of it tomorrow,” She fairly glowed at Miss Prophet. “And I like Johnny a lot. And Jane. She’s super.”

  Aubrey assumed super was a word Becky had heard today, liked, and decided to adopt as her own. “I see. And who are Johnny and Jane?”

  “They’re Miss Prophet’s relatives,” Becky said complacently. “They’re both super.”

  “I see.” Aubrey glanced at Miss Prophet and wondered if her relatives were all as rambunctious as she. He didn’t ask, since he didn’t want to precipitate an argument. “And you say Miss Oakes got some teaching done, as well as some reading?”

  “Oh, yes.” Becky forked up a piece of roast pork. Before she popped it into her mouth, she said, “She taught us all about our ABCs.”

  “I thought you already knew your ABCs.” Aubrey delivered the sentence with a smile, and then shot a peek at Callie, to make sure she knew he wasn’t quibbling with the teacher’s methods. She didn’t even bother to look at him, blast her, but serenely chewed a bite of potato, her gaze fixed upon Becky.

  “Oh, I do know them, Papa.” Becky was obviously proud of her exalted knowledge. “Miss Oakes found that out right off because I could read a whole page in my reader without once stumbling over a word. Since I can already read and write, Miss Oakes said I can help her with the other children who don’t know their letters.”

  “Good. That’s good.” Aubrey beamed at his daughter, glad to hear that the Santa Angelica schoolteacher possessed enough perspicacity to recognize his daughter’s brilliance.

  “It’s very good, Becky,” Callie said, agreeing with him for once. “But you must never act as though you consider yourself better than the children who don’t know as much as you.”

  “But I am better than they are,” Becky said, although Aubrey was sure she didn’t mean it the way it sounded.

  Callie smiled at her. “Of course, you’re much better at your letters than the rest of the children. But that doesn’t make you a better person.”

  “Oh,” said Becky, but she still looked confused.

  “You know how much you hate it when people lord it over you because they know things that you don’t,” Callie went on.

  Becky nodded.

  Aubrey wondered what the devil Miss Prophet meant by this “lord it over you” nonsense. He imagined he was about to find out.

  “Well, then, think of how the other children will feel if they think you’re trying to lord it over them because you’ve had an opportunity to learn your letters and they haven’t. You don’t want them to dislike you or think you’re stuck-up, do you?”

  “Oh, no!” It looked as if a light had just gone on in Becky’s head. “I see what you mean.” She nodded.

  “I knew you would.” Callie gave Becky an approving smile
.

  Aubrey, astounded, glared at her. She gazed back at him calmly and said, “Becky has been extremely lucky in some ways, Mr. Lockhart. She’s had the undivided attention of her parents—well, until the last year, at least—and the good hick to have had someone work with her on her letters before she started attending school. Not all of the children with whom Becky goes to school have been so fortunate.”

  “Fortunate!” Aubrey couldn’t believe she’d actually said that.

  “Fortunate,” Callie repeated firmly. She smiled at Becky. “Don’t you feel fortunate, Becky? To have learned so much before you started going to school, I mean. In other respects, of course, you weren’t fortunate at all.”

  Becky, evidently unperturbed by Callie’s choice of words or the veiled reference to her deceased mother, chewed thoughtfully and pondered the question.

  Aubrey was about to take Miss Prophet to task for what he considered a series of ill-chosen comments—“fortunate,” indeed!—when Becky beat him to it.

  “Oh, yes. I see ezackly what you mean, Miss Prophet. I am lucky to know my letters already. And I don’t want them to think I’m stuck-up.” Becky smiled brightly at her nanny. “I know what I’ll do! I’ll try to act just like you.”

  Aubrey didn’t suppress his groan in time to prevent some of it from escaping. Callie cast him a withering glower.

  “You never make me feel stupid.” Becky seemed unaware of the disturbances going on between the two adults sharing the dining table with her. “I’ll try to act like you when I help the other children.”

  “Thank you for the commendation, Becky,” Miss Prophet said, shooting another meaningful glance at Becky’s papa. “I appreciate it.”

  “Oh,” said Becky, grinning up a storm. “I think you’re super.”

  Aubrey decided to let his daughter’s misapprehension about her nanny slide so as not to wound her. Then again, he thought suddenly, perhaps Becky was right. As much as he hated to admit it, life did seem to have become less oppressive since Miss Prophet’s arrival in his home. He gazed at Callie for so long, she finally stopped pretending not to notice, and frowned at him.

  He grumbled to himself as he cut another piece of the delicious roast pork Mrs. Granger had served for dinner. Or, perhaps he’d been right about her in the first place. She certainly seemed to possess no understanding of the social divisions separating employer from employee.

  *****

  Aubrey decided to forego the rigors of business after dinner that night. He’d enjoyed Becky’s recounting of her first day at school, Miss Prophet had managed to get through the entire meal without irritating him more than twice or thrice, and he was feeling quite a bit more relaxed than usual. Besides, while he’d started immersing himself in business all the time in order not to dwell on his personal tragedies, he was getting sick of it.

  He plucked Treasure Island from a high shelf in his library where he’d stuck it when he and Anne had first moved to Santa Angelica. Aubrey didn’t remember exactly why he’d kept the book; he’d read it when it had first been published in 1883, even though he wasn’t a child at the time, and had enjoyed it thoroughly.

  Mulling it over now and remembering his first days in this house, when life had seemed pure and perfect and blessed, he seemed to recall thinking it had been a rousing and entertaining novel. He also recalled thinking that if he and Anne should ever have a son, it would be fun to read Treasure Island to him.

  With a sigh, he turned the book over in his hands, staring at it. Life had been full of love and promise in those days. Now it was flat and dull.

  Perhaps not dull. Not anymore. He smiled when his mind pictured how excited Becky had been at dinner.

  Besides, he really needed to stop dwelling in the past. He’d loved Anne absolutely, but Anne was dead. He owed it to his daughter—and, he supposed, to himself—to stop wallowing in despair. After all, Becky needed him. And, honestly, when he thought about it, it seemed more that he’d become accustomed to being unhappy than that he truly was unhappy these days. Grief had become more of a habit with him than a genuine emotion. How strange. Aubrey took a moment to savor the possibility that he’d just hit upon something profound.

  By God, he’d never even considered the concept that the appearance of grief might become a routine—not unlike thinking of oneself in a certain way. Aubrey wondered if Great-Aunt Evelyn Bilgewater thought of herself as a nice person, for example.

  The ramification of this new discovery was too much to take in all at once, even for him in a contemplative mood. He decided to think about it later.

  He took Treasure Island to the back parlor, poured himself a cup of tea, sat in his favorite chair, propped his feet on the ottoman, turned up the lamp, and settled in for a good read. He felt slightly childish at first, rereading this old book, but he consoled himself with the thought that Becky would appreciate him being up-to-date on her super teacher’s super reading. He chuckled once before he lost himself in the foggy English coastline.

  A knock on the door frame startled him out of the tavern he and Long John Silver had been sharing. Glancing up, he saw Miss Prophet standing in the doorway, her hands folded primly in front of her. How one person’s hands could lie so eloquently, Aubrey had no idea.

  Putting a finger in the book to hold his place, he said, “Yes, Miss Prophet? You wish to speak to me?”

  “Yes, Mr. Lockhart. If you aren’t too busy.” She gazed pointedly at the book in his lap.

  Aubrey felt his neck get hot. Good God, was he going to blush in front of this impertinent nanny just because he was reading a child’s book? He steeled his nerves. “Please, have a seat.” Because he couldn’t think of a way to avoid the issue, he lifted Treasure Island. “Becky’s chatter at the dinner table reminded me how good this book is, so I’m rereading it.”

  She smiled at him. Unless he was mistaken, which was quite likely, it actually looked like a genuine smile with no brittle edges to it. “Yes, it’s a wonderful book, isn’t it? I’m glad Myrtle decided to read it to the children, instead of something insipid. You can’t fool children, you know.”

  He hadn’t known that but opted not to say so. Instead, he murmured, “Who’s Myrtle?”

  “Oh. I forgot you aren’t acquainted with very many of your neighbors, are you?”

  Aubrey had been pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to maintain her neutrality for long, and he’d been correct. Talk about brittle edges. He did not, however, snatch at the bait she dangled so tauntingly before him. “No. Since my business is in San Francisco, and since my wife was so sick for so long, I’m afraid I’ve never had much of a chance to meet many of my neighbors.” He gave her a smile he hoped she’d choke on.

  Miss Prophet did look slightly abashed, and Aubrey felt better for it.

  “Yes, well, I’m sure I didn’t mean to criticize.”

  “I’m sure.”

  She cleared her throat. “Actually, that’s what I’d like to speak with you about this evening, Mr. Lockhart.”

  He looked at her blankly. “My neighbors?”

  “In a way.” She finally took his suggestion and sat in a chair some few feet away from his own. “Becky’s seventh birthday is coming right up. In October. That’s only a little less than a month away.”

  “Yes. I recollect the day of her birth quite well, thank you, Miss Prophet.”

  He saw her lips pinch together and wished he’d managed to contain the dryness of his tone.

  “Yes, well, I thought it would be fun for Becky to have a birthday party.”

  “A birthday party?” Aubrey had never heard of a birthday party and to be honest, he wasn’t quite sure what having a birthday party entailed.

  Miss Prophet nodded. “Yes. I understand from Myrtle—Miss Oakes—and from my sisters and brother, that people are beginning to host small parties for children on their birthdays nowadays. It would be a wonderful way for Becky to get to know her classmates better, don’t you think?”

  “A birthday party. Hmm.�
� He frowned, not sure if he liked the notion. “Where would this party be held?”

  “Oh, here, of course.” She smiled winningly.

  She looked charming—and not at all rowdy or impertinent—when she smiled at him that way. In truth, Aubrey found himself responding to her smile rather more heatedly than he approved of.

  “A party to be held here.” He tried to think of something other than her smile. “I see.”

  “I believe Becky would enjoy it a good deal, and the other children would come to understand that she isn’t so different from them just because her father has more money than their fathers have.”

  Aubrey felt his eyes widen. “Do they think she’s different for that reason?”

  “I’m afraid so, Mr. Lockhart. While some of the adults who live in Santa Angelica have come to know you slightly, as they came to know your wife, whom they all liked and admired, Becky has been quite isolated during these past years. And they are very important years in a child’s life, too. Miss Oakes and I have spoken of it often.”

  He didn’t at all like the notion of Miss Prophet and Miss Oakes gossiping about him and his daughter—particularly since he knew good and well that Miss Prophet’s part in the conversation wouldn’t show him in a favorable light. He frowned. “Is that so?”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Lockhart, I haven’t given away any family secrets.” She waved a hand in an airy gesture and gave him a look that came mighty close to a smirk.

  He didn’t think it was funny. “Of course not. How could you, since you don’t know any?”

  The look on her face puzzled him, but he didn’t ask about it. It seemed strange, however, that her smirk should have vanished and been replaced by an expression of longing. She didn’t give him the opportunity to think about it for very long.

  “So, what is your verdict on this idea, Mr. Lockhart? May I plan to have a birthday party for Becky and invite several of her new friends?”

  He frowned. The notion of a horde of small children dashing about his home didn’t appeal to him very much. He knew, however, that he owed Becky a lot if he intended to make up for his neglect over the past year. More than a year, if he counted the days he’d spent worrying over Anne before she died. The sigh he sighed felt as though it had been wrenched from his toes, “Very well. I suppose Becky deserves a party.”