by Janet Dean
The toddler planted his chubby hands on his father’s cheeks as Ted nuzzled Henry’s nose. His son let out a squeal then lunged closer, every ounce of his body bouncing with joy.
A pang rose in Elizabeth, a deep yearning for her family—for Papa, Robby and Martha. Not that the nanny was her mother, but she was a substitute of sorts. Perhaps, with thought, Elizabeth would see how Martha managed to walk that line. Then she could do the same with Anna.
Ted crossed to the stove. “Hmm, soup. Your favorite, Anna.”
Leaning against her father’s leg, Anna screwed up her face at Elizabeth then brightened as she faced her father. “Sit, Daddy. I’ll get it for you. Like I always do.”
Ted tugged his daughter’s braid. “Yes, pumpkin, you’ve been a big help, but Elizabeth should serve since she made the soup.”
Anna’s face flattened. The spark in her eyes faded to a vacant stare.
“You can put milk in the glasses.” Ted slipped Henry into the high chair. He tucked a towel around his son’s middle, securing the ends to the back, and then tied a bib around the boy’s neck. “Try to keep your food on this, my boy.”
His hand lingered on Henry’s shoulder, a fatherly, most likely absentminded connection Ted didn’t realize he made, Henry probably barely felt and Anna didn’t see.
But Elizabeth noticed. She saw the love that simple contact embodied, and almost felt it.
How often had she wiggled free from her mother’s touch because of some silly irritation with Mama? Now those opportunities were gone, along with her mother. Gone too soon. Gone before Elizabeth appreciated the simple gift of her mother’s touch.
She shook off the loneliness that threatened to unravel her. The past couldn’t be undone. She had a job to do here. She’d focus on that. And be extra patient with Anna, who’d lost her mother years before Elizabeth had hers.
She crossed to the counter to load a plate with cheese sandwiches, bringing her near Anna. The child carefully balanced the pitcher of milk as she poured it into four glasses. Though the container was heavy, she didn’t spill a drop.
“Nice of you to help,” Elizabeth said. Anna rewarded her with a frosty stare.
Well, apparently Elizabeth had a lot more trying to do if she wanted peace between her and Anna. The only trouble was she had no idea how to create harmony with a seven-year-old hurting child. For now she’d concentrate on ladling up the soup, something she could manage.
As she stood at the stove, Ted came up behind her, filling the narrow space with his overpowering presence. She caught the scent of his soap, clean and fresh, as crisp as a March breeze. Like a doomed moth drawn to a flame, she turned to him. The heat from his skin, from the intensity of that silver-blue gaze burned in her cheeks, muddling her thoughts.
Determined to sever the connection, she whipped back to the stove. But her hands shook and she slopped soup over the brim of the stoneware like an old lady with tremors.
“I know this has to be hard,” he said near her ear, his breath drifting along her jaw. “I’ll do what I can to make it easier, but…”
Unable to resist, she faced him, took in his expression now shadowed with worry, darkened by uncertainty. Evidence he held the same doubts as her. A comfort Elizabeth hadn’t expected, but held close to her heart.
“But you’re as new at this mail-order-bride thing as I am,” she said, then grinned. “Sally’s not the only one with cold feet.”
He laughed—a deep, hearty sound, dissolving her concern faster than the cookstove melted butter. “Anna will put the fire to our toes, that’s for sure,” he whispered, then asked her to put only vegetables in Henry’s bowl, the moment over.
Ted struck up a conversation with his children about nothing, really, but enough for Elizabeth to feel like an outsider peering in the window of a family home. She clutched her bowl. Well, she lived here, too, and soon—
Soon she would feel like she belonged.
A part of her whispered belonging meant joining. Belonging meant being part of a family in all ways, not just cooking for them. Belonging meant opening her heart.
Her stomach dipped. She knew how much it could hurt if…if things didn’t work out. Time and time again, she’d learned by watching her parents that what a spouse gave could easily be withdrawn. Better to keep her distance than try to join an already complete circle.
While she served the soup, Ted scooted the high chair closer to the corner of the table then took the seat at the head with the children on either side of him. As she had at breakfast, Elizabeth sat to his right, close to the stove.
Anna pointed an accusing finger. “She’s sitting in Mama’s chair. She’s not s’posed to.”
Ted nodded slowly. “I know, pumpkin, but women sit where they can keep an eye on the food.”
Mama’s chair.
Elizabeth’s mind rocketed back, far from this simple kitchen to the elaborate dining room, to the ornate, massive chair where her delicate mother had always sat. Now empty. Her eyes stung, remembering a hundred meals spent with her guilt-ridden, grieving father filling his place at the other end of the table while she and Robby avoided looking at that chair. Or tried to.
No other woman had claimed her mother’s place. In that chair. Or in Elizabeth’s heart.
A wave of sympathy crashed through Elizabeth. How would she have felt if someone had taken her mother’s place at the table? Probably much like Anna. Anna wanted Rose, not a stranger. Not just in this chair, but here, in this house.
Elizabeth searched for the right thing to say. The words Robby must’ve craved at Anna’s age. None came. But there was something she could do. She picked up her bowl. “Would you like to trade seats, Anna? You should sit in your mother’s chair.”
Tears welled in the little girl’s eyes. She nodded and then, carrying her bowl, took Rose’s seat at the table. Now Anna would fill it. No one would look at that empty chair. A good solution or so Elizabeth hoped as she took Anna’s place.
If Elizabeth had expected gratitude she didn’t get it. Well, one small step at a time might bring peace. Eventually.
Sending her a nod of thanks, his eyes misty, Ted clasped his hands together. “Let’s bow our heads.”
Both children folded their hands. Elizabeth glanced at Henry. From behind his fist, the toddler peeked at her, sporting a drooly grin and guileless, sparkling eyes.
The small flame of Henry’s friendly face melted a tiny portion of Elizabeth’s frozen heart. She grinned back.
After the prayer, Ted cut up one half of a cheese sandwich for Henry, then gave the other half to Anna. He dumped the cooled vegetables on Henry’s tray and chopped them into manageable pieces. The little boy dug right in, picking up a piece of corn with amazing agility and popping it in his mouth.
Anna slurped the soup from her spoon. “This doesn’t taste good like Mama’s soup.”
“Well, it tastes better than mine.” As if to prove it, Ted ate heartily.
Elizabeth detected the faintest hint of scorch. Still, the soup fared better than her collar, better than breakfast, and gave her hope she’d wrestle a measure of control over the cooking.
When he finished, as he had that morning, Ted thanked her for the meal, but this time Elizabeth heard a ring of sincerity in his voice. Close to praise. Perhaps she could handle this job of wife. But then she remembered he’d called their marriage a business arrangement. Exactly how she wanted it. Or so she told herself, as the truth sank inside her like a stone.
Anna dawdled over her food then pushed her chair back. “Can I be excused?”
Ted shook his head. “Not until we’re all finished.”
Anna frowned then slipped into her seat. “Are you going to read me a story after dinner, Daddy?”
“I can’t, pumpkin. I have to plow.” His gaze settled on Elizabeth. “But I’m sure if you’re nice, Elizabeth would be glad to read you a story.”
Anna’s gaze darted to Elizabeth, then away. “That’s okay. I’m too old for stories.”
Apparently the price of nice was too steep for Anna to pay.
Ted ruffled her hair. “We’re never too old for a good book.”
A few minutes later, when Henry had finished, leaving his tray and the floor a disgusting mess, Ted excused himself from the table and headed back to the fields.
Leaving Elizabeth alone with his children.
Anna stared at her, eyes shooting daggers. Henry gave her a curious look like he would a new toy. All around the kitchen dirty dishes sat…waiting.
Every muscle in Elizabeth’s body ached. A few feet away, the open bedroom door beckoned. She’d done enough for one day and wanted nothing more than a nap.
“You gonna wash the dishes?” Anna’s eyes narrowed. “Like you’re supposed to?”
“Oh, yes, the dishes.” Elizabeth sighed. The work never ended. “You’re a big girl. Want to help?”
“No.” Anna gave her a small smile. “No thank you,” she qualified then headed up the steps to the living room.
Elizabeth pursed her lips. A brat, plain and simple. Well, she’d practiced the art most of her life. Miss Anna might not know it, but she’d met her match in Elizabeth Manning…er, Logan.
Elizabeth pulled herself to her feet with fresh determination, picking up a bowl as she did and affecting an I-don’t-care pose. “I’m glad you don’t want to help.”
Anna stopped cold in her tracks.
“That means I don’t have to share.”
Anna pivoted back. “Share what?”
Elizabeth swished a bar of soap around in the pan. “Why, the bubbles, of course.”
“I’m too old for bubbles, too,” Anna said, then stomped out of the room.
Elizabeth dropped her focus to her sudsy hands. Had she made the biggest mistake of her life yesterday? Not only for her, but also for Anna, a little girl who didn’t want her here.
She’d done it for Robby, but…what if being here among all this unrest made Robby’s life miserable? Once again he’d be living in a house of turmoil. Not a good solution for him.
Or for her.
But what choice did she have?
Across the way, Henry, red faced and bellowing, jerked against the towel anchoring him to the high chair. Elizabeth rushed over, freed his tether and picked him up. Legs pumping, arms flailing, he resembled a windup toy gone berserk. She held him at arm’s length until at last his spring wound down. Yawning, he rubbed his eyes with dimpled fists.
“You look like you could use a nap. Well, so could I.” Not that she’d get the luxury.
After washing him up, Elizabeth carried Henry into the living room. She stood there uncertain what to do, while the boy squirmed in her arms. At this rate, he’d never fall asleep.
She thought of the quiet moments in the nursery she’d witnessed as a fourteen-year-old girl, moments between her mother and Robby. Mama held Robby close, rocking him back and forth, told him one story after another. By the second tale, Robby’s eyes would close, but Mama kept rocking, holding him tight. In those moments, even as she held herself aloof from her mother, Elizabeth wished she could turn back the clock, be that child in her mother’s arms.
Henry arched backward, nearly falling to the floor. She tightened her hold and hurried to the rocker near the window. Here, she had a view of the fields. In the distance, she could see Ted walking behind his team under the scorching sun.
With Henry on her lap, she rocked, but he stiffened his legs, refusing to settle. Why would he fight a nap when she’d love nothing better? She needed a story. Children’s Bible Storybook lay open on the table beside the chair. Perfect. Elizabeth turned to the middle. “Oh, look, Henry. Noah and the Ark. That should be a good story for you.” As Elizabeth read the first page, Henry climbed over her like a monkey at the zoo. “You’ll never get sleepy if you don’t sit still, you little octopus.”
Anna marched in from her room. “He wants me, not you,” she said with seven-year-old disgust, then plucked the book from Elizabeth’s hands and stuck it under her arm. She raised her hands to Henry. Her brother tumbled into them, looking as content as a debutant with a full dance card.
Apparently Elizabeth would sit this one out. Well, she couldn’t be happier. Her feet hurt, anyway.
Without a word exchanged between them, Elizabeth rose from the chair. A terrible heaviness pressed against her lungs, weighing down her movements. This wasn’t the nursery at home. This wasn’t her family. She couldn’t even get a toddler to accept her in this house. She was failing as a homemaker. Failing as a mother. She blinked hard against the tears welling in her eyes, refusing to care.
Plopping Henry on the cushion, Anna quickly took Elizabeth’s place, pointing to the picture. Two blond heads merged as one over the page, as close as Mama had held Robby. Just like then, Elizabeth stood watching. If she’d known how to forge the breach separating her and Mama—the stubbornness of a teen too young to understand her mother’s need to put a happy spin on Papa’s gambling trips, though Elizabeth had known what was going on—maybe she’d know how to connect with Anna.
Or might she have to face the unfaceable herself? That Ted’s daughter might never accept her. Now Elizabeth understood her mother’s dilemma. Bringing something into the open didn’t change it. And might make it worse.
“What does a duck say, Henry?” Anna said.
“Quack, quack!” Henry settled against his sister.
“That’s right.” Anna shot Elizabeth a smug smile.
Well.
Anna had established her territory, making it clear she considered herself the lady of the house and Elizabeth an interloper to be ignored like a fly on the ceiling of her life.
Back in the kitchen, Elizabeth attacked the dirty dishes, a lump tightening in her throat. Why hadn’t she realized this wouldn’t work before she married Ted? She didn’t belong here.
She sighed. But Robby did. He needed this. No matter what, for him, she’d make this work. But how?
As a small child, she and Mama had been close. They’d shared many happy times playing dress-up and with dolls, reading, drawing and performing at the piano. She’d recapture those moments and give them to Anna and Henry and, in time, her brother.
Her mind wrapped around a fresh resolve. Elizabeth Manning Logan wasn’t going anywhere. Wasn’t giving up. Not that easily. Not until she had given Robby the one thing all children deserved. Security.
Her lungs expanded until she felt light, almost buoyant. Once Robby joined them, she’d have an ally in this house, someone who’d look at her with acceptance, with love. Then she’d be content.
She would.
From the living room, in a sweet voice Elizabeth barely recognized, Anna sang a lullaby. Elizabeth dried her hands on her apron and slipped to the doorway. Anna cradled her brother on her lap. Henry’s eyes closed, yawning around the thumb in his mouth. In no time, the tot’s head drooped.
Anna looked up and found Elizabeth watching her. “Daddy says I can’t lift him into his bed.” Pink dusted her cheeks, as if embarrassed by the admission.
Perhaps sharing this moment could be the first brace in building a bridge between them. “Glad to help, Anna.” Elizabeth gathered Henry from his sister’s arms. He curled against her body, his wispy hair soft against her chin as she carried him into his bedroom and lowered him in his crib. Lying there asleep, he looked angelic.
But looks were deceiving. She mustn’t get caught in this trap. Her parents’ love for each other had ran the gamut from high hopes to despondency, as Papa let his family down time and time again. The pain of it all settled inside her, adding to her resolve. She wouldn’t make the mistake of opening her heart to Ted and his children, only to get it stomped on.
She tiptoed out of the room. Anna sat on the top step leading down to the kitchen, sucking her thumb. The little girl looked tired—or maybe sad. Seeing Elizabeth, she jerked her thumb away.
“You’re a hard worker, Anna.”
Anna’s expression revealed the battle going on inside
her, fighting between accepting recognition for her efforts and the desire to shut out Elizabeth. “Thank you,” she said finally.
“Your mother would be proud of you.”
Anna’s face clouded. She rose and slipped out onto the porch, letting the screen door slap behind her. Elizabeth heard the squeak of the swing, then a soft sob followed by another.
Her breath caught in her lungs. Though she hadn’t meant to, she’d added to Anna’s pain. Unsure what to do, Elizabeth stood there, thinking of all the times she’d wept since Mama died. Perhaps a good cry would help Anna. If she tried to comfort her, Anna would most likely resent her efforts.
The sobbing stopped. Elizabeth tiptoed to the door. Anna lay curled on the swing, sound asleep, her breathing even, her little-girl face tranquil.
Elizabeth swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat, then turned toward the kitchen to finish cleaning up and make preparations for the evening meal.
Later, the chore behind her, she dropped onto a living room chair, relieved to get off her feet. Earlier Ted had popped in with the excuse of refilling his water jug, when he could’ve easily gotten it at the pump. He was no doubt making sure neither she nor Anna had drawn blood. He’d smiled when he’d seen Anna snoozing on the swing.
Whatever the reason for Ted’s appearance, she’d welcomed his presence. The walls had begun to close in on her. Those few minutes of conversation with an adult had kept her going.
She yawned. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head against the back, so tired her body molded into the chair.
A soft babbling from his bedroom announced the end of Henry’s nap. Elizabeth groaned as Anna raced past on her way to her brother. She pulled herself to her weary feet and followed, expecting to lift Henry from his crib. Instead she found Anna tugging the toddler over the bars. Evidently house rules changed with Henry awake.
Elizabeth watched while the little girl deftly changed Henry’s diaper. She obeyed Anna’s orders—handing her a diaper and disposing of the wet one in the lidded pail Anna indicated. An odor of ammonia smacked her in the face. Elizabeth’s stomach tumbled. She dropped the diaper inside and slapped the lid on after it. What would her stomach have done if the diaper had been more than wet?
