For Such a Time as This: A Women of Hope Novel

by Ginny Aiken

  Regardless, he couldn’t let his son grow up as a rowdy ruffian. He loved Luke too much. “I asked you a question back there on the street,” he said. “What in the world were you thinking?”

  Luke’s only response was a slight shrug.

  “How could you ever torment those three little girls? Would you like someone to torment you?”

  “Doesn’t scare me,” Luke answered, his voice full of bravado, his jaw jutted out. “Wouldn’t make me squeal like no pi—” He stopped himself when he realized what he’d been about to bring up.

  Eli crossed his arms and arched a brow. “Do continue, son. Finish what you were about to say. Please.”

  A scarlet flush crept up Luke’s cheeks. But just when Eli thought the boy’s conscience and discomfort would make him admit his wrongdoing, he pulled himself up to his full height, shoulders back, chin up, eyes flashing defiance, lips clamped tight.

  Standing, Eli slammed a fist into the open palm of his other hand. He began to pace. “I know things haven’t been their best since… since your mother died.”

  He shook his head. To be honest, things had been going from bad to horrific back when Victoria had betrayed him, and had actually settled down some since her passing, to his relief. But he’d always kept his feelings about that dreadful episode from his children. He wasn’t about to change now.

  “I know you miss your mama, but nothing can bring her back.”

  Luke shrugged again. “Don’t mean I hafta have a nanny.”

  “And I don’t either.” Eli’s eldest, Miranda, flounced into the parlor, her expression haughty, her blue eyes flinty. “Hello, Father. You must realize I’m practically a full-grown woman now. Why, I’m turning thirteen soon, and I don’t need a nanny. Nannies are for babies.”

  A mischievous spark flashed over Randy’s features as she glanced at Luke. “Perhaps Luke does.”

  Eli stopped inches away from his daughter. “And you, young lady. Where were you? I left Luke with you for… oh, no more than ten minutes. Next thing I know he’s taunting little girls in the middle of town and he’s even found himself a pig.”

  At first, Randy flinched, but then, when she heard the last of his words, her lips twitched and a very unladylike but wholly childlike snort escaped her. “Luke was playing with a pig?” She tossed her black braids off her shoulders, her façade of maturity back in place. “How… how dirty-little-boy of him.”

  “ ‘How’ is an excellent word. How did your brother wind up in the middle of the street with his gang of hooligans?” He let out a frustrated gust of breath. “Where were you, Randy?”

  She tapped the toe of her shoe in a show of impatience. The image of Victoria flashed into his mind. A chill ran through him.

  “Answer me, please,” he said in a low, iron-tough voice.

  His tone wasn’t lost on his daughter. The façade vanished. She laced her fingers together and twisted her hands. “I… ah… I went to Metcalf’s Mercantile with Audrina Metcalf. You know she’s my dearest friend and her papa had told her he’d just gotten in a shipment of lovely boots and belts for ladies and Audrina invited me to go see the new things and they’re ever so much more interesting than watching a dirty little boy who always finds trouble with his dirty little friends and—”

  “Enough!”

  As frustrated as he’d been with his children these past few months, he’d never raised his voice to them. Right then, he roared.

  A fleeting memory of the calm, competent, and winsome Olivia Moore dealing with the five boys and three girls shot through his thoughts. He wished he could be that effective with his mere two.

  He shook his head. No time to waste on foolish wishes. “It’s more than obvious that you both do need a nanny. I cannot leave you alone—even in each other’s company—for a solitary second without you scaring up some kind of trouble.” He let out a heartfelt sigh. “I will be looking for another nanny, and this time I will brook absolutely no shenanigans like before. Understood?”

  Luke made a face. “But—”

  Randy stamped a foot. “Papa—”

  “No. I will have no frogs in bureau drawers, no grasshoppers in bed linens”—please, Lord! No more grasshoppers. All of us in Bountiful have suffered enough—“no sour apple cider vinegar in anyone’s scent bottle, no pebbles in boots, no hidden spectacles, no vanishing hatpins, button hooks, or”—he glared at Randy, his cheeks blazing with mortification—“missing corset laces. There will be no more running away and hiding, and under no circumstances will I tolerate any more sassing your elders. I want not a single complaint brought to me about either one of you. That is as clear as a man can make his position. Do you understand?”

  “I toldja how we can fix the nanny thing,” Luke said, defiance flashing from his eyes. “Miss Olivia is the right nanny for us. She’s pretty. She smiles. She don’t holler. And she doesn’t smell funny. All you hafta do is bring her home.”

  Randy shrugged and tossed her braids over her shoulders. “I don’t care who you bring. I’m taking care of myself. I don’t need the nanny. You can bring Luke’s Miss Olivia home any time you want.”

  Faced with their obstinacy, Eli’s anger and frustration crashed down into that barren weariness he’d struggled against so often of late. It was only too clear that he might as well have been talking to the parlor wall for all the good his scolding had done.

  He stood still as a tree, wishing things were different, wishing he knew how to solve his children’s obvious unhappiness, wishing he had a solution to his dismal situation. As he stared, Luke slunk out of the parlor. His son’s misery stung him to his very core. He understood. Of course he did. But what Luke really wanted and needed was the one and only thing he wouldn’t—couldn’t—give his children. After what he’d barely survived at the hands of his late wife, he’d never marry again.

  Never.

  As Randy scurried away, he collapsed into his armchair again. He brought his hands to his face, covered his eyes with his open palms. Things were bleak, indeed.

  Oh, Father. Victoria failed us—all of us. I can’t do the same. They’re my children. I love them and I must raise them right. But… you see what I have here. Please show me… what am I going to do with them?

  Late Sunday night, Olivia lay in bed next to Leah Rose, unable to scour the images of the day’s events from her mind. Had she really been that bold before the owner of Bountiful’s bank? One of the most important members of their small community?

  Every time she thought about her actions—and words—her cheeks heated. Goodness! She could scarcely recognize herself.

  Then, to make matters worse, when she’d thought she was done for the moment, that rapscallion Luke Whitman had managed to make things even more awkward. By a lot.

  I want her…

  She rolled over again, clutched a pillow close to her heart, then propped her chin on the downy softness.

  While Mr. Whitman’s face had shown his surprise at his son’s words, it hadn’t revealed his opinion of the outrageous pronouncement. It was clear the boy only wanted to distract his father and avoid further scolding. Still, Olivia didn’t think the banker had thought too highly of the suggestion.

  How could he have? She wasn’t quite sure what she thought of it herself. While she did love children, and she had spent her whole life helping Mama with her younger siblings, she was no nanny. She could never pretend to be one.

  What must the man think of her?

  Her cheeks burned again, and she rubbed her face against the pillow one more time.

  She would have to face Mr. Whitman in the coming days anytime she had to run errands in town. She’d often seen him walking in or out of the bank, and from time to time at church. Now, even something that meaningless would make her blush.

  While Luke hadn’t been happy about heading home with a displeased father, she didn’t think the boy was frightened of Mr. Whitman. Instead, she suspected he had a tendency toward mischief, as his father had said, and that tendency ha
d landed him in trouble a time or two or maybe more, as it seemed to have done with the nannies. It was too bad the Whitman children no longer had their mother with them. Olivia couldn’t imagine growing up without her own dear mama to guide her, comfort her, teach her, and encourage her along the way. After all, could a nanny, even the best of nannies, really do the job of a mother? Could any hired help offer Luke and his sister the love they needed? Was that what had been lacking in the women who’d failed the Whitmans?

  Enough.

  Olivia fluffed up the pillow, then flopped onto her back. She could drive herself mad turning the whole thing over in her head, and still not get anywhere. Besides, why should she? It wasn’t any of her business. The most she could do, and the best thing for her to do, was to turn the matter over to her heavenly Father. Surely he knew what the Whitman children, and their busy father, needed most.

  She slipped down to the side of the bed, knelt, and poured her heart out to her Lord.

  Before too long, however, in the deep silence of the peaceful farmhouse, the sound of her parents’ hushed voices reached her. Anxiety threaded their words as they again discussed the state of the family’s finances.

  “I don’t know,” Papa said. “I just don’t know where to turn. We have very little money left from the sale of the livestock, and you know I’ve mortgaged every last acre of the property already. There won’t be any help there.”

  Mama’s response was unintelligible, but her voice sounded as strained with worry as his.

  Papa sighed. “Oh, Elizabeth, I’m so very sorry. I never meant for you to think I was scolding you. I don’t know another woman who could manage as well as you have done with so little in hand. All these years, ever since we left Baltimore, you’ve been an incomparable companion. I don’t know what I would have done without you and your wise ways. Now this. After all you lacked during wartime, after all the misery I witnessed in the Deep South, I was determined to make sure you—our family—never went without.”

  Another murmured reply from Olivia’s mother.

  “Oh, but I’m sure you will do wonders with what supplies you have left. You always do, my dear.” Papa’s pause went on and on. Finally, he continued, his voice shaky, his tone uncertain. “Although, we both know eventually you will run out of even the last scoop of flour and the last scrap of dried beef. Then…”

  “Well, then,” Mama said, her voice louder with crisp determination, “I’m sure the Lord will provide as He always has. I have faith.”

  “So do I, Elizabeth. Still, a man can’t help but worry about his family. And I see a bleak winter coming toward us only too soon.”

  “You don’t know that it will be bleak,” Mama argued. “I’m certain the Father didn’t lead us out here to Oregon, to this particular piece of land, only to wrest it from us. Or to let us starve. Something will come up. Something will occur to you. I trust you.”

  “If it were only the two of us, I wouldn’t worry quite so much,” Papa continued. “It’s the children that concern me. What if Olivia meets a man who’ll court her and win her heart? How will we pay for a wedding? What kind of man can’t provide that for his daughter?”

  Olivia’s heart squeezed. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  Her father’s voice, roughened with emotion, rose through the black depths of the night. “Then there’s the boys—young men, now, seventeen and almost sixteen. Have you seen how short their trouser legs have grown these last few weeks? And beyond that. I must be thinking of their futures. Right now, I can provide them with land, but it won’t provide for them as they need. It won’t offer them the means to support themselves and the families I’m sure they want to build. After all the things I saw while fighting… I pray the Lord doesn’t leave them only the option of a military career. As honorable and distinguished as our men in uniform are, my love, I wouldn’t wish the horrors of battle on our sons.”

  “Please don’t fret, dear.” Mama’s voice now drifted up softer, more soothing but still louder and clearer than at first. Olivia knew her mother well. Elizabeth Moore was determined to keep her husband from sinking into another of his dark spells. At those times, he would go about his chores and then come inside and sit in a cloud of sadness. Mama insisted the spells were due to his time fighting the Confederacy.

  She went on. “Worry won’t help the children, and it could fog your thinking, which is never good. Come, now. Let’s get some sleep. Tomorrow is another day, with another set of troubles. We need to be rested so that we can tackle them wisely. At the very least, I need rest so that I can let out those pesky, rising hems.”

  “You’re right, dear heart. How did I ever get so fortunate? How did our God know to bless me with a woman so wise as well as beautiful?”

  “Oh, pshaw! There you go again, Stephen, flattering a girl…”

  As their voices faded, another tear rolled down Olivia’s cheek. Her anxiety grew to where nausea threatened. Up until tonight, her parents’ discussions had centered on their efforts to raise the funds they needed to buy feed for the animals and seed to sow in the fields and the garden. Olivia hadn’t realized they could run out of food.

  She crawled back into bed. She couldn’t go any longer without standing on her own two feet, without doing something to relieve her parents’ situation. She could never live with herself if she stood by and did nothing.

  But what could she do? She wasn’t a trained nurse and she didn’t have the money to get the schooling. And while Mama, who’d grown up in Baltimore, had taught her children, making sure all of them benefited from her excellent education and proper manners, Olivia lacked the preparation needed to work as a schoolteacher. Besides, Bountiful already had a teacher.

  Should she leave Bountiful—Oregon, even—to seek employment?

  Restless, Olivia rolled over on her other side, careful not to disturb Leah Rose, who shared the bed. She was a competent seamstress, so she supposed she could hire out as a garment factory worker back East, but if she did, she’d still have to afford herself a place to live and food to eat. What would she have left after tending to her immediate needs to send back home? What help would she be to her family?

  Then, too, she’d learned from Addie Tucker that their friend, Suzannah Arnold, with her new husband’s blessing, was opening up a dressmaking shop in their front parlor. Suzannah’s skill with her needle was legend and left Olivia’s efforts quite a bit back in the distance.

  While a number of new shops were opening up in the growing Bountiful, Olivia didn’t have any particular talent to market, like Suzannah. She could do a number of housewifely things well enough, but she was nowhere near as accomplished as even the recently widowed Mrs. O’Dell. Everyone in town eagerly awaited the day she opened the bakery she’d begun to set up since Mr. O’Dell died a few months ago.

  She’d heard some women took in laundry to add to their husband’s earnings, but there were few unmarried men in Bountiful—all of Hope County, as a matter of fact. Those few bachelor fellows bartered services or a few coins for their friends’ wives to help them care for their clothing. No one who set herself up to do the dirty, steamy, backbreaking work would earn enough to do any good.

  She flopped over onto her back. The last possibility left to her was domestic work. As Elizabeth Moore’s daughter, Olivia did take pride in her ability to run a household. She and Mama worked shoulder to shoulder to keep the Moores fed, clean, and in good health, and the house in as near to perfect condition as possible. She could handle any kind of housework, and she got on well with everyone she knew.

  That meant she could, of course, try to hire herself out to a busy boardinghouse owner back in… oh, say Denver or Kansas City, but that still left her with the matter of her own food and housing needs. She’d have to make sure the position included a room and meals.

  Still, if she did that she’d wind up ever so far from Mama and Papa… her brothers… the girls. A twitch of anxiety and a wagonload of sadness overwhelmed her.

  “Oh, Lord
Jesus…” Her heart clenched yet again. “You know just how serious things are. Please help us. If nothing else, please show me what I should do to help. I feel so useless, as though I’m failing Mama and Papa…”

  But no matter how fervently she stormed the throne of heaven with her pleas, Olivia felt no easing of her fear. After more long minutes than she cared to count had passed, she was able to thank the Father for his provision up until that point. “And while I’m still worried, I’m more than ready to let you change my worry into joy. I know you’re the only one who can do so.”

  With a sigh, she tucked her fist under her pillow and closed her eyes, determined to find that elusive sleep.

  But within seconds, two matching pairs of bright blue eyes popped back into her thoughts. Those Whitman men…

  And then, Luke’s words came at her with a strength they’d lacked before. “I want her.”

  Olivia bolted to an upright position. “Father… Lord God? Is that it? Did you provide the answer to my situation earlier today without me noticing?”

  A question remained, however. Could she do it? Was she in any way qualified? And, of course, did she dare even ask?

  Olivia sighed. It was quite obvious, she would never know unless she asked. She would never know until she tried.

  Her stomach turned a walloping cartwheel that stole her breath away. As crazy as the notion was, Olivia saw no other alternative.

  Turning onto her other side, she enumerated her other options. She could, of course, marry—should have married already, but none of the men who’d approached her after church or while she went about her business in town had raised in her the slightest bit of interest. The thought of binding herself to and sharing her life with someone she didn’t… cherish turned her stomach. She’d much rather live out her days as a spinster working in… in a… even a slaughterhouse. If they’d have her.

  She suspected Mama knew how she felt, and she thanked the Lord her parents hadn’t pushed her into that kind of marriage, in spite of the difficulties they’d been experiencing.