by Ginny Aiken
“Those times when I’m home, yes, they do. But business keeps me late at the bank oftentimes, and I do travel a good amount. They need someone with them on a regular basis, to keep the wagon-wheels well oiled, so to speak.”
Unusual, but not unreasonable. Then it occurred to her. “You—do you expect me to take my meals with you?”
He laughed. “I promise I know how to use my napkin and I don’t chew with an open mouth. I won’t make it too great a hardship on you.”
Olivia’s cheeks burned. “Oh, dear. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything of the sort. Of course, I’m sure you have lovely manners and know how to act at all times, but it’s just… well, I didn’t think folks who hired help would then eat with them.”
Mr. Whitman shrugged. “I suppose in fancy social circles, especially back East, that would be the case, but I’m more interested in getting my children to mind. You saw Luke the other day with those boys. I’m sure you would agree he needs reining in.”
Olivia forced herself to relax; not easy, true, but at least she didn’t have to stay bolt upright. “That’s the whole point, sir. I don’t think Luke is all that different from most other little boys. Remember, Luke wasn’t alone on that street with that hog. You and I saw a group of them making mischief. He needs chores and activities that will keep him too busy to find trouble, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Precisely. But I’m sure you understand that my work prevents me from doing that. There lies my need for a nanny—”
“Companion, remember? We don’t use that dreaded word anymore. We want to start off on a happier note this time.”
“Indeed.” After he set down his cup, he leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees, hands laced between them. “I know they’re a handful, but I also know they can do much better. That’s why I need you to supervise their evenings, as well. Bedtime has become a battle of enormous proportions. Luke insists he doesn’t need to sleep as much as I know he does, and Randy… well, she’s certain she’s too adult to even have a bedtime.”
“Completely normal.”
He arched a brow. “We’ll see how you feel after a few days with them.” Sitting back, he picked up his cup, his gaze fully on Olivia again. “Finally, I intend to set your wages at the same level as our former nannies.” He named a sum far greater than she’d hoped for. Before she had the chance to react, he went on. “As far as your personal quarters, you’ll have the room at the end of the upstairs hall, right next to Cooky’s. While it is small, I’m sure you’ll find it adequate. None of the other nannies found fault with it, but if there’s anything else you need, please make sure you ask Cooky.”
Sure, she would. After the woman had made her disapproval more than evident, Olivia would go without just about everything she could envision before she asked the Whitmans’ cook for even a pin.
“I’m sure it will all be fine, sir.” She made a point of glancing around. “Where are the children? I haven’t seen them, and I’ve yet to meet Randy.”
“I wanted us to have this time alone,” he said, “to discuss these details, but I’ll fetch them now. They need to be at school by nine. You’ll have little time to prepare them today, but they were supposed to be getting ready on their own.”
“Do they expect me?”
To her surprise, he blushed. “Er… no. I thought it best not to give them time to prepare a frontal attack before you arrived.”
Or to avoid unknown consequences if I didn’t show up.
Olivia chuckled. “They really do seem to have things in an uproar here, don’t they?”
“And how!” He shook his head, a sheepish grin on his lips. “Now that I’ve painted the most unattractive picture of my children for you, let me go for them. I hope you can do more with those two than the others before you have. Otherwise… well, I don’t know.”
As he crossed to the doorway and stepped into the hall, Olivia felt another pang of apprehension. Oh, Father. What have I done? Are these youngsters the wild beings their papa has described? Am I up to this challenge?
Before she had time to ponder the possibilities her imagination had begun to conjure, footsteps announced the children’s descent on the stairs.
“Please join me in the parlor, Luke, Randy,” Mr. Whitman said. “I have someone for you to meet.”
Luke whooped. “We’re not going to school today!”
“Not so fast there,” his father cautioned. “You are headed for school, today and every other day, but right now you need to meet someone—”
“Miss Olivia!” the boy shouted when he saw her standing by the sofa, a wide smile on his face as he rushed to her side. “You did come!” He paused, sniffed. “You don’t stink of sour milk and smelly lini—nilli—oh, that rubbing stuff for rheumy spots.”
She might as well start her job. “That’s liniment, Luke. And I’m happy to see you again, too.”
“Uh-huh. That stuff.” Alarm widened his eyes. “You don’t use it, do you? ’Cuz if you do…” He went back to sniffing.
“I don’t use liniment.”
“Lucas!” Eli called from the doorway. “What are you doing? You don’t go up and smell folks. Please apologize to Miss Moore right this minute.”
“But I wasn’t doing nothing wrong!”
Olivia placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “That’s anything, Luke. But you’re right. Mr. Whitman, we were having a discussion on the faults in the usual smell of liniment.”
“Still, Miss Moore, sniffing you like… like a dog? That must stop, Luke.”
“I’ll make sure he understands what’s appropriate,” Olivia said. “This time, as I mentioned, we were having a specific discussion.”
Wearing a doubtful expression, Eli raised his hands in defeat. “If you insist—”
“Papa!”
The girl in the doorway was lovely, and she would one day blossom into an absolute beauty, as long as she didn’t wear the frown she now displayed. Her black hair gleamed like her father’s and her blue eyes matched those of both men in her family.
This could only be the heretofore absent Randy.
“So you did hire another nanny,” she said, her nose high in the air, her chin tipped skyward, disdain in every line of her being. “I suppose Luke does need someone to keep him from wallowing with pigs on a Sunday afternoon.”
Olivia stifled a chuckle. Randy’s description went much too far, and her posture and attitude broadcast her troublesome attitude. She clearly considered herself the lady of the house. Still, as Mr. Whitman had said, the girl was not yet thirteen. Olivia would have her work cut out to deal with her, never mind win her friendship and cooperation.
But she would do both.
She had to.
Stepping forward, she held out her hand. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Miranda. I must correct one detail, however. I’m not your new nanny. Your father merely hired me to be a companion for you and your brother since he works so much and travels some, as well. I’m counting on your expertise to help me learn the ropes around your home.”
Randy blinked. Then she narrowed her eyes, crossed her arms, tapped a toe. Finally, she tossed the lengths of her thick, dark braids over her shoulders and turned to her father. “I suppose, if you must have someone to watch Luke at all times, she’ll do. But I’m no child, Papa. I certainly do not need a companion.”
As Mr. Whitman’s lips tightened, Olivia caught his gaze, wishing she could warn him not to push his daughter too far right from the start. Olivia had to win the girl, not force her.
He must have understood Olivia’s silent plea, because he eased his shoulders and lightened his expression. “Miss Moore is here because I need to make sure there’s an experienced adult in the house when I’m not here. She’ll make sure to make your days run smoothly, and she’ll also make certain you both have everything you need.”
His vague answer pleased Olivia. It gave her a great amount of leeway with the children, and she planned to take advantage of it. “I’m sur
e there’s a good deal that must be done before we start out for school,” she told the children. “Now, if your father will excuse us, let’s see what you both need for the day.”
As she walked out of the parlor, she came within inches of her employer. He looked a touch perplexed, but she much preferred that to the frustration he’d revealed out on the street that other Sunday.
“I’ll be sure to check with you when I come home from the bank this evening,” he said. “You’ll find your things in your room. Cooky or the children can show you to the right one.”
With that, Olivia stepped out into her brand-new life, a measure of trepidation in her heart and a quiet prayer for strength and wisdom on her lips.
Chapter 5
By the time Olivia closed the door to Luke’s bedroom at eight that night, she felt as though she’d spent the day fighting an angry mama bear and still had lost the bout. As she drew a deep, heartfelt breath, every ounce of oomph drained from her exhausted body and she sagged against the wall to keep from folding into a lump on the floor.
For her to litter the hallway at the end of her first day of work did not strike Olivia as the best way to give her employer a good impression. If he’d finally come home.
While Mr. Whitman had said that morning he’d speak with her once he returned from work, she’d yet to see the man.
Perhaps it was for the best, what with Luke breaking his bread into small bits and rolling them into lumps all through the evening meal. He’d then lobbed the tiny missiles at his sister, who’d not been one bit pleased. In the end, Randy had excused herself with her lofty attitude firmly in place, and Olivia had been reduced to removing Luke’s ignored supper from the table, then sending the boy to his room.
That did not seem to fill the bill when it came to her employer’s expectations. She’d followed the young Whitmans upstairs, which hadn’t ended any better.
Randy, sitting at a pretty dressing table brushing the bread out of her glorious black mane, had reminded Olivia that she hadn’t started the altercation, and that she could indeed take care of herself. As she’d informed her papa, and Olivia herself, that morning.
“So please close the door behind you,” the child had said.
Olivia had called upon her last drop of patience to not take the brush from the girl’s hand, send her to change into her nightclothes, and supervise until Randy crawled under the covers. But she’d known that wouldn’t serve her in her ultimate goal. She wanted to win the girl’s cooperation. A confrontation over a trifling matter wouldn’t further her end.
So instead she’d marched into Luke’s room. There she found the boy sprawled on the floor, spinning a red-painted wooden top across an uncarpeted corner. If she hadn’t known better, she would have said he was a deaf-mute, the way he’d failed to react to her requests. Finally, she’d done what she hadn’t in Randy’s case. She’d snatched the top before it stopped whirring, before Luke could wrap the string around it and snap it back into action, and pocketed the toy.
At her charge’s wail, she’d clapped her hands as if they’d been covered in dust, then crossed her arms. “You shall have it back in the morning, once you’ve apologized to Randy for tossing sticky bits into her hair.”
“Won’t.”
Two could play, of course. “Then I suppose I’ve just acquired an excellent top for myself.”
His eyes narrowed. “That’s stealing. I’ll tell Papa.”
Aha!
Olivia smiled. “Are you sure you want to do that? You understand, don’t you, that your father will, of course, want to know why I felt the need to take the top.”
He blinked.
She smiled wider.
“Um… well, I’ll tell him she was being super—super-silly again. Good night, Miss Moore.”
Olivia fought a chuckle. He’d obviously listened to his father try to correct Randy’s haughty airs before. “That’s supercilious, and I don’t think he’s going to accept that answer any more than I did.”
“ ’S what I said, super-silly. And I know he will. He’s always after Randy to stop being… super-silly. And you said it was bedtime. Good night.”
So. After he’d told his father he wanted her for a nanny, now that she had the position, he could hardly wait to be rid of her. Too bad. She had a job to do.
“But,” she said, “I know he has never tossed sticky things into her hair to get her to stop.”
The eyebrows drew close, the brow furrowed, the lips pursed. “Fine. He hasn’t. But he’ll make you give me my top. After we wake up in the morning. G’night.”
She again ignored the dismissal. “If you insist… why then, there’s nothing to do but wait until the morning and tell him the whole story. We’ll let your father make the decision. Right now, I need to see your school lessons.”
“I only had a spelling list.” He walked to the small table before the window and picked up a sheet of paper. “Here.” A sly look crossed his face. “Now will you give me my top? And go to sleep?”
“You’ll have the top as soon as you get back from asking Randy’s forgiveness.”
He grunted and flung himself onto the bed. “Not gonna do it.”
Olivia chose to ignore his negative response and instead studied his spelling words. Luke had written them out in a squiggly, childish hand, five times each.
“Let’s see, now. How about if I quiz you on them? That way we’ll make sure you get all of them right in class.”
Luke raised his head a fraction. “You’d do that?”
She nodded.
“But, why?”
“Because I want to help you do well in your studies. It’s important to learn everything you can. A young gentleman must be well-educated, you understand.”
Although he still seemed suspicious, when she called him a young gentleman his expression brightened a touch. By the time they’d worked their way up and down the list twice, his face glowed with the sparkle of achievement.
And he hadn’t tried to run her off again.
Olivia also felt good about their accomplishment, but at the same time she felt exhausted. Now it was time to make sure Luke went to sleep, and early, as his father had told her he wished.
“Please wash up,” she told the boy. “And change into your nightclothes. It’s time for bed.”
Although he grumbled about being perfectly clean, he stepped to the washstand near the small armoire and splashed water in the bowl. Hands then dove into the water, dabbed around his chin and forehead, and then reached for the towel.
“I do believe there’s a bar of soap right next to the pitcher. You need to use it.”
“But I already toldja. I’m clean.”
“One can always be cleaner. You know that’s what that small cloth is there for, right? To soap up and use it to scrub, even behind your ears. Please do the right thing, Luke.”
With an angry glare, he started over, this time lathering the cloth, rubbing his cheeks, and splashing even the wall behind the washstand.
After a lick with the dry towel, he spun around. “There. I’m going to bed. Good night, Miss Moore.”
“The nightclothes, please.”
“But I’m only gonna have to change again in the morning.”
“Of course. That’s what everyone does. Please change.”
“But—”
“Young gentlemen don’t argue what’s right. They simply do it at the right time. Especially when they’re asking for something in return.”
He slanted a narrowed look her way. “The top?”
“The top depends on your apology to your sister. Your cooperation decides whether I report your behavior to your father or not. I have no idea what price he’ll expect you to pay if you fail to cooperate, as he asked you to do. It’s best if we work together.”
With much grumbling, he yanked open the door to the armoire, rummaged inside, then brought out a wad of blue and green plaid flannel. To allow the child his privacy, Olivia turned her back while he changed.
Olivia turned to see him crawl under the covers, his garments spread over the rug. “Not so fast, my dear Luke.”
He frowned. “Now what? Thought you wanted me to sleep.”
She pointed at the clothes.
“Huh?”
“Please pick them up, fold them, and place them neatly on the chair.”
With even more grumbling, he did as asked, then he turned to Olivia. “Now will you leave—er… let me sleep?”
He sounded more like Randy by the minute. “As soon as I’ve heard your prayers.”
He let out a frustrated sigh but slid onto his knees at the side of his bed. After a number of ‘Please blesses’ and a couple of ‘Thank yous,’ he murmured a hasty amen. “Now?”
“Good night, Luke. May our Lord bless your sleep.”
She’d left him then, and now she scarcely could find the strength to walk to the room the children had identified as hers. She had yet to see it, but as long as it contained a bed, she’d be more than satisfied.
The strain of dealing with two children who didn’t particularly want her in their lives, despite Luke’s proclamation on the street the day of the pig, and the difficulty of facing Cooky’s unexplained dislike had completely worn her out. With a sigh, Olivia drew herself up to her full height. She was no quitter. Certainly not after only the first day on her job.
She dragged herself away from the supporting wall and took a step toward her new room, then another step, followed by more steps that felt as though her feet had grown heavier than the massive anvil in Mr. Woollery’s smithy. Only when she reached out for the doorknob did she feel a measure of anxiety. What was the room like? Would she find any comfort inside? Or would it be stark, cold, unwelcoming?
The longer she stood outside the door, the greater her apprehension grew. Silly, really. All she had to do was open the door and step into her private little space.
She would, however, miss her little sisters. The three Moore girls had always slept in the same room, ready to chat, to comfort one another, to offer a prayer, and to never let any of them feel all alone.
